#like excuse me but what in the goddamn hell are you talking about

[fingertipsmp3]

Full disclosure I do not care if someone copies me. I quite literally do not give a shit. Maybe it’s just because I’m 28 and getting mad about someone “copying” you is high school shit, maybe it’s genuinely not a big deal, I don’t know. I could run into someone who’s wearing the same thing, head to toe, that I am and I would neither notice nor care

[tgcg]

bad mouther, hole master

TG: kissing with tongue is gross as hell

CG: COME THE FUCK OFF IT.

TG: what

CG: I'M SAYING SHUT UP.

TG: oh

CG: IT'S NOT THAT WEIRD. IT'S LIKE THE NATURAL PROGRESSION OF REGULAR KISSING TO EVENTUALLY INCLUDE THAT. IF YOU HAD ANY SEMBLANCE OF ROMANCE GHOSTING THROUGH THE DEVOLVING REMNANTS OF YOUR THINKPAN YOU'D APPRECIATE WHAT IT BRINGS TO THE NUTRITION PLATFORM OF ANY CONSENTING CONCUPISCENT RELATIONSHIP!

TG: youre talking about it like its a goddamn military weapon or some shit

TG: some kinda scientific fuckin method to fondle a dudes mouth with your own mouth thats

TG: thats gross

TG: this isnt supposed to be a debate before fuckin congress on the pros and cons of getting your mack on

TG: its i would say a reasonably personal thing to react about and thats just my reaction man you dont gotta arbitrate it

TG: and like why the hell do they have to linger on it so long in these movies do they really want me to immerse myself in people necking each other that much

TG: roll the sounds around in my earholes like im swilling a fine fuckin wine

TG: well my professional opinion is that shit tastes and sounds mad gross and tbh i havent seen a single movie where it was close to being any kind of necessary

TG: its just a cringy waste of everyones time

CG: YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, AND I DISAGREE WITH EVERYTHING THAT COMES OUT OF YOUR IGNORANCE GASH, YOU LUMP OF TIGHT-LIPPED CLUELESSNESS.

TG: did you just homestar me

CG: FOR THE SAKE OF ARGUMENT, SINCE YOU'RE APPARENTLY DESPERATE TO START SHIT WITH ME RIGHT NOW: HAVE YOU EVER EVEN DONE IT?

TG: hell no

CG: THANK YOU FOR PROVING MY POINT.

TG: proving your point--

TG: bro have uh

TG: have YOU???

CG: EXCUSE ME? HAVE I WHAT?

TG: come on

TG: i walked into this stupid conversation with a fucking shovel and by god am i digging myself a damn hole big and wide enough for every dave across time to squeeze in so i might as well get cosy in this shit before we all start collectively shoving dirt in our mouths

TG: bet your ass im taking you down with me though

TG: grab your spade and get digging man

CG: GRAB MY WHAT????????

TG: just tell me

CG: ???????!!!!!!!!

TG: karkat

CG: NO!

TG: f-

CG: WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM!!!!! WHAT PART OF "SHUT UP" DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND????

TG: wait no

TG: oh my god dude

TG: you can spin that shit all you want but you can do it the hell away from me

TG: i do not need to be hip to your weirdo foursquare fantasies

TG: patently not my business

CG: STOP RIGHT THERE. JUST SHUT IT. I AM PUTTING US OUT OF OUR MISERY RIGHT NOW. I AM CONDUCTING AN ACT OF MERCY ON THIS INSANE FUCKING CONVERSATION AND YOU ARE GOING TO ZIP YOUR LIPS AND TAKE IT.

CG: HERE IT IS: YOUR SINGLE OPPORTUNITY TO PRETEND YOU NEVER SAID THAT TO ME. I AM GOING TO FORGET YOU MADE A COMPLETE MOCKERY OF ME AND MY CULTURE THIS ONE TIME. AND LET YOU CONTINUE TO DIG YOUR STUPID, SHITTY HOLE.

CG: AND DAVE, I AM BEGGING YOU NOT TO WASTE IT.

CG: TO ANSWER YOUR SHOCKINGLY INAPPROPRIATE QUESTION, NO I HAVE NOT DONE IT.

CG: WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK.

CG: HAPPY?

TG: ……..

TG: way to defuse the situation solid work

TG: real gold star effort grabbin that lit wick and blowing on it

TG: ok first of all you asked me first so dont act like im the one being a weirdo about this

TG: second of all i didnt mean it like that and you know it

TG: THIRD of all what the hell was the point of engaging the knightly theatrics then if you cant even verify that shit

CG: WELL FUCK, SORRY DAVE! I GUESS I'M JUST A FUCKING ROMANCE ENTHUSIAST! I GUESS I GIVE A MAJOR SHIT ABOUT THE THING YOU'RE OPENLY MOCKING TO MY FACE! IS THAT SO IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU TO WRAP YOUR THOUGHT SPONGE AROUND?

CG: AND IT WAS COMPLETELY REASONABLE FOR ME TO ASK YOU THAT, YOU CONGEALED FETID NOOKSTAIN! MY STATUS ON THE MATTER HAS LITERALLY NOTHING TO DO WITH THE POINT EITHER OF US IS TRYING TO MAKE.

CG: TRY TO KEEP YOUR NUGBONE FROM CAVING IN ON ITSELF WHEN I DROP THIS BOMBSHELL: I'M ALLOWED TO HAVE OPINIONS ON THINGS I ACTUALLY KNOW ABOUT, EVEN IF I HAVEN'T DONE THEM! I DON'T JUST GO TROUNCING THE FUCK ABOUT LOBBING MY UNFOUNDED OPINIONS AT PEOPLE LIKE I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING. UNLIKE SOMEONE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INVOLVED IN THIS CONVERSATION WE'RE HAVING RIGHT NOW!

TG: youre

CG: I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU BY THE WAY. THE SOMEONE IS YOU.

TG: oh gimme a break

TG: bro youre going apeshit over something you havent even done

TG: you know what that sounds like to me it sounds like an overcompensating fake fan who doesnt get any

TG: you heard of troll napoleon complex

CG: AT LEAST I ACTUALLY FORMED MY OPINION BASED ON CAREFUL CONSIDERATION --

TG: -- oh yeah i bet huh

CG: -- INSTEAD OF JUST BANKING ON NUBJERK --

TG: -- not a real thing you just said

CG: -- REACTIONS AND WRINKLING MY SNIFF NUB AT ANY SIGNS OF GENUINE PHYSICAL INTIMACY!

TG: stop saying nub

CG: YOU EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED BULGEWAD

TG: not too much worse than being a perpetual fountain of emotional diarrhea

CG: DON'T YOU DARE.

CG: DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO USE THAT AS A "GOTCHA", YOU--… YOU! FUCK!

TG: dude did you actually run out of insults

TG: okay this is getting concerning

TG: youre the international dude of verbal dunks

TG: that can not be happening

CG: AAGHRJRGHJRGRHJAGHRJGRHJAGRHJRGRHJRGRHRJR

TG: you cant run out of em youre like the ultimate peddler of hate

CG: YOU DON'T THINK I'M CRITICALLY AWARE OF THE HOOFBEASTSHIT I'M SPEWING NIGH FUCKING CONSTANTLY?! I AM PAINFULLY COGNIZANT OF HOW MORONIC EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS!!!!

TG: feel like ive done some damage here

CG: ESPECIALLY MYSELF!

TG: alright bud time to calm down

CG: YOU CALM DOWN!!!!

TG: okay whatever!

CG: WHATEVER!!!!!!!!

TG: jeez

…

TG: here

…

CG: UGH.

TG: yeah

TG: really glad stuff like this happens in private

CG: YEAH. SAME HERE.

CG: JEGUS, CAN WE GO BACK TO BEFORE WE HAD THIS CONVERSATION? I DON'T ASK YOU MANY FAVORS, SO SURELY YOUR SLURRY OF ILL-DEFINED TIME POWERS CAN ALLOW YOU TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

CG: JUST LIKE, WIPE THAT WHOLE THING OFF THE SLATE.

CG: LET'S START OVER. SAY, FIVE MINUTES AGO. HOW DOES THAT SOUND?

TG: what conversation?

CG: OKAY, GOTCHA.

[dreamermonica]

—gender neutral reader x bakugou, just a drabble escalating into a oneshot cause my brain's rotting with mha (mostly katsuki) pls save me from the dump called writing block errr also mild language cuz this is boom boy

“what the hell?”

a very bad word crossed your mind the moment BAKUGOU had entered your dorm room—following shortly is a silence so dense that you swore you heard your stomach drop.

the object that had piqued the attention of your visitor were perched right upon your desk. the very same object that could very well also be the reason you meet your demise.

your dynamight plushies and figurines,

yes. plural.

—were bared in display, to the very man you harbored a big fat crush on.

the silence enveloped your room like a tight veil. a shudder makes its way down your spine when you finally felt a piercing gaze burning onto the back of your head. you are so fucked.

“i—uhm, i can explain!” you break the silence, holding your hands up whilst turning around to meet his crimson eyes—scanning you over whilst you attempt to figure out an excuse.

let's do a quick throwback:

see, you were rather confident in your abilities and quirk—one of the best, you smugly think—but academics were still a great obstacle to overcome, even for an upcoming pro hero. it's a formidable force that's against your dream becoming reality! not really, but you get the point.

damned ectoplasm shouldn't be teaching math! your brain cells were always fizzled out like kaminari's after he used up all his electricity by the time whenever ectoplasm had left the room after a discussion.

a dark cloud looms over your head more often after a particular topic you're struggling to comprehend, the fact that you were called out earlier by ectoplasm and miserably failed to answer didn't hell—and you're sure your god-sent classmates have noticed it.

a few smarties had reached out already—like yaoyorozu and iida, offering their notes with a smile and promising a few tutor lessons if you were to accept. keyword: if.

even though you were tearing up at their kindness and thoughtfulness, you gently declined them before slapping a fist to your chest—

“i shall overcome this by myself! my failure to adapt is a known weakness of mine, and i shall defeat this boss known as calculus with my own strength, no matter what it takes!”

a distant 'how manly!' sounded throughout the room.

it's not manly, you mentally cry out to kirishima. you were just embarrassed to actually get help because you were one of the top students of the class. you need to uphold your image as a capable student, whatever it takes! not so manly now, are we?!

the top one and top two worriedly glance you over, reluctant at your reasoning, but they hadn't pushed it further thankfully, and wished you good luck.

you definitely needed it, you sulk.

your stupid declaration must've spread throughout the entire class, cause now a scowling bakugou katsuki is stomping his way over to you once classes had finished, stopping a few feet away from you whilst you were packing up your stuff.

“oi. i heard your dumb ass earlier—why are you refusing to ask for help?! you plan on getting behind all of us just because of that damn picture perfect image of yours?!” he yells, and you're now sweating, twiddling with your fingers.

you're not surprised that he approached you—he had declared you as one of his rivals (he called you a stepping stone to his victory but same thing!) ages ago and knowing his competitive nature, you surmised he was probably disappointed that you were stumped in such a pathetic way.

“w-what pride do you mean, bakugo? haha...”

“shut the fuck up. you know what i'm talking about,” a finger presses onto your chest as if to emphasize his point, and you just now realize the distance between you.

caramel wafts its way to your nose. heat crawls up your neck as you avert your gaze away from his chiseled face.

he hisses at your dazed look, “i'm beating calculus into your goddamn brain later tonight whether you like it or not, you got that extra?!”

you break out of your stupor when he leans away from you to gauge your reaction. of course he'd say something like that, even if he was just trying to help.

you shrink under his gaze, embarrassed and defeated at his intensity. if even the big bad bakugo thinks you need help, then maybe you really do.

“...okay.” you resign after a few seconds of contemplation, “thank you, bakugo.”

clicking his tongue, he gives you one last look before turning on his heels, walking towards the door.

you look around and realize that you were the only ones left in the classroom. did he offer his help in private so you would keep the image you're upholding? eh, whatever, he was probably the embarrassed one because he never offers help willingly to anyone.

you blink.

wait—he never helps unless someone would beg on their knees for him, so why—

“...you were always the one preaching about lowering my pride or whatever,”

your eyes dart towards the sound of his voice where bakugo paused his steps at the exit, glaring at you over his shoulder.

he huffs as he adds on, “cut that shit out, hypocrite.”

you blink owlishly and he's gone as he turned the corner, his loud footsteps echoing through the hall.

shaking your head, you pack your stuff up and rush out the door shortly after, eager to return to the comfort provided by your bed.

his words ring in your ears as you walked back to the dorms.

—now, baam, we're back to the present.

you're so fucked, if it wasn't mentioned earlier.

bakugou katsuki is now staring at you, silently demanding an explanation on why you have a row of mini dynamights, ranging from the winter version of his costume, to one of him wearing his signature black tank top—he hasn't even debuted yet as a pro-hero, so the amount you have is probably concerning. maybe even borderline creepy.

fuck being creepy—this probably looks horrifying!

“it's—uh...”

you hadn't had the chance to hide them before he so rudely, barged into your room carrying the materials needed for your study session.

“well, you're my idol, because you're so strong and—” inflate his ego! it's not like it wasn't the truth either with how much you compliment him during training, so maybe he'll be distracted enough and let it slide—

“did ponytail make these for you?” he asked quietly, ignoring your praises and walking past your panicked state as he got closer to inspect the tiny versions of him. he slowly took one from the bunch—a plushie of him wearing the suit he specifically used for a mission in otheon. “how the hell are the outfits so accurate?”

“...”

“answer my questions and i'll let this weird obsession of yours a secret, fuckin' creep.” he seems to like the way you took in his words, horrified, a smirk dancing on his lips as he turns away.

this sadist, you swear to all might...

“okay, okay! so uh...” you gulp as he continues inspecting the army of tiny bakugous, “yes, i had yaoyorozu make them. as for the outfits—i borrowed your blueprints, remember? it was to find some inspiration in enhancing my own costume, but i guess it also had some other uses...?”

he grunts in response to your explanation as his eyes move away from the desk and land onto your bed, where a few more plushies of him resided.

your face is definitely burning up by now.

“wasn't aware you were a fan,” you could hear the grin as he spoke, and you're one hundred percent sure he's never going to live this down, “well, i guess it's expected. i am amazing after all.”

“...yeah.” you agree, albeit cautious, trying to sound uneager to avoid inflating his ego anymore than you already have.

he moves to lean over your bed and grabs a plushie of him wearing his school uniform, squeezing it lightly, “but if you want me to be honest—this shit's kinda creepy.”

would he stop you if you just took a swan dive out of your window? should you get him to roast you alive right now? you wish all might would just united-states-smash you at this moment.

your hands shoot up to your face as you crouched down, too humiliated to even look at him even if he wasn't facing you.

“kill me now...”

“i've got plenty of chances to do that in the future, don't worry,” he's oddly calm for someone who's standing in a room practically devoted to him, “this is pretty adorable of you i must admit,”

you freeze. tickle my pickle! no fucking way he just called you adorable!

“you got a crush on me or something?”

ah.

this is it. you hope you've done enough good to end up in heaven atleast.

“well, if you're not gonna kill me, we should probably just study and get it over with—oh, we should also just go down to the commons—

“i told you to answer all my questions, didn't i!?”

“...”

the blonde finally turns, hands free of any plushies, crossing his arms over his chest as you stare up at him through the gaps of your fingers. he raises a challenging brow at your hesitation.

“well?” he urges on, “did you go mute from embarrassment or something?”

you say something underneath your breath and he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“speak up, you idio—”

“i like you, bakugou katsuki.”

you stand up from your crouched position and situated yourself to your desk, bringing out your textbooks from a drawer as he stared on silently. the silence had grown thicker than the one before.

“let's just get this study session over with so you can go, okay?” you spin around your office chair to look at him with a small smile, as if you didn't just confess, “wanna go down to the commons? my room seems to be uncomfortable for y—

“i was joking about the creep shit, you dumbass.”

you stare at him in surprise when he holds you by the shoulders, gently pushing down to prevent you from getting up from your chair.

“bakugou...?”

“...i'll teach you here. no need to get up.”

“but—”

“shut up. get ponytail to make me a plushie of you so we're even, alright?”

confused, you're about to speak up again and he resolves it by squeezing your cheeks, resulting in only incoherent babbles from your mouth.

“bafhkugou—!”

“ugh, i like you too, if your dumbass hasn't gotten it yet.”

“ohfmayghodf—”

“shut it. no more words from you.” he waits a moment for you to calm down, and lets go of your burning cheeks. a smile grows on his face when you weakly glare up at him, but it quickly turns wicked in the span of a second.

“now...you were so eager to start studying earlier, weren't you?”

he unfortunately wasn't joking about beating the damn subject onto your brain. you could feel a mild headache from all the times he hit your head with a roll of paper.

but nonetheless, you know the hard work and pain paid off when you finally got a question right during ectoplasm's class.

bless bakugou, you'd kiss him right now if you could—

“so,” the boy in question starts as you discreetly hand him a plushie of you in your hero costume, he seems to brighten up at that, taking it nearly immediately, but attempts to appear unbothered as he moves his gaze back to yours.

“are we gonna talk about that body pillow last night or—”

“katsuki—no.”

“pfft,” he snorts, “suit yourself, fangirl.”

imagine your surprise when yaoyorozu snitches and tells you that bakugou practically threated her to make more plushies of you after he received the initial one

[banj0possum]

Hate To Love You

YANDERE!BULLY X READER

Cw: stalking, bullying, general yandere silliness

this is my first attempt at making an x reader ! we'll see if i'll continue making these for you guys :3

🖤 This man is in very much in denial of having a fat crush on your cute ass

🖤 He bullied a lot of people during his years in high school, but something about you when you enrolled at the start of junior year felt different.

🖤 The first time you met, you were by your locker when he noticed you, he grinned at the thought of fresh meat to torture and slammed the locker next to you menacingly.

🖤 The little yelp you made when he approached you gave him a small tingle of…something…

🖤 Although he’s seen many many people cower under him before, the way you shook and avoided eye contact was utterly adorable to him.

🖤 His face grew red, and he pushed himself off of the lockers, putting his hands in his pockets as he walked away frustrated, grumbling to himself. After the feeling of confusion went away you went on with your day right after that.

🖤 He started focusing on bullying you now, all the other people he’s picked on before you were forgotten and left alone, you’re making him feel this weirdly nice feeling so you must be his new rival!

🖤 No it’s totally not an excuse to see and talk to you more often! He hates you!

🖤 He tries to bully you, insult you, annoy you in some way, but every time he talks to you, he starts getting all nice, he hates it! Why do you have to be goddamn interesting!?

🖤 “Hey loser! I heard you got that role you wanted in the school play! I mean why wouldn’t they pick you? You’re so good at acting and you’re so attractive and your voice is so..h-hey, that wasn’t a compliment!”

🖤 If he ever sees you in bad shape like dark eyebags or if you look like you didn’t eat, he’d hand you water, some of his lunch, hell he’d drag you under the bleachers with him, so you’d sleep peacefully on his shoulder.

🖤 “Hey nerd, drink some water…I’m not worried about you! You just look like shit and…j-just take the bottle!”

🖤 If he sees anyone talking to you all friendly, he starts bullying them too in order to scare them off.

🖤 “Going home alone? Pfft, what happened to you loser friends?...You don’t hang out anymore? Hah! What a loser! I guess you’re all mine then…not in a romantic way or anything…”

🖤 If other bullies start bullying you, he will throw hands.

🖤 “What are you doing being pushed around by those assholes? You should’ve told me!...Of course I care! I’m your bully, not them!”

🖤 Sometimes he’d follow you home and watch you through your window, lying to himself that this is for getting dirt on you for blackmail or…something.

🖤 He stares intently at you as you remove your clothes and change into your pajamas, his pants getting a little tighter.

🖤 He’d watch you as you touch yourself in bed, not knowing that he’s pumping his throbbing cock the same pace as you.

🖤 He’d start to be more physical with you after that, eating with you, wrapping his arm around you protectively, with yet another excuse of “to make sure you don’t snitch to the teachers”

🖤 You’d then notice things going missing in your room, small clothes, jewelry, makeup, a spoon?

🖤 Meanwhile Yan!Bully is in his room hugging and nuzzling his face in his pillow which he covered with one of your shirts.

🖤 Under all that rough exterior, he’s just a nervous, perverted simp who doesn’t know how to express his emotions healthily.

🖤 But he won’t admit that.

🖤 Ever.

🖤 …

🖤 Maybe..

[astrophileous]

The Monday Pursuit

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: The three times Derek tries to find out your name, and the one time he finally gets it. Or, the story of four different Mondays that Derek spends on the pursuit of your name.

Warning(s): shy!reader, cursing, public confrontation (verbal and physical) with a douchebag, verbal and physical threats, talks of killing someone, name-calling, protective derek, a bit of damsel in distress situation, and that's it really. this is just tooth-rotting fluff 💞

Word Count: 4300-ish

Author's Note: I FINALLY POSTED A DEREK ONE SHOT! YAY! I was toying around with the idea of making this a series of connected one shots, each one focusing on the significance of a particular day (tuesday, wednesday, thursday, etc) in the progress of your relationship. does that sound like something you guys would be interested in? tell me what you think! plsss!!! don't forget to leave a LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Derek noticed you on a Monday.

He couldn't count how many times his eyes had swept over you absentmindedly in the past few weeks. None of them ever lasted long enough for him to linger around, but somehow, this particular Monday was different.

It was different because the moment Derek's gaze drifted towards the direction where he would usually find you, he finally noticed that you were gone.

It was ironic in a way, how he only noticed you in the wake of your absence. But somewhere in the ruckus that his favorite coffee shop would whirl into every morning, Derek had begun associating the table in the corner of that place with you.

Even then, when someone else was occupying the seat at the end of his long stare, Derek could picture the scene in his head: your laptop on the table, a cup of steaming hot coffee in your hand, and a serious but adorable crease on the center of your forehead. Those three things stood out from the rest. Perhaps if he had the same eidietic ability as Spender Reid, Derek could list more details about your habits and person. Nonetheless, somewhere in his subsconscious, Derek's memories must have deemed you important enough to keep, and that was all it took for him to wonder what about you was so goddamn special.

His fog of reverie was soon broken by an interrupting voice, "She's out of town."

Derek turned his head to see one of the barristas giving him a sly smile. "Excuse me?"

"The writer. She's out of town."

"Writer?" Derek didn't know that. "She's a writer?"

"On the side. She's in grad school," the barrista said. "She has two books out and another one pending publication. She's in New York right now for a book signing."

The word impressive promptly filled Derek's mind, and judging by the barrista's expression, it seemed that the word had translated unmistakably on his face, too.

"You know, you shouldn't give out someone's information to random people like that," Derek warned.

"I don't usually, but I thought, since you're FBI..."

The surprise in Derek's eyes couldn't be more palpable. "How'd you know?"

"Dude, you've been around a while." The barrista shrugged. "Besides, I don't think she would mind."

Derek frowned.

"She likes you," the barrista revealed once they saw the confusion settling on Derek's face.

"What?"

"She's got a bad crush on you, didn't you know?"

"Uh, no?"

"Huh." The barrista put down the cup containing Derek's order on the counter. "I thought you knew. She was so obvious. I mean, I'm not sure how she hasn't burned through the back of your skull with how hard she always stares."

Flabbergasted couldn't even begin to describe what Derek was feeling. His curious eyes flicked momentarily towards your table before he addressed the barrista again, "She's a friend of yours?"

"Hell yeah, she is." The barrista smiled. "That's why I know she's got it bad for you."

Being admired wasn't exactly something new for Derek, so he struggled to comprehend why the thought of you crushing on him had triggered a wave of heat to travel up and down his body.

"What's her name?" Derek asked, trying to sound casual and nonchalant as he picked up his cup of coffee.

The barrista grinned smugly. "I thought you told me not to give someone's information to a random person like that?"

With that said, the barrista went to attend to another customer, leaving Derek to curse over his excellent ability to dig up his own hole.

You were back in town the following week.

When Derek walked into the coffee shop the next Monday, he immediately found you huddled up in your usual seat. For one split second, Derek saw you looking up from your laptop, your eyes locking with his from across the room. But before he could offer a smile, you averted your gaze as if you couldn't wait to get away from him.

That thought didn't conjure well in Derek's mind.

Derek proceeded to give his usual order and waited by the counter. However, when he saw a plate of blueberry muffin being placed next to his cup to go, Derek glimpsed up in confusion at the awaiting smirk on your friend's--the barrista's--face.

"I didn't order this."

"No, you didn't. But do you know whose favorite dessert it is?"

Derek casted a glance towards your direction.

"Exactly." The barrista grinned wider. "Now, go. It's on the house."

The loud drumming inside Derek's chest should have been laughable.

He was never like this. Derek was always self-assured, especially when it came to flirting and courting, so there really was no reason for him to be feeling like this. But something about you had spiked the rhytmic beating in his chest, and Derek didn't like being out of his element when there was a pretty girl at stake.

Thus, with an ease born out of years of practice, Derek worked to turn on his good ol' charm. The same one that dripped from his footsteps as he sauntered over your table with his coffee in one hand and one special plate of blueberry muffin in the other.

Deer caught in headlights; that was exactly the perfect description to visualize how you looked when Derek finally placed the muffin on the table. The man smirked triumphantly at the knowledge that he affected you just as much as you affected him.

"Hey," Derek greeted almost complacently. "I heard this is your favorite."

"What? I don't.... how did you..."

You stopped speaking altogether, sending a grimace to the direction of the counter--where your friend was working--when you deduced what could probably have transpired

"I missed you last week," Derek added.

If you were abashed before, then you must have been mortified when those words slipped out of Derek's lips. You looked up at him with a gaping mouth, and Derek would have laughed at how precious you looked if he didn't have compassion for your poor nerves.

"I was out of town," you eventually managed to say.

"I heard. A writer, right? You had a book signing." Derek smiled. "That's impressive. Anything of yours I might know?"

Your face contorted after hearing his question. "I doubt it. I'm not big at all."

"I don't know. Book signing in New York? Sounds pretty big to me."

"Not as much as you would expect, to be honest."

Derek didn't know why, but he despised the sound of you downplaying your own accomplishments as if they weren't worthy of being praised. He swore he would assist in changing that tendency if given the chance.

"My name is Derek. Derek Morgan."

"I know."

Derek raised a curious eyebrow.

You cowered shyly when you realized what you had admitted. "I heard you mention it a while ago, when you were ordering."

"And you remember?"

Your bashful expression nearly compelled Derek to cheer out loud.

"Do you need something?" you finally asked, not at all mean or bitter, more timid than anything else.

"Yes. I was wondering if I could ask for your name."

"My name?

Derek nodded. "Well, you see, I wanted to ask for your number, but I figured since I still don't have your name yet, then maybe I should get around to it first."

You bit your bottom lip, seemingly in deep thought as you assessed Derek with soft eyes.

"My name is--"

Just as the answer was dangling on the tip of your tongue, Derek's phone suddenly started to ring. He internally cursed his life for its partiality to bad timings, holding up an apologetic finger as he accepted the call without looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Hey, beefcake, where are you?" Penelope Garcia asked from the other end of the line. "Hotch just told everyone to be up and running in 30."

"What? I thought the briefing starts in 30."

"He's debriefing on the plane. Another body just turned up."

"Shit. Shit. Okay, fine, I'll be there."

Derek ended the call in the next second, panic clouding his mind to the point that he failed to realize he didn't bid his usual farewell to his favorite tech analyst. In front of him, you were staring with a pair of expectant eyes that made Derek wish he could stop time to spend it by your side. Alas, such power only existed in fantasy, and Derek--frankly--didn't have enough time at hand to pay grievance over that fact.

"I'm sorry."

Your face fell at Derek's apology, even if slightly.

"God, this sucks. I wish I could stay. I haven't even--"

"Derek, it's okay," you cut him off. "Just go."

"But you didn't--"

"Derek." Your hand on the table slid forward, as though wanting to reach out to him but stopped shortly before you did. "I'm always here."

It was such a simple statement. Three small words that carried hardly any weight on their own whatsoever. But strung together, Derek knew exactly what you meant, the real meaning behind the sentence you chose to say.

You can go. It's okay. We'll continue this some other time.

Reeling from your generous understanding, Derek rushed a goodbye before sprinting towards the door. But just as he was about to touch its handle, he span around for one last look, calling out a sentence that he had pocketed safely as a promise.

"I'll see you soon."

Since Derek's last encounter with you at the coffee shop, the BAU had been thrown from one case to another in the span of two weeks, during which Derek seemed to struggle eliminating the thought of you from the depth of his mind.

When a new Monday rolled around, Derek found himself whistling to a favorite tune as he took the morning route towards the coffee shop. The day was a gloomy one, gray and cloudy with a high chance of rain, contrasting entirely with the sunshine inside Derek's chest. In a few minutes, he would finally see you again, and Derek couldn't wait to woo you into agreeing on a date with him as his palm pressed on the door of the coffee shop.

Unfortunately, Derek's movements ceased the moment he stepped into the familiar establishment.

The atmosphere in the coffee shop struck no resemblance to what Derek had associated with the place: warm, safe, and welcoming. Instead, the taste of tension was hot on his tongue, sizzling under the thick silence that had rendered the entire room into a standstill.

In the middle of it all, just a few paces from where the front door stood, Derek had found you.

You were standing with your head down, which wasn't a strange sight considering that you often did that to avoid unwanted attention. But Derek never saw your lips quiver that way before, nor did he ever see your eyes blown so out of proportion in a telltale sign of fright.

Upon a further inspection of the room, Derek realized that he wasn't the only one whose eyes were trained on you. Every patron in the shop, including every worker behind the counter, was staring openly in your direction as well. He was a milisecond away from taking another step when the man in front of you started to scream out of the blue.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Are you fucking stupid?!"

The malicious words didn't sit well with the vituous bone in Derek's body. But it was seeing you flinch from the verbal onslaught that finally made Derek dash forward, putting himself as a shield between you and the insolent stranger.

"That's enough," Derek said as he tugged you behind his back.

The stranger looked up at Derek with an ugly scowl on his face. "Who the hell are you?!"

"If you have a problem, let's take this outsi--"

"I don't have a problem with you, dickhead. I have a problem with her!" Derek extended to his full height instinctively, trying to hide you from the brazen man. "Now, move. This is none of your fucking business!"

"It became my business the second you chose to disrupt everyone's morning," Derek countered. "Why don't you tell me what's going on here?"

"Why don't you ask your bitch, huh? She fucking started all of this."

"Fucking bastard."

Red clouded Derek's vision when he clenched the man's collar in his hand. All around him, the crowd erupted in a chorus of gasps. Satisfaction filled Derek's chest when he glimpsed the hint of fear in the man's eyes.

"I dare you to say one more word about her," Derek seethed. "I dare you."

"Derek." He felt your fingers then, twisting around a portion of his shirt, pulling desperately until Derek loosened his grip on the other man. "Please."

The douchebag stumbled dramatically when Derek finally discarded him to the side.

Derek span around, looking directly into your eyes for the first time that morning. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

Instead of answering his question, you pushed past a frowning Derek, addressing the horrible man whose face was now crimson; either from rage or embarrassment, Derek didn't know. He didn't care.

"I'm sorry, sir." Your voice vibrated in the air. It wavered with a clear sign of tears. "I didn't... I wasn't thinking. I've caused you trouble. I'm sorry. And I apologize to everyone for ruining your day."

With that, you turned around and picked up your belongings that were scattered on the floor before dashing straight out of the door. Derek stared at your back until it disappeared from view.

"You better tell me what the fuck happened here," Derek fumed towards the man.

"You heard her. She fucked up, that's what happened."

"That's not true." A new voice arose. Derek turned his head to see your barrista friend standing behind the counter, their eyes flaming with anger.

"The poor girl spilled her coffee," another voice interjected. It belonged to an old lady who was standing at the very front of the line. "She didn't mean to, but it got all over his things. Then he just started screaming all kinds of stuff to her."

Derek closed his eyes before reopening them again, shooting daggers towards the man. "You're pulling this crap over a spilled fucking coffee?!"

The other man began to stutter. "She ruined important documents!"

"It wasn't even her fault," the barrista added. "He was too busy being on his phone to watch where he was going."

That last piece of information was the last straw for Derek.

He used his forearm to push the douchebag by the throat, slamming his back against the wall until the man gasped for air.

"You will never step foot in here again, do you hear me?" Derek pressed his elbow deeper into the man, stopping only when he started to nod frantically. "You don't come near this place, ever again. But most importantly, you don't come near her. I'm gonna fucking kill you if you do."

Derek let him go afterwards, ignoring the series of coughs that the man had fallen into while he marched towards the door.

"Don't even think for a minute that I'm gonna let this go!" the man shouted just as Derek was about to exit the coffee shop. "I'll be notifying the authorities about what happened here today. You'll see!"

The scoff Derek let out couldn't be more condescending. "Yeah, you do that. And when you do, tell them--" Derek reached into his pocket, pulling out his credentials before flashing it towards the man, "--the name's Agent Derek Morgan. FBI."

He slammed the door behind him.

Once outside, Derek's eyes darted around to find any trace of you in the midst of the morning rush hour. Eventually, he spotted the back of your head, walking away about a few feet ahead of him. Derek broke into a sprint almost immediately, squeezing himself in between the ocean of people, trying to catch up with you before realizing that he most like wouldn't be able to.

Just as he watched you turning a corner, Derek mourned the fact that he couldn't call out to you because he still didn't know your name.

It was the second Monday that Derek didn't see you anywhere in, or near, the coffee shop.

In total, it had been two whole weeks without you showing your face at the place, not even once. Your barrista friend was as clueless about your whereabouts as Derek was. He even had started coming into the shop at odd hours during the day, or whenever his schedule would allow him to, sometimes lingering for a few minutes in the morning just in case he would catch you walking through those doors.

You never did.

In a moment fueled by something akin to desperation, Derek found himself marching towards the office of Penelope Garcia. If there was anyone who could find you--who you were, where you were, and everything else about you--it was going to be the team's tech genius.

The tech analyst wasn't in the room when Derek entered, and as he found himself standing there--alone in the silence--Derek was confronted by how ridiculous he was being.

He couldn't understand why he was acting like this. Why the thought of never seeing you again managed to lure him into considering a breach of privacy. Derek had barely even talked to you, yet whatever brief interaction the two of you had so far was enough to affect him in ways that shouldn't be possible.

Derek decided to turn around and vacant the room before anyone could catch him lingering there like an idiot, but his steps fell short when he saw Penelope standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing here, Sugar?" Penelope questioned, her eyes squinting into a suspicion-filled look.

"Looking for you, of course," Derek lied.

"Derek Morgan, I didn't spend years working with the best profilers in the country to not be able to tell when someone is lying." Penelope walked towards her chair, making sure that she was settled comfortably before swiveling around to face Derek again. "Talk to me."

"Babygirl, there's nothing to talk about."

"Oh my God. It's about a girl."

How the fuck does she do that?

"Derek, you tell me right now every single thing about this lovely creature who has captured your heart, and I meant every single thing. What's her name? What does she do? Where did you guys meet? You guys are official, right? Because if not, then--"

"Okay, Blondie, pump your brakes," Derek interfered before Penelope could vomit the entire content of the Oxford dictionary. "There's no girl."

Penelope frowned. "There isn't?"

"No."

"But you want it to be?"

Derek couldn't give her an answer.

"Mister, you tell me what's going on right now, and don't leave out any details."

So, that was exactly what Derek ended up doing.

He told Penelope about you; about the little snippets of yourself that had infiltrated Derek's subsconscious without him even realizing it, about your first proper interraction where your smile looked more appetizing than the blueberry muffin he had put on the table, and about the incident that marked his last ever encounter with you.

By the time he wrapped the story up, Penelope's face was a heap of reactions.

"You know," the tech analyst finally said, "I can probably find her for you."

"I told you I don't want that, Sweetness."

"But why?!" Penelope nearly whined. "You like her, and her friend said she obviously likes you, too. What if you never see her again? Are you seriously just going to let your story end in what ifs?"

"Of course, I don't want that. But this is not how I want our story to start, too, if there is even gonna be one." Derek gripped Penelope's shoulder, squeezing affectionately. "Thanks for the offer, Babygirl, but maybe it just wasn't meant to be."

For the rest of that day, Derek threw himself into work in order to keep his head preoccupied with something else other than the images of you.

In a few hours, he had successfully completed all of the pending case reports that were piling on his desk. A quick glance at the clock told Derek that he still had another three hours before he was supposed to go home. Sighing, Derek got up from his desk and walked towards the pantry.

"It's been four hours," Derek heard Emily say as soon as he walked towards the kitchenette. "What are they doing there?"

"She could be a reporter. Maybe she's interviewing him," Spencer theorized.

"Who's interviewing who?" Derek asked.

He headed for the coffee maker only to realize that there was no coffee left. Derek cursed under his breath before he went to make a fresh batch.

"Rossi has a guest, and they've been in his office for four hours," Spencer explained.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Really? I didn't see anyone."

"She came in during lunch."

"Huh. A woman?"

Spencer nodded.

"Potential lover?" Derek asked again.

"I don't think so. She's young."

"Unless, he's that kind of guy." Emily smirked.

Spencer frowned. "What kind of guy?"

"I don't think Rossi's like that." Derek chuckled.

"Who is she, then?" Emily questioned.

"Is no one going to tell me what kind of guy Rossi is?" Spencer suddenly said.

"A student, perhaps? A fan? Who knows?" Derek shrugged. "Or maybe you were right. She's here to interview him."

"Oh! Here they come!" Emily exclaimed a few minutes later.

Derek turned to steal a glance at the guest that had captured his fellow teammates' interest. But just as he was about to catch a glimpse of her, Derek suddenly spilled hot coffee everywhere, flooding nearly half the counter until some of it dripped down the cabinets as well.

"Shit." Derek stared at the mess he had made in annoyance. "Fuck me."

"She's really pretty, though," Emily pointed out--no doubt about Rossi's guest--earning an agreeing hum from Spencer.

After he had cleaned up the spilled coffee, Derek ambled back towards the direction of his desk. As he was passing the glass doors to the bullpen, however, Derek saw Rossi standing in front of the elevator, waving towards the person who had just walked inside of it.

Someone who--as Derek realized with a particularly loud thump in his chest--turned out to be you.

Derek was barely able to place the steaming cup of coffee on a random desk before he made a run for the elevator. But just as he reached Rossi's side, the elevator's doors had closed, making you vanish once more from Derek's sight.

"Shit," Derek muttered. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

Beside him, Rossi was staring in open confusion. "Morgan?"

Derek finally turned towards the older man. "The girl who was in the elevator. Who is she?"

Rossi's forehead creased. "Why?"

"Do you know her?"

"She's a fellow crime writer. She was here for a consultation," Rossi answered. "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?"

"Her name. What's her name?"

"What the hell is going on, Morgan?"

"Rossi, come on, man," Derek sounded desperate, but he didn't care. "I just need her name."

Derek barely succeeded in mumbling a quick thank you to Rossi for giving him your name before he rushed straight to the emergency stairs. The entire run down to the lobby was a blur in Derek's eyes. The only focus in his mind was about getting to you.

Once he was outside of the headquarters building, Derek saw you walking a few paces ahead of him in the direction of the parking lot. He shouted your name with all of his might, seeing you stop and turn your body around from the distance, and soon enough, he had managed to close it in a matter of seconds.

Derek was a mess of panting breaths and drumming heartbeats when he finally stood in front of you. The look you gave him spoke of surprise and bewilderment, and Derek relished in the feeling of being at the receiving end of your lovely gaze.

"Derek? What? What are you--"

"I work with Rossi," Derek stated simply.

Your eyebrows escalated in surprise. "You do?"

"Yeah. I saw you earlier with him," Derek continued. "I haven't seen you in awhile."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Derek allowed his eyes to roam over your entire person, from the top of your head to the tip your toes. There was no malice in his stare as he did, just appreciation, and maybe a little bit of longing from not having seen you in such a long time.

"I haven't been to the coffee shop again. Not after--" you swallowed the lump in your throat. "I was embarrassed. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart."

"You got dragged into my mess. I owe you an apology."

"You owe me nothing. Okay? What happened wasn't your fault. That man was just an asshole," Derek told you truthfully. "You don't have to be worried about him anymore. He's never coming back."

His last statement caused you to lift your head up so fast, Derek was scared you were going to have a whiplash.

"Nothing happened, sweetheart," he elaborated once he saw the panic in your eyes. "I just made sure to let him know that he wasn't welcome there anymore."

The breath you let out sounded eerily similar with relief.

"Thank you, Derek. For everything," you offered shyly. "Please tell me if there's anything I could do to make it up to you."

That last sentence you uttered prompted a wide grin across Derek's face. "Actually, there may be something."

Derek took a step closer towards you then, noting the way your shoulders tensed up from his proximity. His own senses were overcome by everything about you; from the slight parting of your lips, the steady rise and fall of your chest that seemed to be growing more rapid in Derek's presence, and to the sweet plus addictive smell of your perfume.

Taking his own deep breath, Derek forced the words--the same ones that he had been keeping deep inside of him--to tumble freely into the air.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?"

[princessbrunette]

okay so hi! i wanted to send in a lil jj and rafe prompt myself for the kook princess.

so i lowkey think that she gets tired of the beefing one day and she’s just all upset because she doesn’t know what to do or who to chose in this whole situation, so she just pulls a “if i can’t have you both i don’t want either of you” which was hard enough for her to do anyway because let’s be so real standing on business with RAFE & JJ is hell in itself. so she like really stands on business doesn’t come around either of them avoiding parties the whole nine until she ends up needing to go to midsommars or something kinda much like kie in season one her parents are making her go, so word gets around fast that she’s going because people haven’t seen her in a while and jj leaps on the opportunity to work with pope & heyward, so he can see her and obviously rafe is gonna be there regardless. she doesn’t come until late which gave rafe and jj enough time to at least come to a certain level of an agreement, she still avoids them all night staying with her parents and drifting to sarah whenever she got the opportunity. so she finally ends up going to the bathroom and they basically corner her (teamwork 🤣) and they talk to her and they both end up fucking her in the stall.

this!!!!! this is perfect. i never brought the two of them together bc i just thought it was too unlikely because they really don’t like eachother — but if they’re kinda forced together by reader giving them no other choice it seems more likely.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

jj practically jumps you in the corridor, appearing frantically infront of you in his lil waiter get up and starts dragging you to the bathroom.

“jj, no — i already told you—”

“just five minutes just — just hear me out for five minutes okay — c’mon, in you go, chop chop.” he pushes you into the bathroom before turning round and blinking at passersby who worriedly witnessed the low level kidnap. “nothin’ to see here alright just, carry on…” he excuses awkwardly before closing the door.

upon entering, to your surprise rafe is stood in the centre of the room with his hands in his pockets and lips pursed like he was forced to be there too. he perks up a little on your entry, eyeing you over. he speaks your name and you glance between the two boys nervously.

“damn, you— you look really beautiful i mean—” rafe begins as he edges towards you and you all but nearly stomp your foot, pointing to him with an angry pout.

“don’t!”

the oldest boy holds his hands up, slowing his pace as he approaches you, showing he comes in peace. “alright, alright… look we… just wanted to talk to you. ‘that okay?”

your eyes slide over to jj, who’s gazing at you with this desperate plea that makes you soften a little. you cross your arms and nod, and naturally the boys close in on you, shielding you from the rest of the room.

“trust me, okay— the last thing i wanna do is share you with rafe freaking cameron but,” the blonde runs a hand through his hair frustratedly as the cameron rolls his eyes. “you went goddamn… radio silent on us and i was worried, okay? are you seeing the level of concern you caused right now? ‘cus i’m standing next to rafe and my hands aren’t around his neck—”

“yeah like you could reach, buddy.”

“i’m like three inches shorter than you asshole i’on even wanna hear it right now ‘cus—”

“guys.” you interject sulkily, huffing a sigh out your nose.

“sorry, sorry— yes, so uh— to cut this thing short, maybe until you like, make a decision or whatever… we can alternate weeks with you?”

you gaze up at them from beneath your lashes unsurely. “like… you get me this week rafe gets me next week… and so on?”

“yeah i’m not thrilled about this guy gettin’ you at all but i’ll… i’ll take it.” rafe scuffs his shoe on the floor, uncharacteristically bashfully.

you think, and honestly as it was the best case scenario you nod, gaze flickering between the two of them.

“okay… just… want you both. missed you.” you don’t know who to look at, so you cement your stare to your shoes. there’s some shuffling of feet through the tense silence before you feel a pair of fingers gripping your jaw lightly, tilting your head up to them.

“look… why don’t you uh, why don’t you give maybank here a little kiss. alright? i’m— i’m actively showin’ you i’m cool with it.”

even jj’s brows lift in surprise, licking over his rubied lips as he watches you for permission. you let rafe’s hand drag you closer, before bringing your mouth to jj’s, locking lips. rafe’s hand switches to cup the back of your head, supposedly feeling this was the most control he could have in the situation. his eyes flutter in irritation as he watches jj slip you tongue and after a moment he pulls you back, immediately bringing your mouth to his— to kiss you sloppier and dirtier than the blonde.

jj’s eyes roll, licking over his lips once more. “jesus, dude — okay.”

you let out a pleased moan after a moment, just happy to have your favourite boys back with you, this time together — and rafe tugs you back with a smug smirk. you watch his eyes flutter up to the cubicle behind you, before his gaze moves to jj.

“get the door, yeah busboy?” he slaps jj on the back, and with his tongue in his cheek — he pushes the cubicle door open for the three of you to fit inside.

“watch it, douche.” he glares as rafe leads you in. it’s a squeeze, but it’ll do for now. the competitive nature in them both was flared up to ten, set on using this time as a way to prove themselves to you.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Plaid Flannel Shirt - Logan Howlett x ftm!Reader

A/N: I drew a lot from my own struggles with dysphoria for this, which is why it’s a little more specific than my other fics. I hope it’s still relatable. Let me know if I missed any warnings

Written for this request

CW: clothing issues; Reader is implied to be smaller than Logan; gender euphoria mentions; clothes stealing/sharing; cuddling; Logan smokes cigars in this; Reader is called handsome several times; language; praise kink; explicit sexual content; smut; grinding; Reader’s parts are referred to as dick and hole; dirty talk; mentioned mirror sex; manhandling; mentioned multiple rounds; mentioned nudity; maybe ooc Logan

673 words

It starts and ends with a shirt. One of Logan’s, to be exact.

You’ve always had an issue with clothes. They’re too tight, or too feminine, or too expensive. It’s always something with clothes.

So when you first steal the shirt from Logan’s closet, it’s a bit of a deal. Until you put it on.

Standing there, in front of the mirror, gazing at yourself in Logan’s shirt, you look a bit silly. Silly, but not feminine.

It’s something about the drape of the shirt. The particular shadows of the fabric. Something about the shirt. But it’s perfect.

You look like a guy. You are one, you know this. But you finally look like one.

That’s how the whole shirt stealing starts.

Logan seems to find it cute. At the very least, he doesn’t stop you. In fact, you’re pretty sure he’s left his room open on multiple occasions right during the times when you stop by to steal his shirts.

Whatever his reasoning is, he seems content with what you’re doing.

So when he asks about your reason for doing it one day, you don’t think anything of it.

The two of you are cuddling in his room. Door shut, window open so he can smoke in peace. He’s on his second cigar and you’re all content and happy.

“You like wearing my shirts, huh?” He plucks at the fabric of the plaid flannel you’re wearing. It’s his, of course.

“Mhmm.” You don’t open your eyes, head resting on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, low and steady.

“Any particular reason why?”

“They make me feel good,” you mumble. “Like a man. All rugged and fierce.”

He chuckles quietly. “They make you feel like a man?”

“Mhmm.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You look good in them. Handsome and shit.”

Your face heats up. Sure, he’s complimented you before, but he’s never directly called you handsome.

You lift your head, resting your chin on his chest. “Say it again?”

“Say what again?” He glances down at you, taking a hit from his cigar.

“That I’m handsome.”

He studies you for a moment, then smirks. He leans closer. “You’re the handsomest goddamn man I’ve ever met.”

It goes straight to your dick, sending heat flooding throughout your body. Like a shot of pure lust.

“Again?” Your voice comes out raspy.

He chuckles and stubs out his cigar. He pulls you up, kissing you firmly on the lips as he guides you on top of him.

“My handsome. Fucking. Man.” He punctuates his words with kisses, sliding his hands down to your hips. “Thought I was dreaming when I first saw you. So sexy and fine as hell.”

You moan into his mouth, shifting to grind against his hardening cock. You’re ridiculously wet, just from his words.

He nips at your lower lip, thrusting up against you as well. “And then you, fuck, go walking around in my shirts. Making me go wild. Can’t tell you how many times I had to excuse myself ‘cause you looked so goddamn hot.”

You smother him in kisses, sliding your hands into his hair. You lick into his mouth, tracing his teeth with your tongue as you practically hump his dick. “Logan…!”

“I got you, handsome.” He groans back, rocking up into you. “Gonna fuck you so good after this. Stuff that delicious fucking hole of yours so full you can’t breathe. Maybe even do it in front of the mirror, so you can see how fucking handsome you really are.”

It’s enough to send you toppling over the edge, and oh do you cum hard. You fist your hands in his hair, crying out his name as white hot pleasure seeps into your bones.

Logan gives you one moment before pulling you up into his arms. To manhandle you into place so he can fuck you like he wants. He makes good on his promises, fucking you twice on the bed and once in front of the mirror.

The only piece of clothing you have on? His plaid flannel shirt.

[houseofripley]

Hotel Hell - Part Two

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

Part One Pinterest

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, Fighting, Shoving, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, MAKEUP SEX

WORD COUNT: 3,812

A/N: omg i am sorry this took me years to finish, life has been busy but it should calm down soon. i got such a good request the other day and i haven't gotten it off my mind so i will start that tmrw if i have time. also i proofread this at 2am so please ignore any mistakes lol

“The Brutalization Chamber? You want to know what The Brutalization Chamber is?” The Irish man laughed out, his eyebrows raising once you turned your gaze towards him. 

An expression of curiosity displayed on your face as you repeated the name of the supposed ‘chamber’. It was obvious to the man that you wanted to know more.

The man began making his way down the stairs, “No offense sweetheart…but I don’t really think this is the place for a girl li-” He tried to speak before being cut off.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“I don’t really care what you think sir, I want you to show me what's down there.” You chirped out, following the male down the flight of stairs, your hand hovering over your aching ribs.

“Well shit, if you insist,” The guy chuckled out, “Feisty, she’ll like you.” He muttered under his breath as he opened the door. 

She’ll like you…was he talking about the same ‘she’ you had spent your night with? The same woman who just got done unleashing pure cruelty onto you? The same woman who disappeared into this exact building moments ago?

“Name’s Finn by the way,” He mentioned, “It’s just us, the big boss is probably around here somewhere as well.” Finn spoke as you scanned the room looking for ‘the big boss’.

Grimy was the only way to portray the room. Rope lights scattered across the ceiling, some were dim while others flickered. There were freezing concrete walls with cracks littered all over. A red neon sign displaying the letters ‘TBC’. A blood stained ring sat taking up a quarter of the room. Various pieces of gym equipment and punching bags were compressed into a room off to the side. 

“So…just a gym?” You questioned the man, there was no sign of Rhea.

“Nah, it’s a little more than just a gym love…think of it as a fight club. A fight club with a fuck ton of money involved.” Finn stated leading into a room the size of a walk-in closet, the room seemingly being a pathetic excuse of a nurses office. 

You leaned against the door frame while Finn babbled on as he started unpacking his bag, “People come to us in desperate need for money. They’re entered into our roster, put in the ring and bet on. If they win their match they get fifty percent of all bets placed. Bunch of sick wealthy men love wasting their fortune on this shit.”

“Don’t you think this is just a tad bit illegal?” You chuckled, sending a small wave of pain to your ribs.

“Eh I don’t worry about that too often,” Finn shrugged, digging around his duffle. “Rhea’s not too worried about the legalities when there's this much money involved, she can pay her way out of damn near anything.”

Rhea.

Despite your pain you perked up at the mention of Rhea’s name although you stayed silent.

“Rhea would like you, you’re quiet but there's just something about you, like there’s a fire inside you.” Finn mentioned, pointing at you. “I would introduce you to her but earlier this afternoon one of her top guys lost her like seven thousand. She stormed off to god knows where. Another one of her main guys has a big match in about half an hour. Going up against some new kid we’ve never seen so I’m sure she’s busy worrying her ass off.”

You heard a scoff echo from the main room as footsteps approached. “Jesus fucking christ Finn! Do you ever shut your goddamn mouth?” You heard Rhea sarcastically laugh trying to cover her anger.

You slowly turned to face Rhea, examining her tensed jaw and narrowed eyes. Reality had finally washed over you. The weight of Rhea’s actions flooded into your brain. You couldn’t figure out if you felt more betrayal or anger in the moment.

“Ah! Rhea mate!” Finn exclaimed, trying to divert from Rhea’s critiques. “I was just telling this young lady how much you’d like her…I never caught her name though.” 

Your face turned to the ground as you tried to mutter out your name. “We’ve met.” Rhea butted in, her voice was fully flat-devoid of any sign of emotion. That’s when the regret hit you. 

You shouldn't have come here.

“I should leave…it seems you guys have a busy night.” You muttered quietly. Rhea took a firm grasp on your forearm, “That can wait, let’s go have a chat.” Rhea said as her head motioned towards what you assumed to be her office.

“No, I-I can come back another time, I really don’t want to be a bother.” You barely managed to stutter out while Rhea’s middle and pointer finger of her opposite hand guided your chin up, forcing you to look at her. “I said let’s go have a chat.” Rhea commanded, her grip on your arm tightening. 

You reluctantly followed the woman as she dragged you in the direction of her office. You knew you were in for it big time.

“You are a fucking insane bitch! What could have possibly made you think it was okay to fucking show up to this place?!” Rhea lashed out at you the moment the latches of her door clicked together. She dropped your arm before shoving you towards the other side of the room. You had been lucky enough to catch your balance as you were just inches away from barreling into the concrete walls.

“I just wanted to learn more! I wanted to figure you out Rhea! Can you blame me for wanting to figure out why you’re so angry and cruel every time I see you?” You said loudly, your voice filled with hurt.

“That doesn't give you the goddamn right to follow me to where I work! You don’t fucking get it, these people I work with are dangerous and I don’t want you getting caught up in this bullshit!” Rhea retorted out as her breaths began picking up speed.

“What makes you think I’m so incompetent that I’m incapable of being around danger?! You put me in danger nearly every fucking time I see you! ” Your hands flew around as you yelled at the woman, tears accumulating in your eyes. 

Rhea began inching towards you, a look of irritation covering her face. “I don’t fucking put you in danger!”

“Yes you fucking do! You have no idea how many bruises you’ve left me with. The other month you choked me till I passed out, yet you didn’t stop fucking me to check if I was okay! For fucks sake Rhea, an hour ago you left me bleeding and collapsed to the floor!!” All hell had broken loose between the two of you as your tears started escaping from you.

“You told me you could take it! I don’t get why you’re bitching and moaning all of the sudden.” Rhea continued arguing.

Your fist crashed down onto Rhea’s nearby desk, “I can take it rough, but you can’t keep disappearing after being borderline torturous! You’re so damn immature!!” Your screaming matched showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

“I’m immature? You’re the one that followed me to my job and is throwing a tantrum right now!” Rhea’s voice thundered around the room. 

“You don’t get it Rhea! I’m a fucking person and you dont give a shit about me! Why don’t you fucking care?!” You yelled through broken sobs as you started unleashing your sadness and anger onto Rhea, pushing and beating on her chest. 

Rhea made no attempt to stop you. She made no moves, just allowing you to inflict your pain onto her. 

Once your hands had dropped to your sides in exhaustion and your breaths became heavier as you tried calming yourself down Rhea quietly mumbled, “I do care…”

“But you don’t…” You looked up at her with wide eyes, lifting your shirt. You exposed your aching torso displaying your cut up skin, dried blood pooled around your laceration and the letters of Rhea’s name carved into your skin. “Someone who cares doesn't do this and run away.” You quietly said, your voice strained from the screaming match.

The regret in her eyes was apparent as she darted her eyes away from you. The realization she had gone too far had hit her hard, feeling as if she was being crashed into by an eighteen-wheeler. 

Her vulnerability was short lived, Rhea quickly repressed her display of emotion, replacing it with her regular cold and emotionless stare. She had to put on her tough guy attitude. It was her only safety blanket. Emotions are for the weak, Rhea could never be weak.

“You get worse every time I see you, something has to change Rhea…” You breathed out, trying to articulate your speech as you lowered your shirt back down. “If you can’t fix this behavior I’m done.” 

“You know you don’t mean that.” Rhea sighed as she ran her hand through her black hair. She didn’t want to lose you but she could never admit that. “I need to think about…everything. Just give me a some t-” 

Rhea was cut off by a deep voice from outside the door. “Ten minutes till the bell Rhea.” Rhea rolled her eyes and made her way to the door, “Just give me some fucking time Damian! And go get a roll of gauze from Finn. Quickly.” Rhea demanded after opening the door just a sliver. 

You clenched your jaw as you sensed Rhea’s levels of anger were once again rising. The last thing you wanted was to end up back at square one with her. You couldn’t handle another argument with her. Not tonight at least. 

The pair of you stood in silence as you waited for the man to return. Once he had arrived he opened the door, handing Rhea the roll of fabric. His eyes curiously examining you through the crack in the door. 

“I’ll be out in a minute…” Rhea aggressively muttered before closing the door. She mumbled your name under her breath before walking to her desk.

 “You’re lucky Finn showed up early, only God knows what could have happened to you if one of the other guys showed up before him.” Rhea grunted as she unlocked a drawer and began rummaging through the mess inside. 

What is it about her?

“Why such a dark line of work? What made you choose this of all things?” You questioned, you were terrified to set her off but on the other hand you wanted to push for answers from her. It was the only way to get your foot into the door of her life.

Rhea stumbled her way towards you avoiding eye contact, a tube of antibacterial gel in her hand as she shrugged. “Not something you choose. You’re born into it and can’t escape it, you just have to accept it and make the best out of it.” She mumbled while she lifted your shirt up. 

Rhea applied a small glob of the antibacterial gel to her finger while she lowered herself to her knees, becoming face to face with your shredded skin. The woman began dabbing the gel onto your skin causing  you to let out a small hiss from the pain.

Once she finished applying all of the gel she wiped the residue from her fingers onto her pant leg and grabbed the roll of gauze. Rhea cleared her throat before speaking up, “Just stay in here for a while, I can take you home after this match.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking home by myself, Rhea.” You stated, watching Rhea carefully wrap the gauze around your waist.

“I’m walking you home and that’s final.” Rhea stood her ground, “Seriously though, just stay in here. I’ll be back.”

You weren’t planning on fighting about this with her, deciding to keep your mouth shut you let her take the win. “Fine, whatever.” You gave in as Rhea tied a knot in the gauze to hold it in place. 

“Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.” Was all Rhea had said as she stood up. Nothing else left her lips as she exited the room. 

No apology?

You groaned as you sat down in Rhea’s large chair. You blankly stared at the wall for several minutes before your mind started to wander. Exploring anything that popped into your head. Places, things, people, Rhea. 

If you were being honest with yourself you were doubting the woman's ability to change her ways. You assumed she would most likely be this way her whole life, although you prayed she had it in herself to change. She had the potential to be great if she would put her pride aside.

It wasn't long until the cheers of the crowd on the opposite side of the door had started drowning out your thoughts. 

You wanted to catch a glimpse of the madness. You stood up from the large chair, your feet scuffing the ground as you strolled to the door

You cracked the door open, taking a peek of the ring surrounded by a flock of rowdy men that were yelling. The large man you made eye contact with earlier was in the ring brutalizing a much smaller guy who couldn’t even be older than twenty-five. He was putting on one hell of a fight but it was clear he stood no chance.

Rhea was the only woman there, she was stood right against the ring watching intensely. She had caught your image in the corner of her eyes. Her face turned in your direction, she tilted her head as if she was asking you what the hell you were doing.

You mouthed the word sorry to her before quickly closing the door. 

Fifteen excruciatingly boring minutes had passed, the cheers had dispersed into muffled conversations. Rhea had finally arrived back in her office. She seemed content which you enjoyed. 

“You ready to go?” Rhea asked, you answered with a simple nod.

As the two of you made your way out of the building Rhea exchanged goodbyes with some of the strange men.

The entire walk was silent, the both of you reflecting on the weird night you had been through together. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was almost peaceful. Having Rhea in your presence when she was somewhat calm was pleasant. You wanted to hold onto this peacefulness for the rest of your life.

It took you by surprise when Rhea insisted on taking you directly to your door instead of just dropping you off in the front of the large building and ditching. 

“You didn’t need to take me all the way up here.” You quietly mumbled as you unlocked the door to your apartment. “Lot’s of bad people around this time of night.” Rhea muttered as your door swung open. 

You turned around to face the woman, her eyes peering over your head, scanning the entry of your apartment. “There’s bad people around all times of the day. I’m used to it.” You said quietly, her eyes returning to you.

An awkward silence filled the air as the both of you gazed upon each other. Rhea began rubbing her neck, “Uh…I should go. I’m gonna go.” She feebly stated before turning away from you, quickly walking down the hall. She had stormed off before you could even speak up.

Still no apology?

—

Multiple days had passed. Rhea had made no contact yet. You spent a concerning amount of time just staring at Rhea’s contact in your phone, debating if you should press the call button. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

She’d call if she cared enough.

It felt as if life had paused, your days seemed empty. The busy streets of New York City felt devoid of any livelihood. The live music that took place at work sounded muffled. The flavor of your favorite foods had been stripped away. Once colorful flowers sold down at the street market now sat dull.

Days just painfully repeated. 

Tonight you had the night off, your only plans were to stare out the window of your bedroom and pray for a text from Rhea. 

You sat criss-cross at the edge of your bed twiddling your thumbs, your mind seemingly empty as you stared into the windows of the skyscraper across the street when the sound of a knock echoed down your short hall.

Groaning in annoyance as you got up you began making your way to the door, chewing the inside of your cheek as your feet shuffled below you. 

You weren't sure who you were expecting to be in the hall but it completely caught you by surprise when you swung the door open to see the dark haired woman waiting for you.

Without a word Rhea launched herself onto your lips, the force causing you to be pushed back a few inches.

Jesus Christ.

This felt like more than just a kiss, it had an intense amount of passion intertwined into it. Rhea’s hands gripped onto your waist as you backed into the apartment, her foot kicking the door behind her closed.

She had never kissed you in this way before. Before tonight you had only received measly pecks while the two of you had sex. It was never emotional.

Rhea slowly pulled away from your lips, both of your breaths were heavy as she finally spoke, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Finally.

“God, I’ve treated you like shit and I have been such a dick. It’s been the only thing on my mind. You don’t deserve that, It’s not okay.” Rhea began rambling as you stared into each other's eyes. “I get it if you never want to see me again but please just give me a chance, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll get my temperament under control, I’ll go to therapy, whatever you say I will do it.”

“Rhea-” You whispered, trying to calm her down but she continued her rant. 

“I want to know you, more than just your body. I wanna know everything, The good, the bad, the boring…I wanna know what pisses you off and what makes you cry. I don’t know why I kept you a stranger for so long and I’m sorry for that.”

You led Rhea into your small living room as you listened to her rambling. You took a seat in your chaiser lounge and ushered her to sit in front of you as her speech continued on. “I don’t know why I ran away…I think it's cause I didn't want to hurt you. But I did hurt you, so badly. I don’t want to run away anymore, I had no right to ever hurt you the way I did, just for me to leave you alone right after. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done and I’ll never forgive myself for it. It’s just that I-”

“Rhea!” You slightly raised your voice causing Rhea to finally close her mouth. You leaned closer to her, placing a quick and gentle kiss on her lips. “You’re okay, don’t worry.” You comforted the woman, softly chuckling.

“I didn’t interrupt your night did I?” Rhea asked, slightly nervous as she scootched up closer to you. You shook your head no as a smile creeped on your face.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to end up in a heated makeout session, your hands roaming over one another's clothing. Rhea groaned your name against your lips before pulling back just a few centimeters. 

“Please let me show you how sorry I am.” She practically pleaded, her eyes full of desperation, “Yes please” you quietly giggled, your eyes adoring the woman's face. The second Rhea heard the word yes echo from your mouth her lips went straight for your neck, causing a whimper to escape from you. 

Rhea took her time as she kissed upon your neck, carefully leaving soft love bites every so often, marking the skin a flushed pink shade. Her lips only leaving your skin as she pulled off your sweater before she began peckering kisses against your collarbones.

Her hands crept behind your back, unclasping your bra and pulling it from your chest. Your fingers grazed upon Rhea’s tense shoulders as she left a path of kisses down your torso.

As Rhea’s face reached the base of your stomach, her eyes fixated on your face as if she was asking for your blessing. You gave her a nod before lifting your hips into the air, allowing her to slide your sweatpants off your legs. 

 “Rhea, please,” You whined out while Rhea’s fingers toyed with the seam of your panties. Rhea grinned to herself as she slowly shed the final layer of clothing off your body. 

The woman wasted no time connecting her mouth to your heat, causing you to let out a breathy moan. “So fucking beautiful…” Rhea praised against your skin.

Truthfully, her tongue felt like heaven as it worked its way around your wetness. Rhea didn't want to rush you. This wasn't for her, she just wanted to make sure you knew she had the ability in her to change for the better.

Your breaths picked up their pace as Rhea’s hand inched its way closer to your core. Her ring and middle finger traced a circle around the perimeter of your entrance before slowly being pushed into you.

“Shit,” You whined out, your back arching as both Rhea’s tongue and digits worked their magic on you. Although you enjoyed roughhousing with the woman, you undoubtedly appreciated the amount of care Rhea was putting into you.

You were a whimpering mess under Rhea’s touch, and she loved every small sound that escaped from your mouth.

“More! Please, I can take it!” You begged for more of her. Rhea obliged, sliding her pointer finger into your tightness causing you to roll your eyes back as her fingers filled your insides.

“That’s it baby,” Rhea preached quietly when your hips began to rock against her fingers, your moans filling the room. “Such a good girl for me.” She added on before her tongue got back to sailing over your clit, her fingers picking up their pace.

Your legs tightened around Rhea’s head as your orgasm quickly approached. “C’mon sweet girl, let go.” Rhea’s encouraging words were muffled, your walls clenched around her curling fingers. 

“Fuck Rhea!” You squealed out as the knot that filled your stomach released onto Rhea’s fingers. Your hips twitched into the air as the fingers inside of you helped you ride out your climax. 

Rhea was grinning ear-to-ear as she slowly pulled her fingers out of your hole. She groaned in pleasure, licking her fingers clean. 

She soon brought her face to meet yours, her plumped lips giving your jaw a kiss before whispering in your ear.

“How’s that for an apology, hm?”

Chapter Taglist: @babybatlover @whiteleoqueen @luvvleah @lovingperson1

[nekovmancer]

Broken porcelain

pairing: Ramattra x f!reader  prompt: sexual tension when tending to someone's wound from this list warnings: semi-nsfw, mentions of blood, injuries, semi-nudity, swearing, reader being a bit masochist etc etc word count: 2272 a/n: backstreet's back, alright! and finally. 😎 I’ve been a bitch with a big B for Ramattra over the past couple months, and of course I had to write a piece on that robot guy. He gives me… feels I can’t explain. So, for all my fellow robot fuckers, hope you enjoy reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing! Feedback is always appreciated and please please please send an ask, a chat, anything so we can talk about this big guy and more fanfiction prompts. 😭 also on ao3!

Who would ever say to be a human amongst killing machines would, impressively, be a dreadly task? Or deadly, you would remark to yourself after a long walk of dragging your wounded body through the corridors from the training field to Ramattra’s personal workshop. At least, those new assassin omnics would perform their duties impeccably, you could tell from the way they cut through your skin without a single issue.

The wound was still covered under the thin layer of the tank top you have on, the white fabric damp of crimson blood denouncing something went terribly wrong, not to mention the pained expression contorting your face. 

As soon as he eyes your state, if Ramattra could bring a worried expression to the surface of his faceplate, he would, a mirror to the torment running through his systems. He was an engineer, not a human healer, but you needed him to act more as such in the present moment if you’re both willing for you to stay alive, which you indeed were. 

Growing impatient, not to mention the pain reaching under your skin, you adjust yourself slowly on top of his workbench, holding your side to prevent any further damage. Your fingers get moist with blood, and that has your lips twitching. “Can you fix me or not?” 

“That depends on your meaning of fixing,” he states, a stoic demeanor on the outside despite feeling quite the opposite inside. Feeling. Something he didn’t think to be inclined to, at least not when those diverged from the violence he was shaped to perform as a being… and yet, here they are, as foreign to him as the surgical aspects of flesh and bone. “I can’t weld you, obviously. At least, not as a first resource,” his slight humor brings a faint smirk to your lips, slowly shaking your head in a quiet response. In a lighter tone, Ramattra proceeds, and now it’s definitely a command. “I would like to have a closer look.”

Quietness follows, not as fast as the warmth spreading from your neck to the tip of your ears. To say you hadn’t considered you’d need to remove your shirt was unnecessary, in front of him of all people, ‘cause you’d rather overcome your own fear of blood if a second thought had you aware of the chances before. But as the old saying remarked: if you are in hell already, just go and sit on the goddamn devil’s lap.

Proceeding a thick swallow, you do as you’re told, diverting your eyes to a corner to avoid examining the cut yourself, or to avert them from Ramattra’s, anything and everything were an excuse in such a situation. It hurt just enough to be something you knew you couldn't handle alone, and considering how sharp that assassin’s knives were… fuck’s sake, what a weak fool you were.

On the other hand, at the sight of your almost bare torso, Ramattra felt inexplicably tense. The wound itself was not too deep to reach anything vital, but would need a patch up indeed in order to heal properly. Yet, his sight wasn’t restrained to that minor part of your skin, and that’s when tension was found. Maybe the vocabulary wasn’t a perfect fit, ‘cause that jolt of electricity running through his circuits was something else, something as sublime as the curve of your hips, and the way you shallow breaths of anticipation had your body quivering, despite an enormous strength to keep it still. He could hardly find beauty in human beings, and let’s not even mention himself, but that was a whole different scenario… warm, with a hint of degradation he couldn’t ignore, and something that could only be named as akin to desire. 

The silence was killing you now, almost making you forget the very pain which brought you there in the first place. “Will we be helding any funerals?” you risk, in the same light humor he used with you before. At least, if you didn’t consider the shaking tone in each syllable you’d pronounced. You thought Ramattra couldn’t  never understand your concerns fully, even if he invested all his force to: if the worst happened, he could be reconstructed, you were there for it after all. But as a human, it’s not like you have a respawn chance anytime. That’s why, aside the anxiety turning your stomach into a knot, you needed him to act. 

“You speak as if it's more severe than it is in fact,” he muses, tilting his head as the scanners on his optics do the rest of the work, searching for the right proceeding in a shared data file, where he was hoping to get anything from an omnic model whose initial propose, contrasting his, was to heal, not to kill. “No funerals, you have my word. The pain may be harsh, but the wound itself is of little harm in the bigger picture. You’re safe,” the addition of the last sentence has you sighing in relief, and a pinch of pain reaches you once more, but it’s bearable. Ramattra made you feel protected, or better, cared for. The warm feeling is enough to soothe your anxiety, dissipating the chill air in the workshop for a little while before rushing up to your cheeks as you’re reminded you’re still half naked in front of him. 

“Lay,” he commands, and your breath gets caught in your throat in the act. Only if your mouth were open, your heart would surely jump out if it during one of its chaotic heartbeats, contrasting the steady tone on Ramattra’s voicebox, echoing those words without a single trace of malice. But when they hit you, they sounded profane, leaving a delicate trace of forbidden to the tip of your tongue. 

You curse your mind as you lay down, a shiver erupting from the contact of warm skin to the cold metal of his workbench’s surface. Fuck, he’s your commander, superior office or whatever goes between you both, your boss to be short. Thing is he saw a purpose for you and spared your life long ago, and that purpose goddamn sure didn’t imply any… deeper contact than the occasional intellectual help you provided, with efficient (and smaller) hands and a cunning mind. After all, no Ravager was made to indulge in such a thing as intimacy, the very same thought cursing through Ramattra’s systems right now. He wasn’t built for delicacy, a single gentle touch for his standards would be brutal enough to leave you bruised for days, and how he would lament to see such perfect skin ruined by his own hands… unbearable to even think of it without feeling a strange sensation housing between his metallic limbs, pushing further inside in search of a bloody beating heart among the cold hardware. 

It wasn’t the first time he felt unsure in his existence, but that was a whole new thing. To think one like him was able to possess a spirit tender enough to be mesmerized by such a fragile thing as you touched him not physically, but deeper than it could ever be… how thrilling it was, but insufficient to make him search for its source on his internal data to completely erase it. No, never. He was actually holding into it with every fiber of his soul, curious to see which path it would lead him through. A bit embarrassing, at first impression, like the sight of you would burn his optics until they melt.

After all these years working along, was it there all the time? Within him, within you? He would search for it later, revisiting each time you shared each other's company in his memory, to see where a quiet admiration turned into this. 

After gathering the resources to fix you, ensuring everything was sterilized, he turned to sight over your form once more. Ramattra could sense the rapid heartbeat against your chest controlling your breath motions, the rising and falling of your chest following along, where he caught a peek of your nipples drawing a small circle under the fabric of your top, the last barrier between him and your fully exposed torso. Thankfully, unlike any human, his faceplate didn't betray any of his thoughts. They’re guarded within his systems, safe in his memory and imprinted there forever. Nothing could ever make him forget of you, nor time, nor enemies, nor… fuck, the injury. 

“It would feel better if you were asleep,” he commences, carefully. You’re already scared for it seems, and it’s not on his wishes to make it worse. “Instead, I will ask you to bite on this,” the discarded cloth of your tank top is brought to your lips, and your heart could have stopped right there. Instead, avoiding the disbelief, you silently obey. “Try not to move. I shall be slow.”

A nod follows, and you gather your best to not whine, or flinch, or sob too much when his hands begin to work, stitching the wound close. Whatever sounds leaving your mouth are muffled, and the pain is great. But erotic. And, fuck, you should be loosing your mind by this point. How could your brain process such agony in a pleasurable way? You’d be blaming the omnic in charge of patching you up, for sure. It was him, after all, all about him. 

Ramattra was enormous, and the effort he put in each precise movement didn’t go unnoticed. He could have discarded you, blamed you for your mistakes, assigned anyone else to deal with this bullshit, but there he was: the infamous Null Sector leader, treating you as a precious porcelain tea-cup, once broken, now being patched in threads of gold, despite the gold being metaphorical. It was a form of art, wasn’t it? You’ve read of it somewhere, once. If so, right now, you’re his masterpiece.

To say he’s being delicate is a statement. Ramattra is afraid he could shatter you again, worse than they did with you before. The responsible for it would be severely corrected, later of course. The pads on his fingertips could never be soft as your skin feels under them, and an eagerness to venture further brings a shiver of electricity through his spine. Should he ever be thinking of it in your state? In fact, was it reasonable to have you consuming his memory like this, injured or not? What could be a groan echoes from his voicebox, and within a few long minutes, it was done. 

Your jaw clenches to the minimum effort of raising your torso, sitting on his workbench once more as a small discomfort to the newly sewn cut emerges. Covered in bandages, you can’t see his work, but there’s no blood and the pain is moderate, so you trust with your eyes closed it’s perfectly fine. Your shirt is sitting by your side, bloodied and wet from your own saliva, but you don’t mention reaching for it. 

Blinking, your eyes search for him, meeting the stoic faceplate turned to you. Silence lingers as you both stare at each other, considering every single thought that coursed through your minds during the late couple of hours. Was it genuine? Absolutely. Would you voice them? No, surely not. Tension is still there, so palpable you could touch it, and shattering it would come with a price. 

A small blush color your cheeks red, and you finally manage to break eye contact with a hint of timidity. Too much to ask of you for a little time of strong, contrasting emotions, still tickling under your skin as the adrenaline begins to sparse. Clearing your throat, you’re the first to speak. “I apologize,” it begins as simple as it, almost ending the sentence there as your eyes don’t dare to move from your lap and you choose carefully what to say, and what to keep to yourself. Ramattra may have performed a solid progress towards emotions, but you feared he would fail to comprehend the turmoil in yours. “It wasn’t strict of your concern, nor a matter you should care for as you did, and I-”

“I had to,” he cut you off, sternly. Now that you’re safe, his worries tend to other subjects, still resonating over you. Was he too obvious, despite his best efforts? Couldn’t be, and yet he wished fervently for you to point it out, verbalizing what he was too afraid to: he wanted to keep you close, and safe, more than he ever did. “Whatever happens to you is my business, especially if it's a menace to your well being,” Ramattra takes a step closer, his fingers aching to reach for your face, and soothe that sorry expression out of it. Instead, he keeps them to his sides, clenching them a fist. “So don’t apologize for it. It wasn’t your fault, in the first place, and yet I’ll ask you to be careful and not wander over the training field whenever a new IA is being tested.”

A short nod follows a faint smile. His words were gentle, not explicitly voicing what he meant in between the lines, but you knew it nonetheless. Ramattra cared for you, more than you could have thought, and enough to satisfy your heart. “I don’t even know how to begin thanking you.”

“Dressing will do,” a chuckle reverberated in his metallic rib cage, and if his words alone wouldn’t catch you yet, it would be enough to make your face red as a cherry for, somehow, you were able to sense a trace of malice in Ramattra. “Rest now, human. I shall meet you when the day is done.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOUR

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.8+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

4:00 ──ㅇ──────────────── 24:00

BIRDIE created a groupchat. 

BIRDIE added DINGUS, NANCE, JOHNNY, & ARGYLE 😎

DINGUS: why the fuck is my name dingus

BIRDIE: so… are we going to talk about how in love they look in that photo?

NANCE: Eddie looks like he’s going to commit a federal crime, Robin.

DINGUS: how do i change my name

ARGYLE 😎: a sign of true love my friends

BIRDIE: @NANCE SEE? he gets it. 

JOHNNY: Is this chat really necessary? 

DINGUS: guys seriously. how the fuck do i change my name?

—

HOUR FOUR - 7:00 PM

Let the record show that you don’t normally care about Lord of the Rings. You’d seen the movies out of obligation to your friends, nothing more, nothing less. You usually held complete indifference towards the trilogy. As a matter of fact, you’d nearly given Robin an aneurysm the day you’d informed them all you preferred the Hobbit trilogy over the original movies. 

Eddie, it seems, holds a similar sentiment to Robin. 

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” he sighs dramatically, sinking into the couch and looking far more comfortable than he had previously. A bottle of cheap beer dangles carelessly in his hand. He’d decided to grab both of you one the moment this argument had begun, “You casually bring up Gandalf, and then you proceed to have the worst opinions on the greatest franchise of all time. A crime against humanity.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely through genuine laughter. 

You were laughing. You were sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch, in his apartment, laughing with him rather than at him. It was a fluke in the system, a blip in the Universe. You tell yourself it’s just the effects of the beer. 

“What’s next? You tell me you prefer Star Wars over Star Trek? Or, let me guess, you’ve never read the books?” 

He looks nice like this, at ease. This hour might be setting the track record for the longest the two of you had gone without insulting one another, and you begin to wonder why you’d never been able to hold such a civil conversation with him before tonight. The two of you might not be agreeing or seeing completely eye to eye, but there was enough agreement to keep the entire debate chugging along. 

He notices your silence as you take a sip of the beer you’ve nearly polished off, smirking around the rim of it, a bit of beer lingering at the corner of your mouth. “Oh my God. You’ve never read the books.” 

“I never said that!”

“You never said you did!”

Your mouth is open, fighting back at the curl of the corners, unable to defend yourself because he was right. “I- Who even reads anymore?” 

“Excuse me?” his voice pitches as he sits up straight suddenly, “Oh, no. There’s no way you just said that. There’s no way you don’t read.” 

You shrug, and his beer is quickly set to the side. 

“C’mon, everyone reads. You’ve got to have a guilty pleasure book.” 

“Nope,” you tuck your bottle between your thighs, and catch the way his eyes had followed the bottle before snapping back to yours, “I just prefer the movies, I guess.” 

“No one prefers the movies. You’re a goddamn liar,” he shakes his head and some of the frizzy curls fall against his collar bones rather than continuing to tickle his shoulders, “You have to read something. Romance novels, boring essays, the news. Hell, even magazines or that written porn shi-” he cuts off when you smile at the mention of magazines. “Why are you smiling like that? Stop it. It’s creepy. Do you read those porno books?”

“God, no,” you laugh. A lie - you’d certainly read excerpts from Fifty Shades of Grey he was referencing to understand what the hype was to no prevail, “Just ironic you bring up magazines. You probably consider yourself a real connoisseur, don’t you?” 

He flushes crimson. His cheeks that had tinged pink from the warmth of the beer are now flaming red. “I have no idea what you mean.”

He clearly did. 

“Right,” you drawl, “So which article in that Playboy caught your eye? The one about the psychological deep dive into what makes sex so great, or the interview with that one porn star? No, wait, I got it! It was totally the one that gave fifteen ways to drive a girl crazy-”

“It’s not a fucking Seventeen magazine,” he snaps, but the malice in his voice is dull, “There’s no lists on how to get the girl, it’s a porn ‘zine, Jesus H. Christ.” 

“I know that, do you?” you press, reveling in the brush crawling its way down the side of his neck. 

He runs a hand over his face, groaning, “I’m not even going to entertain you with an answer. Fuck off.” 

“Do you just ignore all the photos of the beautiful women?” you don’t hold back your teasing, subconsciously leaning his way as your voice lilts with sarcasm, “Ignoring all those bushes? Or maybe you just prefer the Brazilian cut?” 

“I liked it better when we were talking about your illiteracy,” he deadpans, staring straight ahead at his entertainment center. 

“I never said I couldn’t read, just that I choose not to most of the time,” you finally pull back a bit, scared to push it all too far. You pull your legs up beneath you on the couch and move the beer that has gone warm to the table on the opposite end as his, “Sue me for trying to make friendly conversation.” 

You await his expected response about how this was not friendly conversation. You start to do mental gymnastics of a way to bring up the specific model he had marked the pages of, of the eerie resemblance she bears to you and a way to push his buttons regarding it. This conversation was following your script, not his.

Or at least, it was. 

“Fine. I prefer the bush, I always find the lack of hair kind of weird,” he says, throwing you off your game effectively. He stares at you with now expecting eyes, “What about you?”

You’re grateful you’d stopped nursing the beer, or you surely would have choked, “What?” 

“What’s your preference?” he clarifies, not backing down, “On yourself, on partners. Whatever.” 

“I- I don’t- I never-” you stumble over your words, at a complete loss for an answer. It only makes him smirk as he’s now the one leaning in closer, close enough to catch the smell of his cologne concentrated on him. 

You hadn’t realized you’d adjusted the boyish smell of the apartment until this very moment. 

“See? Not so fun when you’re the one getting asked the personal questions.” 

He’s right – you shouldn’t dish out what you can’t handle him throwing back into your face. 

“Fine,” you mimic him, squaring your shoulders, “Bush.”

“On yourself or others?” 

“Myself,” there was no use in being shy now, “But also on, uh, partners. Kind of unfair to expect something from someone I wouldn’t give in return.” 

He nods in surprising consideration at the notion. His face twists as if he’s taking words you’d thrown out there so carelessly to heart, as if there’s some hidden message that even you hadn’t realized was laced in the notion. For a moment, you start to believe he’s committing the words to memory before he answers you. 

“That’s fair,” is all he says. 

A moment of intense thought for that?

“What? That’s all you’ve got to say?” you scoff, and busy yourself with the beer again out of nerves. It’s warm and bitter on your tongue, but it’s better than looking him in the eyes. Warm, honey eyes you’d never really cared to notice before.

“Yeah,” he lifts his shoulders into an offhand shrug, “I mean, what else is there to say? Like you said, you can’t expect something from someone you can’t return.” 

Another silence drags out, and this time, it’s stifling. You never thought you’d live to see the day where Eddie being quiet would bother you, but it does. The lack of words in the air is leaving too much room for thought from both of you. It’s giving you too much time to think on those warm, honey eyes and those damn dimples. Trivial things about Eddie that you don’t care to remember past tonight. 

“My friend collects vintage Playboys,” you blurt out, internally cursing yourself immediately. What a stupid conversation segway. 

Should have teased him about the dog-eared pages, you regretfully think as you dare to look his way. 

His face is surprisingly smooth, eyebrows quirking up into the frayed edges of his bangs, “Oh really?”

You nod, “Yeah. Hell of a lot more bushes in the seventies.” 

A lot less of that model you like, you silently add, once more not voicing that concern out loud.

The dimples return. Those fucking dimples. “Hm, guess I should check them out, then.” 

“She collects them for aesthetic purposes,” you continue to ramble, filling the air, unsure of why you’re even defending yourself. You’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to dissect the small piece of your life you’ve offered, “It’s… It’s really cool, actually.”  

“It sounds cool,” he agrees gently. 

The other shoe is left dangling in the air, if it even continues to exist. 

You think about his earlier question, of whether you really wanted to keep up a miserable act for the entire twenty four hours. If the last hour hadn’t already solidified your answer, you knew now for a matter of fact that he had a point, even if he did proceed to insult you after the question. You didn’t want to spend this time miserable. The passing of time came easier when it was like this, all rounded-edged banter and friendly words exchanged. When Eddie Munson wasn’t being an asshole and making personal digs at you, he was actually a nice person to have around. 

You’d never tell him that, of course.

“It’s why I collect all that,” he motions his hand towards the shelving of figurines and trinkets, “I just think it’s cool, you know? I… Uh, I sort of lied earlier. Most of that shit isn’t that expensive. But it’s not about how much it’s worth money-wise, it’s just worth a lot to… to me.” 

A glimpse of crimson, a flash of vulnerability that proves that Eddie has a heart just as you do. It beats erratically, and it can bleed just the same. 

“That makes sense,” you offer in response. You may not get it, but you wouldn’t push his buttons on the topic. They may be nothing but clutter from your perspective, but the same could be said about the vintage Playboys your friend collects. The same could be said about plenty of things that are sentimental to you. “Doesn’t it get creepy, though? Like, you bring home a girl-”

“Or a guy,” he interjects, making you smile. 

“You bring home a girl, or a guy, and you’ve just got Gandalf staring you down while you make a move. Or… Or, Darth Vader?” you squint to pinpoint another figurine, “Is that Darth Vader? Didn’t you say Star Trek is better than Star Wars?” 

“Never said that,” he points at you with a tilt of his head, “I just don’t prefer Star Wars over Star Trek.”

“Have you seen Star Wars? It’s way more entertaining.” 

“Have you seen Star Trek?” he counters, but it’s clearly rhetorical as he continues on, “I like both. Having a preference for one doesn’t mean I’m completely against the other. Besides, the light saber effects are fucking incredible.” 

“So you prefer the prequels?” you ask eagerly. 

“I guess. I mean, the original trilogy is still badass and a classic,” he stands abruptly, and you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, but he just walks over to the Darth Vader figurine to pick it up and bring it back over with him as he flings down onto the couch, now several spaces closer to you rather than opposing ends, “It’s kind of hard to beat the ‘Luke, I am your father’ reveal,” his voice dips down to a deep tone, a fairly spot on impersonation, “But it was also nice seeing his origin story.” 

“Plus Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen are gorgeous,” you add, almost daring to lean over and bump shoulders with him. But you don’t. You keep what little space remains between the two of you. 

“Of course,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “The eye candy is what gets you.” 

“And the cool effects!”

“Right. Next you’re going to say you definitely watched for the plot, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“And the plot’s name just happens to be Ewan.” 

You bite down the grin that starts to ache your cheeks, because you’re not supposed to smile around Eddie this much. “Now you’re getting it.” 

The hand holding the Darth Vader figurine suddenly thrusts out in your direction, and you find yourself jumping a bit. When you don’t take it, he waves it around a bit, raising an eyebrow, “It doesn’t bite, you know.” 

“You said to not touch your shit.”

It’s a pathetic lie, you both know it. But he doesn’t know how scared you are to brush fingertips with him, how the way his arm being so close has electricity buzzing from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head. One small shift, one outreached hand, and your skin would brush his. 

It would surely be nuclear. An explosion with no survivors, least of all you. 

“Oh, c’mon. You’ve disregarded that rule the entire time, why start being a goody two shoes now?” he teases. 

Which is fine, except Eddie teases a certain way – with his entire body. His knee knocks into yours, he leans into your space, a boyish grin spreads over his lips. You’ve seen him dance around this kind of lighthearted conversation with everyone else in your friend group except you. It’s uncharted territory, and your heart nearly breaks out of your chest from its rapid racing.

You’re just lucky that there’s two layers of jeans between your knees. The nuclear explosion will have to wait for another day.

Instead of an answer, you reach out and grab the figurine nimbly by the small leg. Your fingertips narrowly evade Eddie’s and you’re eternally grateful and his arm retracts. You poke and prod, gently wiggling the red, flexible stick that serves as his lightsaber and pinch at the edges of his cape. 

In your silence, Eddie speaks, “It’s not a crazy collectible or anything, like I said. It probably would have been more valuable to keep it in its packaging, but one time Wheeler brought his little sister over while they were in town, and she wanted to see him out of the box, so I took him out. You know Wheeler, right?” 

You shake your head, inspecting the figurine even closer now. It still looks brand new; you’d never be able to tell that a child, presumably, had played with the ‘toy’. 

“Oh,” Eddie looks taken back, faltering slightly, “Sorry, I- I just sort of assumed that…. You, uh…. You had met Steve’s children.” 

“Oh!” your head shoots up from where your nose had been nearly pressed into the figure, taking in the detailing of the chest piece, “You mean Mike? I’ve heard about him, yeah. Just in passing, though.”

There’s more for Eddie to say, it’s clear in the way his mouth falls open with the corners quirked, but then you’re interrupted by a phone ringing. 

Your phone. 

Steve’s contact photo occupies the screen for the second time tonight, a ridiculous photo of him scowling at the camera in a yellow jumper while holding a can of pringles in front of him, one of his hands bringing a single chip to his pouting lips. 

“Let me answer it,” Eddie insists, holding out his hand as you stare down at the phone, still chiming annoyingly. 

“Were they supposed to call this often?” you ask, knowing well enough that Eddie didn’t have the answer. 

His hand waves in impatience, and you don’t put up a fight as you let him take the phone and swipe the answering bar, focusing instead on the Darth Vader discarded into your lap as he puts the call on speaker. 

“Hello?” Eddie answers in a chirpy tone. 

“How many times do we have to te- hold on. Munson?” Steve starts off aggressive, but his tone melts into confusion, “Why the hell are you answering her phone?” 

“Because I’ve murdered her,” he flatly replies, but his face doesn’t match his tone at all. 

He fucking winks at you. Your grip on Darth Vader tightens until you’re afraid you're about to snap it. 

“Not funny.”

“Not a joke.”

“Where is she, Eddie?” Steve sighs like an irritated parent, in no mood for games, “Please tell me you didn’t manage to make her lock herself in a room again.” 

“I told you. She’s gone. Sacrificed to the Dark Lord or whatever. Just got to go dump her body in the lake-”

You shouldn’t joke along with him, but you still whisper the correction of, “The canals.” 

“Sorry, I mean the canals.”

Another deep sigh. You can picture the way Steve was currently pinching the bridge of his nose at the two of you. 

“I heard her, you idiot. Now that we know you’re both clearly alive and well…. Where the hell is our photo proof?” 

You both share a look, and you quickly mouth, already?  

Eddie shrugs and mouths back, I guess. 

“We lost track of time,” you finally say out loud, still locked in eye contact with Eddie. His brown eyes are surprisingly captivating, several autumn shades all woven together. Burnt orange leaves, red apples, brown sweaters. You never thought you’d be able to see a season in someone’s irises, yet here you were, picturing it clear as day. “Let us hang up and we’ll send the photo.” 

Steve starts to speak, but Eddie’s thumb is quick to end the call. The moment your lock screen stares back at both of you, you look at the time. 

7:41. Shit. 

“Oops,” Eddie whispers as he hands the phone back over, “They really gave us quite the grace period that time.” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, quickly opening your damn camera app. “So, how do we want to do this one?” 

Eddie thinks for a moment before he launches himself back to his side of the couch, and motions for you to toss him your phone. 

And once again, you put your faith in him, not even hesitating this time. 

It happens naturally; you both mirror each other, drawing up your knees, your sock-clad toes bumping firmly against one another. Your back is supported by the worn arm behind you, similar to how Eddie’s is, as you face him. 

He quickly angles the camera towards you, sticking a hand out into the frame while raising his middle finger. You don’t know what to do, so one hand holds up the Darth Vader as the other mimics flipping him off. 

A soft click from your phone. The photo’s taken, and you’re not even sure if you were smiling. 

“Trade,” he leans forward, one hand holding out your phone, the other reaching out for Darth Vader. 

You oblige, and go through the same process for his photo. His white socks contrast your black ones, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards no matter how hard of a line he presses them into. You can’t look at him directly, and settle for watching him through the screen as you hit the small grey button to snap the photo. 

Just as quickly as he had shoved away from you, he’s back at your side, watching you send off the photos to the group chat with a thumbs up emoji. You take a deep breath, scanning over the pair of photos until it’s confirmed that they’re delivered, and lock your phone. Your brows are furrowed in your reflection staring back at you through the black screen. 

“Do you really want to keep up the miserable act the entire twenty four hours?” Eddie’s voice echoes in your mind. 

No, you don’t. No matter how wrong this levity with Eddie feels, no matter how uncomfortable it is each time you remember that he’s meant to be the enemy and not someone to share laughter and smiles with, you don’t want to waste these remaining twenty hours being miserable. 

“What’s up?” Eddie’s actual voice echoes in real time as you continue to stare at your reflection.

“Just thinking,” you grunt. The thought of admitting your decision to Eddie is much more intimidating than simply acknowledging it to yourself. 

“Dangerous.” 

Instead of quipping something rude back, you decide to be vulnerable with Eddie. You decide to crack yourself open just a small bit, just as he had done microscopically when he spoke of his collection of items. It’s a dangerous gamble, and you don’t give yourself the chance to overthink it. 

“You were right, earlier,” you force the words out, fighting the way they try to cling onto your tongue and remain safely in your throat. 

“About… what?” He looks distrusting, and for good reason. He said plenty of things earlier - you could be preparing to remind him of any number of rude things he’d spewed. 

“About keeping up the miserable act,” you explain, turning your head to him and abandoning the phone, “You were right. I don’t want to be miserable this entire time. It… It goes by faster when we’re not about to strangle each other, believe it or not.” 

You swear you see his shoulders sag in relief. “Well, yeah, I could have told you that. I did tell you that, actually.” 

“Shut up,” you force a scowl, “My point is… I don’t know, maybe, we could try to- try to just- we could be-”

“Civil?” he finishes the sentence you stumble over. 

You nod, “Yeah. We could be civil.”

The word feels foreign on your tongue. Civility was not something you’d ever considered with Eddie, but the last hour had proven it to be possible. 

“Okay,” he nods along with you. He turns his entire body to face you, knees once again bumping as he sticks out a hand for you to shake, “Deal. We will try to be civil the rest of the time.” 

“Civil,” you repeat yourself again, more sure this time, still staring at his offered hand.

An olive branch. The opportunity to work together to survive the next twenty hours. The opportunity for his bare skin against yours. 

You think again of nuclear explosions and pulsing electricity, of open chests and matching scarlets, of smashing glasses against walls and ruined parties, of wounds healing over in scar tissues as they glow a gentle pink.

Civil. You wonder if that’s one of the words they’ll include on your gravestone as you reach out your hand and let Eddie’s palm meet yours. 

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taglist is now closed.

[shadowqueenjude]

A rant from Eris if he finds out how Cassian treated Nesta

Eris: What the hell is wrong with you people? Rhysand: Excuse me? Eris: You have the chance to befriend a goddess in a Fae body, and you lock her in a house when she's depressed? Are you insane? Rhysand: Now see, she was wasting away- Eris: And, what, you thought locking her away was the SOLUTION? Rhysand: I had to do something! She was spending my money! Eris: Oh shut up Reece's Piece of shit. Don't complain about money like you don't have 5 fucking palaces you dickhead. If Nesta asked for my money, I'd have said, whatever you wish, queen!" Rhysand: That's because you didn't see her- Eris: I saw her when she was just made before you morons even knew what she was. And I'm not talking about her silver flames. She made all the High Lords listen. Even my father. A human just turned Fae. How dare you treat her like she's something to be ashamed of? That brute had her hike a MOUNTAIN? Those flawless feet should not have to do any manual labor. Rhysand: She revealed our secrets to Feyre. Eris: Yeah, the malignant pregnancy. Why the hell wasn't Feyre being informed anyway? Nesta was completely right to tell her. You're worse than my father, Rhysand. Rhysand: How dare you- Eris: Did I give you permission to speak, you Illyrian brute? At least my father would've tried to save his wife from the unborn child. He would've yeeted that mfer out as soon as he or she appeared. But you didn't do shit to try and protect the mother. No, you were more concerned about the goddamn egg. Rhysand: How dare you speak to me this way- Eris: You GASLIGHTED her into believing she's worthless, all while making her complete the tasks of a HIGH LADY by going after the Dread Trove. And when she was at her lowest, she inspired an entire library of traumatized priestesses to rise up and restore the Valkyries. And you dare treat her that way? You don't even realize the treasure you have. I would've made her my High Lady without hesitation. Matter of fact, I think I'll call the Blood Duel for her. Rhysand: You'd better not try anything, Eris, or I swear... Eris: You'll what? Kill me? Didn't Lucien tell you? Death threats are simply another Sunday evening while growing up with Beron as a father. Fucking try me, bitch. You should be grateful I spared your little Morrigan from her father after you forced him on her. Rhysand: What do you think you're d- Eris: I'll see you at the blood duel!

@thatlosernoonelikes This is Eris's part of the rant!

[tgcg]

argument

its a big one

TG: alright this is probably a bust

TG: more i think about it how the fuck do you even make a marinara

TG: can i even alchemise cheese or do i gotta like alchemise the milk and curdle it myself

TG: how do you even curdle

====================

TG: make a goddamn

TG: curgler

TG: whatever

TG: internet archive gonna pull through

====================

CG: ALRIGHT DAVE

TG: shit

====================

CG: YOU BETTER BACK THE FUCK OFF. I DON'T KNOW WHERE IN BULGEMUNCHING VIRULENT FUCK YOU GET THE IDEA YOU HAVE ANY RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD THINK ABOUT MY OWN GODDAMN PLANET. SORRY TO HAVE TO DEAL A BLOW TO YOUR IMPOSSIBLY INFLATED FUCKING EGO, BUT HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED THAT YOUR SIDE-EYE SLACKJAW HOPELESS DEADPAN BULLSHIT BEHAVIOUR IS ACTUALLY INCREDIBLY FUCKING CONTEMPTIBLE AND DOESN'T PUT YOU ABOVE OTHER PEOPLE? HAVE YOU CONSIDERED THAT?

CG: OR DID YOU JUST ASSUME FROM THE MOMENT YOU FOUND OUT I'M A REVOLTING FUCKING MUTANT LOWBLOOD FREAK THAT I'M SUDDENLY NOT ALLOWED TO LIKE THE IDEA OF MY LIFE MEANING SOMETHING AT SOME POINT?

TG: okay you are wildly misquoting me where the fuck did that come from

TG: also you scared the hell out of me

TG: im just trying to science some pizza here

====================

CG: OKAY THEN, DAVE! EXPLAIN TO ME AS WELL AS YOUR AMBLING ONE-NOTE SMOOTH EXCUSE FOR A 'THOUGHT'SPONGE CAN

CG: IN SOMEWHAT COHERENT TERMS, ALTHOUGH I KNOW THAT'S A TALL ORDER:

CG: HOW YOU SAYING MY ADOLESCENT DREAMS OF BECOMING A THRESHECUTIONER ARE "FUCKED UP AND IRONIC IN A NASTY ASS WAY" DOESN'T QUALIFY AS UNDERHANDEDLY KICKING ME IN THE MANDIBLE PRONGS!

CG: YOUR AUDIENCE AWAITS YOU WITH BATED BREATH! TAKE IT AWAY, M.C. BRAIN HEMORRHAGE.

====================

TG: okay i dont

TG: know how you got a hold of that phrasing because i said that shit in confidence

TG: get out of my business bro

CG: NEWSFLASH, ASSHOLE: THIS METEOR IS A PHYSICAL, LITERAL LOCATION WE'RE BOTH IN. IT'S NOT A FUCKING PRIVATE CHATROOM. THIS MIGHT BLOW YOUR PITIFUL MIND BUT PEOPLE CAN ACTUALLY HEAR OTHER PEOPLE TALK WHEN THEY HAVE TO SHARE A SPACE! BRO!

TG: ugh

====================

CG: AND IT'S VERY INTERESTING YOU ACCUSE ME OF MISQUOTING YOU, AND THEN SUDDENLY TURN AND SPOUT FROM THAT SHITTY DRONING GROANSHAFT OF YOURS THAT I'M INVADING YOUR PRIVACY WHEN I DIRECTLY QUOTE YOUR SMARMY LITTLE SHAMEGLOBES!

CG: WOW! TURNS OUT KARKAT IS ACTUALLY BEING GENUINELY FUCKING UPSET ABOUT SOMETHING — WHO KNEW, RIGHT? WHO WOULD'VE GUESSED THAT I ACTUALLY HAVE GENUINE COMPLAINTS TO LEVEL AGAINST THE PEOPLE WHO GO SPOUTING HOOFBEASTSHIT ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK TO THEIR ECTOSIBLINGS?

TG: no dude can you shut up a second

CG: I MOST CERTAINLY FUCKING WILL, THANKS FOR THE OFFER! I'M NEVER TELLING YOU A GODDAMN THING AGAIN, SO I HOPE YOU MANAGE TO GAIN SOME WRINKLES TO THAT VESTIGIAL FLAWLESS ORB FLOATING AROUND IN YOUR CAVERNOUS NUGBONE FROM ALL THIS. I HOPE IT WAS WORTH ALL THE EFFORT ON YOUR END.

TG: listen!!!!

====================

CG: MHM! MY AURICULAR CHAMBERS ARE WIDE OPEN!

TG: jegus

TG: okay

TG: i have no defense for my literal phrasing but how expeditiously did you shadowstep the fuck away after i said that

TG: because that is some shrek tier "princess and ugly dont go together" level misrepresentation of my sweet self

TG: like if this wasnt obviously a heated platonic argument we were having i would probably be digging what the reference even if it was a shitty trope

====================

TG: i just

TG: have been thinking about some things and none of those things have got an iota of a thing to do with you or your blood

TG: thing

TG: man

TG: i dont know why you think id be so pressed about your vein juice its like

TG: a normal ass color for a normal ass guy

TG: and obviously it was a major fucking deal from how you talk about it but it doesnt need to be anymore

====================

TG: the thing is i just dont like have the same attitude as you about fighting and stuff and thats not something i am getting into right now but i am gonna make it expressly clear

TG: that its just kind of fucked up for me to sit my ass down and listen to someone spew gold and medals and confetti colored shit going googoo all over tall and loathsome ass bloodletters he never knew

TG: and have him tell me he wants to be the best guy at combat since samurai fuckin jack

TG: and thats my capital B business believe me the emphasis is there

====================

CG: SO IS THIS ABOUT ME WANTING TO BE PART OF SOMETHING YOU DON'T AGREE WITH? BECAUSE THRESHECUTIONERS DON'T EVEN FUCKING EXIST ANYMORE. I LITERALLY COULD NOT DO THIS IF I TRIED AT THIS POINT, SO YOU CAN UNKNOT YOUR “KNIGHTY WHITIES” ABOUT IT.

TG: being anti-military is not my point but damn if it isnt a thing thats probably true anyways so good job sleuthing that out

CG: WHAT IS YOUR POINT, DAVE.

TG: bluh

TG: i just said i dont wanna talk about it man

====================

CG: OKAY,

====================

CG: OKAY.

CG: I MEAN. IT FEELS KIND OF IMPORTANT TO THE CONTEXT OF THIS WHOLE UNAMBIGUOUSLY PLATONIC ARGUMENT WE'VE BEEN HAVING

CG: WHICH I'M RELIEVED WE AGREE ON BY THE WAY

CG: BUT IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO KNOW I'M NOT GOING TO WRING IT OUT OF YOU. IT'S FINE.

====================

CG: …IF YOU DECIDE AT SOME POINT THAT YOU WANT TO TELL ME THOUGH, MY RUMBLE VESSELS ARE STILL OPEN.

TG: i swear youre making those up on the spot at this point

CG: I'M KEEPING MY LANGUAGE'S ART ALIVE, DAVE. IT'S BASIC DECENCY TO THE PLANET THAT RAISED ME.

TG: heh

====================

TG: yknow we got these things called anatomical snuffboxes

TG: its got that right amount of vague nose wrinklage to it that i feel like youd be right at home saying that

TG: snug as a grub even

CG: WHAT PART IS THAT???

TG: its that little weird bone bit that sticks out on the back of your palm when you flex your thumb right

====================

TG: look

CG: HUH. LOOKING AT THAT IS KIND OF WIGGING ME OUT.

TG: yeah its kinda gross rose told me about it

TG: but anyways

====================

TG: are we cool

CG: I MEAN… I GUESS SO. YOU WEREN'T ACTUALLY INSULTING ME, RIGHT?

TG: hell no dude never

CG: OKAY. I COMPLETELY RESCIND THE MYRIAD OF WAYS I JUST INSULTED YOU. AND I'M SORRY.

TG: nah i know its just fluff at this point

====================

CG: I STILL DON'T APPRECIATE YOU TELLING ROSE THINGS I SAY TO YOU IN CONFIDENCE. THAT WAS BETWEEN YOU, ME, AND MY NOW NON-EXISTENT HOME PLANET ROTTING AWAY TO A CRATERED GRAY HUSK IN ANOTHER DEAD UNIVERSE.

TG: i swear that was like the only thing its just that she gets it and i cant keep my mouth from going on about the gettable stuff

TG: they call me the babbling brook the way my flows so audible

TG: i wont do it again

CG: NO,

====================

CG: I GET IT HONESTLY.

CG: I'M BASICALLY THE NUMBER ONE PROPRIETOR OF AIRED GRIEVANCES IN ALL OF PARADOX SPACE AND THEN SOME, AND I'D ALSO BECOME ITS BIGGEST HYPOCRITE IF I HELD IT AGAINST YOU.

TG: thanks

TG: but i mean

TG: at the gigantic risk of sounding uh

====================

TG: ………..

CG: ?

====================

TG: well

TG: i kinda just think youre better at being a guy to chill out and watch movies with than a guy to tangle fists with

TG: and i dont think theres anything wrong with being that

TG: i think its cool

====================

CG: …THAT'S AN ALARMINGLY BRAZEN OBSERVATION TO MAKE OF SOMEONE YOU'VE KNOWN FOR ABOUT THE SPAN OF SEVEN SEASONAL EQUINOXES, DAVE.

TG: i dont know what that means but it sure is probably

CG: AM I ALLOWED TO ASK WHAT EVEN GIVES YOU THAT IMPRESSION????

TG: i just got that inkling about you man

====================

TG: and you can do whatever you want with that info

TG: throw it in the load gaper or whatever if you want i dont really care

TG: give it a swirly and slam it in a locker call it a nerd break its glasses whatever

TG: but beyond this whole lord english thing weve got going on i am pretty content to never aggress my fellow man slash alien slash monster again if i can help it

TG: i think thats pretty fair given what thats been like so far

====================

TG: and yknow its cool to have some company when im waxing emotional over the narrative depth of click starring adam sandler which we are watching next by the way

CG: UGH, FIIIIIIIIINE. JUST TO MAKE UP FOR CALLING YOUR THINKPAN SMOOTH AND SUPERFLUOUS.

====================

TG: score

TG: we should argue all the time

CG: SNRK

[luvyeni]

hii! most hair pulling toe curling dog barking jake smut pls <3 im really looking forward to the future of ur blog! 🫶🏻

GOOD GIRL; SIM JAEYUN

pairings: popular!jake x shytutor!reader

Wc. 713

warnings: fem reader, public sex, fingering, praise kink

this isn't toe curling, but jake sim himself is toe curling so...

Trying to tutor jake, but the boy has other things on his mind.

—

You didn't even want to be here, you didn't want to tutor jake sim, but due to your shy nature you couldn't even tell the professor that you didn't want to do it.

Jake sim was the most sought after boy at the university — rich, handsome, smart and athletic... Girls wanted to be with him, and guys wanted to be him (some of them wanting to be with him too).

"I'm done." You began to pack up your things, you weren't just gonna sit and wait. "Wait don't leave." You watched as jake ran up to you breathless. "I'm here."

"2 hours later." Basically mumbling to yourself, you were too nervous to even look him in the eye.

Jake took a notice of your timid state, smirking.. you were cute.

"Maybe we can reschedule for next week." You stood up, but he was blocking your way. "Excuse me." You said, eyes glued to the floor.

"Please, I need you." You finally looked up, staring into his eyes... those goddamn eyes. Sighing, you sat down, pulling everything back out.

"Sit."

He sat down... with absolutley nothing in his hands. "Where are your books?" He curses under his breath. "I left them in my buddies car, can we share yours?" He leaned in real close to your face. "o-oh um.. s-sure." You slid the book in between you two.

You fanned your cheeks that began to heat up—jake notices this, smirking... he couldn't help it, he wanted to ruin you.

You knew it was a bad idea, he did absolutely nothing... he just sat there, staring at you, occasionally throwing you a wink when you'd turn to instruct his face back into the book.

"Let's take a break." He sat back in his chair. "It has only been a hour." You looked through the book. "And you've barely done anything."

He didn't get upset at what you said, because he hadn't been listening to a word of what you had been saying, he'd actually be staring at your legs, watching your skirt ride up due to you constantly moving.

"Why are you so shy?" He questioned, eyebrow lifting. "I-i'm not."

"You are, you can barely look at me, it's cute." Was he making fun of you? "I-i can."

"Okay princess, look at me." you can feel his breath on your face, as you slowly twist your head in his direction. "Good girl."

That sent a shiver down your spine, not going on by the boy. "You like that?" He smirked, getting even closer, knee to knee.

"W-what a-are you talking about? pay attention to the book." You stared at the book, trying to ignore the wetness in your underwear.

"Answer my question." His hand slowly making it's way up to where you so desperately wanted him. "Come be a good girl and answer."

You bite your lip to contain your moans. "J-jake." you breathing began to stagger.

"Say it." His hand was now at your heat, rubbing your clit through your panties.

"You're dripping princess, all you have to do is say it and i'll give you what you want."

"I-i d-do, i like being called that." you said quietly, he smiled, pulling your panties to the side.

"Jake" you moaned out as he slid one finger inside your pussy, but he shushed you. "We're in the library, you have to be quite, can you do that for me? hm, can you be a good girl for me?"

You nodded, and he added another finger speeding up his movements. "Fucking hell, you're so wet, you're gonna cum already?, cum for me." you began to shake in his hold as you came on his fingers.

"Be a good girl and cum for me."

"You look so pretty like this." He slowly pulled his fingers out of you slowly, staring you directly into your eyes, putting them into his mouth. "Soooo fucking good."

"Jake."

The whimper you let out made jake's cock twitch in his slacks.

"Princess, let's go." He grabbed your bag, stuffing all the stuff in there. "G-go w-where?" you grabbed his hand, stopping his movements. "To my house."

"I can't just let you go like this, i need to fuck you before I lose my mind."

[paleprincessturtle]

Closed

Hi, peeps! Please excuse any inaccuracies in my writing. Enjoy!

Summary: Harvey closed yet another deal. So, what's new?

Warnings: Nothing

"Where the hell were you?" Harvey barges into your office, unannounced, and with such force. You slide the pamphlet you’re reading underneath a pile of documents in front of you and hope to God that Harvey didn’t realize your abrupt movement. "Where the hell were you, and what are you hiding? Answer the questions consecutively," Harvey says sternly while looking you dead in the eyes. “Okay, so umm." You paused and realized how Harvey was looking at you skeptically. You have to pull yourself together. You can speak in the middle of a courtroom with such elegance, determination, and confidence. But Harvey Goddamn Specter strips it out of you.

" The answers to questions one and two were correlated. " Harvey sighs, "then starts answering. Smith was my old client, and I know how long it takes to get from his house back to the office. You took almost 3 hours and blew me over in our meeting.” Shit. You forgot completely about the meeting. You were supposed to be in this meeting with Harvey hours ago. “So, pray tell, where were you and what happened?” Harvey sits himself down on a chair across from yours. "Like the initial plan, I went to Smith’s place to drop the final contract. I was about to go straight back here until I saw something just on his doorstep." You bite your lips, contemplating how you should proceed with this story. Harvey nods his head, encouraging you to continue. "I saw a black kitten, alone.” You see Harvey’s eyebrows draw closer together. "So I took him to the vet to make sure if he’s okay and all.” Harvey’s lips turn into a straight line. "You bailed from our meeting for a cat?” You flinch at his tone. When you choose to work for Pearson Specter in the middle of dating Harvey, you know that he won’t always be your boyfriend. You know there will come days like this when he is nothing but your boss. And you know you are in the wrong for this. "I’m sorry, Harvey. It won’t happen again. My emotions got the best of me, and I didn’t think it through. I’m sorry." Harvey sighs and leans back on the chair. "Where’s the cat?” Harvey asks. Again, you bite your lips and point at the corner of your office. Harvey follows where your finger points, takes a solid 5 seconds to look at the crate with a sleeping black kitten inside it, and looks back at you. You start before he says anything: "I won’t have any meetings with anyone in my office today. And you didn’t even realize he'd been there since you got into my office, right?” Harvey just stares at you. "Don’t let something like this happen again. I wasn’t only pissed because you hung me dry in our meeting; I was worried about you too. I’ve insisted you should take Ray.” Harvey stands up, and you find yourself following his movement as if he were your client. You get more nervous under the scrutiny of your own boyfriend than all your clients. He can be intimidating when he needs to be. He starts to walk for the door before you say, "What about the kitty?” Not only do you ask for his existence here, but you also subtly ask if you can bring it home. Harvey stops and looks like he’s contemplating his choices before he looks back at you. "Bring the cat home until you find the cat an adopter. Talk to Louis; he likes cats.” Harvey leaves you alone, sad about his answer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s 7 p.m. when you turn off your laptop and decide to finally go home. Timmy, the black kitten you found earlier today, is still sleeping soundly in his little bed. You grin, looking at him. You have to admit that you already love this cat. You replay what Harvey said to you, and your heart heaves at the option you have. No, you think to yourself. You’ll fight Harvey, so he’ll let the cat stay. You’re also a lawyer yourself anyway. You sure can wiggle around to get something you want. You call Ray to help you bring down the crate while you walk down the hallway to go fetch Harvey. The room is dark, but you see Donna still at her desk. You lean on her desk, and she smiles. "Where’s Harvey?" you ask as you peek inside, trying to find any sign of him in case your eyes deceive you. "He didn’t tell you? He went to Atlantic City to close a deal after lunch," Donna says as she studies you. Harvey always tells you everything. "The Blanchard case?" you ask, and Donna nods. "Why didn’t he tell you?” Donna asks; all are curious. "I ditched the meeting we had. I was supposed to go back to the office after I dropped a document, but I saw a kitten," you pause as you shuffle around to grab your phone. "This is Timmy, the kitten in question.” You show your phone to Donna, and she smiles. "He was all alone?" and you nod. "I took him to the vet and forgot I was supposed to be Harvey’s number two at that meeting." You put your phone back inside your handbag. "He went all Boss Harvey on me, not that I blame him. But he told me we couldn’t keep the cat." Donna looks at you and smiles again. "We all know how he deals with emotions. He was more worried about you than you missed the meeting. You huff and nod, "Yeah, we all know he’s trying," and you smile weakly. "Just go home after you’re done, Donna. I gotta go home and get Timmy situated in the house." You wave her goodbye as you walk to the elevator.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once you get home with Ray bringing the crate inside and all, you sit by the kitchen and try to listen for any sign of Harvey’s arrival. He won’t stay out for the night; he was mad, but he’ll get home. You know that. After jolting out notes on your current case, you hear a ding outside from the elevator. You close the file and run to the door, ready to welcome him home. He opens the door to you, smiling. He looks tired but smiles once he sees you grinning. "Welcome home," you say as you cup his cheeks with your hands and give him a kiss. "What an excellent service," Harvey whispers, his lips touching yours. "I’m sorry about today," Harvey says as you lead him inside. "If anything, I’m the one who is sorry. About the meeting, about making you worry. He stops both of you in the middle of the hallway and kisses you. You smile against his lips, take his coat off, and walk further inside. “Harvey, look," you say as you point near the couch. "You’ve found an adopter?" Harvey asks as he takes the mug of warm tea you offer him. "I’m thinking of keeping him here.” You say it carefully. Harvey sighs, as he takes your hand and leads you to sit with him on the couch. He sits you down as he faces you. "We can’t keep him, baby.” You instantly pouted at his words. "Because you know both of us are busy. A pet is a big responsibility.” Harvey explains with a stern voice, trying to make you see reason. "But Louis had Bruno,” you said defensively. "Bruno died because Louis was too busy to realize he was sick. And why do you think he hasn’t got another cat yet?" You see where this is going. "I want you to be happy, and you know that. But a cat with our work schedule right now will be quite hard, don’t you think?” As you look down at your intertwined hands, tears threaten to escape. You really do love Timmy. “Remember, we made a promise; once we marry and decide to start a family, we’ll lessen our workload and move to a bigger place. We’ll have more time then. And we can have 10 dogs and 20 cats.” He cups your cheek for you to look up at him and smiles as he wipes the tears from your cheek. You see his reason and just nod. Harvey kisses your forehead before saying something about a bath and bed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harvey sighs as he looks at the time on his phone. 2.30 am. He looks down at you, sleeping soundly. He carefully untangles you from him. He walks to the kitchen and retrieves a bottle of cold water from the fridge. He chooses to work for a bit as he opens the door to his home office. He’s deep in some files when he sees a movement just at the door, and he snaps his head up. He cocks his head at the sight of the cat walking inside his office. The cat uses the chair across from him to climb up to his desk. The cat sits down, looking at Harvey. Harvey has no choice but to look back at the cat. And so the staring contest begins. Harvey looks at the little creature and contemplates how much this cat can make his girl happy. He believes a cat won’t require as much care as a dog. He remembers the tears and the pout on his girl’s face when he said they couldn’t keep the cat. He remembers how she was an only child and never really had a friend growing up. He petted the cat in the head. The cat looked cautious at first, but then he closed his eyes and purred. "Okay, bud. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’ll make our girl happy, you and I. And in return, you’ll get the best care this world has to offer, deal?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note: Feel free to send me a request! Thanks!

MASTERLIST

[its-vannah]

Karma | Jace Velaryon x Reader

A/N: As requested, this is the second part to "Maroon". I hope y'all enjoy it as much as the first fic, it's not as angsty lol.

Warnings: Death, you have children, marriage, sexist comments made by Lord Baratheon, crying, mentions of an affair

Midnights Masterlist

Part One

Lord Baratheon sat across from you at the long dining table, the glass of wine in his hand drained in seconds. Waving it around as he spoke, his words were slurred.

As the night went on, the topics of conversation became more personal and, for you, highly offensive and embarrassing.

Looking around the table, he released a drunken laugh, "All these women are struggling to bare child, but what you really need is a strong man."

'Cause if you dare, you'll see the glare

You shot your husband a warning look, praying to the Gods he wouldn't go any farther. But he didn't even look your way.

Flexing like a goddamn acrobat

"I got my wife pregnant on our own wedding night. It's not an easy feat for most, but for me, it was like a stroll in the gardens."

"My Lord—" You began, but he waved you off, ignoring the glare you shot him.

He laughed to himself as he beckoned a servant to pour him so more wine, "You just have to be in control. Your will to have an heir needs to be greater than anything else. Don't worry about her personal pleasure, but your own. It's your seed that controls—"

Karma's gonna track you down

From the other end of the table, someone slammed their first down, ceasing all movement and conversation.

'Cause karma is my boyfriend

Jacaerys stared right into your husband's eyes, "That's enough, Lord Baratheon."

You're talking shit for the hell of it

But he just laughed, drinking more wine, "It's all fun and games, my prince. I wasn't only speaking of Y/N, but the other women I've—"

The Prince raised his voice, "Enough!"

The air filled with silence, not a single person moving. Your cheeks were hot, your eyes burned, and your lips quivered as you fought with yourself to hold back the urge to cry.

Addicted to betrayal, but you're relevant

For all his faults and flaws, you hadn't thought Lord Baratheon to be unfaithful. You didn't even know when he had found the time to visit a brothel. He was always tending to his people, whether he was ruling or visiting the local people.

Rattling your ground

Then, it hit you. By "visiting the locals", he meant fucking prositutes. Clenching your first, you shook the thought out of your head.

And I keep my side of the street clean

Despite your heart belonging to another, you would never be unfaithful to your husband. You had more respect for him, apparently, then he did for you.

Pushing your chair out, you stood abruptly, "Excuse me."

Your shoes clicked against the stone floor as you walked hastily towards your private chambers. Once you reached the doors, you threw them open, letting them slam behind you walked over to your writing desk.

Ask me what I learned from all those years

Removing the large necklace your husband insisted you wore, you set it on the table, removing each piece of jewelry one at a time before you removed your dress. Standing only in your petticoat and corset, you braced yourself against the table, finally breaking down.

Ask me what I earned from all those tears

Between your heavy breaths and muffled sobs, you didn't hear the door creak open, the sound of footsteps behind you.

Sweet like honey, karma is a cat

Careful not to startle you, Jace cleared his throat, placing a hand on your back, rubbing it in a circular motion.

Unafraid of what would happen if someone walked in, you turned to him and melted in his embrace, crying into his shoulder.

Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me

Holding you tightly to his chest, he kissed the top of your head, "I will always love you, Y/N. Nothing will ever change that. It's going to be okay."

(I'm still, I'm still here)

After that moment, you didn't want to let him go. And a year later, you got your wish.

-------------------------------

Don't you know that cash ain't the only price?

Lord Baratheon was beheaded and killed in a battle between the blacks and greens.

His younger brother soon took over control of the palace and surrounding area instead of your son, and you were left a widow. And while the locals supported you during your supposed time of grief, you couldn't have been happier to be freed of House Baratheon.

Sweet like justice, karma is a queen

Deciding to wait the acceptable month before another bethrothal to avoid suspicion, you and Jace married soon after.

Standing at the alter, you couldn't help but smile up at him, finally getting the life you longed for. From the crowd, Cregan watched as you found the happiness he had once, unintentionally, taken from you.

Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

The wind blew softly, and you realized how free you felt; no longer restrained by your unhappiness. Instead, you were hand in hand with the man you had loved for years.

Ask me why so many fade, but I'm still here

Your happiness had once been stolen from you, placed our of reach. But death, ironically, had brought the two of you back together.

Karma's a relaxing thought

As the ceramony came to an end, Jace took your face in his hands, pressing a soft, but deep, kiss to your lips.

Me and karma vibe like that

For the first time since your son was born, you felt at peace.

Coming straight home to me

Even years later, after the birth of your second son, Lynor, and daughter, Nyra, and the battle between his mother and Allicent, his love never wavered. All the stress in the seven Kingdoms could fall on his shoulders, which they did, and he would never stop loving you and your family.

After your arrival to Driftmark, he was finally able to hold your son, Lucerys the second, in his arms. Losing control of himself, he wept for the years he lost with him. But he would never let go now, not until the day he died.

Many years later, when he had already passed and you were on your deathbed, each of your children sat around you.

While Jacaerys had given up his title in favor of his brother, Argon, his children still became miraculous leaders.

Step by step from town to town

Your eldest son, Lucerys the Second, had grown into a strong, yet kind, ruler just like his namesake. While still refered to as a Baratheon to avoid scandal, he knew, accepted, and embraced his true heritage. With a family of his own, he was an example of what a ruler should be. He looked after Driftmark and put his whole heart into ruling, ensuring that his people were well taken care of. His wife, Serna, was not just a prize to him as you had been to Lord Baratheon, but his equal.

Your second son, Lynor, went on to become an infamous knight in the seven kingdoms. A noble warrior, he became the King's Hand when he was of age. He, himself, married Cregan Stark's youngest daughter, Norea, and showed her the same love Jace had shown you in his lifetime.

And your beautiful daughter, Nyra, was highly respected throughout the kingdoms, eventually marrying into House Tully. She reminded you of Jace, who had always doted on her as a child.

And now, as you lay with your children around you, sadness filling the room, you smiled.

Lucerys took your hand, "Mother, I'm not ready for you to go."

You squeezed his hand, "It's time, my boy."

Closing his eyes, he fought back tears, pressing a kiss to your hand.

You're terrified to look down

Lynor was next, shaking his head, unwilling to meet you eyes out of fear that, if he did, he'd lose control of himself, "Do you not fear death?"

You shook your head weakly, "No, my dear, I don't. I welcome it."

You wouldn't know what I mean

"But why?"

It's coming back around

Nyra sat beside you, looking down at you with a soft smile on her face, "Because she'll see father once again."

"I love you all, as did your father," You said, coughing in between words, "He would be so proud of you."

'Cause karma is the thunder

Feeling the world slowly fade around you, you watched as your son's crumpled.

Lucerys wept into his hands, praying to the Gods, and Lynor remained stoic, refusing to break down.

Nyra, however, placed a kiss on your head, saying a prayer as your soul left your body.

Karma is a god

The next thing you knew, you were in Jace's arms again, strolling through the gardens as he had promised all those years ago.

[riality-check]

part 3 of... whatever this au is. here's part 1 and part 2 if you missed them. tw substance abuse. part 4 here. part 5 here. part 6 here. part 7 here.

ao3

"You ever taken a hit?"

"Excuse me?"

First, Harrington calls his songs "boring" and "repetitive." "Talking about all the same thing." And, yeah, maybe he does have a point. Maybe Eddie can't write about much else, but that's a casualty of not being able to think about much else.

Everyone says addiction is selfish, and they're right. No one talks about how recovery is, too.

So, sorry that he's consumed by notoriously all-consuming things.

But then, Harrington shows up late to the studio. Granted, Eddie was, too, but Harrington stumbled into the little room fifteen minutes after the time Chrissy set up for them, ever-present coffee in hand.

And now he asks that.

"Like a punch," he explains. "Have you ever been hit?"

Eddie lets out a breath. "Yeah, I've been hit."

He thinks back to being a freshman in high school, what feels like forever ago, and getting shoved and tripped and swirlied by senior jock assholes.

There were never any closed-fist punches, but Eddie thinks he gets the idea.

"So you know that it feels good."

Eddie stares at him. "Good is not the word-"

"There's a moment," Harrington interrupts, and Eddie wants to kill him, "between the impact and the pain. You feel everything: how their hand feels, whether they're wearing rings, if they're holding something. And that might not feel good, but right after they hit you, everything is warm. And it feels really good, right until the pain sets in."

Eddie doesn't know what to say, not really, so he mouths off. "Got a lot of experience?"

"Four diagnosed concussions," Harrington replies.

Well. Eddie wasn't expecting that.

Just like he wasn't expecting Harrington's music to actually be good. He stayed up with the band last night, listening. And, yeah, he didn't like the goddamn synth chords, but reading along with the lyrics...

It was impressive. Eddie was impressed, okay?

Harrington's lyrics are far-ranging and emotionally impactful. He writes about family and love and survival in these really compelling, sometimes upbeat, sometimes not, ways. He writes about getting better and getting back up and fighting and Eddie gets it. He gets why Chrissy got his help.

Because not only is Harrington a rising star with a voice that Eddie thinks could be a little grittier if he put in the effort, but he also knows how to write about a lot of stuff.

And Eddie, since - since all of it, has clearly forgotten how to do so.

So, maybe, just maybe, he should start throwing his expectations about Harrington out the window.

"You know what it feels like," Harrington says. "So write about it."

Eddie sighs and lets his head flop onto the back of the couch. He hears Steve shift in his chair, hears him yawn.

In the silence, he wonders if he's sipping his coffee or covering his mouth like he did last week.

Eddie thinks that if he finds out the answer, he'll need a cigarette to kill the itch that'll inevitably spring up.

"Or not," Harrington mumbles.

Eddie drops his head forward. "Give a guy a second, will you? I don't know how-"

"Well, I'm here to help, not spoon-feed you lyrics."

"I didn't ask-"

"Oh, believe me, I know."

"Then why the hell-"

"Write about losing," Harrington snaps.

Eddie tilts his head to the side. "What?"

"You write about-"

"I know what I write about."

"Then you should know," Harrington says, raising his voice, "that there was a point where you wanted to give in."

Eddie shuts his mouth, and, despite his better instincts, leans forward, toward Harrington, far enough that his knees hit the coffee table between the couch and the chair.

"Because when you're fighting monsters, a little part of you thinks, it would be so much easier if I just lost. If I threw up my hands and let them get me."

Eddie thinks back to waking up after blackouts. To being carried places and dunked under cold water to sober the fuck up before we go out there. To figuring out ways to stay higher longer, refusing to be beholden to the inevitable crash.

And he hates that Steve Harrington has somehow found that out about him, however vaguely.

"Lot of experience with monsters?" Eddie says because damn if Harrington gets to cut him without getting cut back.

Harrington leans forward in turn. "You have no idea."

He picks up the black ballpoint pen on the coffee table and shoves it toward Eddie, toward his blank notepad.

Eddie bites his tongue, takes it, and writes lyrics and a lead guitar part in the fastest time he's ever managed, with Harrington as a sounding board, offering his suggestions.

They're good suggestions.

It's going to be a good song.

It's too bad that Eddie can't stand Harrington's smug smirks and his terrifying assumptions and his little bit of spaciness. It's too bad that after he sees Harrington swipe at his nose - even though it's probably not like that - when they're done that Eddie has to go outside and smoke two cigarettes to stop thinking about it.

Otherwise, they might actually make a good team.