#like i still have questions that need to be answered.

[flouryhedgehog]

Voting is a tool.

By which I mean, voting is just a tool; it isn't sacred or magical.

And by which I also mean, voting is one tool that is good for one kind of purpose. If it isn't suitable for the goal you're trying to achieve, you need different tools.

Every time someone makes a post on here rightly criticizing Joe Biden's support for genocide, there's at least one person in the notes saying "but remember, you still have to vote for him!" or, "did you know Trump wants to deport Muslims?" or, "then who do you want me to vote for?"

But that's like going into a plant nursery and demanding they sell you the correct drill bit for planting a tree. They will never sell you the drill bit you want, because the drill bit you want--the drill bit suitable for planting trees--doesn't exist, and also plant nurseries don't sell drill bits.

Standing in the plant nursery asking about drill bits will probably initially get you people explaining to you where to find a shovel, and a watering can, and some mulch, because those are tools that will help you plant the tree. If you ignore the attempts to educate you, and start yelling about how they must just want you to throw away your drill, and also they probably hate trees and hate you and want you, personally, to suffer in a world without shade, you'll start getting different answers, like "please stop shouting" and "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

Because you're demanding that they tell you how to use the wrong tool for the job. They can never give you the answer you want; the answer you want doesn't exist.

I can't tell you who to vote for to prevent the rise of fascism in the United States, both because you can't prevent something that's already happened, and because you can't vote your way out of fascism.

You need different tools; you need to ask different questions and be willing to sit with the answers, even if they aren't the answers you want.

Boycotts are a tool. Protests are a tool. Shutting down highways, physically blocking weapons shipments, picketing arms companies, those are tools. So is going to your library and checking out books about Palestine, and about decolonization generally.

Instead of asking which war criminal you should vote for, perhaps ask how you can organize members of your community to support and look after each other and keep each other safe. Perhaps ask how you can support Land Back and prison abolition. Ask how you can organize a union in your workplace.

The tool you're most comfortable using isn't going to work for this job. Learn how to use another.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

“The what?”

Danny and Duke had been having a pretty okay day. Duke got a ridiculous packet to complete from his professor, and Danny tripped down the stairs in the library, causing a ruckus that got everyone’s attention.

So yea, everything was going well until they decided to push their luck and go to a new coffee shop a bit further away. It wasn’t the coffee shop itself, but the goons that came out of nowhere to kidnap Tim Drake-Wayne who was getting an order to go, which turned into a gang fight in the middle of the street.

Danny and Duke, along with Tim, ended up sheltered behind a car and missed the opportunity to bunker down inside the shop.

“Well, this isn’t what I planned today,” Tim comments.

“Same,” Danny agrees.

“Maybe we can wait it out?” Duke suggests.

The other two give a look that says that it was not going to happen.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors for peeking,” Danny says, already holding out his fist.

“Bet.”

They look at Duke.

Peer Pressure works and he groans with clear discomfort at the situation.

Duke loses. A bullet whizzes past his head.

“Nope! Nope. Not doing that again.”

Tim rolls his eyes at the dramatics, but with Danny still there he bit his tongue.

“What’d you see?”

Duke looks at Tim like he’s crazy.

“Lots of people with guns,” he answers hysterically.

“Need a hand?”

Red Hood had swung down from the nearest rooftop, hand gun in both hands. He pops off three shots before having to duck behind the car with them.

“Hood, what are you doing here? This isn’t Crime Alley,” Tim asks like they bumped into each other at the supermarket.

Hood shrugs, “Close enough.”

“Oh sweet, can I borrow that?” Danny randomly asks.

Before anyone can question what he was talking about he was already reaching out to take the handgun off of Hood’s thigh.

“Whoa-“

Danny turns to look over the car’s hood and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens.

The others pull him back quickly. He winces at the hard fall to his tailbone.

“Holy crap! Danny!”

“Dude, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Hey!” Danny interrupts their freak out. “It’s not my fault his gun is broke.”

“The safety is still on, idiot,” Hood tilts his head.

“The what?” Danny asks in genuine confusion.

The three brothers all pause and look at him.

“The safety? On the gun? So there isn’t a misfire?” Tim explains. He was stuck between shocked and judgmental.

“This is why people who don’t know how to shoot shouldn’t touch guns,” Hood says in frustration while reaching to take it away.

Danny pulls it back out of reach.

“I know how to shoot, thanks. My parent’s weapons just don’t have safety things. I’m not used to it,” he grumbles.

“What do you-“

But Danny was already finding the safety and flicking it off before trying again. This time he hits two goons, one in the shoulder and another in the leg.

The batboys glance at each other.

“So,” Hood tries to be casual, “what do your parents do?”

“They’re scientists,” Danny answers, mainly focused on shooting another person dressed in a mask, “but they make their own weapons.”

“Are they by any chance mad scientists? Or borderline rogues?” Duke asks as half a joke.

“Of course not,” Danny answers. Then he pauses to actually think about it. “I don’t think so.”

“Cool. That’s fine.”

**

After that Danny had a few more ‘meet and greet’s with the local vigilantes and saw some lingering shadows around their apartment. They had the weirdest questions about his family.

[aemvnd]

𝓇.cameron. ┆ 4:24pm.

◟ ㅤᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁.﹒ finally introducing to y'all shy, bambi!reader (she's so me!) i hope y'all love her as much as i do. !!! 🧸♡ྀི

bambi!reader is a shy, precious, skittish little thing, with you always burying your nose in some romance novel, loves going antique shopping, obsessed with gold and pearl jewelry, loves the color pastel pink (like most of your outfits), besides the occasional virginal white that your now boyfriend, rafe cameron, likes to see you wear for him, always all dolled up and so, so fucking pretty, rafe thought that first night of meeting you.

you're a painfully shy girl, which rafe finds charming, cute, and addicting like sugary sweetness, making rafe absolutely hooked and possessed, especially when he first introduced himself to you, all charming, confident, and with that typical, rafe cameron smirk.

strangely, even though rafe was a little tipsy, barely even drunk, he couldn't help but walk up to you that night at the party he was hosting, never quite seeing you around before, and try to start up a conversation with you, needing to be close to you—it was like an instant pull towards you, like he needed to be close to you.

it almost felt like his heartstrings were aching, tugging him towards you, like you hypnotized him from across his large balcony at tannyhill—you stood alone, taking tiny sips of the fruity, alcoholic seltzer you've been drinking since you arrived barely an hour ago.

once rafe got you talking, all sweet and shy, and yes, it took some time, your answers were slightly short, timid and nervous, like you were scared of embarrassing yourself in front of him, which rafe thought was incredibly adorable, his obsession with you only growing more and more.

rafe continued making light conversation with you throughout the evening, with you giving him pretty, little demure smiles, and all rafe could think about was fucking you in the most nasty, downright animalistic of ways—however, he knew he would have to have patience, to be gentle, not wanting to frighten you in any way, shape, or form, but maybe you'll let him taste your sweet, little virginal pussy.

you'd make the most perfect little housewife, he was certain of it. rafe already knew you would be his—his dream girl, the girl that he would someday put a giant, sparkling diamond ring on your pretty, dainty little ring finger, seemingly always freshly manicured with french tips, he'd noticed.

rafe couldn't help but also begin to imagine you all full and plump with a kid of his inside of your womb, plenty of little cameron babies to come, he knows it, deep in his bones, that you're the girl for him.

meanwhile, as the conversation between you both continued, with rafe mostly doing most of the talking, he would start asking more personal questions, perhaps too personal, but rafe wasn't ever one to give a fuck—except now, but even still, he had this need to know every little thing about your sweet, beautiful self.

"soo..." rafe chuckled lightly, a lazy smirk on his lips, taking small sips of his beer occasionally, while cocking his head slightly to catch your pretty, doe-like eyes, decorated with long, fluffy mink lashes—so damn pretty, rafe thought to himself in that moment, and every single moment after that while spending time in your company.

"do you, uh... h-have a boyfriend?" he questioned casually, though he could already feel his blood boiling at the mere thought of some other man's hands on you, watching as you immediately became shy and bashful, and it made the oldest cameron sibling want to kiss you, to claim you, to mark you as his and his forever—luckily, he was able to refrain himself and control his temper, and his desire for you, surprisingly.

and then, once you shyly shook your head no, all pretty and doll-like and submissive, rafe was already thinking of multiple ways about making you his, his, his—permanently.

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Thirteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Nurse!reader. Domestic slice of life. Feelings of fear, self loathing, anxiety, dread. Complicated emotions. Verbal depiction of domestic violence. Non sexual intimacy. Scars from cigarette burns. Very brief daddy kink. Sick character (not reader). Comfort. Confessions.

The park is quiet.

You hoped it would be- middle of the day, in the middle of a work week, in the middle of the city. There are a few people around, walking, running, lingering. Enjoying themselves, the warmth of the sun on their face, a bright spot amid a typically grey winter.

It makes it easier. To look.

To watch.

To wait.

And you do. You wait, and you wait. You sit steady on the park bench, pretending to be remotely interested in the rough paperback cradled in your lap, spine already cracked flimsy by Simon’s grip. It’s Stephen King. Carrie, if you’re precise. A story of stolen girlhood and rage.

You swallow the shards of glass and acid the pages bring forth.

Deep breath. 

The breeze gusts, and your shoulders nearly shake. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve sat out in the open like this.

Easy prey.

You may have always been easy prey. Easy and young and stupid, easy, and naïve and manipulated. You fell for every trick in the book. You didn’t see the signs until it was too late.

Still, you watch. You wait.

You considered, for a while, that if Philip was around, if he was in the city, looking for you- he’d arrive here. Like magic. Like a classic villain, materializing in a plume of smoke.

And while it’s not exactly comfort you feel as each minute ticks by and he fails to appear, there’s relief in your soul for certain.

It’s a risk, to sit here. A question. With an answer, for now.

Will he? Won’t he? 

Today, the answer is he won’t.

Your phone vibrates, and you don’t need to look at it to know, guilt worming its way into the depths of your heart, anxiety piquing as you imagine both Simon and Johnny at their house, their home, worried.

Don’t fool yourself. Don’t give yourself too much credit. Don’t get carried away. 

Someone clears their throat over the back of the bench, and you whirl.

“Hey, sorry.” Your pulse slows from a gallop to something slower, and you shake your head.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that.” The man shrugs his second apology, legs spreading into the spot next to you. You’re practiced at this, familiar. Knowledgeable enough to keep your hands from shaking, even though the tremor builds through your bones.

“Been waitin’ for you to call.”

“I’ve been busy.” You eye the black bag in his hands, a small black fabric pouch, gold zipper glinting in the sun. “That everything?” He nods.

“Can I ask-“

“No.”

“Just seems strange, is all. Pretty, polished thing like you, needin’ all this. Most of my clients are more… rough around the edges.” Your teeth dig into your tongue. Already, this guy is less discreet and more obnoxious than your last purveyor. You wish you had hidden your face.

Like Simon. 

“We’re solid, then?” You unzip the pouch, cursory eye roaming over the collection inside, checking off a mental list. Usually, you would feel relief at this point, but today, it sours and rots. Liberation burns into a roaring wave of uncertainty, and your fingers tighten over the zipper.

“We’re good.” He stands, giving you one last long look, and then his mouth shifts into a half smile. “Good luck.” Your polite nod is strained and forced. A nonverbal fuck off.

He takes the cue, and slinks away, disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

The bag weighs heavily in your hands. A terrible reminder of the truth.

You’ll never have a life. You’ll never have a family. You’ll always be alone. 

You’ll never be pretty or polished or perfect. 

You’ll always be this. 

Scarred. Sectioned off. Scared. 

Desperation wells, and you close your eyes. You see Johnny, and Simon. Their faces. Sunlight in bleak darkness.

Love and family and strength.

The ache in your chest widens. You want to be home, with them. Curled up, with them. Sitting at the table and eating dinner, with them. All these things, these domestic, familiar things that once seemed so unattainable, now within arm’s reach.

But still so far away. 

Your shoulders relax a fraction, dipping lower, the strain on your injury zinging through your muscles as you roll them, and you shove the little bag into the backpack, above the clothes you pulled from your apartment.

Deep breath. 

Johnny’s the first you see after locking the front door. He’s in the kitchen, half leaning on his crutch, fishing something out of a pot, a noodle of some kind, and he freezes, eyes heavy with relief, when you come around the corner.

“Bunny.” His good arm reaches, fingers brushing together, cold against warm. He coos. “Ye’re freezin’.”

“It’s cold.” You agree, unzipping the front of your jacket. He slides cautious and slow touch around your waist beneath it, and you go with him, face burrowing into his chest, just below his collarbone. Your nose is nearly smashed, but you can still breath him in, feel him, be in this moment with him.

His hold tightens. “What is it?”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s alright, was jus’ worried is all. Text us back next time.” You nod, but stay silent, still taking gulps of air, nosing against the collar of his shirt to find his skin. “Pretty girl,” his hand strokes over the back of your head, warm breath on your cheek. “Ye alright?” You breathe through the threat of tears, though they sting and threaten to sink you.

“Ye-yeah.” You choke, and he tries to pull back, grip steady on your upper arm, but you follow him, still trying to crawl inside and hide, wrap yourself up in him and disappear.

“Hey now,” he clucks his tongue, trying to re-focus you, trying to get your attention, nimble fingers cradling your jaw, “what is it?”

There are no words to explain it, these feelings. The fear. The dread. The bile rioting in your stomach, the anxiety churning like a turbulent sea. It’s like no matter what you do, it all comes back, no matter how deep you bury it or how much you try to change the tide.

It’s easier to lie.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, and he rubs your back.

“Did ye eat?” No.

“Yes. I got something at the hospital.”

“Paperwork all in order so ye can hang out wit’ us until ye’re better?” His smile is infectious, a mirror blooming across your own face, and he dots your nose with his lips. “There’s our girl.” Your toes curl. He tugs the backpack into his grip, and you let him, let him push you up into the counter, drop your bag to the floor, slip his tongue between his teeth. You let it all go to your head, let yourself get lost in him, twist your fingers in his hair, nipples pebbling stiff as his mouth finds the sensitive skin of your neck.

He takes it all away. Every time. 

“Johnny.”

“I’ve got ye.” He finds an opening, a soft spot between your jeans and your shirt, hands roaming upward and over, everywhere. He’s everywhere, effortlessly, and you’re along for the ride, clinging so tight like you’re afraid you’ll fall.

And then-

It stops.

He’s holding your face, blue gaze unwavering, focused. “Bun, talk to me.” Your throat throbs, words sticking like taffy, clawing their way up in a jumbled mess until the only thing intelligible is what spills out.  

“Is this real?” You’re a child. Small and scared, desperate for some sort of reassurance, some semblance of security.

“Is what real?” His fingers close over yours, lifting them to his lips. “This? Us?”

“Everything. All of it… I- I-“

“It’s real. It’s been real since ye held my hand the first time. Or at least, it’s been real for me… since then. Thought ye were an angel. An answer to a prayer.” He cracks a smile, thumb rubbing across the slope of your cheek. “An’ I’m not the praying type.”

“There’s… you don’t know me, Johnny. There’s so much… you don’t know.” Your chest heaves, anxiety stuttering inside your lungs, air turning thin in your mouth.

“I know, shhh. I know.” You press your face back into his chest, words slowing to a stop, a trickle. “Ye remind me of him, ye know. A lot prettier though.”

“Who?”

“Si.” He kisses your temple, your forehead, peeling away to peer at your face. “Guarded… but scared under it all. Ye dinnae even know how life can be, too busy runnin’ away.”

“Johnny-“

“Ye’ve got secrets, I know. But it’s the same thing I used to tell him. Eventually you’ve got to let go, let me in. Let us in, Bun. We’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not afraid. Let us prove it.” Your lower lip trembles, eyes burning with the brunt of tears. “Shhh, dinnae cry. Ye’re alright, everything’s going to be okay. I swear it.” You do nothing, nothing except stand there, half folded into him, breath and touch agonizingly slow, steady in his hold.

The two of you stay there, in the silence, until the agonized sear of distress starts to fade, and you begin to balance, ship righting itself after a long night in rocky seas.

Penny’s bedroom door is open.

The soft glow of a nightlight floats into the hall, and you peer past, finding Simon with his arms full, reclined in the rocking chair, a nearly asleep Penny gap mouthed in his arms. You wave.

“Hi,” he whispers, “get everything you needed?”

“Yeah, all set.” You nod to the baby. “She’s knocked.”

“Bath time was rough.” He traces her cheek, twirling a finger in her hair. A soft, faultless picture, his features delicately framed by shadow, thick arms the perfect place for a baby, an easy cradle.

It’s an intimate moment, and inside it, you feel out of place.

“I’ll see you downstairs?” You shift away, motioning, and he hums.

“In a few.”

Everything is slow with them in the evenings, you’ve realized.

They move leisurely, dancing around one another, Simon constantly watching and waiting, for both you and Johnny, anticipating. It’s a natural role, one that seems more permanent over necessary considering the circumstances, Johnny falling into an unhurried pace, languishing on the couch after dinner and dishes are done, fingers mindlessly stroking into the soft spot beneath your ear. Simon leans over, kissing Johnny and then settling at your side, an arm stretching around your back. “Should we watch something?” Johnny brightens.

“A movie?”

“If you’d like. Bun, any suggestions?” You blink. It’s a surprise, one that’s never occurred to you, the ability to simply choose a movie.

“Umm… no?”

“What’s yer favorite?”

“I don’t know. Whatever is fine. What do you guys like?”

“We know what we like. We want to know what you like.” What do you like? Comedies, you suppose. Something light and funny, something to distract the never-ending stream of thoughts cycling through your head.

“Uh, have you guys ever seen Forgetting Sarah Marshall?” Johnny chuckles.

“It’s been a while.” He flicks through the icons on the screen, thumbing over to where he starts to type it in. What if they don’t like it? What if they’re humoring you? What if you picked wrong? “Or, if you don’t like that, we can do something else. Anything. I’m not picky. It doesn’t have to be-“

“Hey,” Simon murmurs, warm palm resting on your knee, “that’s perfect. We both like that one.”

“Dracula musical.” Johnny smiles, finding it easily and clicking play. Your breath catches at the ease of it all, of picking a movie and that being that, no anxiety about a reaction or something triggering popping up on screen.

You can just… enjoy it.

The light in their bathroom is a little too bright.

Your toes stretch across the tile, nerves thrashing in the pit of your stomach as you stare in the mirror.

You don’t know who it is looking back at you.

You don’t recognize the girl getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, wearing a pair of pajama pants and Simon’s shirt.

There’s a disconnect, some semblance of wires crossing, some phantom of someone else, living in your skin.

Because it can’t be you, getting ready to crawl into bed between them. It can’t be you, who fell asleep with her head on Simon’s stomach during the movie, can’t be you who stole a kiss from Johnny as Simon propped his leg up on the stack of pillows.

You’re playing house. Playing a game. 

It won’t last. 

It can’t.

You wrap a finger up in the hem of Simon’s shirt, frayed and torn edges pulling apart below the seam. It’s an old one, something he tugged out of a drawer and tossed on the bed, faded graphic turned from white to grey against a rusted black backdrop. It’s soft, and worn, and comfortable, an article of clothing well loved, and you wonder if Johnny’s worn it too. If it’s been passed around, washed, and dried a hundred times.

“Everything alright?” Simon leans into the bathroom, Johnny in view just past his shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt, just soft, flannel pants, and you stare at the scars dotting his torso before dragging your gaze away.

“Yeah, sorry… I got distracted.” You turn the tap, rinsing your toothbrush before placing it by itself on the edge of the sink, out of place next to the cup holding theirs, and Penny’s.

You blink slow, allowing your eyes to close for a fraction of second.

“Ready for bed?” Johnny beams at you, lush and sleepy, hand outstretched, reaching.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Simon’s bedside lamp is still on, barely illuminating the dark. It’s quiet, and warm, and you bask in the space between their bodies, fingers playing idly with the hem of your shirt.

When Johnny’s fingers graze the skin under the fabric, your chest tightens. He strokes back and forth, over your navel, blazing heat from his palm tingling into your skin. You’re being torn in two, swallowed by the ocean, tugged in different directions.

You struggle to regulate your breathing, small draws coming in quicker, and Simon covers Johnny’s hand with his own, stopping the movement.

“Will you show us?” He murmurs.

“Sh-show you?”

“The scars.” Oh.

Will you? 

Even though Simon’s already seen them, this feels different. This feels like a choice. Like you’re peeling something back, baring yourself.

You close your eyes and pull the bottom of your shirt to the top of your ribcage, cool air ghosting over your exposed skin. Johnny makes a sound, a twisted whisper of something pained, and you shiver.

A thumb slides over the raised skin on the left side of your belly. “These are from cigarettes?”

“Yes.” You almost want to look, want to see, but can’t bring yourself to do it, to witness their disgust, their shock. You’re hollow. Drifting. Falling away from them. Someone shifts, the bed moves, jostles slightly, but you block it out. Every muscle in your body is taut, jaw locked, and fists clenched.

This morning was intimate but this… this is something else. Something more. 

“Can ye feel them, still? Do they hurt?” Two hands roam, rubbing gently, skimming.

“No but… they’re hideous.”

“No.” Simon croaks, voice thick. “There isn’t a single part of you that isn’t perfect.” Your heart cracks, and the light touch of fingertips disappears, replaced with a swath of breath and then-

Lips. 

He’s kissing them. 

It stops your heart, dries your mouth. Robs you of your breath, your head spinning into an enormous vortex of disbelief. Simon’s mouth travels, dotting your skin between each ugly, raised bump, carefully pressing a kiss to each one, gradually. He takes his time, and with your eyes closed, you can feel his body hovering above you, holding steady just over your frame. Johnny’s forehead rests against yours, and he cups your face, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek, sweet and slow.

“Will ye tell us… about how you got them? Who gave them to ye?” Simon cradles your hips, firm pressure folding into your skin, the curve there, and he squeezes, prompting you, expecting. You don’t know how he does it, how he’s so easily able to guide you, and Johnny. It’s seamless.

“I…” You don’t know what to say, if you were to say anything at all. How to answer. How to begin to explain. How to confirm what you know they already suspect, how to start this story. This nightmare.

Are you really doing this? Could you really do this? 

There’s a sliver of sun, begging. Pleading. It rails against the cracks in your heart, desperate.

So, you spit out the only thing you know for sure.

“He liked to hurt me.”

“Who?” Simon’s question is immediate, and your ribs expand with a long breath.

“My… ex.” Stop talking. Stop this, stop it, stop- “He’s a monster.”

“The healed breaks on your x-rays…” He trails off, and you reach blindly, searching for an anchor. Johnny gives it to you, clutching your hand in his, thumb soothing over your knuckles.

“Yes.”

“And more.” Simon whispers, and Johnny draws a sharp breath. You nod.

“And more.”

“Your neck, and shoulder?” There’s a long silence, as you sit atop the wall. As you wait and try to decide if you want to jump off or continue to sit here… trapped at the top, teetering on the edge while they wait below.

You’re in their life now. You said you’d try. They should know. 

You trust them. 

Don’t you? 

“He found me.” You confess, cracked and bleeding and hung out to dry. Three words barely scratching the surface of the truth, saying almost nothing at all and still so much. You stumble, and panic, fear bubbling up to the surface. “I’m sorry, I told you before- I said-“

“And we told ye; nothing is going to get ye while ye’re with us. Ye’re safe, bunny.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about!” you blurt, a near snap, and Johnny freezes. “It’s you guys, and Penny, and your friends, you- you don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t understand. He’s chased me across the world, he always finds me, no matter what, no matter what I do, o-or where I go-” You’re rambling, nearly hyperventilating, and slipping away, succumbing to the rolling black clouds overtaking your mouth and mind, stuttering and falling, drowning in an endless darkness.

They don’t know. They don’t understand. They can’t. 

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re nothing. 

You’re a child again. A lost girl. Alone and scared. Trapped in the dark.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” You shake your head, and Simon catches it between his palms, holding you still. You can fight and flail and run, but he’s still there. Strong and safe and beautiful in every way, a foundation of love, of trust. “It’s just us, we’re here. With you. Look.” Johnny tightens his hold, and your bones rattle inside your skin, aching and splintering, shredding you from the inside out.

“I can’t.” You hiss, trying to curl away. You can’t face them, or this. The reality. The truth.

It’s easier to run. Who were you kidding? You can’t do this. You should have already been gone. 

But they won’t let you go. Not now. Not when they have you so close to the light. So close to the sun. 

And maybe it’s time to accept it.

“Look at me, pretty girl.” Johnny murmurs. “Ye can do it.” The pull of his voice drags you closer, comforts you, and you long for him, long to see his blue eyes, overgrown mohawk and gorgeous smile. You long to relax into him, to hear the thump of his heart, steady and strong. He’s a lighthouse in the pitch-black night, a guiding light. It’s enough to lessen pressure building in the back of your skull, and you slowly blink, both of their concerned faces coming into view.

The three of you linger silence, holding each other, decompressing from your confession, your fear that feels too much sometimes. It all fades, night turning long, and eventually you yawn, blinking away the sleepy stars in your eyes.

“There’s our bunny.” Simon kisses your cheek. “My good girl.” My good girl. Turning it over in your mind makes you squirm, allowing it ricochet back and forth with his accent, and you wish you could latch onto it, memorize it, hear it every day. Johnny gives you a bemused smile.

“Ye liked that?” He raises an eyebrow at Simon, and then presses his lips to your ear, whispering. “Ye want to be a good girl for daddy, little bunny?” Daddy. You choke. You anticipate disgust, revulsion, but none of it comes.

Only… intrigue. Warmth.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.” Simon interrupts gently. “Thank you, sweetheart. For trusting us. I know it’s hard.” You turn into Johnny, and Simon rolls to flick out the light, pulling up tight behind you, sliding an arm under the pillows. You burrow deeper into the blankets, snuggling between them to find the warmest spots, and sigh.

“You both… make it easier. You make it easy.”

The world from yesterday is forgotten the next day when Penny wakes up with a fever.

The house is thrown into confined, regulated chaos, but chaos all the same. She wails almost the entirety of the morning, miserable, and you ache for both her, and her dads, who are unmoored and anxious. You don’t even balk when Simon asks you to hold her, explaining he has to call her pediatrician.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You coo, rubbing her back. She’s warm to the touch, but not scorching, and it gives you some comfort, even with what little you know about peds. You rock her, pacing, as Johnny watches uneasily from the couch, typing unending questions into a web search about babies and fevers. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel good.”

“It’s 38.1… that’s fine, right? As long as it’s under 39?”

“I think so.” You try to reassure him. “I’m not a little human nurse though, so I can’t be sure. But it hasn’t been that long, Johnny. We don’t need to worry until at least twenty-four hours.” He nods, lips quirking into a small smile. “What?”

“Ye said we.”

“Well… yeah…” you trail off, and he shakes his head.

“Jus’ like the sound of it, is all. Like how ye look, holdin’ our baby.” You give him a look, half exasperated, half doe eyed, as always, because you can’t help but feel a little lovestruck or dazed whenever you glance his way, always taken by him, no matter the moment.

Simon steps back inside from the patio, swooping to rub his nose in Johnny’s hair and squeeze his shoulder affectionately. “The pediatrician says if she gets worse, or doesn’t improve by tomorrow, to bring her in.”

“Good.” You bounce her, propping her up on your shoulder. “That’s good.” She gurgles, croaking through her miserable fever. “Poor baby girl, I’m sorry.” You pat her again, trying to help settle her-

She coughs, and something warm runs down your back.

“Shite.” Johnny curses, Simon immediately trying to pull her from your arms, but you shake your head.

“There’s no sense in her throwing up on you too.” You explain.

“I’ll go grab a towel, and some clothes. Do you want to change your shirt?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You keep your hand steady on her back. You’ll both need a thorough wipe down now, maybe even a shower.

“Sorry, bun.” Johnny frowns, but you reassure him, still rocking Penny in your arms. 

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been through way worse with bodily fluids, trust me.” The bottom stair creaks, in the way that it only does for Simon, his mass too much for one of the wooden slats.

When you look up, you realize he’s not moving, only standing shock still, clothes and towel and a baby blanket in one hand,

and the contents of the little black bag in the other.

You left it on the dresser. You left it out in the open, unzipped, on the dresser. 

Your blood freezes. Johnny frowns, looking between his partner and you, trying to desperately draw a conclusion that doesn’t come.

Simon holds the little navy-blue book up, the one with your picture in it, but with a name they won’t recognize. A person they wouldn’t know.

A person you don’t even know, yet. A new life. A new identity.

“What’s that?” Johnny’s quizzical, intrigued.

“Bunny.” Simon breathes, and you shake your head. It’s all you can do, just shake your head back and forth until your brain is rattling around in your skull.

You can’t stop it.

They’ll never love you. They won’t accept you. They won’t understand. 

“It’s- it’s j-just in case,” you stammer, panicked and tongue tied. “you… you don’t understand, I have to have it… just in case.”

“What is it?” Johnny demands, and Simon flips the front of the booklet around-

revealing the cover of a brand-new American passport.

[heavenlyhischier]

𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 | 𝐋𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

word count: 4.9k

summary: The one where you run into the guy who makes you believe in love all over again.

warnings: kissing, strangers to friends to lovers where they’re both a little oblivious, game mentioned is the game against philly with luke's ot goal

note: no angst?? who am i?? thank you maddy for answering my questions about luke so i could make this as accurate as possible ily

Someone once said that love comes when you least expect it and when you’re not looking for it, but you used to never believe that. You used to think that love was something you always searched for in others, that love was something everyone wanted, but you stopped believing that after it kept leaving you stranded and broken. You stopped looking for romantic love, choosing to believe that maybe it wasn’t meant for you, until one day when you’re quite literally trampled by the boy that made you believe in it all over again.

Walking the path near the water was one of your favorite pastimes since you’ve moved to the unfamiliar city. It was something that always brought you a sense of serenity whenever reality became a little too overbearing, or when you just needed a space to breathe after a particularly straining day at work. It was also your favorite way to start off your day whenever you had the time. Always a coffee in hand as you savored the peacefulness before the day truly began.

Today was one of the fortunate days when the weather wasn’t too cold that you needed more than a light jacket when you stepped outside. There weren't many people out and about as the sun had barely risen, but there were still a handful on their morning jogs or simply relaxing on the benches as they read a book. You had only looked away from the path in front of you for a brief second when you collided with something, or rather someone, and it sent your barely drank coffee to the ground, spilling all over your shoes.

“Shit,” You heard a boyish voice exclaim, his hands grasping at your biceps to keep you upright, “I’m so sorry!”

You knew it wasn’t on purpose, but you couldn’t help but grow a slight annoyance as you stared at the dropped drink. It wasn’t entirely his fault because you weren’t paying attention either and it wasn’t like you had just bought the coffee, you were just slow to drink it. Looking up at the person in front of you, your breath hitched in your throat when you saw one of the cutest guys you’d seen in the city yet. Though he looked slightly familiar, you just couldn’t place where you might have seen him.

He had a sympathetic, small smile on his face as he awkwardly dropped his hands back to his side. He had a beanie covering his hair, but there were a few strands of curls that had managed to poke out from the thick material. You were close enough to him that you can see a small scratch on the bridge of his nose that looked almost fully healed. He was quite a bit taller than you as well, his anxious eyes peering down into your own as you slowly blink at him.

“Are you okay,” He spoke again, gaze briefly filtering down to your shoes.

“Yeah,” You sigh as you step away from him, “I’m fine, but my shoes might not be.”

The both of you let out awkward chuckles before you bend down to grab the cup, slightly frowning to yourself as you bring it to your chest. When you meet his eyes again, he looks as if he was contemplating something by the way he keeps looking all around you. His hands were shoved in the pocket of his hoodie as he shifted his weight on his feet. The air is a little awkward as you think about just walking away, but he speaks before your feet ever move.

“Let me buy you a new drink,” He suggests, his voice slightly quieter than before as if he was nervous, “It’s the least I can do.”

“Oh, no you don’t have to do that,” You shake your head, “It’s no big deal. It’s just a coffee.”

“Please,” He tries, not wanting to press so hard enough he comes off desperate, “It looked almost full based on what I can see on the ground.”

You couldn’t help but notice his shy smile and hesitant eyes as he waited for your response. His cheeks and nose were slightly pink from the wind that refused to stop whipping at any exposed skin it found. He was sporting a nervous half smile as you mulled the option over in your head, trying to gather if there was any plausible reason to not let the cute boy with a crooked smile buy you another coffee.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” You agree, a smile of your own toying on your lips as you keep your gaze on him, “But only if you tell me your name first.”

“Luke,” He lightly chuckled, taking his hand out of his pocket, extending it for you to shake, “Yours?”

You gingerly took his hand in your own as you told him your name, ignoring the way his touch made your cheeks heat up and butterflies fill your stomach. You retracted your hand quickly, moving it to grasp the cup with both hands as you gestured for Luke to lead the way. You catch the way his eyes briefly dart to your cup before he began to walk the direction you had been coming from.

The two of you fell into a bit of an awkward conversation, him asking you if you were from the area and him telling you that he wasn’t either. He told you that he played professional hockey for the Devils and it clicked in your brain that that was why he looked familiar. You had seen him on TV, but you weren’t involved in the sport enough to put a name to his face. You teased him a little and playfully asked if he would get you tickets to a game, but the speed at which he said yes shocked even himself.

When Luke was handing you your new drink, that was when he told you that he was already running a bit late to some sort of meeting with his team and as much as he’d like to stay, he had to leave. You would be lying if you said you weren’t a little disappointed at the news, but you ended up exchanging phone numbers before he was rushing away, still not entirely looking where he was going. You watched him leave with a smile on your face and a sort of hope filling your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

The two of you had began texting each other so often that people started to ask questions. Though it had only taken three days of you quietly giggling to yourself for your roommate to ask who the guy was. Whereas for Luke, it had only taken Jack until after practice the day he had met you. Jack had never seen his younger brother rush to check his phone while still in full gear before so quickly, and that was how he knew.

You didn’t see Luke for nearly two weeks after you had initially met courtesy of the stars, also known as his games and your work schedule, never aligning in the right way. When Luke had texted you after one of his games asking if you were free the following evening and you finally got to answer with a yes, you grew excited, and also extremely nervous.

He had given you the option to go out and do something, or to come over to his place and the two of you could order food and watch movies; just hangout, he had said. You ultimately decided on the second option since the weather had grown colder and you weren’t necessarily in the mood to join the crowds of people in the city. He subtly mentioned that his brother would be gone so it would just be the two of you, and the thought made your cheeks warm despite knowing he had no underlying intentions.

When you had texted Luke to tell him you had finally found a parking spot and he told you where to go from there, you had to take a small breather in your car to get yourself to stop shaking before finally going into the expensive looking building. You were so focused on taking in all of the little details inside the lobby that you weren’t paying attention to where you were going and ran straight into someone’s chest.

You let out a surprised squeal as you squeeze your eyes closed at the impact, fully prepared to go stumbling backwards, but you never do. You can feel their hands on your hips, the pads of their fingers slightly digging into the skin separated by the material of your shirt. The soft laugh that filtered through your eyes made your eyes snap open to see a familiar face sporting an amused smile.

“At least there’s no coffee this time,” Luke teases, keeping his hands on you a tad longer than necessary before he pulls them back to his own body.

“Shut up,” You mumbled, hoping he didn’t notice the tinge to your cheeks, “I was looking at the stupid fancy decorations. I didn’t know you were going to be down here.”

“I noticed,” He chuckled, “You thought I wouldn’t meet you down here?”

“Well, no. You gave me the apartment number so I expected to meet you there,” You shrugged, forcing your gaze away from him and to your feet.

“You would’ve thought it was weird if I didn’t give you the apartment number,” He raises his eyebrows even though you aren’t looking at him, “Besides, sometimes people have trouble finding the door. It’s a little confusing.”

When you had reached the floor his apartment was on and saw that it was only one big hallway, you couldn’t help but give him a confused look. It wasn’t confusing at all, especially given the fact that his door was only the second one on the left. You could tell he was purposely avoiding looking in your direction as he pushed through the door, holding it open for you to slip inside, and you chose to let it be.

The rest of the night was spent with the two of you talking about anything that possibly came to mind once you got through the brief bout of awkward tension, and you quickly found that Luke could talk forever. He talked about his teammates and family in a way that made you smile because it was clear he truly loved and looked up to them. You told him about your family back home and why you moved and the way he was hanging on to every word made you flustered because no one had ever cared enough to listen to you that way.

By the time the night was winding down, you were close enough to him on the couch that your thighs would brush together and his arm was slung around the cushions behind you, but not touching you. There was a movie playing on the tv in front of you, but you would be lying if you said you were paying attention to it. All you could think about was how things with Luke flowed so naturally and how you hadn’t felt this comfortable around someone in so long that you forgot the feeling even existed.

The two of you began hanging out regularly after that, never doing anything more than something you would do with a friend, but you could feel your feelings for him grow with each passing day. It started off as small notions and things you could brush off, but then you found yourself thinking of him no matter what you were doing. You were always seeing something that reminded you of him or something that made you think ��oh, Luke would love that. I can’t wait to show him’. However, you were far too scared to let yourself believe that he would ever feel the same, so you swallowed those urges and went on as if nothing had changed.

When Luke had asked if you would be interested in going to one of his games, you thought nothing of it. You had told him that you would gladly go, but you would only need one ticket since your roommate worked most evenings and you didn’t necessarily have anyone else to go with. He told you not to worry about that and he would figure something out for you before he asked for your email to send the ticket. What he meant by that, you weren’t sure, but you didn’t ask questions.

You asked your roommate to help you with your outfit before she left for work that day, wanting to make sure what you wore wasn’t too much but also wasn’t sloppy. Once she had settled on something that adhered to your standards, she managed to leave enough time for her to help with your hair as well. She could tell that you were nervous based on the way your hands were constantly fiddling with each other and by the way your already clumsy habits seemed to increase by the second.

You weren’t entirely sure why you were so nervous. It wasn’t like this was the first time you were hanging out with Luke, and it surely wasn’t going to be the last. For some reason, him inviting you to one of his games felt different, but then it made you queasy because you began to think about how many girls he had invited before. By the time you were on your way to the arena, you had managed to calm yourself down enough that your heart rate was almost back to normal and your self sabotaging thoughts had been long forgotten.

Luke had taken the liberty of reserving parking for you, which you tried to deny but he said he had already done it so there was no room to argue. The parking garage was full of people in various jerseys for both teams as they made their way into the arena with you following suit because you had virtually no idea where you were going. You were so focused on looking at section numbers that you kept bumping into people, quiet apologies tumbling from your lips as you rushed away from their pointed looks.

Eventually, you found the correct section and showed your ticket to the usher at the top of the stairs before following his direction as you walked down. You stopped at the row your seat was in, your eyes falling on a group of women as they talked and laughed with one another, and you suddenly felt a wave of insecurity wash over you. They clearly knew each other, and you were there by yourself, and on top of that, they were absolutely gorgeous.

You took a deep breath before you shuffled down the row and to your seat, trying to ignore the way their voices grew quiet whenever you sat down. You could feel their eyes on you as you kept yours on the rink, watching as they set up the net and as others filed down towards their seats before the game started. It wasn’t until you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder that you turned to look at the one sitting right next to you.

“Hi,” One of them greeted, a bright smile on her face, “I’m Nicole!

You let out a shaky breath as you took her hand, giving her your name before returning her smile. The way her eyes lit up and she briefly glanced at the girls around her with a subtle smirk threw you off, but she was quick to ease your confusion as she moved her focus back to you.

“So you’re the girl Luke won’t stop talking about,” She playfully teases, “He made sure Jesper told me you would be coming and to look out for you so you weren’t alone.”

You can’t stop your face from heating up by being identified as ‘the girl Luke won’t shut about’, and judging by the way the other girls looked at you, it seemed to be a universal experience. They went around and introduced themselves, and their children, to you before they began to ask you questions. They started off with the easy questions such as your career, if you were in school, if you were from the area, if you were a big fan of hockey, but they quickly transferred the topic over to your relationship with Luke.

“We’re just friends,” You meekly said, eyes darting away from them as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

“But you like him,” Cat asks as she raises her eyebrows, though her tone hints that she knows the answer to that.

You briefly hesitated, not sure what your response should be, but you were very graciously saved by the music blaring through the speakers followed by the announcer's voice. You hastily turned towards the ice, thanking whatever higher being saved you from the embarrassment of admitting your feelings out loud.

As the game started, you caught yourself really only focusing on Luke rather than the puck itself. If he wasn’t on the ice, you were leaning towards the girls beside you to ask questions about the game you didn’t entirely understand. When he was on the ice, you flinched every time he got hit a little too hard, or when he would trip over seemingly nothing and fall on the ice. Although, you did know to join in on the collective booing whenever he was sent to the penalty box for a bogus call.

The game ended up going into overtime with Luke, his brother, and team captain on the ice as they stood opposite the Flyers players. Your hands were clasped together as you leaned forward, waiting with baited breath as the puck dropped on the ice. You watch as they skate towards their net, hastily trying to get the puck from the other team. You’re not sure who managed to get possession, but the next thing you know Luke is taking a shot that ends up in the net to win the game.

You jump out of your seat as you scream, your eyes not leaving Luke as he learns forward into a celebratory bow that you’re positive he did when he was at Michigan. A fact you knew after you asked him “if he was even good at hockey” and he proceeded to show you his highlight reels for the next hour. His team rushes towards him with giant smiles on their faces as they crowd around him, the arena filling with cheers so loud that it made your ears ring.

By the time things had calmed down, Nicole was the first to tell you that you were supposed to go with them down to the locker room. You walked through the arena with them, only briefly stopping to talk with security because you didn’t have the correct pass. The area outside the locker room was buzzing with life as various friends and family members of the team waited for the guys, their voices meshing with the loud cheers from inside.

The guys slowly began to trickle out of the locker room clad in their fancy and expensive suits, dopey grins on their faces. You stayed tucked between Cat and Nicole as they talked, but you were only halfway listening as you kept an eye out for Luke. Some of the guys you only vaguely remembered from pictures or videos Luke had shown you, but most you knew with confidence because of how often their names popped up in conversation.

When you finally saw a familiar head of curls walking through the doors, it was a bit embarrassing how quickly a smile grew on your face. He wasn’t even looking in your direction, instead animatedly talking to his brother who had seen you, a slight smirk on his face. The girls had stepped away from you, knowing looks on their faces when Luke finally looked in front of him to see you standing there waiting for him.

If they thought Luke was excited before, it was absolutely nothing compared to the look on his face when his eyes landed on you. He quickened his pace, leaving his conversation, and his brother, behind as he only focused on getting to you. You were painfully aware of the multitude of gazes on you, the attention beginning to slightly overwhelm you, but all of the worry disappeared the moment Luke wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him.

“Congratulations on your goal,” You mumble with your head pressed against his chest, your arms draped around the middle of his frame.

“Thank you for coming,” He quietly says, his hold on you subtly tightening as he lets out a deep breath.

You can barely hear the quiet whispers of those around you over the blood pounding in your ears, but you didn’t mind them anyways. Right now, all you wanted to focus on was the way his arms felt around you and the way his entire body seemed to relax under your touch. While physical touch with Luke wasn’t uncommon, it still gave you a small sense of hope that maybe everyone was right and maybe he did like you back after all.

“Jack, you might need somewhere to stay tonight,” You heard one of the other guys tease from behind him, making your face heat up as you stepped away from Luke. Though he doesn’t entirely break away from, keeping his arm slung across your shoulders as he turns to look at his teammates.

“Oh, I planned for it don’t worry,” He laughs as he shakes his head, “You picked a good first game to come to. Luke played his ass off.”

“I always do,” Luke quickly defended himself, his voice slightly raising and his posture straightening the smallest amount.

“Yeah, but you really did tonight,” Dawson pressed with a mischievous smile on his face.

“You guys are annoying,” Luke rolls his eyes, “I’m starving, so we are going to leave. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

Your gaze snaps up to Luke as he briefly looks down at you with his usual half smile, but the sound of Jack calling out to him briefly moves his attention back to his brother. You let your eyes fall back to the ground in front of you, your mind running a mile a minute as you try to ignore the way he’s slightly grazing the skin above your collarbone with his fingers. Your breath hitches in your throat, the skin involuntarily raising in wake of his touch as you try to keep yourself outwardly collected.

“Hey,” Luke’s voice breaks through the thin barrier keeping you composed, “You ready? I figured I’ll drive so you can put the chipotle order in and we can pick it up on our way back to my apartment. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” You breathe out, giving him a small smile.

The two of you bid goodbye to the others, but not before they could pass on teasing comments or not so subtle winks as you passed by them. Luke had dropped his arm from your shoulders, a small absent feeling settling over you when he did. He asked you if you ended up having a good time and if the girls were nice to you, which you, of course, told him that you did and the girls were extremely welcoming and kind.

When Luke had climbed into the driver’s seat, he fished his wallet out of his pocket and handed you his credit card with the subtle threat that if he didn’t see a charge on his card for the food that he would buy you the expensive hoodie you had looked at a few days ago. You rolled your eyes as you took his card, not knowing that he had already bought the hoodie anyway and was waiting to give it to you.

By the time the two of you had picked up your food and were back at his apartment, your nerves from earlier had almost entirely disappeared and things felt normal again. Before the two of you started eating, he went into his room to change, and he returned with a random pair of sweatpants you had forgotten you bought last week and a shirt you’re positive was his. He waited for you to come back before he started eating like he always did, but you couldn’t help but feel like the air surrounding you felt slightly off.

You couldn’t tell if you were overthinking things or if something really was wrong because you still felt that way when the two of you moved to the couch. Luke still sat in his usual spot directly next to you, but he was barely focusing on the movie. His eyes kept darting around the room and he was nervously chewing on his bottom lip. You wanted to ask him if he was okay, but you kept your eyes on the TV until he spoke up.

“Can I tell you something,” Luke nearly shouted, slightly startling you out of your spot on the couch, “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just– I need to tell you something.”

Your eyes were wide and full of confusion, and slight panic, as you spoke, “Yeah, of course. You can tell me anything.”

You watched as he took a deep breath, slightly turning his body so he was facing you completely, and you couldn’t help but let an almost painful sense of worry envelope you. You were running over every possible scenario you could conjure in your mind, but they were all so negative that you had convinced yourself what he was going to say was too.

“This might screw everything up and if you never want to talk to me again, that’s fine, but I can’t ignore it anymore,” His voice was serious, yet thick with an emotion you refused to place, “After I scored tonight and all the guys were around me, all I could think about was you. Not even just you being there to see it, but celebrating with you. Seeing your smile. Hugging you. Kissing you.”

He said the last part so quietly that you almost didn’t hear him, but you did. Those two words rang in your ears as you looked at him, your mouth slightly dropped open as the ability to form a semi coherent thought in your mind suddenly fleeing. You wanted to respond, to tell him that it was all you could think about too, but your mouth and brain were far from cooperative.

Your silence was slowly suffocating Luke, and he quickly wishes he never said anything at all. To him, he knew it was a long shot that you felt the same way he did. Early in your friendship, you had let it slip that you weren't looking for a relationship and you wanted to focus on yourself. He knew that, but he couldn’t keep his feelings to himself anymore.

“I’m sorry,” He backtracks, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have said anyth–”

You cut him off by surging forward and slamming your lips on his own, not trusting yourself to accurately say everything you felt. Luke’s reaction was almost instantaneous, his hands grabbing at your hips and pulling you onto his lip as he kisses you back. The metaphorical wall that had been keeping the two of you as friends crumbled beneath you as you pour everything you felt for him into one kiss.

His hands had moved to the small of your back, pulling you so close that there wasn’t even a millimeter of space separating you from him. Your hands were looped around his neck as your mouth moved against his own, and you couldn’t stop yourself from carefully grasping at his curls. Luke groaned against you, and he knew he had to stop before he took things too far on his living room couch.

He pulls away from you, his heavy breathing falling in sync with your own as he drops his head to your shoulder. You can feel his chest rise and fall against you as you attempt to gather your thoughts and tell yourself that this was real. That it actually happened and it wasn’t something you had dreamed up again, but you were suddenly shaken from your thoughts when Luke harshly snapped his head up to look at you.

“Wait, does this mean you like me back,” He asks, feigning a sense of seriousness, but you can see the smile threatening to shine through.

“You’re an idiot,” You playfully roll your eyes at him.

“Maybe, but I’m your idiot, ” He counters before his eyes slightly widen as he hesitantly continues, “Right?”

“Yeah,” You chuckle, a small smile decorating your face, “You are.”

The two of you spend the rest of the night wrapped up in the other, the movie halfway forgotten as you found yourself with your lips on his more often than not. You were selfishly thankful that Jack had been telling the truth when he said he found somewhere else to stay. The uninterrupted time you spent in Luke’s arms allowed you to truly soak it in. To relish in the fact that you had finally found someone who made you believe that love did exist, and you owed it all to one spilled coffee.

[finniestoncrane]

Pleaseeeee can I have a softer Cooper who worries a lot about his girlfriend having to deal with people looking at them weird all the time, but who would be happy to yell "THIS IS MY MAN!" to anyone who would listen?

Willingly

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 1.5k i am already on the soft cooper train oh no lmaooooo just a little bit of soft boyfriend cooper, or as soft as i imagine he can get, being defended by his partner 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: guns, blood, violence, good old fashioned trope fic!

Cooper struggled against your gentle grip, his gloved hand pulling away from yours, fingers no longer entwined with yours. You looked to him, noticing he was avoiding your inquisitive gaze, and then noticed the crudely painted sign on the wall ahead of you. The gates to the nearest settlement were just ahead of you. Your last stop before you headed on to the next job.

“What? Are you embarrassed to walk in here holding my hand, Coop?”

His easy, charming smile seemed a little off as he spoke to you, still looking straight ahead.

“You kiddin’? Darlin’, this is for your benefit. Not many settlements are alright with folks like me at the best of times, but with you on my arm? We’d both be in danger, and I can’t keep spendin’ all my time savin’ you.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“I can hold my own. You know that.”

There was no response, but you knew better than to keep fighting your corner in this particular arena. So instead, you sighed, placing your hands which now felt so incredibly cold and empty, back into your pockets to keep them from mindedly grabbing Cooper’s hands again. You couldn’t be too annoyed. For someone as stoic and cold as he could be, the fact he tolerated holding your hand at all was a pleasant enough gesture. But his willingness to offer up any form of physical affection dwindled completed when there was a risk of running into people. He became reserved, quiet, well-behaved almost. It was something you hadn’t expected from him, to be shy or to allow someone else’s opinions to hold him back. And admittedly, a lot of the time, you had worried that it was because he didn’t want to be seen with you. But you knew it was the other way around in his mind. He was afraid of how people would look at you.

As though he could hear your thoughts, knowing you well enough after all this time together, Cooper spoke finally as you sidled up to the gates.

“You wake up to this face smiling. You call me handsome. You say I’m charming. Good lookin’ I might be in your books, but there ain’t a lot of charm left in these old bones, sweetheart. I couldn’t talk my way out of an argument, and since you keep remindin’ me that I’m not allowed to cause problems everywhere we go…”

He tapped his thumb against the barrel of his holstered gun.

“… Then I just better not give anyone any more reason not to like me.”

“Well, I like you, Coop.”

“And I will forever question your judgement on that, kid.”

Smiling, you both passed through the open gate of the settlement and separated with a nod to get the supplies you needed. Quicker, and safer, to go separately. But still, you kept your head down, Cooper with his ragged mask up and his hat brim tipped to cover as much of his face as possible. Quiet, subtle, nondescript.

It didn’t stop them though, three of them. Pointing towards you, setting their beer bottles down on the stained and rusting bar top as they rushed to follow you.

“Hey! Hello there, pretty lady! You all alone?”

Turning, you spotted the colour of the uniform first, immediately recognising that you had made a mistake in even acknowledging them. That telltale burnt orange jumpsuit. The arrogance in their smug smiles. The Brother of Steel.

“No. I’m not alone.”

“Sure looks like you are… you know, maybe you could come on over and we’ll by you a cola?”

They laughed amongst themselves as you walked on. That one answer and a quick disappearing act was all you were willing to give them, turning quickly back and trying to lose them in the crowd as they slapped each other’s backs and spat to the ground.

And you thought you had been successful. You found a trader with everything you needed on your list before you returned to wait just beyond the gate for Cooper, no further interruptions to your day from the louts at the bar. But the entire interaction had out you on edge, so much so that when Cooper appeared behind you, leaning in without you noticing to whisper in your ear, you jumped out of your skin. Luckily, he was quick, and managed to grab your wrist before your fist struck the side of his face.

“Jumpy, aren’t you? Maybe you don’t think I’m so handsome after all.”

His wink made you blush, it always did, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning like a fool.

“You surprised me is all, smartass.”

Cooper smiled, tightening the grip on your wrist and pulling you closer to him. You feigned some resistance, pretending to put up a fight against his grin, his charms, his strength. But you were following his pull, your lips almost touching his before the blow was landed.

Cooper’s body was knocked completely off balance, his body falling to the ground in a cloud of dust. Turning in the direction he was hit from, you found yourself staring down the three members of the Brotherhood from the market. Holding back some of the choice words you had for them, you managed to narrow it down to one question simple enough for even them to answer.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Shocked by your ungrateful attitude, one of the men, the largest of the three, stepped forward and pushing your shoulder with his finger.

“We’re saving you from assault, lady! This monster had its hands all over you, but don’t worry, we’ll take care of it. And you’re welcome.”

You scoffed, face going red with rage as you knelt to help Cooper up.

“You’re not saving me, asshole! You’re ruining the fucking vibe, you dweebs.”

Again, a far more polite term than you had wanted to use, but that didn’t seem to make the men any less aggressive towards either Cooper or now you. The largest of the men grabbed your arm, pulling you back up and away from the hand that Cooper had held out to you.

“Oh… you’re one of those freaks! No wonder you turned down some good old-fashioned heroes like us then.”

One of the others nudged you to the side, the other pushing Cooper back down to the ground with a kick, turning around as all of them converged on you until your back was against the wall. Nowhere to go. Trapped by them as they made their disgusting comments.

“Why would you waste your time on some abomination like that, huh? You into freaky stuff? Cos I could sure show you a thing or two. What’s he got? Like two cocks or something weird like that?”

You spat out your retort, well aware of the repercussions, but not caring.

“He could be feral and I’d still let him touch me before I even thought about letting any of you near me.”

Bracing for impact, you squeezed your eyelids shut, opening them again moments later when you realised you hadn’t been hit yet. Instead, all three of the Knights were on the ground, Cooper kneeling over them as he tightened the lasso and added the long length around their wrists for measure.

“Oughta keep ‘em long enough for us to make our escape, hm?”

You nodded, smiling, surprised still at how effective he was at handling anything the Wasteland threw at him.

“And I did it all without too much violence and noise, like you asked.”

“My hero.”

You swooned playfully, watching him as he made his way to stand beside you, both of you looking down without an ounce of pity at the men who writhed before you in the dirt.

“And look at you, shouting all those kind words about me for anyone to hear.”

“I keep telling you, Coop. I can hold my own, and I don’t care what people think.”

“You sure about that, darlin’? The likes of these fellas don’t put you off none?”

His eyes darted towards the Knights, now trussed up and struggling against each other on the ground, straining their necks to move their heads out of the line of Cooper’s gun.

“What? You think I’m put off by the Brotherhood? Yeah… and the rads put me off stuffing tin after tin of delicious cram down my throat.”

Cooper grabbed your hand in his, initiating the contact for the first time, and pulled you away back onto the cracked road. He knew he’d let go before you hit the next settlement, but he felt a little bit better about the risks associated. Especially since he had to admit, you could hold your own. And you were determined to do so when it came to him. It was nice to feel like he could let the affection be reciprocated.

[hotchfiles]

— help me hold onto you • aaron hotchner

fem!reader, unprotected vaginal sex, a bit of angst.

he knew he would be in trouble whenever he turned those keys. what he wasn’t expecting was how big the trouble would be. he had no idea he would open the door to three bags full of clothes and other things he left at your place as the months passed, waiting for him.

“darling? what–what are these?” he asks even though he knows the answer, hoping you want to at least talk about it before making any harsh decisions. you’ve been in a relationship for almost a year now and it works. it always worked.

normally you wouldn’t drink before an argument, still when he gets to the kitchen he sees you calmly sipping on a tall glass of wine, fingers tapping on the table, hair up, face clean but red, you were in your pajamas already, nothing like you probably looked hours before.

“what’s the only thing i asked of you, aaron?” you don’t move, don’t glance up at him, eyes focused solely on how the purplish red liquid moved in your glass, taking a big sip right after.

aaron sighs in frustration, he didn’t want this to become a fight. he was so tired. “i know, i’m sorry–”

“answer the question, please.”

“don’t make promises i can’t keep.” he takes his tie off quickly, suddenly feeling suffocated by the fabric surrounding his neck. that’s why your relationship worked, you knew he was busy and his schedule was unpredictable, so very early on you accepted it as it was, saying you wouldn’t be mad at him as long as he didn’t break any promises. if you’re not sure, don’t promise me you will be able to make it.

first months he wouldn’t promise you anything, too afraid to break it, to disappoint you.

he watches as you take the wine in a mouthful and refills the glass, the bottle now empty and starts getting frustrated, you’re a loud drunk and you’re surely already getting tipsy.

this was the first time he slipped up, it didn’t need to be such a big deal, it didn’t avail to having his things right at the door as if he was getting kicked out. all the other times he promised he could take time off, he did it. just–teens were getting kidnapped, the team needed him.

“we saved two girls today.” low blow. but it was true, he wasn’t back in time because of that, he got on the jet instead of staying back to do that. to save two thirteen year old girls. not some futile reason. it had to count for something.

“i’m proud of you for that, aaron. are you proud of me? for the promotion we were supposed to celebrate with my boss? or are our accomplishments only worth it when it’s about saving someone?” you raise your voice only slightly, the alcohol from the sweet wine getting to you slowly and then all at once.

you always tried your best to keep your voice down when arguing with him, simply because he never raised his, and it could be an endearing feature if it didn’t look like he did it to look like the rational one, the right one.

“that’s not what i said–”

“i know what you said. you want to make the fact you let me down okay because you did a wonderful thing someplace else. that’s not how it works.” you open the second bottle of wine of the night, feeling his eyes on your back. “i want you to leave.”

“you know this is ridiculous, you’re acting like a child.” sore spot. you were a few years younger and that had never been a problem. but he couldn’t go back now, he could see the anger darkening your eyes, your knuckles turning white by the strength you’re using to grip on the edge of the table.

“how am i a child?” you begin slowly and keeping your voice down, you get up finally from the chair you had been sitting, facing him directly, his instincts make him try to touch your arms, but you dodge it quickly. “we had an agreement. you broke it. am i a child for not giving you permission to hurt me again?”

he knows you’re about to snap, your chest coming up and down in rapid breaths, and he doesn’t feel particularly in the right, he knows he screwed up and he’s sorry, but your reaction is out of proportion to him, an exaggeration made to make him feel more guilty than he already does. “i said you’re acting like a child. the one time things don’t go your way and you’re packing me out?” aaron almost feels the sharpness of a slap but he’s quick enough to grab your wrist. “see? proving my point.”

“how many times do i have to accept you screwing up so i can be seen as mature?” you yank your arm out of his grip and go back to your drink, “same times as haley? how many times did she forgive you so you could go around and do it all again?”

lower blow.

hotch feels it right in his core and he’s angry at you for bringing up but more so angry at himself because you were right. still, it is anger nonetheless that guides his next actions, quickly and firmly walking up to you, caging you against the table in sudden movements.

your breath hitches from the surprise, and your attempt to move is stopped by his roughed hands on your chin, firm but never close to hurting. “i’m not leaving.” you wince, not in fear of him, but of how easy he can make your mind go blank when he’s that close.

his eyes go from your eyes to your lips, he notices your failed attempt to conceal the way you licked your lips, he glances at your chest, heavy breathing under your thin pajama shirt, nipples hardening against the fabric.

damn you for choosing wine.

hotch reads your mind almost, but his smirk doesn’t last too long displayed on his lips, your hands pulling him by the neck, a low groan followed by a “fuck this” leaving your wine tasting lips just mere seconds before gluing to his.

eager to get your forgiveness, he is quick to follow your lead, both hands sneaking under your clothes, one down the waistband of your shorts, grabbing hard on the flesh of your ass, the other drawing soft circles on your nipple.

you melt into the kiss, his lips, his hands, his scent, him. and you have no time to feel bad about it, pulled up to sit on the table, legs around his waist, you can feel how hard he is against your wetness.

a pained whimper leaves his lips when you use the new position to grind onto him, needing something, anything against your clit at this point.

aaron sinks his teeth into your bottom lip to get your full attention, earning a loud moan in response, his hands travel your thighs and you pull his shirt out his pants so you can feel his skin under your fingertips, not bothering to unbutton them and working with what you got under it.

his lips travel your neck and your collarbone, “i love you, so, so much”. his declaration comes in between kisses and the sucking of your skin, “please don’t make me leave after this.” it comes in a whisper now, but he doesn’t stop, pushing your shorts down and sliding it down till it drops to the floor with your help.

“just shut up and take your pants off.”

“you know i can only do one of those.” it makes you laugh and you sink your nails to the bit of fat on his side, the tiniest bit of annoyance at how easy he had you in the palm of his hand and how he didn’t even seem to know it truly.

on the edge of the table sliding his hard cock into your folds was an easy feat, pants, shoes and his boxers long gone, his socks stayed on almost making him lose balance as he feels just how wet you are. he drops his head, forehead on your shoulder

“fuck—oh my god, you are so wet, you’re always so wet for me.” it isn’t arrogant, it’s appreciative almost, you move his head so you can look at him, hot, sweaty already, cheeks so red as his eyes were glassy, the mix of lust and love and regret clear in his dark caramel irises.

you kiss him once more, sweet, forgiving and he takes this as his sign to continue, pushing you down the table, hotch holds your thighs for support, plunging his cock into your wet cunt with ease, bottoming out at the first thrust. you enjoyed the stretching pain and you never had the patience to wait.

lower lips between your teeth, you slide one of your hands to your clit, two fingers working your arousal, quickly replaced by aaron’s calloused fingers. you arch your back and moan loudly, “fuck, yes, and move.”

it feels like an order and for hotch it is one, he is delighted to oblige, maintaining the same finger moves on your clit and beginning to fuck your pussy, strong, firm and precise at first.

“honey, fuck—please…” his begging is meant to warn you that if you keep clenching around him he won’t be able to control himself, you almost don’t listen, fingers working on your own nipples enjoying the high he is always able to get you in.

“aaron—i’m… fuck, don’t stop, you’re so good.”

the praising, the guidance, the reassurance, it makes the moans leaving his lips seem like whining, he enjoys it too much.

“yeah? like this?” the way your hands try to grab him is enough answer to him, along with how tight your pussy is throbbing against him, you’re almost there, he can feel it.

his movements on your clit get sloppier, the sight and sound of your wetness against his digits making him go insane. your back arches once more and your whole body begin to squirm, the tight coil in your lower belly finally ripping, “yes, fuck—“ you’re breathless, weak, but you still have it in you to edge him in, “aaron, baby, cum for me, please.”

he would be crazy to do anything but, so quickly you ask him and his hands are hoisting both your legs over his shoulders, getting a new, deeper position, it doesn’t take long for you to feel him filling you up, “i can’t live without you, you’re so, so good for me” his lasts broken words before letting himself go.

you don’t move and neither does he, his dick softening inside you, his hands caging you in the table and his head dropped to his chest, both just trying to recover.

“aaron?”

“yes, sweetheart?”

“you can stay.” he looks at you with nothing but love and happiness and gratitude, “but if you screw up again do not try fucking me into forgiving you, i’ll chop your dick off.”

“you like it too much to do that.” his grin is sincere, feeling finally free to joke around you, he gets out of you and you whine at the loss. “see?”

“bite me.”

“gladly.”

[mayakern]

hiiii it's me! devin! ur favorite!

maya is still banned from doing big business things on social media while she takes time to rest and detoxify from the poison that is running social media full time for ten years. everybody clap! yay!

i'm here to share some info on our button-up shirt and dress preorders!

as many of you already know, i lost my anti-preorder campaign due to the high minimum per design. there's been some confusion and uncertainty. carsyn's doing her best but preorders are overwhelming and i have some time today

SO TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS:

how close are you to hitting the minimum goal for the button-up shirts and dresses?

not close lol. as of 4/26 we're at about 8% funded. i refuse to panic until after may 3rd

why the funeral design?

the funeral design won our design poll

initially we were going to run preorders for two designs: funeral as well as astronauts. when we got news that the minimum would be 400 garments per design (we're able to spread that across the button-up shirts and dresses) we decided to cut back to one design. we're really not big enough to expect 800 orders on an $80-90 item

why not another design?

another design did not win the design poll

what would have been chosen other than funeral or astronaut?

deadly florals, hiss from a rose, microorganisms, and hands were all the top placers in the design poll after funeral

can you do solid color?

yes

why didn't you do solid color?

you can buy a solid color button-up shirt or dress from anywhere. the plan has always been to introduce these garments in solid color after their initial introduction

...so can you do solid color?

we will consider doing solid color preorders if these preorders bomb

how much would solid color cost?

probably the same. it's not much cheaper. it's faster to make tho

how much would the ecovero viscose cost instead of cotton?

maybe like $10 cheaper

it's really soft tbh but it's a different weave from the viscose for the skirts. it's my number one fabric for the button-ups but alas the cotton fandom won for now

what happens if preorders bomb?

we cancel and refund all preorders.

maybe we'll try again with a different design or with fewer features after we have some time to decompress from the nightmare that is running preorders (can you tell i hate preorders). if they bomb bad enough we may completely nix patterned button-up shirts and dresses. we don't know yet!

does that affect the picnic top?

the picnic top is completely separate. since it's made out of a different fabric it has its own minimum, so it will not be affected by button-up shirt and dress preorders

and like, to be totally honest, it's way cheaper to produce. we can eat some of the cost and just make them. they're small enough to store easily and they're at a lower price point so we can expect to sell them after we receive them, like the wrap tops

btw, we have other ready-to-ship things already in production. we've been working on a whole secret project. surprise!

why did you launch preorders for the button-up shirt/dress at the same time as the picnic top?

the picnic top sample came in with the button-up dress sample and it needed very little alteration. also maya liked it. also we may be developing an entire line inspired by the picnic top so keep an eye out for that next spring

why is the new button-up shirt more expensive than the old button-up shirt?

it's more expensive to make

why is it more expensive to make?

this is a different factory from the one we used before. it's more expensive because they pay their staff a higher wage and likely have other costs

this is a different fabric from the one we used before. it's a stretch cotton with a GOTS certification

this is imported from a different country from the one we used before. turkey has much higher import fees to the US

what is a GOTS certification?

the short version is the fabric itself is more environmentally friendly and produced with more fair labor practices than standard cotton

you can read the long version here here

can you do fulfillment from somewhere other than the US?

we're working on it. it probably won't lower prices tho, since fulfillment centers also cost money

anyway...

none of this is to shame someone for not preordering. groceries are expensive and things are tight, plus it kinda sucks to spend on a tight budget and not get what you ordered for a few months

(can you tell i hate preorders)

i think there's a lot of surprise since we've never done preorders on a single design before, and that's fair! we debated on doing a kickstarter but a) i hate doing kickstarters b) kickstarter takes a percentage of sales and our profit margin on these is already lower than we'd like it to be

i'm tired and i can't remember anything else i wanted to say. i may answer any additional questions from my own tumblr (@punchyemblem and now i'm gonna get a notification that i'm gonna be jumpscared by) but carsyn will be handling most questions

also don't worry, when you say nice things we still show maya. also she's fine, she's just in her (forced and highly necessary and possibly permanent) limited social media era

[wasteddmoondust]

pineapple || james potter

pairing: james potter x reader 1,219 words, teacher and james go on their first date! what could go wrong? a/n: can you tell i am horrible at titling my fics... somehow i just need it to relate to what happens. so uh. enjoy!

prev. chapter

You feel your heart going absolutely crazy. You know it's first-date jitters, but somehow it feels worse this time. It's nothing special, really. You try to tell yourself. Just another first date. Just like other first dates (that has turned to nothing...) And now this first date is the father of one of the children you teach. Yeah, nothing special.

After several attempts to make yourself busy by looking at your phone, you hear your name. It's James and he's walking up to you.

"First name basis already?" you ask smugly.

He chuckles, "What? Sorry, I guess I'll just call you-"

"Please don't, I hate being called that outside of work."

"Got it."

The two of you walk together and he leads you to a quaint coffee shop, James swears by the coffee made here. When the orders are made you find a seat and sit down.

"It's been a while since I've been on a date," he says, hands fidgeting with the receipt.

"Same here," you admit.

He stops playing with the receipt and furrows his brows. "Really? But I'm the parent."

"And I'm the one taking care of your kid for a whole day, 20 kids, actually."

"Huh... and you don't even meet people in the industry?"

You snort. "Unfortunately no, a lot of them are older and married with kids. There's no one to date there. Trust me, even the older teachers try to make me get on dating apps. If anything, you're doing them a favour."

He grins that grin that makes your heart do a little flip. Oh god, it's happening, huh?

"I'm happy to do that."

You continue your conversation, keeping it light with small talk. Then, a waiter comes by to give you your meal and you both thank him. James' phone dings, he checks the message and he replies to it while you patiently wait for him.

He looks back up at you and keeps his phone. "Sorry, my best friend is taking care of Harry today, he was just sending an update."

"That's alright. Is he doing okay?"

"Harry?" he asks, looking a little nervous. His arms are resting crossed on the table. "Uh- yeah. He's fine. Not so sure about Sirius. He just said he's letting Harry use his tattoos as a colouring book."

You laugh. "Yeah, I can see that. He does love to colour. Have you always wanted to be a father?"

James looks stunned, but laughs it off. "Not a normal question for the first date, is it?"

"Well since you already are one," you shrug.

James thinks for a while before answering. "Yeah... I've always wanted kids... Well I'm sure you've seen from the documents I sent to the school when Harry enrolled. I'm widowed..."

You nod, you do in fact know this, you had read through those documents for every child. Understanding their family structure and dynamics can be a big help in understanding the child and improving their development in school and at home.

"She uh- had complications at birth and didn't make it." He let out a sigh and shrugged. "So now it's just me and Harry. And I wouldn't trade him for the world.

"You really love him, don't you?"

"I do."

"You know you can talk about him, right?"

James looks down and purses his lips. "It's just that... other people I've dated weren't really... keen on the fact that I have a kid. You know, another person's child and all."

You tilt your head down to try and make eye contact with him. Somehow, your hand reaches out to his. "You know that doesn't matter to me, right? I already knew you had a son, hell, I even taught him for a whole year, and I still accepted your date."

His mouth forms a small frown, but his hand grabs yours anyway. "I just didn't want to seem weird."

"You're not. Promise," you give his hand a squeeze.

"Is it too early to want to kiss you?"

You both stare at each other for a second before you burst out laughing, making him laugh too.

James starts to tell you about Harry, and visibly gets more comfortable the more he does it. He tells stories from his first words to potty fails. He shows videos and pictures. From there, the both of you fall into an easy rhythm of branching from topic to topic in your conversation. You exchange bites of your food. Before you know it, you're laughing while your meal is long done and you're both on your second cup of coffee.

For some reason, you feel an itch in your throat.

Nonchalantly, you ask, "Did your pasta have pineapple?"

"Yes, why?"

"Firstly, who the hell puts pineapple in pasta? Secondly, I think I'm having an allergic reaction."

James sits up in a panic. "Oh god- I'm so sorry-"

You cough into your first. "It's fine, it usually doesn't react as bad as it used to but I like to stay away from pineapples anyway. I'm not gonna die. Can you get me some cold water, please?"

He immediately stands up and gets you a glass from the counter. You down the glass in seconds and you feel better.

"I'm so sorry that was embarrassing-"

"You're sorry? I gave you a bite!"

"I forgot to ask, it's my fault."

He gently places a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry, let me make it up to you"

"James, trust me, it's fine-"

"I'll bring you on a second date."

You furrow your brows. "You just saw me cough my lungs out from an allergic reaction and you still want to bring me out?" you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness.

"I mean... I still find you attractive after all that so if you find me attractive after I rambled about my own child to you though you have taught him for this past year I don't see why not."

At this point, you're pretty sure your cheeks hurt from all the smiling you've been doing the entire time.

Despite your protests, James insists on driving you home. When you reach the entrance to your apartment building, he tells you to wait before rushing out of the car to open the door to the passenger's side. You giggle and take the hand he holds out to you as you step out of his car.

He tugs the hand that is holding yours to make you face him. He's so close, you're desperately hoping your cheeks don't show how flushed you are.

"So... same time next week?" you suggest.

He nods. "No pineapples this time, guaranteed."

"And you're allowed to talk about Harry."

He beams at that, looking down and letting out a sigh before looking back at you. "Is it still too early to kiss you?"

"Yes, but for now I'll give you this," you press a kiss to his cheek. You slowly walk towards your building, your arms stretching until you gently let go when you're too far away. "I'll see you next week!"

And like that, you disappear into the building. James is left standing there, still in disbelief of the entire day.

He lets out a sigh, smiling, and gets into his car. He 's so excited to tell Sirius when he gets home.

a/n: if i'm being so honest i have zero idea how most allergies work so please don't get technical with me... also!!!! thank you so much for the love on part one eek i am on a roll i'm so happy to be writing this series.

taglist: @willows-lane @celosiastarr @nsr-15

[pit-and-the-pen]

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart (Pt 2 to unrequited love)

A/n: HERE IT IS BESTIES!!! The official Pt 2 to unrequited love! I know the poll is still live but I’m impatient. So to make sure I’m still taking everyone’s votes into account there will be an alternate ending that should be posted right after this.

Read the Alt ending here, it's pretty similar in places

I'm still absolutely blown away by how well-received the first part was. This is going to be an ongoing series, all could be read individually but the "background" will be these two fics.

Warnings: Angst, Cursing, reader suffers from depressed thoughts

WC: ~3.4k

divder by @cafekitsune

The next morning I was in Rhys office. He barely even looked up from the paper strewn over his desk before I spoke. 

“I’m going back home.” 

He sighed, leaning back into his chair. His eyes raked over me, “Does this have anything to do with why Azriel was so huffy this morning?” His eyebrow raised and I felt the anger I’d been trying to quell since last night rise its head up like a sleeping dragon.

“Fuck off. Let him be mad if he wants to be mad.” I snapped. 

“Mad isn’t exactly how I would put it,” He paused looking at me. “What happened?” The High Lord questioned. I sighed not having the strength to recount the events from last night. 

“Nothing but the inevitable.” he frowned at my non-answer but didn’t press any harder. 

“I’ll miss you. We all will.” He said finally. I nodded. 

“You all should visit.” Not an I’ll visit. No. If I could avoid it I would never step foot into this miserable court ever again. 

I was gone by mid-morning. Mor had helped me winnow the things I wanted to take with me. What they did with the rest wasn’t any of my concern. Rhys or Feyre had bought it all for me anyways, let them decide what to do with their money. 

Once I had gotten settled into my room, I hugged Mor goodbye and thanked her for her help. She just gave me a tighter hug and told me she would visit soon. 

It was two weeks before I could see Helion.Two weeks of settling back into my court that I loved so dearly.  He was visiting Dawn court for some trade agreement that needed to be signed. I came by every day, asking if he’d returned you. His second would just silently shake her head at me. And I would stomp back to my room like an angry babe. 

Two weeks of checking before I finally saw her nod her head and I had to stop myself from running into Helions office. I had the control to at least knock on the door but not much else. I quickly shut the door behind me as he called me in. 

“Sunbeam!” He called out when saw my face. “I had hoped the rumors of you moving back home were true.” He walked around the desk and gave me a brisk hug. Very out of character for him. 

“You’re not an easy man to schedule an appointment with, Helion.” I smiled warmly at the High Lord of my court. 

“If you wanted a piece of me, you only had to say the words and I would have come running darling.” There's the flirt I remember. I thought, rolling my eyes.

“But judging by your urgency in requesting a meeting that my second expressed to me, I’m going to assume that’s not what you wanted to see me for.”

My smile dropped as I braced myself for the question I needed to ask him.

“I need you to break a mating bond”

His mouth fell open. For once in my life, Helion was speechless. “I don’t know if I can even do that. Are you sure that’s what you want?” His eyes saw right through me. I threw my head back, a sad laugh bubbling past my lips. 

“Yes. No. Gods I don’t know. I just don’t want it to hurt like this forever.” I felt treacherous tears starting to fall down my face. Helion grabbed my arms gently before I could wipe them away. 

“I know you well enough to know that you don’t run away from hard things.” He held me against his chest as I really started to sob. 

“Helion. Every second that I’m away from him it kills me. I’m over here dying inside over some male who only ever saw me as a second option.” 

“Then he’s an idiot. But the mother still saw fit to make you two mates. Give it some more thought, you’re clearly still not fully decided. I’ll do some research to see if it’s even possible and if you still want to, I’ll be here to help.” I nodded my thanks into his shirt. He takes my head between his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe the tears still streaking down my face. He gives me a gentle kiss on the top of my head before I walk out of the room. 

I sat on the decision for a month. A month of volleying back and forth. Weighting the pros and cons of my choice. I had started doing my own research through the tomes in the library I had access to. My eyes widened as I finally found the information I needed. 

Picking up the book I all but sprinted to Helion’s office. I didn't bother knocking as I pushed past the door. Helion looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow at me. 

Panting, I showed him the page in the book. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life.” I promised him. He still looked skeptical but walked around to where I stood anyway. 

“I can’t say this is going to be pleasant.” He said wearily as I laid down on the couch in his study. “I’ve never heard of anyone doing this. I’ve seen rejection but this is cutting off the magic at the source.”

I looked into the males eyes, eyes I had known my whole life.

“Please. Nothing can hurt more than this already does.” Sympathy washed over his face and he leaned over me, placing a hand to each of my temples. It felt like the worst headache I had ever had in my life. My head was being split open and I heard the whimper leave my mouth. The pressure of his hands lifted slightly and I fought to get out the words. “I’m okay. Keep going.” I couldn’t open my eyes to see his face but his hands didn’t move. The pounding broke to a burning heat. I could feel the moment it snapped, I could almost picture the scissors snipping that tight string that connected us. One last fleeting rush of pure pain pushed through the bond. And then it was gone. My head was still pounding, I opened my eyes and saw Helion panted above me. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, helping me into a sitting position. 

“Like I have one hell of a hangover.” I pressed a hand to the bridge of my nose. Like I could squeeze out the uncomfortable feeling. “But also lighter.” My free hand going to my chest. It would take some time to adjust to this new feeling. But I could not stop the smile that spread over my face. Before Helion could say anything else, I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck.

“I can’t thank you enough.” I said into his neck. He gave a tight laugh and hugged me back. 

“You should go sleep this off. Please tell me if any of the pain gets worse.” He held my face between his hands and I nodded as much as I could. I all but floated back to my room. 

I fell into a familiar routine back in the Day Court. I took up my old job as a researcher. My days were spent surrounded by the massive libraries of my home court. People would come to us with questions and it was our job to use the knowledge at our disposal to find them answers. It kept me busy at the very least, but I did have to admit that I love doing it. I felt more useful here than I ever had at the Night Court. Pangs of sadness would rip through me when someone snarked in a way that made me think of Cassian. When someone would smirk and I could only picture Rhysand standing in front of me as he beat me in chess. The art was so beautiful that I longed to show Feyre if only to see that twinkle in eye as she dissected the colors and shading used. 

I smiled as the pang in my chest at the thought of Azriel held no pain. It had taken me some time to get used to the emptiness in my chest, I had grown so used to the hollow feeling of the unreturned bond but this emptiness wasn’t pain but instead it was like a weight had been taken off my chest. 

Someone calling my name pulled me from my musing. One of the messengers, Dia, smiled brightly up at me. “Hey sunbeam. Helion asked me to deliver this to you.” I took the golden envelope from her. I thanked her and she turned around, leaving me back to my books. 

I slid my finger under the seal and pulled out the letter. He was flirty even in a letter. He had requested that I accompany him to the latest ball he was hosting. Helion, ever the charmer, even placed boxes for me to check yes or no. I giggled to myself at the juvenile nature of it, but checked yes with the quill sitting next to me. 

The ball was just a few days away and I was so excited as dress after dress were brought into my room for me to try on. The one that ended up catching my eye was a floor length glossimer dress, such a pale golden color it looked almost like sunlight itself. The bottom was dyed a light pink color that flowed into it seamlessly. It took my breath away as I smoothed out the light fabric. It fit like a glove and I knew instantly this was the dress I had to wear. 

My reflection looked like a stranger. My hair was pinned to one side, sweeping down over my shoulder and my back. A golden tiara was woven into loose curls. Long golden chandelier earrings studded with diamonds almost touched my shoulders. The sun had created a sultry blush on the high points of my cheeks. I looked happier than I had in years. I sensed Helion's presence in my room and caught his eyes in the floor length mirror. 

He let out a low whistle and I blushed, adjusting my tiara. I walked over to him and he held out his hand for me, twirling me around dramatically when I took it. “No one will be able to take their eyes off of you, Sunbeam.” His eyes hungirly raked over me, “If you ever reconsider my offer. I would take you to bed in a heartbeat. Just say the words.” I pushed his shoulder, I didn’t doubt his words. 

“Keep your pants on Helion. We have a ball to get to.” 

“I’m High Lord. I can be late.” His pupils had dilated and I rolled my eyes, pushing him out the door before I linked my arm into his. 

The ball was as lavish as I had expected. There was much to celebrate and this was mostly to welcome the new High Lord. Eris. Beron had finally died a few months back and Eris had officially stepped into the role with grace. The autumn court once known for its cruelty seemed to be taking a new direction and as I talked to nobility from the court, it was for the better. I had gotten to know him over the years, his frequent visits to the Night Court, plus a few flirty exchanges that I always brushed off, while he was helping us during the war softened me to him. Learning the true events of that night with Mor. 

I locked eyes with Eris across the room. He had been heartbreakingly handsome when he was just High Fae but as a High Lord? His hair had grown slightly longer, just touching his shoulders. Dressed in a deep maroon suit that showed off every single one of his muscles. The permanent scowl that had been etched into his face had been replaced with a smile that radiated comfort. My feet seemed to move without deciding to. Eris kept his eyes locked onto mine as I got closer. My cheeks heated up under his intense stare. 

“Hi little sunbeam,” Honeyed words wrapped around me. “Seems like you’re no longer hiding in the shadows.” He held out his hand, eyes flickering to the dance floor. I smiled up at him and gently placed my hand in his. 

His touch was firm and the warmth of his power radiated off of him. He clutched my waist, pulling me flush to his front. I felt every plane of his toned body pressed against me and goosebumps broke out across my skin having nothing to do with the temperature in the room. The two of us gilded across the floor. I could feel the eyes of the room on us but I only had eyes for the male in front of me. 

“If I had known you danced this good, I would have pulled you out of that miserable court a long time ago.” He spoke into the shell of my ear.  “I’ll never understand what the Shadowslinger was thinking, even I could smell the mating bond on you. Plus, one look at me with those beautiful doe eyes and I would have been putty in your hands.” He nipped at my earlobe and I felt it deep in my stomach. 

“Well good thing he’s not my mate anymore.” I whispered back to him, voice breathy. He responded with a kiss to my neck. All of a sudden I felt his warmth disappear. Before I could even process what had happened, I was standing half ways across the room. Eris just smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Stand down, you overgrown bat.” The High Lord said and that’s when I heard the growl from my side, caught a glimpse of wings and sapphire blue. Before another word could leave my mouth, I was being pulled out of the ballroom and outside to the balcony. 

I thrashed against Azriel’s grip on my arm. His hand wrapped around my wrist tight enough to bruise. 

“What the hel was that?” He yelled at me, finally letting go of my wrist.

“You had no right!” I screeched at him. Anger seethed through me. I felt my palms heat up from the light trying to escape from them. He went to grab my arm and I ripped it back from his reach. “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

“Please.” Was all he said and suddenly it was like that night all over again. Me pouring my heart out and all he could say was please. 

“Please what, Azriel? Is that all you know how to do, beg and plead. For what? Was breaking my heart once not enough for you.” 

“Gods. What do you want me to say?” He ran his hands through his hair. He looked like he was about to lose it. Good. “Do you want to hear how I was fucking terrified. How any good thing that I had ever received had been taken away from me? That when I felt that twinge in my chest, that I knew what it meant but prayed to the gods that it wasn’t that.” I went to start in on him again. “Would hearing that I looked for you in every female I came across help us here?.” 

“Stop. Just stop. I’m sure you’ve rehearsed this all before but do you actually think I’m stupid enough to believe it?” I spit out between my teeth. 

“No. Gods this is coming out all wrong.” He ran a frantic hand through his hair. I clocked the shake in them “Why did you break the bond?”

I laughed at his audacity. “Why? You have the nerve to ask me why?” My voice dripped venom, “I did it because I couldn’t stand being tied to you like that. That night..” I started, he interrupted me.

“I said the most vile things I could think of. I panicked when you told me about the bond. If you could feel it too, I knew nothing good could have come from that so I pushed you away.” I shook my head, as if I could shake his words away from my ears. 

“You seemed so shocked when I told you.” 

His head sunk down, voice small “I was shocked because no part of me believed, believes, that I deserve you in that way.” When he stepped forward, I didn’t step away. Mind too busy catching up with his words. “Please say something. “ 

I turned my eyes up to look at him. Hazel eyes soft sparkling with unshed tears. I wanted to rip into him. I truly did. Some sick part of me wanted to make him hurt like he had hurt me but I know that wouldn’t fix anything here. What is done was done. 

“You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to say all the right things and just have me forgive you. You don’t get to say that you love me after everything you did.” He sighed. Leaning his head on top of mine. I frowned at the contact, but didn’t push him away, refusing to melt into him. “Whatever your reason. You said all those things that you knew would hurt me, you said them and some part of you had to believe them.” 

“I know. There isn’t a day that I don’t regret everything that I said, everything I had put you through over all those years. I took you for granted and I didn’t realize how much I loved you until you were gone. Until I felt that bond being snatched away from me” I wanted to push him back but something in me let his words sink into my bones. 

“I had dreamed for so long how it would feel when I finally heard you say those words, And do you know what I feel?” His eyes glimmered with hope as I took a step away from him, out of his grasp. “Nothing. I feel nothing for you. Not anger, not contempt.” Tears slipped out of his eyes at my harsh words. “Of course I remember what it felt like before. Maybe some part of me will always love you in my own way but I’m not tied to you anymore and I have never been so thankful for something in my entire life.” He flinched like I had hit him.

“Do you really mean that?” His voice was so small it almost made me feel bad for him. Almost.

“I do.” I sucked in a heavy breath. “Look, we’ll most likely still have to see each other so I don’t want to end on a bad note. You were still one of my best friends for over a century and this doesn’t undo all of that but this,” I gesture between the two of us, “Will never be anything else but that, a friendship.” He gave me a sad smile. 

“I’ll take whatever you are willing to give me.” I turned to walk away and he reached for my arm, I grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before I walked back to the ball that was in full swing. 

I weaved in between bodies easily. Finding Eris with ease. Despite being in the middle of a conversation, he stepped away the moment he sensed my presence. Not sparing a glance to the fae surrounding him. 

“That’s all settled then?” He asked, giving me a once over. I nodded and took his hand again.

“I believe we were in the middle of a dance?” I pulled him against me, not realizing how much I missed the feeling of his heat against my skin. I placed my head on his chest. We didn’t so much as dance, more so swayed in place. Arms wrapped around each other. He tapped my chin with a gentle finger and I let him guide my mouth up to his. The kiss was soft and sweet, like holding your hands in front of a warm fire after a day in the cold. When I tried to deepen it, he laughed against my lips. I let out a shameless whine as he disconnected our lips. As I looked into his eyes, I felt the stirring of something familiar and for the first time, welcomed it as that hole in my chest was filled again.

Tagging people that seemed excited about pt. 2

@cleverzonkwombatsludge @yearninglustfully @myromanempiree @starsandsins @melmo567 @saltedcoffeescotch

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

You don’t get to tell me about sad

Previous chapter

a/n part three! I’m brain dead so sorry for the wait. I hope you will all enjoy this. 🫧🫶🏻

summary: Azriel gets an assignment he can’t seem to decline. Now he has a princess full of attitude under his protection. The only question is whose cold heart will break first.

warning: past trauma, scars, injuries, blood.

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You were sure that your lip was going to burst from the way you kept biting on it, trying to suppress the laugh as the carriage rolled through the misty autumn forest. Convinced that nothing was ever going to top the sight of Azriel, squished the opposite of you. He was scowling so hard that he was most definitely the reason why the sky had ripped open. Pouring rain drowned the lush forest since the early morning. It looked like you were driving to a funeral at best, gruesome execution at best. 

“Don’t start with me today," Azriel grunts, his eyes burning into yours. Yet now that he acknowledged you, the smile only seemed to spread wider. He lets out a grunt, and a quiet giggle slips past your lips. "Princess, life suits you," you mumble, making Azriel roll his eyes. “Come on now; it’s not so bad. Don’t huff”, you nudge his leg with your heel, earning yet another glare.

“Could have winnowed us there”, “You did almost all the way”, you point out. And you would have happily obliged, but the murmurs about something being wrong with the high lord’s family had started. So Lucien and Eris had made their outing. If not for the rain, you would have done just the same. Take a walk through the main streets. But now seeing the family carriage and your face through the glass would have to be enough. 

“Why do you hate autumn so much?”, It’s a bold statement to make. You’re not sure if he even hates it. Well, considering the amount of frowning he does, he has to. “I have my reasons," Azriel answers as bluntly as he can. “Care to elaborate?", you turn to him, ready to dig an answer out of him if you had to. He owned you, considering his creeping around your room. But your eyes fall on the way he’s trying to subtly rub his palms together. The scarred skin—humidity must be making the bones ache too. He’s impossible to read, but you’re convinced that the discomfort hunts some of his features. You don’t care. You shouldn’t care, yet you still inch closer. There’s not much space inside the carriage considering that man’s size, but it’s enough for you to brush your legs against him. As expected, Azriel’s hands instantly reached to put distance between you both. But that’s when you yank the side of your cloak up, draping the fur-lined material over his scared palms. 

“What are you?", "Shhhh," you say quickly. He tries to pull them out, but you catch his gaze—a daring look there. “Know your”, but you cut him off once more, “Next words out of your mouth better be, thank you, princess," you muse. Azriel clenches his jaw. But he doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t fight the warmth slowly seeping through the stiff skin. “I thought you hated that nickname, princess," he says. One thing this man hadn’t learned in life was dealing with women. Clearly. You shrug, “Not so bad when it’s you who calls me that," you muse, watching as a glimpse of surprise washes over his features, and then the scowling coldness returns. 

Azriel doesn’t like it here. The thought alone had unsettled him ever since Lucien had announced the need to go back. “The High Lord needs to make a statement," Lucien had stated. Azriel itched to say that Eris wasn’t his high lord. But he knew that regardless of Eris’s wishes, he would have gone. Because you were going there. So here he was, standing outside the forest house. Not daring to go forward alone. You had waved him off. Told him to go inside while you checked on the horses. But he refused to step inside. So he stood there, trying to memorize every window.

“Who’s snooping now?", your voice fills Azriel’s ear as he slowly turns to you. Arms crossed as you grin at him. He wonders why you hadn’t mentioned that night in your room. Why you brushed it off so easily. “I just needed to stretch my wings." It’s not so much of a lie. It had been a disaster of a trip here. You barely manage to open your lips when an unfamiliar voice comes from behind, “Yn, Yn.“

Azriel pushes you behind him, his hand reaching for his dagger. But you slip out of his grasp, glancing over his shoulder. And then you’re stepping forward. “Makoa?”, it’s a whisper, and Azriel doubts that a disheveled-looking boy would hear it. But he does. And that name alone makes Azriel uneasy. The same boy you had sneaked out with. And just like that Azriel decides that he hates Makoa.

"Wait," you push again Azriel's arm, but his grip doesn’t falter. “Anyone can be a threat," the spymaster points out. “I know him," and it’s the desperation that makes Azriel back up. The same one that he had when he called out to Mor. To Elain. The lost kind. One that had you hanging up on things that weren’t there. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you," Makoa mutters once he is in arms reach of you. Azriel has to bite his tongue because nothing about that statement seems genuine. “You can imagine it’s been busy over here," and your voice is different too. Hazy almost. You bite at Azriel. Spewing venom. And here, this boy makes you behave like a youngling with your first-ever crush. “You could have written to me; I’ve missed you." Makoa raises his hand, and Azriel instantly inches to step forward, but then the boy is leaning in, his lips brushing over yours. Making Azriel lower his head. A strange sort of feeling brews within him. One that’s not welcome here. So he turns back onto his heel, heading deeper into the woods. To clear his consciousness. His logical thinking. His heart.

“Everyone missed you," Makoa points out, your hands clasped in his. The feeling is strange. It’s all so wrong  because, yes, he has been vocal about courting you, but this… To be kissed in front of someone he doesn’t even know. You glance back. Eyes scanning the front gardens. He’s not there. Azriel isn’t there, and a dreadful sort of uneasiness pools in your stomach. 

“It’s just been a couple of days," you brush his statement off. You were trying to find joy in something you had dreamed of ever since you slipped that book beneath the floorboards. “You’re behaving strangely," Makoa mutters, his hand reaching out for your forehead, but you bat it away. “I’m just tired," but you’re more than tired. You need answers, and quite frankly, you’re willing to do about anything to get them. 

You can trust the man in front of you. His mother used to do laundry for your family. Until Beron changed his mind or whatever happened. As if reading your mind, Makoa reaches up, cupping your cheek, “What is it you can tell me?" A part of you is screaming to just drop it. Talk to Azriel first. But then he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t know. 

“Do you remember the night on the harvest moon, well after it?”, you say quietly, looking over your shoulder for servants. “I walked you home," Makoa shrugs. Well, he did more than that, but sure, that will do for now. “Someone was waiting for me," you admit. “I didn’t go inside; I went to the barn to feed the horses." It was misty and cold outside. You didn’t catch their face. Just a hooded figure.

“I... someone tried to slice my throat open." Brushing your hair to the side, you let the white line shine in the midday sun. Makoa watches. But he doesn’t frown. There’s almost no reaction. Azriel looked more concerned when you caught him brushing his fingers over it that night. Genuine concern. Or maybe you were just imagining it. 

Makoa brings you into his chest. “What a shame," he breathes out, and your hands are instantly pushing against his chest. "Pardon," you huff, brows knit together. “I mean, it’s horrible, yes," he says, lifting his arms in defiance. You shake your head. Too tired. Too tired for this. After all, you didn’t expect him to take you seriously. He was too wild. Too carefree for that. 

"Look, just be careful, okay?", you mutter, your eyes searching him, but he only shoots you a wicked smile. “You don’t have to worry about me," he muses. You burn to tell him that you both are no longer kids. There are serious matters, but you don’t have it in you to fight another battle today. “I’ll see you in the party," you say as you step back, letting your fingers slip out of his grasp. But then he’s pulling you back. Hand on the side of your face. An eager kiss smothered against your lips, “I wouldn’t miss the spectacle.”

Azriel’s task this weekend was easy. If he was being honest, he didn’t quite grasp why exactly he was asked to come. But then Eris might have just done it to spite him. All he was responsible for was keeping an eye on you when Eris and Lucien couldn’t. So essentially, babysit a grown woman. Now he was standing with his back against your door. Throwing his knife up and down in his hands. Trying to beat his record of spins before it lands back into his palm. 

“Okay, am...", your voice breaks the second-floor silence, making Azriel pause. “Can you get Maria?”, Azriel shakes his head even if you can’t see him, “She just went outside for the flower arrangements." The elderly woman had pinched his cheek way too many times, but as much as he hated it, she reminded Azriel of his own mom. 

"Fuck," the sound of things falling inside the room, makes Azriel press his ear to the door.“What’s going on?”, he demands. Silence falls. “I...", you start, but it ends with a frustrated sigh. “Well, let’s hear it," he muses, hoping for yet another privileged little dig he could throw back at you. 

“I can’t reach the back of the dress to do the..." It’s a whisper. A frustrated one at that. “We have twenty minutes," Azriel points out. “I know, tree man, I know," you growl in frustration, cursing to yourself as you continue to struggle. 

“I'm coming in," Azriel states, instantly frowning at his own words. "No, you are not," you snarl, and he is sure that you are frowning. “On three," the spymaster warns. But he doesn’t even get a chance to start the countdown. “Fucking, Azriel,” you say, yanking the door open. Rosy cheeks. Slightly disheveled hair. And that deep red satin dress. So far different from the one he had seen you in the first time you both met. That was a girl. This… You were meant to be in red. In…

“Eyes up here, moron," you say, reaching up to flick his nose. One arm holding the material upfront. You turn away from him. The smooth back exposed to his scared hands. Azriel shakes those thoughts away. “I’ve seen females before," he states, reaching for the golden buttons. “Really? I would have taken you for a virgin," you snort, shaking your head ever so slightly. Azriel fake gasps, earning a glimmer in your eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”, he says in the most dramatic way possible. You bite your lip, trying to hide that smile. He knows it. Feels it.

“Just do the dress up," you urge him, motioning to your back. Azriel halts, letting his hands drop to his side. “Start with a please," he says proudly. You glance up at him, “Are you being serious?” Surely a man who just completed about the amount of time you had wasn’t going to start playing games. “I decided that etiquette lessons are in order," he shrugs, making you roll your eyes. “I will spit in your drink tonight. How is that for your etiquette lessons?” You flash him one of your fake smiles. “Delightful, just how I like it," and it’s so unexpected that you are left slack-jawed for a split second, and then he grabs your shoulder and turns you around, nudging you forward. “You’re disgusting," you say, pushing your heel against his leg, making a little rumble of laughter fill the space. “Says you," he breathes practically against your skin, sending shivers down your back. 

You fidget with your sleeve as you and Azriel make your way towards the main part of the event. Public outings still felt strange. The big crowd overwhelmed you. But you had missed out on so many great things  and parties, especially when you were growing up. That now….

“Only a weirdo disappears like that," you halt suddenly, leaving Azriel to walk along until he too stops. Turning to face you. You quickly put a finger against your lips, stepping closer to the second-floor railing. “That’s what I told Makoa”. You know those voices. You don’t even need to look down the staircase to know who they belong to. 

“Daddy beat her, I heard," and it’s like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on you. Tingles spread through your body like fire.“ She lived beneath the floorboards; I doubt she knows how to interact with living things." You let the words slash at you. After so many years, they don’t make a difference. It’s the fact that every time you feel as if you found someone willing to look past it, they still end up stabbing you in the back. 

That’s when your eyes fall on Azriel, practically charging towards the stairs. "Don't," you hiss, reaching to grab at his wrist, pulling him back. “It’s disrespectful, and I’m being very polite with my words here," he grunts. Venom. Purest of venom painting his features, and yet you cut him off. “I said don't," you step in front of him, pressing your palms against his chest. “It’s just another joke for them. You throwing a fit and acting all gruff won’t change a thing.”

Azriel watches you for a moment before a bitter laugh crawls up his throat. “And those are your friends? People that you think are not a threat to you? ”, he points downstairs in frustration. A wave of guilt. Shame. Fills you in seconds. You feel that familiar sting in your eyes. But you brush it beneath all the other pain. “Daddy got them for me; I didn’t have a chance to choose; my apologies," you purr through gritted teeth. 

And it’s as if you threw a comeback punch. The arrow shooting once again. Azriel’s shoulders sag. “Yn...", he breathes out, but you don’t want it. Don’t want pity. The sad eyes. The smothering. To hell with it. “We should go find my brothers." You pick at the skirt of your dress, turning to the stairs. “It was insensitive of me," Azriel’s words slam into the wall you had built, making you close your eyes for a moment. “Don’t get tangled in this; this has nothing to do with you," you mutter, not turning back to face him. Forcing your legs forward. Azriel stands at the top of the staircase for a heartbeat, watching you. Then he glances over his shoulder. One heartbeat. Two. And he unleashes his shadows to the first floor. 

The terrace is buzzing with people. If it were up to Azriel, he would be right by the platform, but there are Eris’s guards here. So he’s just standing by. That prick had it in him to suggest wine. Azriel, of course, took it. Before dumping it right next to Eris’s shoes. Rhys told him to behave, yes. And so he was, because the second option was to punch the fireling in his face. Pick and choose.

Azriel catches a glimpse of you. Well, more like all he had been doing was catching glimpses of you. Like a moth to a flame. Even if he tells himself not to, his eyes always seem to find you. That distant look in your eyes. Like you’re not here, even if your body is. He also doesn’t doubt that it’s partly because of the things the people said. Why not fight back? You seem to be fine doing that when it comes to him. But crumple the moment the people who are meant to be closest to you are involved. 

As if by coincidence, your eyes glance up, meeting Azriel’s. He should be scowling, yet he finds himself smiling. Just a little. He puts a finger beneath his chin, pushing it higher. Encouragement of sorts. You’re supposed to radiate power, not look like a damsel in distress. You return it with an eye roll, making the corners of Azriel’s lips curve even more. Deny it or not. You do lift your head up. That tingle of fire blazing just a bit brighter. That will do. It would have to be enough to get you through it. 

The music dies, and Eris walks close to the platform edge, that fox-line smile on his face. “It’s an honor to have you all here, so I thank you for finding time to join us," the high lord begins. “I know that the court is facing some challenging times, but you should not be afraid." Azriel crosses his arms over his chest as he listens. “I will do everything that is in my power to protect our people and be a true and fair high lord." Then the Autumn High Lord turns back breathy. “And... I’ll have my family to aid me in these matters," motioning for his two siblings to come to stand closer. “Lucien and Y/n Vanserra will be taking their rightful place on the throne." The crowd explodes with chairs and joyful applause. As the three siblings smile in unison.

“And…”, But there’s no and. Nothing comes after it. As if someone had stolen all of the other promises. Azriel feels it too. It hits his senses. Making them restless. There’s something wrong. Something that doesn’t feel right. A banner behind the platform bursts into flames. The hot tongues, lapping at the family insignia. Some people back up. Eris waves for his guards, ordering them into action. People are bringing buckets full of water while Eris and Lucien try to wield the wildfire. 

It’s the lightest of the sounds that follow next. It flickers, and... "Y/n," Azriel calls, making you snap your head sideways. “Y/n," he breathes out, and then he’s winnowing. His hands already stretched out. He has to make it. He will make it. There is no other option. So Azriel doesn’t let the what-ifs set in. Shrieks echo. Chaos breaks out. And then he’s up there. On the platform. One arm behind your body, the other on the arrow. 

The time stops. Your wide eyes are looking at him. Green so deep that Azriel knows he has never seen anything like it. The freckles seem even darker now that your skin has paled almost to snow white. His fingers are trembling. He can’t see it. Can’t fucking see it; the bunched-up fabric is making it hard to judge. Had the arrow met its target? Your heart seems to beat beneath his palm. But are those the last beats? Then the red fabric turns an even deeper shade of red. 

Every muscle tenses in Azriel’s body. "No," he mutters under his breath. He’s not letting you die just like that. Not on his watch. Not in some pointless death just because someone has a bone to pick with your brother. Your eyelashes flutter, and just for a heartbeat, Azriel is too slow to catch you. Your body sags, but the arrow stays there in Azriel’s head. It didn’t meet its target. Not fully, at least. Just nicked the skin. It feels as if someone rolled a mountain off of his chest. 

"Azriel," it’s so light he almost misses it. The plea. The fear. Your fingers reach up for his leg. His darkness swirls around you both. And quite frankly, the spymaster is not too sure as to what’s going on outside. The world might as well be going to shit for all he cares. Kneeling, Azriel takes hold of your trembling hands, “I’ve got you, darling; I won’t let anything happen to you." He’s not sure if you even hear him. Eyes fixed on something as if you’re looking right past him.“I'm here; I'm with you," Azrie promises, moving to drape your arms over his shoulders. “Are you with me, love?” You’ve gone into shock, that he can tell. Yet you blink. Fingers gripped onto his flying leathers as you nod. "Good," he says, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, “Hold onto me, fireheart”.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @emryb @glitterypirateduck @xxtakeachancexx @justyouraveragekleemain @5onedirection5 @paleidiot

[grandlinedreams]

|| i regret nothing I need Cooper Howard viscerally both pre and post Ghoulification

|| notes: semi Canon compliant, spoiler-ish for end of s1, semi-shifting pov, Lucy is adorable but baby girl you will be chewed up and spat out pls grow more spine, Dogmeat has never done anything wrong ever, godbless Cooper having a southern accent bc that's my accent, yeah, gonna do a sequel to this and a prequel on Coop and reader's first meeting, ok bye

|| warnings: weapons supplier!reader, couple of allusions to cannibalism, reader is not specifically gendered, NSFW ㅡ fingering/touching

“Where are we going?”

Not for the first time today, or even the last week, Cooper questions why he's letting the Vaultie (“Lucy,” she informs him primly, “my name is Lucy.”) tag along. The dog, at least, is a good, reliable companion. Dogmeat trots dutifully at his side, her tail wagging as he stops to glare at Lucy.

“Supplies, Vaultie,” he tells her, relishes the flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Need supplies or we'll both be knee deep in shit.” He pauses. “More than we already are.” 

She mumbles something he doesn't care to catch as he resumes walking, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his hat. He knows he could stand to be a little more sympathetic with the bombshell she's still dealing with, but he can't bring himself to ㅡ not when his daughter might still be alive out there, somewhere. (And his ex-wife, who he's pointedly trying to not think about too much.) 

Lucy is blessedly quiet for a good while, all the way until they get closer to where they're going. Cooper doesn't need that piece of shit vault-tec device on her arm to know where he is, but Lucy says it anyways.

“It's a town,” she mumbles at the cluster of ramshackle buildings, surrounded by the clustering of trees so much like Filly ㅡ but isn't. “Is thisㅡ”

“Yes,” he answers, “now shut it and walk.”

Lucy huffs. “I don't know if you've realized neither of us have means to pay for anything,” she protests, “but the general rule ofㅡ” 

“Vaultie.” If looks could kill, she'd be six feet under. He's never had much patience, but she’s already reached the bottom of it and keeps digging. “Shut the fuck up about your goddamn rules. If you haven't noticed, nobody up here gives a damn about playing by what's wrong and what's right.” He gives her a meaningful look. “Now if you don't want me to leave your ass to whatever comes along next, you'll be quiet and let me handle it.” 

Lucy's mouth shuts with an audible click, and Cooper turns on his heel to resume walking, Dogmeat at his heels. 

Like Filly, the center of buildings bustle with the day to day of so many others, the cacophony of animal sounds along with chatter ㅡ Cooper spares Lucy a brief glance to watch her struggle to keep up and scoffs to himself, shaking his head as he continues.

He knows where he's going, a little shop shoved between two others, narrow but deeper than the other two, because he's been here before. Several times, actually. Which accounts for the familiarity with which he strolls over the threshold and leaves Lucy and Dogmeat to follow. 

There's the jingle of what might be a bell over Lucy's head when she follows, blinking at the interior. Neat and tidy, or at least as much as can pass for such things on the surface ㅡ rows of weapons and other assorted things on shelves and stands. 

Lucy watches The Ghoul rap his fist on the counter. “I know you're here,” he calls, “you never leave this damn place!”

She expects whoever it is to come scuttling out with the tone of voice he uses and being as accustomed to his rougher attitude, and she listens to the clatter of something further in the shop.

“If that's your greeting nowadays,” comes the answer, “you can fuck off.” 

To Lucy’s surprise, The Ghoul husks a laugh instead of offering another threat. Footsteps approach, and Lucy blinks at the person who rounds the corner. 

“You,” you accuse, finger almost into his chest, “thought I told you I was done dealing with you if you couldn't work on your manners.” 

Lucy stares, and watches as you turn towards her and raise an eyebrow, eyeing her with unrestrained curiosity, then at Dogmeat. “A vaultie and a dog,” you say, then glance back at The Ghoul. “So, taking in strays, huh?”

The Ghoul grimaces. “Guess so.” He clears his throat. “Need supplies again, sweetheart.”

“Figured as much,” you say, arms folding across your chest. Lucy decides she likes you, because you're standing up to him ㅡ and he's letting you. “Take it you have no way of paying, again.”

Lucy wants to tell The Ghoul I told you so, because he can shit on all her little rules all he likes but the surface still deals in keeping the scales balanced. You have to eat too, so it's fair that you're expecting payment in the nonexistent caps they have. The Ghoul, on the other hand, tries a different route. 

“Oh come on now sugar,” The Ghoul wheedles, tone almost what could be considered as sweet. Playing at a gentleman for the way he leans against the cobbled together counter, even goes as far as to take his hat off and place it down. “Don't be like that.”

“Don't you sugar me,” you counter with an attitude that honestly startles Lucy for both the lack of genuine bite or answering hostility from The Ghoul. This isn't the first time you've met, she realizes, and is also quietly a little horrified to register that this almost sounds like flirting. “You're a pain in the ass, you know that?”

The Ghoul almost grins. “At least I'm consistent. Besides, you know you miss me when I'm gone.” 

You snort, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. Lucy feels a tiny bit uncomfortable with the atmosphere, like she's watching something she shouldn't be privy to. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you answer, bustling around to shove several fabric wrapped packs into his chest and giving him a meaningful look. “You owe me.” 

It's definitely flirting now, Lucy notes as The Ghoul's face lights up in a way that's still entirely human, tracking your movements with something far softer than anything she's ever seen from him. 

The turn towards her and head jerk to her and Dogmeat is as clear as dismissal as she's ever seen, to make herself scarce ㅡ so she does, but not before she catches the peripheral glimpse of the way you let him reach for you, almost melting into him for the way he moves to undoubtedly murmur something. 

That something is not the sweet words of a long time lover, but it's probably about as close as you're going to get with things the way they are.

 

“Anyone causin’ you trouble lately?” 

You roll your eyes. “Besides you?” He gives you a look, and you shake your head. “No, and even if there was, you know I can handle myself.” You turn to throw him a teasing look over your shoulder. “Don't tell me you're getting soft on me, old man.” 

It's Cooper's turn to snort, even as he moves to follow you. There's a sort of peace to watching you sort through boxes of shell casings and bottles of powder, letting his gaze drift over your body. 

When you turn, he doesn't even bother to hide the way he's watching you, and you arch an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he returns. “Can't I admire you?”

You roll your eyes. “I'm too expensive for you, Cooper.” It's a playful taunt, one that incites a little flare of something in his eyes as he approaches, the jingle of his spurs as he comes to loom over you, cages you in against the shelves of “inventory”. 

“Really now,” he drawls, leans in, eyes predatory dark. A lifetime ago, you might have been scared. But the wastelands made no qualms about beating fear out of people just as quick as it snuffed out life all together. “Here I was thinkin’ I might get a discount.” He reaches, thumbs at your bottom lip with his gloved digit. “What's the askin’ price, sweetheart?” 

This close, he smells like the wastelands and sunbaked leather, with a little bit of blood ㅡ but you don't mind. Never have, not sure you ever will. Not when it comes to him, anyways.

He's a dangerous man. A man with a reputation that's well-earned, spoken in hushed whispers and anything but nice. But you let him slot a leg between yours, lean in, press his lips to your hair. You smell like gunpowder and hot metal, grease stained fingertips and more than a couple bruises and scars for your efforts. 

Sometimes Cooper contends with the idea he might need you just as much as he needs that chem that keeps him sane. Admits it here and there, quietly to himself when he wanders in, squashes it down that he makes the trips sometimes just to make sure you're still alive. Not like he'd know if you were, till he sees you. Not sure what he'd do if he someday came up and found you gone. No note, no goodbye ㅡ quick and quiet, the cruelty of the wastelands.  

“Didn't answer my question, darlin’.” He mumbles, lips to your cheeks now. Soft skin, kept carefully with rationed doses of radaway and a healthy heap of keeping your cute little self out of business that doesn't involve you. “Come on, I asked you real nicely.” 

You hook your fingers in the loops of his belt, pull him closer. He can feel the jump of your heartbeat under his lips, now at your jawline. A soft, shaky inhale. Selfishly, he wants to keep you. Steal you away, greedy to keep you for himself. Hates the idea of whatever scum that rolls in that you have to deal with on your own. You can handle yourself, he knows that. 

Doesn't stop that little piece of him that's still truly Cooper Howard from worrying. But he knows better than to think he can protect you, because he can't. So he does what he can.

Your skin is soft under his teeth, forgiving to the nip of them, the blooming blossom of pink that reminds him of strawberries. The noise you make is just as sweet, and he wonders if you'd taste like that, too. 

“I'm waiting,” he prompts between little nips, mouth curving against your flesh when you grip at him tighter. There's a lot he could do to you, and not a lot you wouldn't let him. “Don't tell me this big ol’ cat’s got your tongue, little songbird.” 

Your lips part, and he expects either a sparky response or a soft plea for what this is tilting towards, partaking of something far softer than anything he's used to nowadays ㅡ  but you’ve always had a taste for throwing him for a loop, and you do it now. 

“Take me with you.” 

That snaps him out of his little hazy, touch-greedy daze, enough that he pulls away to look at you properly. “Repeat that?”

“You heard me.” You tug at the loops of his belt, eyes steely, expression firm. “Take me with you. Tired of this shitty little outpost. Figure it's time to move before I get myself into trouble I can't get out of.”

Cooper laughs. “Think you're runnin’ straight into that fire by askin’ what you're askin’, sweet thing.” A warning and a plea, mixed mish-mash in his words. Part of him wants you to stay here. Concrete, much as it can be, where he knows where you are. Other part says it'd be easier to watch your back if he saw it all the time. 

“That's not an answer, Cooper.” 

He snorts, softens at the edges again, a little sadder as he reaches to stroke your jawline, leans to bump his forehead to yours ㅡ radiation warm against radaway cold. “Wanna make sure you know what you're asking for, darlin’. I ain't your babysitter. Got my own shit to do.”

“I know.” There's that fire in your voice, the kind he loves and hates at the same time. “Wasn't asking for you to babysit me.” 

He swallows roughly. Lets his hands drift up your sides, tug at the tuck of your shirt, underneath to drag sun-worn leather against the soft skin of your abdomen. Relishes the way you shiver, leaning into his touch. “Can't promise nothin’, you know that.” 

Your smile promises the same kind of heartbreak his own words do, the kind rooted in the reality that the world doesn't deal in any absolute but death, and sure as shit won't give happy endings. Not anymore. “I know.” 

Cooper can't think of what to say to that, at least anything he's ready to, so he kisses you. Your lips are too soft against his, the warmth of your mouth reigniting that greedy, needy, human thing inside him. He pulls, digs his fingers into your soft, pliant skin, and he takes.

Takes what you willingly give him, hand over hand with nothing but that pretty little smile of yours. He muffles your gasp as he wedges his leg a little firmer, coaxes the part of your legs with a rough husk of, “just like that, dollface,” and delights too much in the sound of you moaning for him.

Hushed, quiet enough that there's no reason for Dogmeat or Lucy to come back yet (he doesn't know what they're up to nor does he really fuckin’ care at the moment), he lets himself indulge in the pleasure of your body against his. The sweet little sounds, half-gasped as he mouths at your neck, hitched to something almost like music as his hands wander. 

Pauses long enough to bite at the tip of his glove and tug, one then two, the bare, radiation scarred wander of his fingers over your body. It's selfish, the way he covets every little twitch and jump of your muscles, the choked gasp as he guides you into rocking against his leg. 

“You're so sweet for me, sugar,” he coos, syrupy as he picks you apart meticulously, piece by piece. Fingers still far too good at what they do when he replaces his leg with the press of them against you, remnants of a past life for how well he gets you to whimper his name. “Like ambrosia.” 

His fingers stroke, deceptively gentle, working over your slick, too-hot, achy skin until you’re panting and gripping at him, pleading for a relief only he can give you. And that’s exactly how he wants you, where all you can see and think of is him. 

The expression you make when he finally lets you come might truly be the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time. Headier than the Jet, dizzying and making him swear as he jerks his clothed hips against yours, breath sharp in his chest. 

“Gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He bites at your neck, digs a little harder, scrapes his canines into your sweet, yielding flesh. He could devour you, take bite after sweet, sweet bite and actually test that theory about the strawberries. Crack the cage of your rib, feast on that beating yolk of heart that thumps so hard in your chest. 

“Gonna let me do it, sweet thing?” He rumbles against your ear. “Let me have it all?” 

Your eyes flash, lips pretty and swollen as they part to answer ㅡ and the bark of that damn mutt ruins it all. At least it's a warning for you both, because he's stepping back and letting you fix yourself with surprising speed as Lucy and Dogmeat return, an expectant look on the fuckin’ vaultie's face. 

“Well? Got what you need?"

Cooper snorts, tracks you instead of answering as you press your hand to his for a second, gone around the corner. Lucy frowns when you return, pistol strapped at your hip and a bandolier slung over your shoulder like his, broad pack strapped to your back. Like you planned for this.

And you did, he notes, but it hadn't been contingent on his agreement. Idly, he notes he never did answer you, not really. But he just hums, then turns towards Lucy, who looks between the two of you, confused. 

“Yeah,” he finally answers, “got what I need.”

[atyourmerci]

I don’t care that you’re a stoner

Ceo!abby

Dr. A.A

CW: smut, MDNI, dom!abby, mean!abby, sub!reader, light bondage (belt), tribbing brrr, talks of strap usage, tribbing breeding kink brrr, degradation, fingering, cum play

A/N: this is technically a drabble but I gave it a title bc that’s what Chappell deserves

◊

Why Dr. Anderson decided to come to you, your pathetic excuse of an ‘office’ instead of your usual frequent visits to hers, was beyond you. Following her around like a dog to her every beck and call. Having to call her doctor since she insisted on getting her doctorate in finance…fucking prick.

Even your credentials, your place in the hierarchy of the company didn’t exclude you from being her little bitch. She seldom gave you the decency of just looking at you when you did her dirty work. Filing her papers, calling her clients, getting her coffee, black of course, like she would drink anything with an ounce of happiness.

She never thanked you. She made it clear where you stood to her, below her. A bleeding, breathing, able-minded body. It could be you, or the next, as long as it was done correctly.

So nice of her as she glares at you from the door of your office that was always open. “What are your plans for tonight?” She says driving her veiny wrists into her slack pockets, her normal intimidating eyes driving into your soul.

“I should be done that paperwork by six, is there something else I need to get to you?”

“After that,” she remarks sternly, as if you should’ve know that, as if that was something she’d ever asked before.

“Uhh go home?” You answer dumbly, utterly confused by her insistence on your personal endeavors.

“Come out with us tonight. We go to max’s down the road,” it was a question with no opportunity for refusal. You didn’t say no to Dr.Anderson.

“Oh I don’t-“ you shake your head before she cuts you off.

“I know I can smell you. Seven. Tonight.”

Sprawled out, aggressively stripped of your outing dress, on her luxurious thousand thread cotton sheets. Dr. Anderson’s Louis Vuitton belt tied around your wrist, her attempt to regain dominance.

Even as she’s panting, muffled curses coming out as pleas as she grinds her soaking cunt against your own. Her clit is so swollen now, after completely abusing your hole. Her pent up arousal seeping into the sticky mess she created with her relentless thrusts earlier.

“Couldn’t fucking stop thinking ‘bout this,” she pants out, rutting into you like a dog in heat, her sticky white cum ruining her precious expensive sheets.

You can’t seem to find words to remark her pathetic admission, so completely fucked out from your previous orgasm.

Kneading your breast in her hand she brings her teeth to your neck, biting down on the thin flesh, sure to leave marks for everyone to see. But that wasn’t enough for her.

“Gonna cum in this needy pussy, let everyone know how much of a whore you are.”

A guttural moan leaves your throat, the thought of her marking you, claiming you as hers.

“Hmm the little slut likes that? Getting used as my fucking cumdump?”

The only thing you can seem to mutter out is a sad ‘mhmm’ as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

A ‘fucking slut’ is heard in the background as you feel her reposition herself, turning herself sideways inbetween your legs, throwing your leg over her shoulder. She reconnects your swollen clits, with the addition of sliding two of her thick fingers back into you. Slipping in with ease, coating her fingers with the mix of pearl slick.

“FUCK,” you come back to your senses at the new sensation, needing to hold onto anything but your hands are still bound by her belt.

“Still so fucking tight, need to stretch her out so it’ll only feel good when I do it.” Her pace beginning to quicken, her hips bucking into your thigh. Her teeth biting into the flesh of your thigh, holding back whimpers of your name.

“B-better take all my cum. Every last drop slut,” she begins losing herself, her thrusts only getting sloppier. Gripping into the flesh of your thighs to stabilize herself, trying to get you off again before herself.

“I-I promise doctor.”

Was what set her off, dropping her head back as her mouth gapes. “fuckfuckholyfuck,” her legs begin to shake, hot white cream dripping out of her pulsing hole, dripping down your clit and finding its home in your own twitching abandoned hole.

Huffing out as she regains her stability, realizing she’s losing time, her cum dripping down to her sheets and spreading. Not where she needed it.

She takes her fingers back to your cunt, scooping up what’s left, pushing it deep inside of you and keeping them as far as she can get.

“This is what you wanted huh? Nasty fucking mess stuffed with my cum,” she says with a grin of the devil herself. So pleased seeing you so dumb for her, another level of submission she could coax you into.

You give a pathetic nod, feeling her cum painting your walls as she’s deep in your cervix. She begins giving tantalizing licks to your clit as she watches your chest rise and fall.

“Abby please-“

Before you could finish you feel a rough grab on your belt adorned wrists, pulling you up to face her.

“Get the rest you missed.” She says pulling you down into the sheets, your mouth opening instinctively. Licking the cum soaked cotton sheets as she watches you from below her.

Once she’s satisfied she grips your jaw in her hand, guiding your gaze to her soaking cunt, still dripping with the mix of both of your orgasms-

“Every. Last. Drop.”

[xiao-come-home]

Making Boothill a new hat and now he's going to wear it everywhere. And if someone dares to insult or damage it? They better say their prayers.

Angry as f Boothill... Oh Lord help us all 🥶

OH HE'S NOT LETTING THIS ONE GO FOR A LONG TIME. It's probably not as bad when someone insults it - although Boothill just might almost break their jaw and throw insults at them (even though it comes out as "just what! Did ya say about my hat, FRECKLE!"), he'll remember that person till they, literally, die.

"Oh, we meet again. The stink that insulted my hat, from my beloved. Hope ya feel peachy (like shit) today."

Boothill truly loves the hat you made him - it's like a mobile piece of your heart he's able to move anywhere, especially if you aren't accompanying him that day! It reminds him of you, your smell, your love for him, and but most importantly—

Poof! Someone shoots a bullet.

It didn't harm Boothill - thank aeons - but his new hat falls on the floor, the now new, uninvited hole carved into it.

...But most importantly, your poured your entire heart into it, and await for him at home.

Boothill freezes for a while, throwing off the shooter, or - how the cyborg decided to call them - the victim; he bends down and picks up the hat, dusting it off carefully, his thumb trailing the outline of the ugly he from the bullet.

"Do you know what have you done?" Boothill's tone is cold like ice; he stands still with his back facing the poor person, his snowy hair floating gently against the wind. The person doesn't seem to answer his question, making him even more agitated.

"I said," Boothill almost growls, spitting out a bullet and turning around, "do ya know what have ya just done?!"

Crimson flashes in his eyes; the bystanders only hear rapid sounds of fired bullets, almost if they had their own mind and hatred to the person they're targeting.

Even though Boothill comes out victorious in this battle (duh!), he plops down on the couch defeated, sighing and clinging the hat to his chest. You kiss and cradle his cheek, feeling him nuzzle into your hand; he closes his eyes in content, but still feeling uneasy inside.

"Some donkey (dick) destroyed my new hat. So I taught them a lesson." He explains calmly and hands you the headpiece. He opens one of his eyes and observes you quietly, awaiting your reaction.

"It's alright - I can fix this for you," you answer gently, giving him a soft smile; your eyes examine the place of the unfortunate bullet that once went through. You can see the wide smile on his face in the corner of your eye, shortly after feeling the familiar, sweet warmth of his lips on your palm.

"But you need to get cleaned up first... There's blood on the entire couch, Boothill!"

[aleputellasworshipper]

rock bottom ౨ৎ L.W

Leah x Aussie!reader

description; reader hasn’t been showing up to training nor messaging her national teammates so they tell Leah, her girlfriend.

warnings; self harm, depression, swearing, bed rotting ig.

౨ৎ

rock bottom.

it means to be at the lowest possible level.

That’s exactly how I feel at this very moment. I haven’t been to training in a week, I haven’t showered in 4 days, and I haven’t messaged any of my teammates in 3. 

it feels impossible to do anything, let alone breathe.

My room was a mess; plates, bowls, knives, forks, and any other cutlery littered my bedside tables. Drinks, such as iced coffee or any energy drinks, were stacked in the bowls.

it felt like i had hit rock fucking bottom.

My girlfriend Leah had tried calling and texting to see what was going on, but I simply ignored her, not on purpose but simply because I didn’t have the energy, and at this very moment, lying in bed, I had forgotten I had given Leah a key to my house.

Well, that was until I heard my front door unlock, open, and then shut again. I didn’t even have the energy to see if I was about to be robbed. All the thoughts racing through my head finally stopped once my bedroom door had opened, and I heard a voice utter a soft

"baby?"

I had turned my body around, facing the door, to see Leah standing there with a bag in hand. There was one familiar look in her eyes after she had looked around my pigsty of a room.

Pity.

God, I hated that fucking look.

Leah walked closer towards me, she sat the bag down on the ground, since that was the only free space, she kneeled down and place one of her hands on my cheek. “We’ve all been worried about you, love.”

I look up into her eyes; the comforting blue eyes that tackled all my problems. “What’s going on in your beautiful head?” she whispered so quietly that I almost didn’t hear her.

I just shrugged, not having any proper words to answer her question. I watched as her gaze softened, she tilted her head.

“are you okay?” she tried again.

i shook my head.

“i will be, though.” i muttered, my voice croaky since i hadn’t had to talk to anyone for a couple of days.

She nodded, not knowing what she could say, but i could see in her eyes, that she wanted to ask a million questions.

“y/n… why haven’t you shown up to training.. and please don’t bullshit me.” her voice was stern, like she meant business. she knew i was going to lie, so it was a stupid question.

“i’ve been sick, Leah.” i replied, hoping she’d buy it, news flash. she didn’t.

“don’t lie, Y/n.”

i huffed, saying very fast. “i’m tired, Leah. so. fucking. tired, so i’m sorry if i had a couple of days where i just wanted to not train.” the way i said it sounded full of attitude and snark but it was the truth, i was tired.

i was waiting for Leah to scold me for the attitude that littered in my words, but she didn’t.

“that was all you had to say.” She said softly, while stroking my somewhat greasy hair. “you need a shower, love.” as soon as she said that, you could see my face change.

“i’ll help.” Leah said quickly after seeing the distaste on my face. all i could do was nod.

Leah pulled back the covers, helping me sit up by putting her hand against my back. I stood up from my bed, watching where i put my feet due to the rubbish that covered the floor around my bed.

Leah and i walked into the bathroom, she was the first one to start getting undressed, her hoodie being the first to go. i stood there, regretting the fact i agreed to shower while she was here.

Not because i didn’t want her to see me naked, but because i was afraid of her reaction to what remained under my clothes.

She turned to look at me, her eyebrows furrowing, clearly confused as to why i was still fully dressed. She went to grab the hem of my hoodie but i stopped her.

“what’s wrong?” her eyebrows furrowed even further, which was nearly impossible. i just bit my lip.

“please don’t be mad.” i forced out, my voice shaky. her face went from rested to confused, she licked her lips. “why would i be mad, darling?”

and with that, my vision blurred over, my eyes filling with tears, Leah quickly moved her hands from the hem of my hoodie to my cheeks, cooing softly. “oh, baby..”

she wiped the fallen tears, leaning forward to kiss my forehead, murmuring against it. “i could never be mad with you, love. never.”

i wiped the tears from my chin, relaxing my arms, leaving them by my side. i nodded at her, telling her, she could take my hoodie off.

Leah obeyed, lifting my hoodie over my head. once she had seen what filled my wrists, her face dropped.

“y/n…” she whispered, grabbing my hand, getting a closer look at my wrists and the cuts that were littered on them.

“i’m sorry.. i’m so sorry, Leah.. please don’t be disappointed.” i rambled out in one breath, she shook her head, croaking out. “why did you do that to yourself?..”

i shrugged once more, tearing up once again, what i didn’t know was that Leah’s eyes were filled with tears, just as mine were.

i expected Leah to scream and shout at me, what i didn’t expect was for her to bring my wrists up towards her mouth, pressing her lips against my scars, it was soft, like she was afraid to hurt me.

“i’m not mad at you, y/n, i’m mad at myself because i wasn’t there when you needed me to be.” she muttered against my wrists, that broke me. i felt like i could cry.

i moved my wrists from away from her mouth, bringing my hands to her cheeks, leaning our foreheads against one another. “it wasn’t your fault, Leah..” i uttered, trying not to cry.

in return, she pecked my lips.

we let go of one another, she hesitated at first but once i nodded, she continued to undress me, my bra, my trousers, my pants and then my socks.

we got into the shower, standing under the shower head, Leah turns the shower on. We stand under the water together, letting it grace our skin.

“i’m sorry for not texting you or showing up at training.” i spun my naked body around to face Leah’s naked body. she shook her head.

“don’t be ridiculous, you’re struggling, don’t ever apologise for struggling, y/n.”

i nodded once again, she smiled at me and i smiled back, probably the most genuine smile of mine in a while.

“i’ve got you, love. you don’t have to do this alone.” Leah stated, wrapping her arms around my waist, bringing our bodies together, i lean my head on her shoulder, uttering a soft “promise?”

to which, she replied with a “i promise.”

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 13

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 5318

Ao3 Link

Summary: You get to work on party planning, but your disagreement about the budget leads to some uncomfortable questions.

Author's Note: I am unwell. If it wasn’t allergy season, I’d roll down a hill, and lie in the grass for a while 😅

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Established Relationship, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Hair-Pulling, Degradation, Unprotected Sex (stay safe out there), Bondage, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Gangbang, Brat Handling, Vaginal Fingering, PIV Sex, Creampie, Large Cock, Cunnilingus, Punishment, Orgasm Control, Multiple Orgasms, Dom Mihawk, Dom Crocodile, Switch(?) Buggy, Death Threats, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

“If you’d listened to miss Y/N before, she might still be yours,” Crocodile scoffed, shoving Buggy into a chair at a small desk by the door, leaving him close, but not too close. “This is your one chance to prove you’re not a complete idiot. Don’t fuck it up.”

“You got it, boss,” Buggy chirped, sneaking a wink in your direction while you fought a smile.

“Here you are, darling,” Mihawk interrupted, setting your notebook in front of you, along with a transponder snail. “I trust that you’ll behave on your calls today? I’d hate to have to come up with some sort of punishment if you try to–”

“She won’t try anything, huh, sweetheart?” Crocodile rasped. Goosebumps crawled over your skin as the back of that golden hook lifted your chin, drawing your eyes to his. “You’re our girl now, right?”

“I am,” you agreed, breathless as the truth left your lips. He tugged on a bit of your hair, that look of ownership sending warmth through you. 

I’m theirs. 

Humming at the thought, you laid out your notes, and went to work.

~

“This event will be expensive,” you warned, adding to the list of items needed to throw a party fit for the pompous guests you knew too well. The guest list was small, but you knew it would grow as the clients you'd called today gossiped amongst their privileged circles, and you hadn't even made it through your list yet.

“I already sent Galdino to meet with the backer you secured. That should provide more than enough funding,” Mihawk noted, looking at you over the top of his book. 

“Besides, they’re not here for caviar,” Crocodile huffed from his desk on the other side of the large room, “they’re here to pay for murder. I think that’ll be enough of a thrill for them.”

You cleared your throat, scribbling on the corner of a page.

“Do you disagree?”

How did he get here so fast?

Mihawk laughed at the little yelp you let out when Crocodile pulled the list from your shaky hands. 

“They want a show,” Buggy’s head declared as it floated between you and the larger man, his jazz hands floating beside his face. He gave a quiet huff as Crocodile used the notebook to swat him away like a fly.

“I’ll listen to your recommendations, sweetheart. Tell me why you think I’m wrong.”

Mihawk joined him in front of your desk, the two of them towering over you while Buggy started pacing. 

I wonder if I’ll ever stop being afraid of them. I wonder if that’s why I want to stay.

Shaking off the fear, and the flush to your cheeks, you straightened before answering with a steady voice.

“I’ve known most of these people for years. They want thrills, but only if they’ll be safe, and only if it’ll be good for their bank accounts in the long run. We need to convince them that they’ll gain more than they give by funding us.” You couldn’t read the emotions behind their sharp-eyed stares, but you pulled yourself through.

“We need to sell the product, and we need to be desirable. If we don’t look just as wealthy as they are, they won’t think we’re worth the air we breathe, let alone their precious berry,” you ended on a sharp note, swallowing a scowl. 

Mihawk leaned over the desk, holding your jaw while he stared at the hint of a snarl on your lips.

“My sweet, little rabbit doesn't seem to think highly of her old clients. This entire plan relies on these wealthy contacts being loyal to you, Y/N. You didn’t exaggerate their trust in you, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” you breathed, your jaw clenching beneath his fingers. “As long as I keep being useful to them, they’ll keep pretending they care about me.” 

Ice filled the room from the pressure of your words, nausea coiling in your stomach.

“I’m good at what I do,” you coughed, Mihawk's fingers letting you pull away while you took a breath. “They’ll listen to me, but we need to put on a show.”

“Good thing you’ve got the flashiest showman around,” Buggy crowed, floating pieces of him over your desk again, shielding you from the cold stares of the other men.

“Buzz off, clown,” Crocodile snapped, resting his hook on your desk with a low, metallic thunk. “Sweet girl, do you think we’re liars?”

“Wha– n-no. I didn’t–”

“Skittish, little rabbit,” Mihawk purred, shouldering past Buggy’s now solid form to trail a finger down your cheek. “Why would you ever need to worry? You have so many uses.”

“Don’t start with that shit, swordsman,” Crocodile growled, moving beside you to trap you between them. 

“Didn’t you hear that hatred on her tongue, sandman? Aren’t you curious if our little rabbit carries that same venom for us?”

Buggy’s frantic eyes found yours around Mihawk’s side, but your golden-eyed lover returned his fingers to your jaw, pressing in.

“Do you hate us for using you, darling?”

He released your face at Crocodile’s looming threat, but his predator’s gaze still held you frozen.

A large hand across your shoulder blades relaxed you for just a moment, until that deep voice warmed your neck.

“Answer him, sweetheart.”

“Of course she doesn’t hate you, she’s–” Buggy started, going silent at the vicious glare Mihawk sent his way. 

Tension grew with every second until you found your voice again.

“I don’t hate you. I want to be here,” you laughed, a strange joy moving through you as you shook yourself. “You threatened to kill me, but I still trust you more than I trust any of those leeches.”

Lightheadedness came in a wave, your body buzzing as you looked back and forth at their frightening faces.

Fuck. Why did I say all that? Why didn’t I keep it professional?

You let out a sigh of relief as Crocodile's hand rubbed up and down your spine, and Mihawk lifted your knuckles to his lips. That gentle kiss felt overpowering, and he hummed when a soft noise left your throat.

“I think that’s enough work for today, don’t you, Crocodile?”

“Why don’t we take our dinner in the banquet hall tonight,” he suggested, tapping his hook on a blank notepad on your desk. “You can show us how to prepare it for a party of leeches.”

“Or we could just enjoy all the new tables to fuck you on,” Mihawk laughed, pulling you out of the chair to carry you. 

They bickered about who would be going first along the way, laughing at Buggy’s attempt to claim a turn.

“Go order the food,” Crocodile snorted, gesturing down the hall. “Stop being a fucking nuisance, and you might get to watch.”

You directed them to the large dining hall, giggling as Mihawk laid you across the head table. The room was already set up well, a small stage at one end, the head table stretched along a connecting wall, and round tables scattered across the floor. Once you had a more complete RSVP list, you’d be able to make a decent seating chart.

You propped yourself up on an elbow, your brow creasing a bit as you thought of which guests would need to feel extra special, and be seated the closest to your lovers. 

“I’m amazed that little mind of yours can focus on work,” Mihawk teased, tapping his fingers against your forehead. You threw your head back with a moan as he snuck a hand up your skirt. He rubbed his knuckles over your clit through your panties, already damp from the feel of his skin while he’d carried you. “When this little cunt is always so fucking hungry.”

“Dinner is served,” Buggy interrupted your moan, crashing through the doors with a rolling cart of food, the sliver-domed covers glinting under the lights. The tray slammed into a chair as he stared between your spread legs, his hands flying to catch the wine bottle and glasses just in time.

“Too bad,” Mihawk sighed as he licked the taste of you off his fingers. “I was about to have dessert first.”

Too many conflicting feelings flowed through your mind while you ate in this opulent room, drifting you away from the conversation as visions of fake smiles and expensive clothes danced through the hall. 

Gloved fingers on your knee snapped you back.

Buggy made a show of eating the last few bites off his plate, not meeting your gaze as your lips parted from his risky touch. 

What are you doing?

So far your sweet clown had done nothing but try to protect you from these men, but now his fingers were teasing up your thigh under the table. 

You wanted to let him, your mind starting to race through every possibility, every reaction.

Mihawk snatched that wayward hand from your lap before you had a chance to think, and you yelped when he slammed it on the table. 

“We decide when our girl gets to play with her toys.”

“Right, of course,” Buggy squeaked, his ears going red while Mihawk crushed his hand against the wood. “Sorry, boss, I was just feeling handsy! Ha, w-won’t happen again!”

Buggy’s tense giggle at the word handsy tore a laugh from you, and he managed to steal his hand back while Mihawk stood, his chair scraping across the floor. 

“Time for dessert,” he threatened, wicked fingers pulling you up by your hair. He dragged you away from the plates before tossing you on the edge of the table. Taking a seat between your legs, he gripped your ankles while you panted, trying to gain your bearings.

But you couldn’t gain your bearings, Crocodile’s lips crashing onto yours taking you over. He sat beside you, a satisfied noise leaving his throat at your desperate reaching for him. 

“Since you’re feeling so handsy, why don’t you pin hers down?”

Buggy hesitated for a moment, but pulled up a chair on your other side before his floating hands pressed your wrists into the wooden table above your head. Even though this was exactly where you wanted to be, being restrained and surrounded on three sides had you resisting against his hold. 

“You look so pretty like this, sweetheart,” Crocodile purred, tracing the side of his hook along your struggling arms, the barest scrape of the sharp point making you gasp.

“He’s right, such a tasty little rabbit in our trap,” Mihawk agreed, speeding your pulse as he pulled your panties down your legs. He dropped them onto Buggy’s lap, bringing a whimper from those painted lips. “Try not to come in your little pillowcase this time, and you might get to do more than hold her down.”

Buggy met your gaze, the need in his darkened eyes making your breath hitch.

He’s never looked at me like this before.

Your lovely clown, the Warlord of the Sea that had rescued you from your boring life. He'd taken you to new highs, given you more pleasure than you’d ever known. Before they came, he had looked at you like he wanted to eat you, to take you, to keep you. 

But the look on his face when he watched these other men have their way with you was something else.

He fucking loves this.

Before you could smile at the thought, a wicked tongue dragged through your folds, circling around your clit before plunging inside you. You filled the air with Mihawk’s name as he devoured you, until Crocodile’s fingers muffled your moans, making you tear up while he smirked at your stuffed mouth.

“Do you mind? I prefer a little music with my meals.”

Mihawk smeared his face along your inner thigh, and you shivered at the feel of his wet facial hair teasing your skin. Crocodile huffed a laugh, but pulled his fingers out of your mouth. He lifted the fabric of your top, tearing more of the clothes that Buggy had bought for you into shreds before playing with your breasts.

So many sounds left your throat as they teased you, Buggy’s hands gripping hard while you writhed for them.

Predators toying with their prey. 

“Please,” you begged, earning a laugh vibrating through your core as Mihawk kept going. You were already twitching before his long fingers entered you, Crocodile’s hook tracing dangerously down the side of your body.

“Fuck, Mihawk, I’m so–”

“Close,” he taunted, pulling away from you. Crocodile gave a disgruntled noise, but followed suit, taking his hand away from your chest. He left his hook though, the point resting lightly below your ribs while he looked toward the man between your legs. 

“I think we were close to something earlier,” Mihawk continued, his fingers playing along your thighs while you squirmed with need. “Close to learning more about our precious numbers girl.”

The loss of that almost release had you whimpering, but his words fell over you like a weight. 

“She’s been good, hawk-eyes. Don’t be so mean,” Crocodile smiled, brushing a bit of hair from your face.

“You know I’m going to make her scream, but my curiosity has been piqued. I just have to know,” he threatened, pressing his fingers into you. You moaned when he found that spot, but he tortured you, the touch too slow for relief. “Tell me, darling. Why do you carry such contempt for these wealthy clients of yours? You told us that your life was boring, but you snarled like a beast. Did we take in a monster instead of a sweet, little rabbit?”

He attacked you then, his free hand on your clit while his fingers brought you close again. You couldn’t answer through desperate moans, and the sobs that followed as he cut you off again.

“Please, sir. Please,” you choked out, shaking with need.

“Why do you hate them, Y/N?”

Your name on Mihawk’s lips always seemed to wake you, and you tried to calm your breathing before struggling for an answer.

“They’re terrible people,” you gasped, faltering at Crocodile’s low chuckle. “They don’t care about anything besides staying rich, and impressing the same circle of vapid families with how much berry they can waste on stupid, pretentious bullshit. They’re so fucking obsessed with status, they’d throw someone to the wolves just for the slim chance of their inbred blood marrying into the Celestial Dragons.”

Your body had forgotten its need, seething as the words raged through you. These were thoughts you fought to ignore, useless, meaningless thoughts that could do nothing but piss you off.

Buggy released one of your wrists, cradling your cheek as his thumb gently stroked back and forth. You looked away from the confusion and concern in his eyes, embarrassment filling you like bile. 

As if he felt your shift, Mihawk lowered your legs, coming to sit on the table beside Crocodile, and you clamped your eyes shut against the force of their stares.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t be,” Crocodile rasped, rubbing his hand along your arm. “I’m glad my sweet girl has some fire in her.”

“I agree,” the swordsman interrupted as he laid his still-wet fingers on your side, “but this seems personal. Why do you hate them so much, pet. Tell the truth.”

“I just… I’ve been surrounded by these people for years. They trust me with their money, and their money comes with secrets. I see what they do with all the wealth I help them grow, and I see what they don’t do. But even with all that berry, and all that selfishness, they are still so fucking boring.”

A wicked laugh left your throat, and you found yourself smiling as you looked into three sets of eyes. You melted for them, letting the heat of your need for them pour from you.

“But you promised that I wouldn’t be bored with you,” your voice came out in a purr, and you relished as all three faces filled with hunger when you writhed for them. 

Mihawk jutted forward to pinch your pouting lip, something new and dangerous flashing in his eyes.

“Are you trying to manipulate us,” he dared, tilting his head as he scanned your face. “Did you already forget who owns you?”

“No,” you gasped, lifting your neck as he tugged your lip further.

“Mihawk, back–”

“Can you believe what a dirty slut your sweet girl is,” he taunted, his free hand tracing up your thigh while you held your breath. “She just tried to use her body to distract us. You really loved being called a whore, didn’t you?”

You fell back when he released your lip, moaning as he yanked your hips toward the edge of the table. Your legs dangled off the side, and you tried to slide off to stand until he ordered Buggy to pin your wrists down again. 

Buggy’s brows creased as he hesitated for a moment, a small line of worry etched into his face paint. Yet he obeyed, leaving you to glance up at Crocodile, imploring him for forgiveness that you weren’t sure you wanted. Your eyes fluttered closed when he leaned down, kissing your temple.

“It’s true, isn’t it,” he asked, his husky voice overwhelming you. The point of his hook ghosted across your chest, forcing you to slow your breathing. “I promised all you gotta do is tell me what you want, and I’ll take care of you, but you still don’t believe me? Manipulation is real fuckin' close to lying, brat.”

“P-please, I–”

“You’d better watch your fucking mouth,” he threatened, his hook pressing into the side of your neck. “You’re gonna take what we give you, and then you’re gonna tell us the truth. Don’t make me show you what I do to liars, girl.”

Nodding stretched your throat against that sharp point, so you whispered your compliance. He withdrew the threat as Mihawk’s evil laughter moved closer. 

“I’m not so forgiving,” the other man smirked as he lifted your legs over his shoulders. You barely had time to meet his golden eyes before he shoved his cock into you, laughing through your screams.

“Using your body against me,” Mihawk scoffed as he grabbed at your chest, pinching one of your nipples while he pounded into you. “I’ll show you what it means to be used, rabbit. You get to be a real whore tonight.”

The acoustics in the banquet hall were incredible, your screams of pleasure flying through the room as you came on his brutal cock.

“What a spoiled little cunt. I wonder how many rounds you can take? Would you still like a turn, clown?”

Buggy coughed, looking up from the sight of your pussy taking all that abuse.

“Wha–”

“Did you ever call her a slut? Did you ever fuck her like the desperate whore she is right now?”

“No, I…” 

“Mihawk–” Crocodile leaned in, pressing his hand down on your chest. The swordsman never stopped fucking you, and you had to fight to pay attention.

“She earned this, sandman, and I think we should give our toy a treat. He’s been so good at holding her down, and keeping his mouth shut while I ruin his pretty star’s pretty little cunt. Let me play. I know you’re enjoying it.”

“… Fine. Only because she deserves this punishment. You hear that, brat,” he rasped, grabbing your face to watch you wither under his silver glare. “You try something like this again, and I’ll let twisted hawkeye pick your punishment.”

He pushed away just as another orgasm was ripped from you, your body clenching around Mihawk’s while he dug his nails into your hips.

“Hardly a punishment. You’re nothing but a slutty little hole, aren’t you,” he jeered, rolling into you until your eyes rolled back. “Alright clown, if you still want to stick your dick into this comeslut, you need to follow my instructions. Do you still want to fuck her?”

Buggy looked down at you with wide eyes, and you couldn’t tell if he’d noticed your nod of consent as Mihawk slammed into you, but either way, he whispered, “yes.”

“Good toy,” Mihawk praised, his breath heavy as his thrusts started to stagger. “As soon as I’m done, you’re going to fuck my come into her. You’re going to call her a whore, and you’re going to fuck her like one. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Buggy rasped, squeezing your wrists twice before taking his hands back to undress. Crocodile caught both of your hands in his. His eyebrow lifted just a tad, and you closed your eyes, knowing a smile would be on your lips if you weren’t making so many ungodly noises. 

Your safe word crossed your mind. All of your lovers knew it. 

But you weren’t even close to needing it. 

I’m such a slut.

You almost laughed to yourself, until you felt Mihawk start to twitch inside you.

“Look at my happy little whore. Just wait, darling. You’ll be crying soon enough,” he laughed before groaning, shoving his cock so fucking deep while he filled you. The heat of him made your eyes roll back, and you weren’t ready when they switched. 

Buggy’s needy moan arched your back. The feel of him sinking into your messy cunt after everything that had happened felt insane, electric. You met his gaze, his blown out eyes hardly human as he followed Mihawk’s lead, fucking into you like an animal. 

“Tell her what she is, toy,” Mihawk ordered softly, smirking at you over Buggy’s shoulder. 

“You’re…” Buggy started, his head tilting back as his breath sped through him. 

“You’d better not come before you tell her what a slut she is. And you’d better act like you mean it.”

Your sweet clown looked frantic as Mihawk’s dangerous fingers danced over his shoulders.

“You’re such a slut,” Buggy tried again, his soft voice making you moan. His bottom lip scraped through his teeth while he watched you react to him, and you cried out his name as he fucked you harder.

“You like this, don’t you,” he asked, voice gaining confidence with each word, with each thrust until you were screaming. “You like being a flashy little whore, huh? Like making me watch your pussy get fucking wrecked everyday?”

“Fuck, yes, Buggy, please.”

“Gods, Y/N, you feel so fucking good baby–…”

“She’s not good, she’s a dirty fucking hole to fill,” Mihawk growled, gripping Buggy’s hair while he whimpered. “Tell her what she is, and you can come inside her right now.”

“F-fuck, you’re a dirty slut. You filthy fucking whore. Fuck, I’m–”

That twitching, throbbing cock filled you and filled you, it felt like it just kept going. Just a few more of those desperate, overstimulated thrusts of his would have sent you over the edge again. You hadn’t even noticed when Mihawk took over pinning your wrists before Buggy was pulled away, and large, ringed fingers played in the mess he’d left.

Crocodile’s eyes burned into you as he scooped come out of your used cunt, rubbing it along his shaft before pressing the tip of him to your entrance. You squirmed away, stopping your movement too late.

“Get her on the floor, clown. I don’t wanna break the table giving this brat what she deserves.”

Your limbs were loose as the other man got you to the ground, spreading your legs for Crocodile as he lined himself up, grabbing your hip to hold you in place.

“This is nothing, sweetheart,” he threatened, bullying his massive cock into you, the other men’s come being forced out to make room. A satisfied hum vibrated through him at your pathetic little whimpers. “You need to know how fucking serious I am.”

“Okay,” you breathed, eyes stinging with tears as he shoved himself all the way in.

“If I ever find out you lied to me,” he growled, filling you again and again as he started thrusting, “you’re not gonna like the punishment you get. I don’t care how sweet, how pretty, or how fucking useful you are, you’re gonna be hurting. Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes,” you whined, the pain almost tipping to pleasure before he got mean, fucking you into the floor. 

“Yes, what, brat?”

“Daddy, yes da–”

“Fuck,” he moaned, drowned out by your screams. 

Crocodile didn’t stop, fucking you as your body shook, fucking you until your tongue hung loose, the hint of drool at the corner of your lips. 

“I’m gonna fill this bratty little pussy up, then you’re gonna be a good girl and tell the truth, because we can do this all night. Are you gonna be a good girl, or are we gonna have to keep taking turns ‘til your pretty little cunt starts crying?”

“I’ll be good, daddy. So good–”

“Mm, just like that. Fuck, you take my come so well…”

He filled you impossibly full, come spilling down the sides of his cock onto your already sticky thighs. Then he left you empty, but not cold, sliding down your body to press soft kisses to your neck and shoulder. 

“You really are smitten, aren’t you, Croc?”

Mihawk’s taunt sent tension through the larger man’s body, and you held your breath while those silver gray eyes poured over your features. 

“We’ve got a good girl here,” he countered, brushing hair from your face. “As long as she’s not a liar.”

“Yes, yes,” the swordsman tutted, “let’s get our girl cleaned up so she can tell us all about that hatred in her heart.”

The afterglow dwindled quickly at those words, but soon Mihawk was wrapping you in a tablecloth, lifting you into his arms. He hummed again when you let your head rest against his shoulder, tilting his face to leave a kiss on the top of your head. That little touch brought all your relaxation back, even from the frightening man that held you. 

Buggy snuck a quick kiss to your cheek while everyone got a turn under the hot water, and sleepiness hit you hard as Mihawk wrapped a towel around you. You’d watched him shave while the shower warmed up, and now you stood on the fluffy bath mat, swaying while you stared at him in the large mirror. Crocodile had left, and Buggy hovered near the door, but you were caught on the swordsman.

“What’s that?”

You stepped closer, but pulled your hand back before picking up the dark glass bottle he’d titled into his palm. Those unreadable golden eyes flicked to you while he dragged his fingers over his jaw, spreading that incredible smelling liquid through his facial hair.

“You tell me, bloodhound,” he smirked, holding his palm in front of your face. 

“Fuck, that smells so good.”

“Of course it does,” he chuckled, “what do you think is in–”

“Play your sniffing game tomorrow,” Crocodile grumbled through the door. “If our girl doesn't tell us the truth, we're gonna have a second round, and I’d like to get some sleep tonight.”

“Better not make daddy angry,” Mihawk warned in a hushed voice, nibbling on your ear before pushing you toward the door. “Better not make me angry either, rabbit. You know I can read you like a book.”

Shivering, you moved past Buggy’s wide eyes, glad to have him there. Mihawk guided you to sit against the headboard while the three of them sat around the edges of the bed, surrounding you again.

Silence strangled you, and you were about to crawl out of your skin until they all started speaking at once. The others conceded, leaving Mihawk to lean forward, touching your ankle as he spoke. 

“Tell us the real reason why you hate your wealthy clients, hate wealthy people in general? There’s something personal, and we need to know before you invite a whole slew of them to our lovely home. Can’t have you poisoning all the people who might give us berry now, can we?”

“I’m sure I’m not the only person who thinks rich people are trash,” you laughed awkwardly, yelping as his long fingers dug into your skin. “I'm s-sorry, it's just a joke…”

“Answer the question,” Crocodile ordered. His voice was empty, leaving your mind to fill in the terrifying blanks of what he had in store for you if you failed him. 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you sighed, covering your face with your hands while you tried to pull your thoughts together. You opened your eyes to catch Buggy’s soft, worried smile, and you knew his hands would be comforting you right now if he thought they’d allow it. 

“I grew up with money, alright,” you spilled out, sounding more annoyed than you’d meant to.

Dead silence was finally killed by Mihawk’s derisive laughter.

“No wonder she’s such a brat, Crocodile. We’ve got a spoiled, little rich girl on our hands.”

“Shut up!”

Clamping your hands over your mouth too late, your eyes darted between all of their shocked faces. Buggy’s head had lifted a couple of inches off his neck, as if the force of his eyebrows raising had pulled it into the air. You bit your lip hard to keep from releasing panicked laughter. Crocodile moved closer, mirroring Mihawk with his hand on your leg.

“Tell us why you’re angry,” he soothed, rubbing his thumb along your skin. “But you need to stop making us dig for it, sweetheart. I’m not known for my patience.”

Blinking away stupid tears before they could fall, you nodded, letting your head fall back against the headboard before trying to speak. When the words finally came, it was like an echo through an empty room, your eyes almost unfocused as you told the boring tale.

“Family was rich. I grew up in those circles with all the parties, and galas, and expectations. I didn’t like it then either. But my dad died…”

Emotion swelled through the emptiness, and you had to swallow it down to steady your voice again. One of Buggy’s hands flew to yours, and no one stopped you from holding it.

“We stopped being rich. All those friends and neighbors stopped seeing us as real people. Even the parts of my family that are still rich treated us… They wanted us to beg for their help. To roll over, and let them– Fuck!”

They were all frozen through your frustrated yell. Buggy’s hand floated anxiously at your side after you’d dropped it to throw your hands into the air, digging your nails into your palms as anger rocked you. 

Why am I doing this? I’m such a fucking idiot. 

Your scolding thoughts couldn’t stop the wave of rage as it pushed through you.

“I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk about them. How badly are you gonna hurt me tonight if I don’t tell you anything else? Why don't I save you some time, because I will take a lot of punishment if we can just fucking drop it.”

The ringing in your ears seemed to last for hours until your labored breathing started to calm. Blue, gold, and silver eyes pierced through your body like vicious jewelry, clinging to your skin as you tried to disappear. You went unfocused again, staring vaguely toward the crown moulding as you awaited whatever pain they might inflict.

Almost at once, the three of them crawled forward, and you held your breath as they settled around you, their warm hands smoothing over your body. Mihawk and Crocodile brought their lips to your skin, Mihawk’s trailing down your neck while you twitched and whined. Crocodile kissed your temple before breathing along your ear.

“We promised to take care of you, Y/N. Want us to take care of somebody for you?”

“Hm,” you asked, a headache forming from the onslaught of emotions. 

“You’re ours, little rabbit. If you'd like someone to die, all you have to do is point the way.”

“Just tell me who, sweetheart. Daddy’ll gut them for you.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

a/n: I honestly thought we'd never get to the reader's back story what with all the fuckin' 😅

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Part 14

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

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