#normalize loving office supplies

[kiraqueenbtd]

Shoutout to the 5 Paper Mario Origami King fans that know the characters <3

[rileyslibrary]

may i request ghost seeing reader making something (maybe a get well soon card or a papercrane or sth idk) and then someone accidentally ruining it? like how would he react? what would he do next etc

doesnt have to be a fic if you decide to write it, could be bulletpoints or something ez🥰🥰

thankyouu🥺✨

I love getting requests like this one; thank you @lululandd! Also, there’s a very important A/N at the end, so meet me there. Buh-bye for now, enjoy! 🍫

———————————————————————

Price got hurt. It was a terrible hit, and everything happened so fast. You were there, at the crime scene, as everything unfolded right before your very eyes.

His injury, however, wasn’t the result of a mission gone wrong; no. Some idiot forgot to put the warning sign on the wet floor, which caused the poor man to fly into the air and crash to the floor.

The good news is that he's recovering quickly and is now being held at the medical centre until he's ready to be released.

The bad news? Without a captain to guide the team, there was no mission to undergo. And, without a mission, none of you had a clear direction or purpose, leaving you all floating in a sea of mundane tasks and boredom. So, for the past few days, you and the rest of the team have been doing mind-numbing chores ranging from scrubbing the kitchen’s greasy ovens to meticulously organising the cluttered armoury.

While Soap and Gaz are on patrol, you and Ghost are taking a break in the mess hall. He’s cleaning his gun by disassembling it and wiping all its metal components with an alcohol solution. You sit across from him, working on a different kind of project: making a get-well-soon card for Price.

Last night, you snuck into HR’s office and “borrowed” some supplies to help you with your craft: a piece of white paper from the printer, some markers, and a pot of blue-coloured glitter dust you found in one of the drawers. It was a mystery as to why the military’s Human Resources department possessed glitter. Still, it will undoubtedly prove helpful with your "crafty" mission.

You also went to the doctor and requested some “normal-sized” bandages to help with your secret project. The doctor leaned back in his chair, raising one eyebrow. He asked why you wanted the bandages, but you were so vague with your answer that he became suspicious of you. So he pulled his desk’s drawer and gave you one fucking bandage—just one. So you had to make it count.

You folded the white paper in half and carefully attached the bandage horizontally to create the outline of Price’s body. The only thing left is to paint his face on the bandage and draw a hospital bed underneath it. That, and getting the team together to write some kind messages on the card.

Ghost looks at you every now and then, mildly intrigued by your artistic creation. You catch his eye, and he quickly turns away.

“Do you like it?” you ask.

“It’s a bandage on a piece of paper,” he says, shrugging. “What is there to like?”

“It’s not just a bandage on a piece of paper,” you explain and gesture to the figure on the paper; “it’s supposed to be Price lying in his hospital bed, recovering.”

His response comes in the form of a lengthy, dismissive snort. He points to the glitter pot in front of you.

“Why the glitter?” he asks.

“It’s for the bedsheets,” you murmur.

“I didn’t know they transferred Price to a love hotel,” he mocks, turning away from you to resume his task. You roll your eyes in response and shift your focus to your craft. This is the same guy you’ll later ask to write a few pleasant words on that card. Fun stuff.

You can still feel his gaze on you as you work on the captain’s card. Despite his best efforts to appear apathetic, you notice him leaning in slightly, pretending to stretch or yawn while sneaking peeks at your project. His body language betrays him; even though he tries to be tough and keep up the act, you know that deep down, he’s a huge softie who can’t resist a heartfelt gesture. He coughs, pretending to clear his throat, and you stifle a laugh at his failed attempt to seem disinterested. You roll your eyes and slam your hand on the table.

“What’s your problem, Lieutenant?” you ask with an amused smirk on your lips.

“I just don’t understand,” he says as he wipes the gun barrel. “Why bother making a card from scratch when you can buy one?”

“Because it’s more meaningful,” you explain. “When you take the time to create something yourself, it shows that you care. It’s not a generic card; it’s a heartfelt statement.”

He lets out a sarcastic scoff.

“I’d do the same thing for you, you know.” You whisper.

He puts down his rifle and looks at you. “You would?” He asks, surprised.

You nod. “Of course, I would,” you reply, “but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that; I’d rather you stay injury-free.”

He chuckles and turns to look at the mess hall doors as they open, with Soap and Gaz carrying a large box and approaching you both.

They slam the box on the table without assessing its weight, causing the entire surface to shake. The impact knocks Ghost’s alcohol solution over, spilling it all over the table and, even worse, all over your hand-made card.

Your heart sinks to your stomach as you helplessly watch the liquid soak into the card, smudging the ink and warping the paper. Ghost throws the gun on the table and grabs your card as quickly as he can. Soap curses under his breath, and Gaz grabs some paper towels from another table, attempting to rescue anything he can. But it’s too late; the damage is done.

You look up to see Ghost standing there, pinching your card between his fingers.

He is livid.

“What the fucking fucking shit, sergeants?” He murmurs.

“Apologies,” Soap replies, utterly unaware of what he’s done, “Hope we didn’t ruin anything important.”

“This,” Ghost says quietly as he raises the destroyed card, “was a get-well-soon card for Price.”

“Sorry guys,” Gaz apologises as he wipes the table off. “Soap and I will go buy another o-”

“SHE MADE THIS!” Ghost yells at him, “SHE MADE THIS WITH HER OWN HANDS!”

Soap furrows his brow. “Why would you make a card when you can buy one?” he wonders.

Ghost slaps his thigh, muttering profanities under his breath. You try to convince him that it’s alright and that a store-bought card will do just fine, but he cuts you off and looks at the sergeants.

“Why make a card instead of just buying one?” He asks and brings the tips of his fingers together, waving his hand back and forth in front of the two sergeants. “Because a hand-made card is more meaningful and personal than buying a generic one, you dimwits,” he lectures them and turns to you.

“Can you make another one, Y/N?” He asks softly.

You lower your head to the ground. “I’m afraid I’ve run out of banda-”

“SHE DOESN’T HAVE ANY MORE BANDAGES, YA PRICKS!”

“And I had only one sheet of paper.”

“AND SHE HAD ONL-” he pauses. “How come you only got one sheet?” He asks, and you explain that you weren’t supposed to be on the HR premises, so you had to act quickly. Ghost lets out a deep sigh as he looks at the ruined card.

“Sergeant Mactavish, go get a few sheets of paper from my office,” he instructs before turning to Gaz. “Sergeant Garrick,” he orders, “go to the medic; tell him that your new boots have caused blisters on your feet, and you need a few bandages to patch them up.”

They both nod and leave to go fetch your supplies. Ghost turns to you and crumbles your—already—destroyed card.

“Don’t be sad, kid,” he comforts you, “I’ll help you make another one.”

“Really, Lt.?” You ask, grinning.

“Damn right I will,” he says as he takes off his gloves, “and it’ll have bandages and bedsheets full of fucking glitter and everything nice on it.”

———————————————————————

A/N: The card was inspired by this tutorial from Jennie Moraitis; all credit goes to her. Here’s a picture of the card from her website!

[flowerxbunnie]

Tattoo artist matt 🫦 and he’s praising the reader and telling her she’s taking it really well 🫦🫦 and she gets addicted to it and keeps coming back for more tattoos 🫦🫦🫦 and he’s like ‘wow you’re single-handedly paying my bills, this one’s on the house’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦 and she’s like ‘no, i gotta pay you.’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 i think you know where i’m going with this

ps I love you 💋

Ink

Tattoo artist!Matt x Fem Reader

Warnings: needles, blood, pain, tension, no smut (yet?? 😏) but veryyyyyy suggestive at times

6.3k words

Your skin is tender and raw, a soft wince drawn from your mouth as your tattoo artist wipes the excess ink with a rough paper towel.

“So proud of this one,” Alex beams as she scoots back in her chair, the wheels rolling her towards her supply cart. She grabs a roll of plastic wrap and some tape before using her feet to roll back toward your chair. “Let’s get you all wrapped up.”

“It turned out so good, dude.” You say in awe as you hold your arm out to her.

“Did you expect any less?” She jokes, wrapping the wound snugly and taping it up before shooting you a smile. “All done. Keep the wrap on for a few hours. It’ll be a little leaky, that’s normal. Wash once a day with unscented soap… blah blah blah you know the drill. Still legally obligated to tell you.” She chuckles at the end, standing up to throw away her stained gloves. “Come up to the desk whenever you’re ready.” She says before she turns on her feet and heads to the front of the shop.

You stand up and gather your belongings feeling the adrenaline rush a new tattoo always seems to bring out of you. Your arm pulses and slightly burns, a sensation you’d become addicted to over the past couple of years. You’re not covered in ink by any means, but you’ve gotten your fair share, all done by Alex.

You love the way her shop feels more like a home than a sterile clinical office. Tapestries are hung haphazardly across the walls, strings of fairy lights sprawl across the ceilings and there’s more weird little knick-knacks strewn about than you could ever imagine counting. Your favorite is the preserved butterflies she has in shadow boxes lined down the hallway.

Once you gather your keys and bag, you take the walk to the front and admire all the sketches pinned along the walls. Alex is waiting for you with a warm smile as she tells you the total. You sit your bag down and rummage for your wallet, gathering the money along with a generous tip as always.

“You want the change back?” She asks as she counts the bills.

“Just take the fucking tip Alex.” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” she chuckles humbly, shaking her head as she sorts the cash into her vintage register.

“I know I don’t have to,” you laugh, tossing your wallet back into your bag, “I want to.”

You grab the strap of your bag and throw it across your shoulder, knocking a binder off the counter in the process. You let out a quiet curse as you bend down to pick it up, flipping it over to look at the cover.

“Oh, you should look through that!” Alex chimes in excitedly. “It’s a bunch of flash pieces that are up for grabs. They’re going quick, you should pick one out!”

“Oh nice..” you thumb through the pages, studying the intricate artwork tucked behind sheet protectors. “These are so good Alex..”

“You think?” She asks, bending down to restock her glass display cabinet with more tattoo salve.

You turn page after page, seeing traditional pieces like tigers and roses, more abstract watercolor pieces and some random goofy sketches of cartoon characters. You stop when you come across a snake separated into segments with the word ‘collarbone’ scratched underneath of it.

“This one is so detailed,” you say, running your fingers across the sheet protector. “Why’s it all broken up like that?”

Alex stands back up to her feet and looks over the page, her brows furrowing a bit as she adjusts her glasses. “Oh, it’s because it’s made to look like it’s wrapping around your collarbone. Like it’s going into your skin kinda.”

“Oh, sick,” You say excitedly, “I’ll take that one then. When can you get me in?”

“That’s not mine, girl. That’s the new guy’s design. You may have seen him here before? He transferred here like three…ish months ago?” She rambles as she sorts through a stack of paperwork.

You think back, not recalling seeing a different face in the shop. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone new. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been here and you usually get me in and out.” You pull the binder closer and admire the tiny detailing of the snake skin. “He looks pretty good.. but I don’t know if I can cheat on you.” You sigh jokingly.

“Honestly, he’s fucking amazing. His card is right there if you wanna make an appointment.” She points to a carousel of different artists’ cards. “Matt… the black card.. yep that’s it.”

You stick the matte black card in your bag and give Alex a humorous warning glare. “If he fucks my tattoo up Alex I swear to god.”

“Just make the appointment, Y/n. He’ll do good, promise. Why would I hire someone whose work I don’t trust?” She laughs and steps out from behind the counter, walking towards the door. “Now get out of my shop, I need to rest my eyes.” She laughs as she pulls the door open.

——————

You dig through your bag, pulling out hair ties, loose sticks of gum and countless receipts as you search for your favorite chapstick. “I swear I left it in here,” you think out loud, gasping as your finger slides across the corner of something sharp. You pull your hand back, sucking back a curse and see a tiny paper cut on your finger, laughing at the fact that something so small can hurt so bad. You reach back in and grab the culprit, a black sturdy rectangular card.

Fuck. It’s been 3 days.

You look over the card.

Matt Sturniolo

Appointments by text.

Come get somethin’ nice!

You pull out your phone and create a new contact, typing the 10 digit number slowly and double checking, making sure you got every single one right. You let out a sigh that you’ve been holding back, deciding to drop your worries, bite the bullet and make the appointment.

Alex won’t care, she doesn’t mind. She wants me to.

He thinks I’m a guy, funny, you think to yourself, locking your phone and sitting it on the counter.

—————

The week comes and goes, the same mundane routine dragging you through the creeping days. It’s finally Friday, meaning you’re risking the integrity of your skin on an artist you’ve never even met before, let alone vetted his work. Sure, he can draw a sketch but can he execute it just as well into your skin? The entire drive to the shop you shuffle through your playlist while your fingers absentmindedly tap against the steering wheel, mind racing with every possible outcome.

You sit in the parking lot, nerves at an all time high as you scroll through TikTok trying to numb your brain while the minutes pass. You quickly peek up to the clock on your dashboard, heaving a sigh.

5:32.

Fuck. I still have way too much time.

You groan quietly and put your phone down in your cupholder, leaning your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. Your left foot taps slowly against the footrest in your floorboard, creating a steady rhythm, pulsing along with your music that quietly hums in the speakers. You pick your head back up and grip the steering wheel with a huff, tracing your hands up and down around the warm leather.

Your eyes follow passersby as they stroll and pace down the sidewalk, essentially people watching. Your hand somehow makes its way to your mouth without realizing, your nails picking and pulling at the skin of your lips habitually. You only notice when you taste the bitter metallic flavor of blood on your tongue, silently scolding yourself as you pull down your vanity mirror.

You lick the wound and pull your sore bottom lip between your teeth, suddenly hyperaware of the shriveled, dehydrated state they’re in. Leaning across your car to reach for the glovebox, you pull it open and grab the lip oil you leave in your car for moments like this. You shut the glovebox and center yourself in the reflection of the mirror, opening the tube and applying a much too generous amount of the gloss to your lips. You smack and pucker your lips, appreciating the way they seem to come back to life, plump and slightly tinted.

You look to the side as you run your finger against the corner of your mouth, cleaning up your work. A small blackboard that sits outside the door of the shop catches your attention, propped up and smeared with chalked in words. It lists the information for an upcoming tattoo fair, has random small sketches littering the board, and lists a social media account near the bottom.

Follow us! @LoveBuzz on IG!

Why haven’t I ever thought of that?

You pick your phone up out of the cupholder after you slam your mirror shut, clicking the Instagram icon and typing the handle into the search bar. You click on the account, seeing that Alex’s individual account is linked at the top as well as a piercer, Darren, who you’ve met a couple of times. You scroll down through the feed, seeing copious photo collages of fresh versus healed ink and videos with music edited into the background, featuring Alex working her magic in the shop.

You scroll past a reel of Alex promoting a clean brand of tattoo healing balms, your finger coming to a still as you land on a video of a man hunched in his chair, his body leaning over as he works a tattoo gun into someone’s leg. You can’t make out much of him from the video, but he’s clad in a stone washed black t-shirt and jeans littered with ink stains. Tattoos sprawl across his left arm that pulls at the person’s skin, holding it steady as he moves the dripping needle back and forth. Though his face isn’t visible, you notice his wispy, umber brown hair that falls forward as he works. Light catches the strands and outlines each wave as they cascade over his brow bone. Scrolling down, you read the caption.

“Matt may be new but he is making himself well known in the shop! Text him to book, slots are filling up fast!”

You scroll further and find more pieces done by Matt but can’t seem to find a tagged account. Your shot nerves are soothed a bit as you examine each flawless piece of art, every one of them so perfect it’s almost like a printed photo taped to skin. You can’t deny that the man is talented. You scroll down until you reach the very first photo that mentions his name, dated three months ago just like Alex had said.

Maybe I do trust him.

You break yourself from the distraction of your phone and check the time again, quickly fixing yourself in the mirror as you realize you need to head in immediately. Your soft fingers brush down the wild flyaways in your hair in an attempt to look as put together as possible. Grabbing the handle of your bag and slinging it across your shoulder, you turn off the ignition and step out of your car, making sure to lock the doors behind you.

You feel the ground beneath your feet meeting your body in shockwaves with each step you take towards the familiar building. In the reflection of the glass you watch your figure grow closer. You let out one last deep exhale as you grip the iron handle, pulling it open and feeling the cool air shoot across your skin.

As you step in and the door falls closed behind you, you take notice that the front desk is unoccupied. Distinct chatter can be heard over the music playing in the studio just down the hall and past the foyer, deep rumbling tones that you can’t piece together. You’re familiar enough with the shop that you feel comfortable going back without a so-called escort, so you grip the handle on your shoulder and begin the walk down the dimly lit hallway.

The walls open up into the studio and the music is so loud it almost vibrates your skin. You step closer to the source of the voices, one of them being the piercer you’re familiar with. He stands talking expressively with his hands to another man who sits with his back facing you, arms behind his head as he leans back into his chair.

“Is Matt here?” You question, looking around the rest of the studio.

The men continue on with their conversation, completely unaware you’d even said anything over the racket of the rock music. Clearing your throat, you step forward, just about six feet away from them at this point and speak up once again.

“Is anyone working the desk right now?”

The piercer turns his head to face you and the man in the chair spins around, planting his feet to stop himself.

His blue eyes catch your attention first, so bright the gaze is almost difficult to keep. But you do, and so does he. He drops his hands down from the back of his head, one of his arms coming to lay on the armrest of his chair and the other stroking the stubble that peppers his chin. The tattoos across his left arm in contrast to the blank one on the right tell you that this is your guy, this is Matt.

What you don’t know is how he feels his blood pumping hot at the sight of you. He does his best to keep his eyes above your shoulders, but he can’t help letting them wander down your supple, shining skin, immediately thinking about how soft it must be. Matt sees so many women everyday, some in very compromising positions, but just the sight of you standing in front of him has made him feel weak. The way you look so innocent and bright, juxtaposing the way you’re standing in front of his sketches of skulls and anatomically correct organs being feasted on by animals.

You feel a wave of awkward silence even through the intense bass sounding through the speakers. You ask once again if anyone is working the front desk, but your voice struggles to overpower the volume. You see Matt’s cheeks pull up into a chuckle as he reaches back around to the table, fishing for his phone and clicking the volume down considerably.

You huff, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice as you repeat yourself for the fourth time. “Is anyone working the front?”

“I’m sorry honey, we don’t take walk ins.” He rasps as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “You’ll need to make an appointment.”

“I have one.” You retort, resting your weight on one of your legs.

The bearded man walks away to his piercing station, leaving the two of you in a sort of awkward staredown.

“Alex is out today, and I’m expecting a guy to be walking in any minute for my next appointment. Are you sure yours was for today?” He asks smoothly.

“You’re Matt right?”

His shoulders tense when you say his name, but he relaxes them as he nods his head. “Yeah, I’m Matt.”

“Oh, well then yeah.. I’m Y/n. Collarbone snake for 6 o’clock.” You clarify, pulling out your phone to ensure you had the date and time right.

His eyes widen and he silently scolds himself for assuming something so bold while being utterly wrong.

“Yeah, here it is.” You turn your phone to face him, stepping closer.

“I must have been tipsy when I replied or something,” he laughs and sits up in his chair, running his hands through his hair to soothe his embarrassment. “I assumed you’d be a dude for some reason.”

“No, at least not since the last time I checked.” You giggle, tossing your phone into your crowded bag.

His laugh gives you a sense of satisfaction, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he catches his breath. “Shit, that’s my bad then.” He says while pushing himself up to stand, his arms flexing under the tight sleeves of his shirt.

“No worries.” You give him a genuine smile, not wanting him to feel any more embarrassed than you can already tell he is from his flushed cheeks.

He steps forward with a long stride, his frame much larger and taller than you expected once he passes you to head to the hallway. He tries to ignore the way his pulse quickened with the way you beamed up at him moments before, walking quickly to the front desk.

You follow behind, breathing in the lingering scent his cologne leaves in his trail. Stepping in front of the counter as he grabs a stack of haphazardly sorted papers, you grab a pen from the cup in front of you.

He slides them over to you, groaning as he flips them so they’re facing your direction. “Might not be much help reading them upside down.” He chuckles. “Alright, so I’m assuming you know the drill, yeah?” He nods his head at your arms, eyes flickering over the ink.

“Mhmm..” you hum as you concentrate on crossing off and initialing boxes stating you don’t have any medical conditions hindering you from getting tattooed.

Matt watches in silence as you skim over the pages, twisting the pen between your small fingers. He places both hands on the ledge in front of him and moves ever so slightly closer, enough to watch your lashes as they brush your cheeks with each blink. If he got any closer you’d probably feel his breath hitting your skin.

You print and sign your name on the bottom of the last page, capping the pen and tossing it back into the cup. He’s stepping back as you look up at him with the papers outstretched, deciding ogling over you isn’t a very professional first impression.

“My ID is already on file.” You say as he takes the stack and turns to the side to run them through the scanner.

“Well look at you, smart girl huh?” He jokes, pressing buttons to send the papers through the machine.

You feel warmth creeping up your neck and across your cheeks as the words fall from his lips. “I mean,” you pause with a giggle, “Alex is my only artist so I know she’s got everything she needs from me.”

“And you’re cheating on her with me?” He chuckles softly as he steps out from behind the counter, turning to head back towards the studio. “Let’s get this started, shall we?” His voice is quiet, his back to you as he walks ahead.

Matt’s shirt is stretched thin across his broad shoulders, and you absentmindedly let your eyes sink down his arms, following the veins that trail from them into his hands as they swing. His walk is confident and steady, unwavering.

Part of him wishes he had let you walk ahead of him so he could selfishly glue his eyes to your legs, drinking up the way your shorts hug them perfectly. But he has to keep this professional, you’re just a customer.

He walks to his table, gripping a handle and maneuvering the headboard so that you’ll be partially sitting, partially leaning back. “Go ahead and have a seat for me.” He gestures you to the table.

You sit your bag in your lap as you adjust in the seat, a chill running through you as the cold textured leather presses against your back. Matt stands over his supply cart, looking back and forth between you and a few sheets of paper.

“I printed a few stencils but they’re all man sized..” he laughs, crumpling them up and tossing them into his trash bin. “I’m gonna have to free hand it.”

Your eyes widen as he grabs a marker off the top of the cart and pulls the lid off with his teeth, scooting his rolling chair up to your table. “Uhh.. are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Honey…” he laughs, his head falling forward before he looks up at you with a grin. “You know I sketched the design free handed, right?”

You silently curse yourself and do your best to laugh it off, but you definitely made yourself feel incredibly dumb. Somehow he switched the mood and made it feel like he was laughing with you instead of at you, though.

“Alright… first let me…” he trails off, looking around his table before replacing the marker with a fresh razor. “I know you don’t have chest hair, but I kinda have to clear the canvas regardless.” He gives you a humored smile.

He pulls his chair up, his left hand brushing your hair off of your shoulder and down your back. He grabs your tank top strap with a clenched jaw, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His fingers feel like jolts of electricity on your skin, like he shouldn’t be touching you, but also like you want more.

He’s a tattoo artist. Alex touches me everytime she does one of my tattoos. There’s nothing weird about it, stop making it weird.

You gulp and hope that your cheeks haven’t given away your feelings as he gets the strap out of his way and leans closer. You look forward, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Matt as he slowly drags the razor across your skin.

“Alright there’s that.” He spins around and tosses the razor in the trash can, grabbing the marker once more. “Gonna sketch it out roughly right quick. It won’t look as detailed right now but I’ll add ‘em in later.” He mumbles as he tilts his head, bringing the marker to your collarbone.

Matt drags the marker across your skin with furrowed brows as he perfects the curvature of the snake to look like it’s wrapping around your bone. He can smell your sweet perfume permeating from your body, so close he can almost sniff out the individual notes. “You smell like candy.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. He bites down on his lip, shutting his eyes for a moment before he gets straight back to sketching, hoping you didn’t find it odd.

“Thank you!” You beam, “Funny enough it’s actually Prada Candy. I love it.”

He hums in response and finishes up his outline, rolling back to look at it from further away. “Sit up for me right quick.” He instructs and you listen. He nods his head, approving of his placement and sketch. “Let’s make sure you like it first.” He turns to the side and grabs a handheld mirror off his cart. He holds it out to you, his fingertips brushing yours as he hands it off.

“I love it! It’s the perfect size. Even just the sketch looks so good.” You grin as you study the purple ink in the mirror. You smile as you hand the mirror back to him, taking notice of the subtle curve of his lips.

“Great then. Already got the machine all set up and the ink wells filled. You ready?” He asks with raised eyebrows.

The look on his face tells you that you might have bitten off more than you can chew. “I… think I’m ready. Should I be worried?”

He sucks his teeth as he looks down with a stifled smirk. “Well… the collarbone isn’t the most pleasant place to get a needle jammed into your skin, I’ll leave it at that.”

You look to him with wide eyes. You’d never even considered how painful it might be, all of your other tattoos being on your arms and lower legs. “Matt, you’re scaring me.” You nervously laugh.

His stomach does a flip when you say his name for the second time today. He shoved the feeling down and reaches over, grabbing the tattoo gun in his right hand and turning it on briefly. The vibration sounds throughout the room and he assures it’s in good working condition before shutting it back off and looking up at you. “I think you’re a brave girl, you can take it.” He says lowly but causally as he rolls up next to the table, resting his left arm next to your shoulder.

The way Matt’s words fall from his lips like honey makes your skin feel as if it’s being licked with flames. You look down as he flips the gun on once again and dips the needle into the pitch black ink, the fluid dripping onto the table as he slowly raises it toward you.

“You’re gonna have to turn a little.” He almost whispers as he uses his left hand to guide your jaw to the side, giving him better access to your skin. “Alright, there we go.” He leans in as he brings the needle down into your skin, a sharp scratching and stinging pain making you gasp lightly. “You good?” He asks in a caring tone as he lifts the gun back up and scans your pained expression.

“Yeah, yeah.. I’m okay.” You breathe out. “Feels a lot different than arms and legs.”

You see him nod silently and lower the needle back to the surface of your skin, slowly pressing all the way down until he’s drawing the solid outline. He adjusts his left arm and places his warm hand onto your shoulder, his fingers gripping and pulling at the skin to keep it taut. He glances up at your face every now and again as he tattoos you, his view of your side profile and jawline begging him to keep looking. “You can move your head now. Got that upper outline all done.”

You turn your head to look at him, a smile pulling at your cheeks when you see he’s already looking up at you with hooded lids. He flashes you a small crooked grin before dipping his head back down and working on the rest of the outline. You squirm in your chair as the needle moves and works across your flesh, the area growing hot and tender.

You see a thin sheen of sweat forming on his arms under the heat of his overhead light, illuminating every dip and valley through the rolling veins on his hands. His wrist moves back and forth as he maneuvers the machine, his lip bitten between his teeth. Every few minutes his body must become sore because he moves his legs, adjusting in his seat before he brings his grip back to your shoulder.

He concentrates as he finishes the last of the outlining details, sitting up against the backrest of his chair and putting the gun down on his cart. “All done with the outline.” He smiles.

“Really?” You marvel excitedly. You peer down to take a look but huff once you realize you can’t bend your neck enough to get a good view.

Matt takes notice and leans over to grab the handheld mirror off his cart, except his left hand finds a spot atop your knee, sliding gingerly down your calf as he stretches toward his cart. As soon as his touch is there it’s gone. He leans back toward you and hands you the handle, smiling when you examine it in the mirror. “What do you think?”

You won’t lie to yourself, your pulse quickened when his hand brushed down your leg. Your only hope is he doesn’t notice the trail of goosebump he left behind in the absence of his touch. You struggle to find words, your mouth hanging open before you eventually find your voice. “I.. uh… l-looks really good.”

He exhales a small chuckle as he turns to switch the outlining needle for a shading needle. “Let me know if you need a break before I start this part.” He mumbles as he dips the set of needles into the well of ink.

You quickly shake your head. “Nope, get it over with.” You say flatly, closing your eyes. Shading is hit or miss, it either feels super relieving or like you’re getting shredded with a freshly sharpened cheese grater.

“That’s a good girl. All in one go, hm?” He murmurs as he scoots closer yet again.

He did not just say that. I’m thinking too much into this.

You give him a light chuckle and suck air in through your teeth once the needles meet your skin.

“Shhh.. you’re doing good. A lot better than a lot of crybaby men that have been on my table.” He coos as he drags the ink over the raw, bleeding skin.

If it wasn’t Matt you’d be much more of a mess. You’d probably be damn near in tears. But you can’t seem weak around him, so you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut as he shades and details the design. Your hands clench the air until your knuckles are white and throbbing, your body needing to release energy into anything other than the pain you’re in.

“Squeeze my arm if you need to. I don’t mind.” Matt proposes, stilling his movement and brushing his brown waves out of his eyes before looking at you expectantly.

You gulp and move your shaking hands to his bicep, wrapping your dainty fingers around the expanse of it lightly.

“C’mon, give me more than that.” He chuckles, “Just don’t squeeze hard enough that I fuck up your ink.”

You grip into his arm with more pressure, feeling his muscles expand and contract under his skin as he moves his forearm.

Thank god Darren left earlier. This looks so… personal.

When a small strained whimper slips out of your mouth he clears his throat, blinking hard as he wipes the tattoo with the paper towel in his left hand. He knows it’s because of the pain, he knows he shouldn’t enjoy the sound. But he does.

He can’t help himself as he finishes up the rest of the tattoo. He finds himself pressing the needle into your skin with more pressure than necessary, enough to draw more pretty sounds out of you and make you grip onto his arm. Enough for you to throw your head back onto the leather of the table, squirming your legs as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’d never do anything to mess up the integrity of his art, but god does he want to. He knows it’s wrong that his pants grow tighter with every move you make, every curse you let out as he pushes more and more ink into your skin. He sees this everyday, why is it affecting him like this?

The angel on his shoulder tells him to get the tattoo done, work fast and get you off his table. The devil on his other tells him to keep you here writhing and squeezing at him for as long as he can. His eyes drift across your sweaty face, your wet baby hairs sticking to your forehead. Your chest rises and falls as he digs in, taking his time to let the needle drag. His mind floods with sin, his hands desperately aching to pull the neckline of your tank top even a millimeter lower.

Your harsh squeeze to his arm snaps him out of his stream of thought, realizing he’d been keeping this on for too long, causing you unnecessary pain. Lifting the needle from your skin, he examines the finished piece for a moment. “All done.” He says flatly, pulling his arm from your grasp to set the machine down on his cart.

“Fuck… that was intense.” You breathe out, turning your head toward him.

“Mmm but you did great. Sat so well.” He praises as he grabs a bottle of cleaning solution.

You have no time to react before he’s squirting the liquid onto your collarbone, a harsh pulsing sting deep in your skin. “Oh that’s… fucking horrible.” You do your best to laugh through the sting.

He laughs along with you, nodding while he lets his eyes watch the droplets that flow down your chest and into the valley of your cleavage. He tears his eyes away and looks at his cart, scoffing when his box of paper towels proves empty. “Gotta go get some more paper towels,” he holds up the box, “be right back.”

“I won’t move a muscle.” You giggle and lean back onto the table.

He offers a quick smile before standing up, quickly turning around and walking to the utility closet across the studio. Once inside and out of view, he lets his hand wander down to the waistband of his jeans, slowly trailing lower to brush over his throbbing erection. He knows this is bad. He’s never had this kind of reaction to a client, and he can’t be crazy. He knows he’s seen you looking too.

He lets his rough fingertips push his shirt up and dip beneath his jeans and boxers, grabbing ahold of his pulsing cock with a slow, shaking breath. He pulls it up and tucks it into his waistband, knowing he can’t let you see the struggling tent in his pants when he walks back into the studio.

He quickly grabs a new sterile stack of paper towels and fills the empty box, sighing deeply before he begins the walk back to his station.

“They were up on a high shelf huh? Had to find a ladder?” You joke, poking fun at the fact he took longer than expected.

“Oh yeah. Had to call the fire department actually. Like when there’s a cat stuck in a tree.” He quips back with a laugh, sitting down and letting his chair roll closer to you.

He rubs the cleaning solution away and beams at his work. He may have taken longer than he needed, but damn if you didn’t get an insanely detailed snake piece. He grabs a package of Saniderm from his cart and peels the backing off, slowly applying it to the raw skin. “Leave this on for like two or three days, you can shower in it, sleep in it, the whole nine yards. It’ll start lifting and you’ll know it’s time to take it off.”

“Hmm.. Alex always uses plastic wrap.” You say questioningly, peering down at the clear bandage.

“That’s because she’s old.” He says matter of factly, peeling his gloves off and tossing them in the trash.

“She’s 35!” You chuckle and smack his shoulder.

“Yeah… old.” He replies as he fishes into his pocket. “Gotta get a picture of this, it turned out so sick.” He pulls his phone out and opens his camera, zooming in until he has the right angle and snapping a photo.

“Don’t post that, I bet I look busted.” You whine, sitting up and stretching your back.

“Well sweetheart, your face isn’t in the picture. But for the record, I think you look pretty good for a girl who just got a metric fuck ton of ink shoved into her collarbone with a needle.” He says as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

Your breath hitches inaudibly in your throat, heat lapping at your cheeks.

I have to play it cool. He didn’t call me pretty. He’s saying I took the tattoo well, that’s all.

“Thanks, Matt.” You smile, throwing your legs off the table and letting your feet hit the floor.

“After you.” He gestures his arm out as he stands, knowing he has to take the opportunity to walk behind you this time.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and walk down the hallway, feeling his eyes bore into the back of your head the entire way.

Except his eyes bore into everything he missed out on earlier. Your toned, smooth calves and up to your plush thighs that wiggle as you walk. The curve of your ass in your shorts. The way your hips sway with each step, taunting his still half-hard member.

You reach the front desk and peek into the mirror on the wall to the left of it, admiring the fresh ink. You can’t stop ogling at it as he prints out a receipt, walking up to the register and silently watching you. You turn your head to him and mumble an “oops”, stepping back to the center of the desk and grabbing the receipt from him. “Only $120?” You exclaim, widening your eyes as you look up to him.

He gives you a light nod and a shrug, brushing his hand through his fluffy waves. “You took it like a champ. Plus, I know you’ll be back. Gotta give that recurring customer discount, right?”

You know your cheeks are fire engine red at this point as you dig for your wallet, feeling as if you’re taking too long.

Am I being crazy or is that flirting? He’s flirting, right?

You open your wallet and dig out the cash, adding a generous tip to the stack before you hand it over. “I really appreciate it, Matt.”

“Not a problem. You have my number if you need anything else.” He returns as he sorts the cash into the register. He flicks his eyes back up and meets yours, a brief, almost-too-long moment of eye contact held between you two.

You blink hard a few times before clearing your throat and nodding, stepping back from the counter. “You got it. Thanks again.”

You turn on your feet and head for the door, pushing it open while your brain spins with thoughts of your encounter.

What the fuck was that?

—————

authors note: part two??? lmk 😈😈😈

taglist: @solarsturniolo @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @worldlxvlys @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel @karlybbx @chrisfavoritepepsi @mwah0mwah @starsturniolo @christinarowie332 @fionaheartswomen @angelic-sturniolos111 @mqttittude @sturniolowhore @luv4kozume

[bobluvbot]

late night cravings

pairing: sirius black x afab!reader summary: you sneak off the night for a cheeky midnight snack, hoping sirius won’t notice (spoiler alert: he does, and he’s sulky about it)  wc: 4k cw: pregnancy & baby talk, descriptions of food and eating, brief allusions to sex (not directly stated), no physical traits of reader specified but sirius can hold things out of reader’s reach  a/n: so i had a lengthy angst fic for sirius’s debut on my blog and im halfway done on it but i cant seem to finish it bc it sends me to a depressing spiral each time <33333 so pls enjoy a very self-indulgent domestic excessively fluffy blurb with my beloved <33333 p.s this is not proofread so plz ignore mistakes ty <3

opening the tomato salsa jar turned out to be the hardest part. 

back in bed, you thought the trickiest part of your late night escapade from sirius black was his long limbs wound up tight with yours, even in low light of the small nightlight in the corner, you could still make out the intricate script and designs following the curves and dips of his strong arms, holding you close to his chest. 

you had it committed to memory by now, having explored sirius’s body well enough to memorize the way his skin feels against yours, with heartbeats and breaths falling in sync without much effort. 

judging by the way his breathing gets heavy after every exhale and the little snores that escape in between, you knew he was beyond knackered. it was day five of sirius’s new job as an deputy director at the auror office. the day he learned about the promotion was pure unadulterated happiness. after letting you know through an express owl, you mustered up enough vigor available to your seven months pregnant self to get out of the house and go to the local shops to get party supplies and food to celebrate sirius’s achievement. 

Coming in third out of the list of things he genuinely loved in this life, after you and his luscious locks of course, was his job as an auror. young sirius had never thought in his wildest dreams that he’d work at the ministry, much less actually enjoy it. can’t really blame sixteen year old sirius, starting an underground rock band with the marauders seemed like the perfect thing to do after gruelling hours of studying at hogwarts. 

defense against the dark arts came to him naturally, with some counterspells like second nature to him as being exposed with use of dark magic young gave him no choice but to grow up quickly and defend himself from the excruciating pain or the mind control that was from his own family’s doing. Winning the first wizarding war alongside his friends and found family has solidified sirius’s calling in eradicating the use of dark magic and making sure the next generation can have a safe and normal life without the looming threat of a megalomaniac sorting people with their blood status and taking over the wizarding world. 

that night, sirius walked into a dark and eerily quiet home that had his senses on overdrive. but when the lights turned on and he saw familiar faces of his loved ones all beaming with pride, and there you were in the center, looking ethereal and round and all his, with his favorite red velvet cake on hand and a ridiculously big balloon that says “congratulations” tied to the candle, he could have melted in a syrupy mess of gooey happiness right then and there if he hadn’t caught himself together last minute.

Sirius had thought– that after you agreeing to go on one date with him to hogsmeade, winning the quidditch cup and seeing the proud look on minerva’s face, going home for christmas break and euphemia welcoming him with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug, remus teaching at the very same classroom you all were in years back, james and lily’s first kiss at the altar, holding little baby harry in his arms, you walking down the aisle with a bouquet of peonies in the most beautiful dress, and when you held his hand that one night and told him that you were expecting—- that he knew of love. but you do something extraordinary that has him scrambling to add to the endless list of why you’re the love of his life. he was so focused on you that he wasn’t prepared to catch pure muscle of james’s body as he flung himself to tackle his best friend in a hug. luckily, remus with a party hat was aptly standing between a toppling sirius and the living room wall, and he singlehandedly saved the two from creating a huge hole in the drywall. 

this was the life, sirius had thought after many hours of partying celebrating and eating, when he laid beside you in bed, limbs tangled, sated and dizzy and warm as you both came down from your highs. and he gets to spend it with you.

but as fun and exciting sirius’s new job is, it entailed an increased amount of responsibility as he was assisting the head auror. his least favorite part of the job was the boatloads of paperwork he has to deal with. An express owl almost dropped a howler letter into the soup you were making for dinner earlier that day and you opened it up panicking thinking it was an emergency. But no, it was just sirius whining that his hand hurt and is about to fall off and that he needs you to kiss it better. 

You did eventually, and one thing led to another and here you were, tucked in your husband’s warm embrace. you could stay here forever, only separating to drink water and bathroom trips, but the gnawing urge to eat something savory, sweet, tangy, and crunchy has possessed your entire being, the only way to quell it was to get up and go to the kitchen. the baby doesn’t seem to have a semblance of time yet, a fact you both envied and despised, because the clock on your nightstand said it was 3:48am in bold red numbers. A few months ago, you’d never be caught dead awake at this time, taking your precious sleep time seriously. The man himself would poke fun at you and say you’d gladly sleep through an earthquake or a housefire just as long as you get your seven to eight hours of sleep per day, and despite of your assumed role of contradicting and arguing with spontaneous and stubborn sirius, you had to agree.

But this was not about you anymore, or at least not quite yet for a good seventeen years, so you untangle yourself from sirius and your perfectly warm and cool side of the bed and waddle down the carpeted stairs, careful not to set foot on the creaky step that might risk waking sirius up. You need your secrets too, and you’re not in the mood to share food.

Grateful for the heavens that you and sirius stocked up on groceries two days ago, you had a wide selection of random items to munch on. A few days ago, you were introduced to the idea of a fluffernutter sandwich while scrolling through the short videos on your feed. Peanut butter and marshmallow fluff as spreads on their own was something you didn’t mind eating, but both together in a sandwich? You were enthralled, and the only way to quell the curiosity was to make it. So you did. 

You shovel and slather more than enough spread on each slice of bread, though you might have used the same spoon on both jars.. but who’s to tell you off otherwise, your snoozing husband upstairs? pfft. 

Smiling happily as if committing a particularly naughty crime, you place the spoon in your mouth, licking off the gooey mixture as you place the sandwich on a piece of paper towel (yes, you take the no dishwashing tonight seriously) on the table. humming, you mull over what to prepare next.

The baby needs something savory and tangy, but you’re not particularly keen on going through all the effort of heating up the soup from dinner, not to mention the amount of cutlery and dishes you’ll use for that, so you zero in on the tostada shells you chose rather than tortilla chips because its much more crispier. 

Opening the fridge, you see the laughing cow on a round packaging and decide its the one, so you grab two cheese wedges from it. 

Sirius had argued that the next aisle had actual, real blocks of cheese with a variety on display and that there was no point in getting artificially flavored ones. But you’ve gotten really good at giving him the stank face, which inadvertently ends 75 percent of nonsense bickering before it even starts; and since you’ve started showing more and more, sirius has admittedly gone softer on you, not that he was ever more but a pushover your entire relationship. Merely widening of eyes and a jut of your lower lip, even adding a slight tremble or two during times where you did actually fuck up, sirius can’t hold his stance longer than a minute before sighing and taking you in his arms. he might call you out for being a brat at times, but there’s no denying he loves it. And so the artificial wheel of cheese wedges got purchased and bagged home, and you’re meticulously spreading it over the golden shells, leaving little to no gaps of it bare. 

Laying it on another paper towel, your heart gets giddy on your chest knowing you’re in for a treat tonight. But not quite time to start munching, the baby reminds you that you still need something tangy to complete the meal. So comes your big predicament, should you get dill pickles or tomato salsa? 

It took you ten seconds too long of weighing down the pros-and-cons of choosing one and feeling like you made the wrong choice if you end up not liking it. It doesn’t help that the pregnancy hormones make you more anxious and tend to put you always on the verge of tears. So when the not-so-groundbreaking idea of just eating them both hits you, you feel the weight slide off your shoulders as you sigh. Because again, who’s gonna tell you that eating pickles this late at night can give you bad acid reflux, your snoozing husband? Pfft.

Snacking on some, you do manage to pick out the juiciest looking pickle chips and lay them atop of your tostadas. You and the little one are beyond excited to dive in. It’s looking like a mini upside-down pizza with the cheese spread first then the pickle as toppings. Only thing left now was the the tomato salsa slathered on top to seal the deal. 

Opening tight lids wasn’t an issue for you before, in fact, you took pride when friends hand you a jar or bottle to open because you could do it in a breeze. Chances were, the lid wasn’t even screwed on that tight, you were just built different, you’d say with a shrug once you give the items back. So when the tomato jar doesn’t budge after two attempts, you get puzzled.

Maybe your hands were slippery? You wipe them down with a tea towel and try again. No.

You weren’t holding it tight enough? Fingers held taut against the lid, you try three times. Still no.

Determined, you try different positions before letting the jar go, shooting it glares as if it’d get intimidated and just open up for you. You were also getting lightheaded, and passing out on the kitchen floor due to excessive stimulation of your vagal reflex because you were too stubborn to use magic or wake your husband up to open it for you doesn’t seem like the best way to spend the early Tuesday morning hours.

Magic was even out of the option (well, in your brain it was), because your wand’s tucked beside sirius’s on your nightstand, and frankly, you don’t have the patience to drag yourself upstairs just to flick a utility spell to open the wretched thing. So you do the next best option: lose hope. 

The disappointment was mutual between you and your baby. And the acid reflux did start to kick in, making your stomach grumble in both hunger and pain. This was all going so well until it isn’t, tears began to make its way up to your eyes.

“See, this is what you get for being greedy and eating all snacks by yourself,” sirius huffs behind you, deep voice still raspy with sleep. You didn’t even hear him getting out of bed and coming down the stairs, that’s how preoccupied you were with opening the jar.

He grabs the container away from you to open it, but not without throwing a scowl at your direction, handsome face contorted with furrowed eyebrows and downturned mouth, enough to express that he felt betrayed by this whole ordeal. If you were in a better mood, you’d poke his sides and tackle him playfully, teasing him for being sulky. But for now, you need the jar opened so you could eat in peace. You’ll deal with the sharing food issue later.

“t wasn’t supposed to take long,” you mumble, caught off guard and refusing to make eye contact, pretending the fridge magnets beside sirius’s head is ten times more interesting than his face. You don’t miss his raised eyebrow and snort at your response. 

The second attempt comes and he opens it with a satisfying pop. your mouth falls agape, eyeing the *now accessible* tomato salsa dip in disbelief. What the hell? 

And you couldn’t even take the smug grin spreading across sirius’s face by the millisecond. Refuse to. You try to snatch the open container away from him but he holds it higher and out of reach, making a show of puffing his chest, flexing his biceps, even giving it a kiss. This is all James’s doing, you need to have a talk with Lily soon about keeping these two separated.

“Sirius!” you try to plead your way out. the trademark innocent, pouty expression settles on your face like a second mask, hoping he’d go down this easy. 

It doesn’t work. He just chuckles, mocking your pleas and face while his free hand sneaks up and pinches your unsuspecting cheek to tease you further.

You yelp in mock outrage and swat his hand away, trying your best to keep your displeasure firm on your face, but you feel the giggles coming up. “This is why I sneak out alone to eat, you’re such a bully,” you huff, but take a seat in front of your makeshift spread. 

Sirius places the jar near you, but not without poking your exposed sides, armed with the knowledge that the easiest way to get you laughing (and eventually conceding in an argument) is knowing where your tickle zones are. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, plopping himself beside you. “That’s also why you’re the only one waking up with an upset stomach, stinking up our bathroom so early in the morning.”

Now this one got you appalled, embarrassed, disturbed, basically hit with all the feelings. You’ve been living together long before you got married, and he never brought up this issue until today. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” He makes a move to snatch the sandwich away but the embarrassment on your cheeks made you more agile, swatting his hand away and shielding the sandwich with your hands. “After I finish my meal,” you continue, shooting him a glare.

But see, one of the things that drove you nuts even way back at Hogwarts, was how Sirius Black mostly managed to outsmart you or be one step ahead of you in everything. After you turned him down without much thought whatsoever despite his grand declaration of interest, Sirius took it upon himself to show you (1) that you made a mistake for rejecting him, (2) that his ego won’t let you embarrass him like that again, (3) and that you won’t get rid of him that easily. Once he set his eyes on you, you were face to face with him in everything: grades, OWLs/NEWTs scores, Quidditch plays and bets, wins at the duelling club, even with the fucking gobstones tournament. He never let you catch a break.

Things were surely different now, since you vowed to be with him in sickness and health and untill death parts you both– hell, you’re carrying his child. So you figured maybe, maybe, he’ll let you catch a break this time. Let you eat in peace as you mull over his bathroom comment and how you’re going to get him back. 

But again, no. Unlike you, Sirius remembered to grab his wand from the nightstand. Not even batting an eye, he says nonchalantly, “Accio sandwich.” And the fluffernutter you protected with all your physical might managed to escape your watch, and land gracefully on his waiting palm. 

What irritated you more from this whole ordeal? The prodigal auror that climbed his way up the ranks and became the youngest deputy director, fully capable of complex spells and wielding different kinds of magic, felt the need to do a verbal Accio spell just to make a point to you.

Out of words, you just stare at him blankly. Too stunned to even cry in frustration because you knew you made a conscious, willing choice to be with this man. 

Maybe your best guilt-tripping expression comes best when you’re not trying. Color drains from his face when you remained silent and he scrambles to take a bite off the sandwich before handing it back to you, or rather placing it on your limp hand as you refuse to acknowledge it, still too hurt to budge. “‘m sorry, baby. Just wanted to eat with you since we didn’t get to earlier.”

He did arrive later than usual, deciding to finish the stack of case files and paperwork so he won’t have to sift through them again the next day. There were plans to wait for him before eating, but when the jitteriness and slightly nausea started to kick in, you had no choice in the matter. Sirius had been sulky and clingy the moment he got home, and as compromise, you stayed to watch him eat; listening and reacting animatedly as he ranted about his stressful day.

So you cut him off some slack, also exhausted from all the emotional stimulation sirius brought since he woke up. As a silent peace offering (also because you’re not ready to say sorry to his face), you slide the tostadas within his reach and finally take your bite of the goddamn sandwich. It was good, tasted as expected, sweet peanut butter. You’d probably have it again as a drunk at 3am meal.

Sirius also went and got snacks of his own: microwaved popcorn, pickles, toasted bread slathered with butter, and grapes. Together, you munched on the little spread of random food you could find in your kitchen at 4am in comfortable silence, which is surprising after the earlier bickering. No matter how cheesy it sounded in your head, sirius was the only person that can drive you to the brink of insanity and right back. You were in for a hell of a ride for the foreseeable future; and while there’s a lot of uncertainty right now and changes to be made when the little one gets here, you’re beyond happy that you get to do all this with him. 

Sleep was beginning to creep up on you. Of course he notices this right when you do, so a warm arm wrapped across your back urges you to settle on his lap, bodies melding into the familiar crevices like puzzle pieces, though you both had to adjust certain angles to accommodate your growing belly. You sit like this for a while; your head tucked securely in the crook of his neck, steady breaths lulling you to sleep, while sirius’s hands instinctively finds its way under your sleep shirt and on the natural curve of your belly, lithe fingers stroking and drawing soothing circles anywhere he could reach. 

you wish you could stay like this forever– cozy and soft and safe– but alas, you were carrying sirius black’s offspring. the baby decides to reward you with a round of kicks, probably giddy after feeling their father’s touch. Sirius chuckles and coos at your bump, while a muffled groan leaves your lips from the sudden onslaught of movement, but still refusing to move from this comfortable position.

Smooth cold lips touch the side of your forehead and you relish in the feeling. “Does it ever hurt, love? All that kicking and wiggling?” 

“Not really,” a content sigh leaves your lips. “Feels strange at times, seeing your belly move on its own.” 

To prove your point, two tiny bulges make a split second appearance just above where Sirius’s hand lay. His thumb soothes the area lovingly.

“Definitely getting stronger though; Lily told me during the later months, harry for some reason loved to kick downwards, making bathroom trips more frequent than it already is. Not excited for that.”

He presses kisses on your forehead, temple, hairline, anywhere he could reach without moving too much. “Things that you do and endure for this ‘lil troublemaker,” sirius murmurs. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, you could feel his body reverberating with awe and fondness. You try to bask in it for as long as you could, but a passing thought makes its presence known to you again.

“Do i really make the bathroom stink?” it comes out whinier than you intended it to be but you just had to know for peace of mind. 

Sirius’s whole frame vibrates as he tries to stifle his laughter, taking you with him. He’s laughing at your expense but you feel your own giggles brewing in your belly. You try to hold it in for longer, preserving some self respect. “A little bit,” he says solemnly. You groan, earlier mortified feeling returning in full swing. It triggers another round of chuckles.

“But dove, it’s nothing that my deep love and adoration for my lovely strong hot and sexy wife can’t handle.” He says assuredly, and you curse yourself for being so down bad for this man as blood rushes to your cheeks from his words. Good thing it’s dim and your face is still tucked in the crook of his neck. 

You do pinch his arm in response, and both your laughters compliment the comfortable silence. 

“Although,” he says after a while. “The betrayal of you eating without me still hurts.” 

“Siri.. i’m sorry,” you mumble. “‘y looked so tired, Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

He tuts and doesn’t say much after that. In sirius dictionary, this means he just wants some affection from you— for you to dote on him and coax out his forgiveness, even if you both know he’s not really mad; judging by his arms still wrapped securely around your frame and steady breaths that tickle and fan on your bare skin. 

So you mimic his actions from earlier, planting tiny kisses on his neck, collarbones, jawline, anywhere your lips could reach. Kissing his cheek seem to do the trick, his fake scowl quickly coming undone as a bashful smile breaks through the frown, and his tiny dimple you love so much making an appearance. The muggle maternity books did say dimples are genetic, so an image of a little Sirius running around and smiling up at you with those dimpled cheeks is a warming thought. 

“I am charming all the lids to be stuck at night as soon as i wake up tomorrow for work.” You poke a sensitive spot on his side, making him jolt, but you couldn’t resist laughter as it bubbles out of the surface. “You’re insufferable, I can’t believe I married a psychopath.”

“And you let him knock you up too. I’d say it takes one to know one, hm?” 

[mediumgayitalian]

Will knows who it is at the first light brush on his shoulders.

He tips his head back back, bumping his boyfriend’s hip, leaning into the hand on his trapezius, his scapula, the base of his neck.

“Hi,” he says, grinning.

“Hi,” Nico says, leaning down to press his smile onto Will’s forehead. His hair tickles his cheeks, and he smells like woodsmoke and citrus, and Will slides his hand across his jaw and tugs him closer.

“Errand done?”

“Yep.”

“Lord Hades pleased?”

“As much as he ever is.” Nico shifts, kissing the corner of his mouth, the curve of his chin, the shape of his jaw. “My ears are ringing from five days of quiet. Even the echoing sound of lost souls cannot compete with your constant blabbing; I hardly knew what to do with myself.”

“Oh, shut up. You love my chatterin’.” He smacks the side of Nico’s head, but it’s hard to play mad when he’s smiling, shameless, wide enough that his teeth nick Will’s cheekbones, that his snickers are muffled into his skin.

“If I wanted to be stuck with someone who yaps nonstop I would’ve stayed down with Cerebus. In fact he might shed less, and he doesn’t drool when he sleeps.”

“…I do not shed.”

Nico plants both hands next to Will’s head, heaving himself up, and scans his camp shirt. Within three seconds, he locates a strand of hair, pinches it off, and flicks it at Will’s face.

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, for the love of — get over here,” Will demands. Laughing, Nico goes where Will tugs him, curling up next to him on the bench. “You’re such a shit. Normal people are much kinder to the significant annoyances they leave behind for five days, you know.”

“Are they.”

Nico lifts his arm in offering and Will accepts with relish, tucking himself under it and making certain to drag his curls down Nico’s face in the process.

“Yep. In fact I was expecting hand-written letters by day two, honestly, telling me how much you missed me and how the distance was physically painful, et cetera, et cetera. Maybe a sonnet or two. Italian, preferably, Elizabethan are not my favourite.”

“You’re very picky.”

Will sniffs haughtily. “Well, I’m a catch. You have lots of competition, you know. I was fighting them off while you were away but now that you come back and insult me upon reunion, I shall reevaluate my options.”

He feels more than hears the quiet laughter Nico presses in his hair, thumb brushing his collar, dipping onto bare skin.

“Is that so.”

“Indeed. My suitors have even offered a dowry quite handsome. I’m worth twenty-seven goats, didn’t you know.”

“Oh, well then. I might as well return what I brought for you, since I’m not sure I can outshine two dozen goats.”

The cool thing about being a son of Apollo is that Will has range. His dad is the god of arts, generally, up to and especially the dramatic ones. Will knows how to school his face into the perfect mask, how to smile on command and cry as desired, how to deliver a line and bow with a flourish. Playing a part comes as naturally as breathing, as naturally as healing.

“A present?” he asks, checking his nails as if the mere thought bores him. “That’s interesting, I guess.”

Nico doesn’t even bother to indulge him.

“Here, you massive dweeb,” he snorts. He hands over a small paper box, hand-folded and thin. “I can practically feel you vibrating.”

There is only one thing in this world, quite possibly, that Will likes more than proving Nico wrong, and that is letting his boyfriend spoil him. In all honesty it’s a real challenge sometimes, because Nico is really very good at being everything Will has ever wanted even if he has wrong opinions on most movies. Truly Will’s life is a joke at which the gods must howl with laughter.

Eagerly taking the box, he holds it up to his face, carefully inspecting every corner. The paper is regular printer paper, slightly waterlogged (from the Big House printer, then, ‘cause Will was carrying a giant bag of saline in from storage when he was eleven years old and tripped on the shipment of office supplies that someone had left, for some reason, in the middle of the fucking hallway, and the bag had exploded on impact all over four boxes of printer paper holding one thousand pages each) and carefully bent into shape. He recognises Nico’s handiwork from the dozens of origami paper sculptures he’s been gifted over the past few months.

“Open it.”

“What is it?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “What did I just say.”

“No, I mean — it’s not my birthday or anything.”

“So?”

“So you’ve wrapped me up a present! I want to know why before I open it.”

“Just because,” Nico mumbles, pressing a kiss to his temples. “Not everything needs a reason, nosey.”

“If nothing had reason then we would still be premordial soup,” Will mutters, but pops open the lid anyway.

He gasps.

“Oh my gods, Nico, you —”

Nico’s smiling smugly, but Will barely notices. Inside the box is a black chain darker than shadow, so dark it doesn’t even glint in the heavy sun, and dozens of little charms, from polished obsidian to a ball of slowly flickering flame.

“You like?”

“It’s gorgeous!”

He makes a triumphant nose, pumping his fist, and says, “Fuck those suitors, I fucking win,” and the funniest part is that he’s damn serious. There’s a glint in his eye identical to when he wins a sword fight, to when Connor loses a bet to him, to when twenty-odd bets are stacked against him and he’s got a full house. Something dangerous and wild and superior and Will is not an enabler, okay, he is not, but he is only so strong and there is only so much he can do when pretty boys wrap their arms around him and smirk at him and bring him bracelets they made in the Underworld. He’d like to meet someone who wouldn’t fold, actually.

“There were no suitors, you loser,” he says, but he’s flushed, pleased smile stretched wide across his face, and Nico’s grinning that too-wide grin and tilting Will’s face closer with the edge of his thumb, like he barely had to try. And there’s always a little bit of shadow leeching off him when he comes back from a quest, an aura surrounding him like he’s squaring off to the sun, and of course the wild churning in Will’s stomach has nothing to do with that but what’s he to do, really? What is a warm-blooded person with eyes that can see to do when faced with such a look?

“Of course there aren’t. They know I would reap their actual souls.”

“Possessive, much.”

“You’re literally going red.”

“Shut up.”

And he does, but only because Will makes him.

Although judging by the hand he shoves in his hair, he doesn’t seem to mind.

[itstheghostofmypast]

15.07

Choi San x (f)Reader

Summary: At this point, he didn't know who she loved more, him or Byeol, either way, he was happy. What else could Choi San ask for other than his two favourite girls in the world getting along?

Genre: PURE FLUFF

Warnings: NONE

Word Count: 2.1K

Est. Read Time: 10 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels

A/N: No- see @edenesth 💗 did this to me. This timestamp is for my saviour, the one and only @edenesth 💗 , like we should totally blame San for posting such domestic core pics- no wonder we get all delulu- PS THIS COLLAB HAS ME DYING

@edenesth version: [12.58]PM

"San?" she called out, walking down the hallway as she paused in front of the wall-length mirror, fixing her hair once more and checking out her outfit, simple, crisp and a dash of purple. Very different from her usual office attire, very colourful too- after all the first time he had seen her she was in a plain suit, a white dress shirt and slacks, running around collecting printouts for the upcoming spring magazine. That also being the first time he had realised how much he loved the word 'simple'. Okay, fine, perhaps she was dressed on the softer side, but was it so bad to play cute for once? Especially, if she was doing so to please her man. Call it her way of simping.

Truth be told, she wasn't even sure if he was going to show up, after their extensive tour, when he had mentioned the upcoming off days he was to get, she had suggested going to his home town to relax, leaving the city life for a while and although it pained her to know that she would be too busy with her own work at the office, also known as the company he too worked in, she wanted him to rest and relax away from the hustle bustle of his idol life, what she did not expect that after a week of his departure to Namhae, the very next weekend her fluff of a man would be ringing her doorbell in the late hours of the weekend.

"Byeol wanted to see you and so did I, I spent a week there and I'll spend a week here."

Was all he the dimpled man had made his way inside to the living room, opening the carrier to let Byeol out, the living room already a place of her liking. She had been here with San a couple of times; she had also been a very important part of their relationship. Especially on their third date where he had delicately brought up the topic, "Are you allergic to cats?"

"No, why?"

"Do you like cats?"

"Yeah, why?"

He never really answered her question that night, only smiled at her, leaning over the table to add more meat to her plate considering the late hours of the night, her hunger had distracted her from asking more questions, already too emotional at the thought of this angel of a man sacrificing his portion of protein for her - especially after grilling it so well. The only thing that did change was that the next morning she received around 400+ pictures of San's first love, Byeol.

The first time he had brought Byeol over, he was cautious and attentive, making sure both his girls were happy. He asked her cute questions all day- maybe she just found them cute because it was him, or perhaps it was because he was letting her in, into his domain, which is the little kitty roaming around the house.

"Can I put the litter here?"

"All your windows are locked right?"

"Do you mind if I keep the food bowl next to where we eat? She feels lonely otherwise."

"Can she sleep on your bed? I brought her cat mat just in case."

"Can we leave the bedroom door open a bit, so she can come and go without waking us up?"

He stopped when he realised, she wasn't even responding, panicking he looked up from the cat supplies. Maybe she felt like he was intruding or invading her privacy but was too afraid to tell him. Maybe bringing in Byeol was a big step he shouldn't have taken so quickly. What if she meant like she liked cats, at a normal level, like 'oh a cat.'  Not like cuddling them or baby-talking to them. Turning around his eyes scanned the room to spot her holding onto Byeol, carrying her like a baby and cooing at her. It was only then he realised how loud his cat was purring loud enough for it to echo in the silent room.

"Hmmm? You say something, Sannie?" she looked up from Byeol to him, eyes as curious as a cat's, hand resting on the cat's tummy, letting Byeol grab her hand with her soft paws. His heart felt as if it were about to burst out of his ribcage, running to her and landing on her palm, beating in it with an intensity that would borderline scare her. Licking his chapped lips the feline-eyed man shook his head, a genuine dimpled smile forming, one that would send thousands flipping with joy- or in her case have her gushing over it in solitude.

Thus, giving birth to a ritual, often he would spend his free days at his own home, sometimes calling her over, and gratefully his family welcomed her with open arms. On other occasions, he’d drop by to her apartment, bringing their 'daughter' with him.

She remembers the time Byeol had gotten sick. Unfortunately, San was busy that evening, and his parents were out of town so Byeol was to stay with her. Not an issue, at least it wasn't until the third night when San checked his phone after hours of practice late at night. He had decided to stay at the dorm, travelling would be more tiring she understood, but as the man checked his phone his heart almost stopped.

"Byeol is sick, she's vomiting. "

"I'm taking her to the vet."

"She's shivering."

"Okay, my car isn't working!"

'"I ran here, dw, made it in time, they're checking her."

"They say she has a fever, some bug?"

"They want to keep her overnight, idk I mean I can't just leave her here. She looked scared."

"I'm not leaving, but she's sedated. They say she'll be fine."

"San plz reply soon."

"San I'm scared."

Choi San had never run faster in his life he was sure of it, because the moment he burst into the 24/7 pet clinic his lungs were burning worse than a forest fire, his eyes red and blurry, the world around him extremely out of focus as he stumbled to the reception, about to take the patient's name but someone called him instead.

"San!"

His head snapped in her direction, running to her, enveloping her in a tight embrace, trying to calm her down as she began to shiver in his embrace, her words coming out with choked sobs. Hand pressed against her head, he rubbed her back up and down with the other one, looking through the glass window at his cat, sprawled on the table with an IV tube attached.

"It's gonna be okay, it'll be okay."

It took almost an hour to calm her down, he had tried to convince her to go home, she had work the next day but she refused, instead blaming herself for Byeol's health. Though the doctor had assured him it was not because of her incompetency, but the cat food, the cat food Sanhad insisted on changing. Once she found that out, Choi San had to get an earful the remainder of the night, “How can you- I told you not to do that!”

“Babe I- “Don’t babe me! She doesn’t even like salmon! She prefers tuna.”

After the wonderful argument, that through the eyes of an elderly couple waiting for their dog looked like a cute domestic quarrel, came to an end. San remembered sitting next to her sulking as she gave him the silent treatment, though a few moments later her head had landed against his shoulder with a thump, followed by her snores. That night Choi San had realised two things, firstly that he was in love with her and secondly, she probably loved Byeol more than she loved him.

Hence, today they were supposed to go to a cute cafe she had been eying for a month. They had planned on taking Byeol out but since the cat had decided to stay up all night, running around the apartment she was tired today. San had just mocked her, claiming that Byeol knew it was Valentine's Day so she wanted her parents to spend the day together. However, he later countered himself with a, "Though each day is like Valentine's Day with you, love."

Clearing her throat, she dusted off the invisible dust, adjusting her cardigan before making her way to the living room once more, calling out to her significant other, "San! I'm ready to let's go." though his lack of response was confusing her, so she called out again, "Sannie where are you-" her word stopped as soon as she turned the corner, into her living room, spotting a giant starfish sprawled out on the wooden floor. Next to him was Byeol, staring down at him, San's hand pressed against his cat's back in a soothing manner, but she knew what he was doing, making sure his cat didn't move because Byeol was not only pretty but smart too, she knew what her dad was doing.

Sighing she walked closer to him, standing next to Byeol who looked up at her, blinking slowly, before turning back to stare at San. She stared down at him, arms crossed before slowly poking his side with her foot, watching him pretend and stretch, groaning as he cracked an eye open, "Oh~ you're finally done?"  

"Mhmmm." Raising a questioning brow she nodded, "And?"

"Oh, I mean" Sitting up he stretched his legs, much similar to how Byeol would do so, "Byeol said her mommy was taking so long in the shower that we fell asleep, waiting for you…" his words trailed off when he turned to look at her, his breath hitching at the sight of the soft pastels, the pretty purple, purple really was her colour. Clearing his throat he quickly got up, standing to talk in front of her, merely a few inches away from her as he stretched his arms over his head before casually bringing them down, not so discreetly wrapping them around her and slamming her into him, smirking when she whined.

"The dress will wrinkle Sannie." she tried to push him away but he pulled her closer, leaning down to peck the tip of her nose, "You can't look like a pretty pixie and not expect me to hold onto you like Captain Hook kidnapped Tinkerbell."

"What an analogy."  she mumbled, letting him squeeze her into his warm chest, feeling the vibrations as he chuckled, "You look very pretty…I like your cardigan."

"Thanks, your mom gave it to me last birthday. " Her arms wrapped around his waist, letting him gently sway them from side to side.

“Who do you think chose it?” he smiled down at her, finally meeting her with a gentle kiss, one she savoured greatly, hands fisting his shirt as his palm pressed against her back before slowly trailing down, though their little moment came to halt sudden when a high-pitched squeak caught their ears. Pulling back, she looked down at Byeol, frowning before turning to look at San, “Why isn’t she wearing her leash?” “What do you mean?”

Tutting at her gorgeous idiot of a man, she pulled away completely before crouching to grab the cat and walking towards the door where they hung coats and her leash. “I said we’re going to the café.”

“I know,” he mumbled scratching his head, a bit confused as to what she meant, “I got a booking for it, no? Why are you – we can’t take her there and it's almost time for our reservation.”

“Aww~ don’t listen to daddy, Byeol” San watched her talk to his cat instead of him, watching her put on Byeol’s harness and leash, somewhat impressed because Byeol never let him do that this easily, though the next statement had him blushing mad. “He’s a bit slow, handsome, but slow, he forgot we’re going to a cat café, you’ll have fun there~ Won’t you baby~”

Letting out a hearty chuckle he closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief, of course she’d come up with this idea on her own. She had mentioned earlier how leaving Byeol home wasn’t fun especially when the cat was their ‘child’ and leaving their child unattended was cruel. He watched the cat jump off the table and onto the floor, meowing up at his lover who sent Byeol a flying kiss, San didn’t know what heaven was, but if anyone were to ask him to describe what it looked like, the view was right in front of him.

“Any kisses for me?” He asked walking up to his two girls, who were almost out the door, pausing when she winked at him, “depends big boy. Might need to send our baby back home for a while if that’s what you want.” And that had the man shivering with excitement running after her as the two made it to the elevator, already planning on asking someone or one of the guys to watch his little baby for the night, so he could have a night with his kitten.

“Don’t worry, I think that can be arranged, kitten.”

Taglist: @edenesth @mlysalt @spooo00oky @cereal-simp @yessa-vie

[mae-gi-writes]

rile you up | lee Minho (xo kitty)

You’re Minho’s latest form of entertainment and he cannot just get enough of riling you up.

Genre: romcom, slice of life, school!au, minho is a little dick

———

“Fuck you, Minho.”

“What a ray of sunshine you are on this fine day.”

You grit your teeth together, almost grind them to nothing, and repeat the words with even more conviction, “I said fuck you.”

”Watch that tongue sunshine, might fall out if you’re not careful,” Minho’s grin just widens at the way your eyes have narrowed into slights. If looks could kill, he would’ve been shot int he head twice, revived, and shot once again. But thankfully for him, your narrow-eyed stare is nothing scarier than a cute kitten ready to take her claws out.

It’s a boring, rainy and muddy Wednesday afternoon and you really don’t want to be here, in English Lit, listening to professor Lau drone on and on about love and friendship in the verses of Lord Byron’s poems and how, if you read in-between the lines and analyze the intonations, the words, the onomatopieas, you’ll find a much deeper definition of Lord Byron’s feelings.

And Minho sitting right beside you is not making it much easier.

“You’ve got a pimple growing on your left cheek,” Minho squints at your face as you turn away, cupping your face with your hands as your eyes find the lock tick, tick, ticking at the far end of the classroom. Thirty more minutes of this torture.

“Can you just stop hyper-analyzing me like I’m some kind of lab rat?I’m really not in the mood for this right now.” You snap back.

“Woah,” Minho sighs before he shakes his head, “you really did wake up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“And you, my friend, need to mind your own business.”

“Minho and Y/N.”

Professor Lau’s voice causes both of them to wince, physically, before looking up to see the said old man with bespectacled glasses, the book of poems in his hand and his eyebrows raised as though he expected better.

If you’re being honest, you really do enjoy Professor Lau’s classes, normally. Normally.

But not today. Today, you’re having a completely off day. You woke up late, you couldn’t sleep at all last night, and all the coffee had run out by the time you’d made it to campus. Your grades are suffering and you’re currently trying to ploughing through all the assignments without drowning.

And the worst of it all, you miss home.

You miss your mom. You miss your family, your brother with whom you would fight with at every occasion and play Mario kart with. You missed your grandma, your aunts, the food they cooked, the shared laughter, the smiles…

You’re in so deep in your thought process that you haven’t even registered that Professor Lau is telling you off until he calls for your name that brings you back to attention.

“—yes?” Your eyes flit up to Professor Lau’s and a wave of emotion suddenly takes its toll on you. You try hard to blink back the sudden burn of tears at the corner of your eyes, crawling up your throat.

“I was expecting better of your behaviour, miss Y/N,” he says, pointedly looking between you and Minho with pursed lips, “in my office after class. You’re up for cleaning duty.”

Great. That’s exactly what you need. After everything.

Fucking. Great.

———

“These pretty hands cannot clean,” these are Minho’s first words as the rest of the class files out to leave you two alone on cleaning duty and as you had predicted, there are papers all over the place, test papers and pens and pencils, “I’ve taken care of my hands all these years. I am not ruining it just to clean a classroom.”

“You are so freaking dramatic,” you roll your eyes, standing up to find the cleaning supplies that are stacked at the back of the class, in the storage closet, “let’s just get this over with and we can both move on with our lives and I won’t have to see you again for the rest of this week.”

“What’s up your arse, dude?” Minho follows you, one hand leaning on the doorframe as you start pulling out the duster, the cleaning rags and the shiny new broom that Professor Lau is currently obsessed with, “you’ve been acting really weird.”

“What?” You scoff, proceeding to hand him the broom because you know he’s never going to be the one on his hands and knees cleaning the floors, “I’m not. I’m just tired.”

“No, you’ve been acting off all week. You’re all snappy, your dark circles are so prominent you look like a walking zombie and you keep asking me to go fuck myself,” Minho rolls his eyes, “also, how do you use this?”

“Jesus chri—“ you make a move towards him, grabbing the hand holding the broom while struggling to circle his back and grabbing the other, “you keep that thing steady, then you brush the dirt from this one—“ you grip his hand and shuffle it over the floor in a sweeping motion, “until it goes into the pan. Got it?”

It's only then you realize the warmth emanating from Minho's back. If you move a little closer, you could press your cheek against him. He smells like something citrus and fresh mint and man.

Somehow, it makes goosebumps explode all over your skin. You step back abruptly, noting the heat searing through your palms where you had touched him just as he turns to face you, "you seem to be a natural at this. Why don't you do it?"

"I'm gonna take care of the floors," you're glad for the distraction that comes in the form of the rag, for there's a knot of heat in the middle of your chest and you're not quite sure how to deal with it, "let's just get this over with."

There's a long moment of silence as both of you focus on your tasks, which helps to calm down your nerves. Somehow, the sound of Minho's brush is conforting to hear.

Until he speaks up, "so you're gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"Why should I tell you, of all people?"

"Because there's nobody else around and seeing you all mopey makes me actually feel bad for you."

You wipe off the dusty corner by the teacher's desk, "Do you have any ounce of decency in you somewhere?"

"Not when you're involved," Minho snickers.

You whip around, throw the balled-up rag at him and smirk in satiafaction when it hits him square in the head, "ow--what the fuck, Y/N?!"

Glad that you managed to piss him off, you turn and continue, "oops sorry. My hand slipped."

It's not ultimately Minho's fault that you're more anxious, more easily irritated than usual. So you can't really take it out on him. But he doesn't make it any easier either.

Thankfully, the rest of the cleanup goes smoothly as butter and he parts ways with the excuse that he needs to go find his aupposed lunch date, to which you merely rolles your eyes and headed for the dining hall alone.

It doesn't normally bother you to be alone. On the contrary, you relish in those silent moments of freedom without having to hear an earful from Kitty and Q, or having Yuri complain about yet another one of her life's family miseries.

But as you find a vacant seat by the door, you can't help but suddenly feel a little small in a room full of people who seem to be right where they should be. And something in your heart constricts and clenches so hard it causes a soft sob to die at the back of your throat.

You grip your spoon a little tighter and bite down so hard on your lip that you feel the tangy taste of blood.

It feels lonely.

------

You're kind of sick.

Not physically sick.

Just sick of hearing christmas carols ringing all over campus. Sick of smelling hot chocolate in the air, sick of seeing luggages being dragged on vacation.

Sick of being here.

For an international student, returning home for Christmas was never an option. The airplane ticket is too expensive for your familt to afford, and you wouldn't ever impose that on them. But if you had to admit to that selfish part of you; you wished you were privileged enough to get to fly out at every chance you got.

Alas, that is not the kind of life that you live.

So when the doorbell rings at seven-thirty in the morning on Christmas Eve, you're more than surprised to find none other than Minho standing by your door with his hands in his pockets.

"Wh--Yeah? What do you want?" You frown upon noticing the lack of luggage behind him. Knowing Minho, he packed like a diva.

He hums and peeks inside your flat, causing you to shuffle into his peripheral vision, "what do you want Minho?"

"You're not packed."

"Wise observation, smartass."

He brushes past you and strides inside, taking his shoes off casually by the door, "why not?"

"None of your business."

He throws you an exasperated look, "you gonna keep being like this?"

"I don't know, are you gonna keep annoying the hell out of me?"

He can't help the grin that spreads over his face at that, "you're fun to mess around with."

"Well for your information, it's not fun. Not for me," you don't hesitate to walk over before grabbing onto his arm and tugging over to the door, "really. I'm fine. Now leave."

"I'm surprised you're not going home for Christmas," he continues as you're pushing him out of the door.

It stings, "why?"

"International kids usually do," he folds his arms, proceeds to lean into the open doorway and you got another whiff of his scent, "what? Daddy didn't want to pay for you this time?"

"My dad died. Two years ago."

There's surprise first, that flashes through his eyes. Then realization slowly dawns.

There’s some kind of weight in your chest. Like your heart has just broke.

"What?" You laugh but it's dry and twisted, "cat got your tongue? Too shocked to speak? Poor little Y/N, who doesn't have a father to pay off her credit card bills, right?"

"I didn't know--"

"Of course you didn't. You never asked."

"I'm--" he swallows, looks away, "—sorry."

You scoff, "don't. It's okay. I've been over it for the past two years."

It's not what he says but rather the way he looks at you that makes your insides shrivel up with dread and fear and the idea that he'll never look at you the same way ever again.

Because the thing is, no matter how much Mjnjo teases you, bullies you into oblivion, you do enjoy the attention, the banter. It's almost as if it's better than just being ignored altogether.

And amidst all his teasing and his annoying personaity, there are bite and smidges of Minho's kindness smattered in-between, flecks of tenderness that makes your heart soar, your brrath

To have such a man look down at you, pity you, makes you want to be sick.

"Y/N--" you cut him off before he can even try to make it up to you, "it's fine, Minho. Just drop it--"

"Wha--I said I was sorry, don't give me that look--"

"I said drop it!" You swerve around on him, anger bubbling from deep within your chest as blood pulses through, rushes through you, "for one goddamn second, can you just leave me alone?! I don’t need this—this constant bullying of your part! It’s tiring and it’s just so goddamn frustrating and humiliating so will you just stop?!”

The shocked silence that follows your sudden outburst is heavy. If the tension had been thick before, it’s now so hard you can barely cut it with a knife. You try to regulate your staccato breaths, try not to let your body take over your mind as you focus on breathing in, breathing out, breathing in. Breathing out. Just like that.

Calm. Like water. Like you’re a river that never stops.

“Just go, Minho,” your words are bitter. You can barely look his way, an overwhelming surge of irritation, guilt and hurt swimming through you.

Thankfully, the young man seems just as surprised as you are and leaves without even a backward glance. That’s when you finally cave in and allow your legs to crumble to your floor. Pressing your head against the door, your body instantly gives into the sadness that crumbles through you like used up tissue, soaking in all the tears that are suddenly cascading down your cheeks without restraint.

You cry yourself to sleep that night.

———

“Minho, I’m really sorry about my behaviour.”

You stare.

Your reflection stares back.

Shit. This doesn’t feel right. You close your eyes, exhale a soft breath, and open them once more only to find a set of familiar brown eyes gazing back at you.

It’s just the day after Christmas and though the majority of your friends were still off campus, you’re well aware that a certain Korean young man has decidedly stayed back because of his mother’s offshoot shooting commercial.

However, you still hadn’t gotten the guts to go back and ask him for a formal apology yet. Did you even need one when he’d been the one prodding you with a stick like he would with a nest of aggressive bees?

Oh well. You decided you’d be the bigger person and make the first move. As always.

So you look back to your reflection with renewed determination, take a deep breath before forcing the words out, “I am really sorry for my shitty behaviour, Minho, I should’ve—no,” you shake your head, start again and clasp your hands together for good measure, “I’m really sorry if I offended you in any way, I was hurt—no. God. I sound so pathetic.” You can’t help but curse at the mirror.

Inhale. Exhale. Deep breath. And you try once more, this time adding a small smile.

“I’m really sorry for everything that I said. I was being a bit insensitive and wasn’t in the right headspace—“ you break off with a frustrated snarl, “god! Why is it so hard to apologize to the dude?!”

“The dude’s standing right here.”

Shocked, you swivel around only to find none other than the said question in person leaning against your doorway, eyebrows raised and a semblance of a smirk lining his lips.

“M—Minho,” you feel like slapping yourself for sounding like a stuttering goldfish. Quickly, your hands smooth down your sweater, hiding them in the big bell sleeves as your eyes find everything — anything, to get off his face, “what—what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, actually.”

“Why?”

You’re still not looking, deciding that the faint crack in your dorm room is much more interesting.

Minho’s footsteps approach as he strides close, close enough that you get a whiff of his expensive cologne and restrain yourself from sighing out loud.

The bastard smells too good, you feel like crying.

“Why?” He scoffs, “isn’t it obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Alright. Fine,” you’re still not looking at him, which is why you almost jump out of your skin the moment you feel the gentlest graze of his fingertips at your jaw.

“Wha—“ you stutter, eyes flashing up to his on instinct.

Dark brown meets swirls of maroon. You almost lose your breath.

In the mid-morning light with sunshine falling over half of his face, Minho looks like he’d just walked out of some fashion magazine.

“What are you…doing?” You manage to murmur out. Barely.

It’s hard to concentrate when he’s right there, in your personal space, looking a little too dashing for his own good.

“You’re right. I was being a selfish dick to you two days ago,” his grip on your chin is firm, his dark eyes even firmer, “so I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way.”

You laugh, “wait—is Minho actually apologizing? To me?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“But this is a legendary moment,” you fake a mocking gasp at him, “I should record this right now.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Y/N.”

Chuckling, your eyes crinkle up as you allow yourself to roam over his features, “okay okay, I’ll stop.”

Minho fidgets and doesn’t say anything back. Weird, considering that he has a comeback for everything. You feel his hand drop from your chin as he takes a step back, lips pressed together and face looking like he’s uncomfortable being here.

Do you make him uncomfortable? It’s not a sight you’re used to seeing. Something tugs at your heartstrings but you try and ignore it.

“What is it?” You ask instead.

“There is…” his eyes dart away, “something I need to tell you.”

“About?”

His hand drops. Instantly, cold swoops in.

“About me. And you.”

You squint, “Minho I swear, if this is one of your stupid jokes again—“

“I like you.”

You blink.

He gazes back. His eyes. They’re gazing straight at you. Focused. Intense. Hot.

So hot it causes a flame to burst in your chest.

Wait…your mind backtracks, what?

“You—“ your mouth opens. Closes. Opens once more, "I'm sorry--what?"

His eyes answer in his stead. Dark orbs swirling with a depth that makes your skin explode in goosebumps. You realize, all too soon, how close you are, how -- if you want -- you can diminish the space between just with one single step forward.

"I like you," he says it honestly. Somehow, you relish in the way he says it. Clear and transparent. No inside games, no beating around the bush, "maybe more than a little."

You sense a but. "And?"

He rolls his eyes, "and maybe I just don't know how to show it."

"You mean, acting like a five year old boy who bullies his crush for fun because he likes her?"

"Something like that."

"Okay," you drag out the word in hopes that it will hide the way your heart suddenly skips a beat, the way your legs feel weaker at the knees, "so what--what now?"

"Well, that's the part where you tell me you like me back--" Minho catches himself upon seeing you raise a brow at him, "--or not. Your choice, your rules, doll."

Doll? You can feel the flame bursting through your chest and squeezing your heart. It aches so much it hurts, though it seems that your smile can't help tugging at the corners of your lips as you watch him and despite his seeming nonchalance about the whole matter, there's the slightest sheen of pink that gives him away.

Cute. Your brain chants.

"Well," you tilt your chin up in what you hope is a confident manner, "you normally take a girl out to dinner first."

"Is that a yes?" Minho smirks.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, yes I heard alright. Fine," he sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, "tomorrow night. Dinner. Be ready by six. I'll pick you up."

"Tomorrow? But wait I--"

"You better be there, doll."

And with that, he swivels on his feet and walk away while whistling a soft tune, leaving your heart flooded with a tide of mixed emotions that erupt through your chest and butterflies running along your skin.

---

Minho: I'll come pick you up by six. Be ready then. Wear something cute but casual. Nothing fancy.

Y/N: i like how you're telling me how to dress up when you're the one who's supposes to be wooing me.

Minho: oh you don't have to worry about that.

The way he replies so smoothly has goosebumps running along the back of your neck and you squeeze your hands into fists. You're still sitting on your bed, trying to digest all this new information as another flurry of messages burst through your phone, probably fron Kitty's latest reaction your news.

Kitty: what?! Minho?! And you?! He asked you out?!!! Omg how did I not see this coming!!!

Y/N: i thought you were a matchmaker.

Kitty: well YEAH before he went and ruined it!!! Anyway, what are you WEARING?!

Y/N: i have absolutely no idea. He said something cute but casual, so I'm guessing there's not gonna be any fancy dinners or anything.

Kitty: omg!! Minho and casual doesn't sound right. Maybe he really is trying to woo you!!

Y/N: should I wear shorts? Pants? A skirt?

Kitty: definitely no pants. Maybe that cute skater skirt you wore to Yuri's party last semester?

So you do. The skirt's baby blue colour contrasts well with the simple white tshirt you decided to wear with it, and throwing on a beige cardigan and some white sneakers complete the look. You add a small blue bow into your hair to match, and take one last look at yourself in hopes that you're looking exactly how Minho wants you to--

No. That's the wrong way to go about it. Minho likes you. Yes. You. Not the girls he's always so uses to seeing. You don't have to impress him.

That’s how you meet him right outside your door, with your newly-found resolve as you catch the simple white tee and ripped jeans, hair styled just the way he likes it, just enough to make every woman’s heart swoon.

His eyes do a once-over, “not bad, Y/N. You clean up nice.”

“Not bad?” You scoff, “I’m sure there are much better adjectives to use.”

He grins, “we’ll see.”

Minho brings you over to the Han river by electric scooter, with you standing in front and holding on to the handlebars as he guides you across the street even though it’s technically illegal for people to do such a thing. But with the wind in your hair and Minho’s warmth at your back, you don’t find yourself complaining.

“Han river?” You raise a brow at him as he parks and pays for his e-scooter ride, “really? So cliche.”

“The Han River is a classic,” he looks at you pointedly, “and I’ll have you know, I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

“Ooh, does that mean anything?” You wriggle your brows and he scoffs, looks away, “shut up.”

You weren’t expecting him, of all people, to be a fan of romantic gestures such as this. But when he parks his scooter in favor of walking alongside you by the trail — even with his multiple complaints about the dirt being too dirty and people needing to revisit their wardrobe fashion — you can’t help but wonder how much effort he’s putting into just being with you. Because knowing Minho, walking on crushed grass and having his shoes in dirt is quite a big deal.

“Look, do you want to be swooned or not?” He replies when you ask him the question, even looks offended that you’d dared ask such a thing, “I thought girls loved it when boys brought them here.”

“Yes I know that,” your grin is so wide that you’re surprised it hasn’t broken your face in two yet, “and don’t get me wrong. I love it, but I never thought you—of all people — would bring me here, of all places. It’s just not…”

“Not what?” He scowls.

“Just not you,” you confess, and then, seeing that his frown seems to take a permanent fixture on his face, you quickly add, “so the fact that you’re doing it…thanks. It means…something. You know?”

Heat springs through your cheeks at the sudden confession and you quickly look away, anywhere, but not before glancing at Minho to see that he has a faint smile dancing across his lips.

As the evening wears on, you get to talk about everything and anything; from worries about your future and the rigorous routine of adult life, about which game box is better and which restaurant serves the best korean noodles, which Minho argues does not exist, considering that every single noodle joint in Seoul is a pro in making them.

"We're the city of noodles and gimbap, obviously there's more than one good noodle stop."

"You speak like someone who hasn't tasted Uncle Cha's food yet. You know, the snack from across the road to campus."

Minho's nose wrinkles, "nah I'm good--"

"Oh no you don't," you grab onto his arm before he has a chance to run away, "nu-uh. Let's go get them right now, actually."

Surprisingly awed by Cha's cuisine, Minho has no other choice than to grumble out a faint agreement. It's no secret that it makes your day.

"But the environment--" Minho shudders, "I think I saw a cockcroach scuttling about in there."

“Oh yeah,” you let your eyes follow the wall and trail back up to him, pointing at his face, “there’s one.”

Shoving you playfully, he pulls out his tongue in such a childish manner you can’t help but burst out laughing.

You decide to take the walk back along the Han River even if it makes a detour, stopping by a coffee shop to grab some hot chocolate. The city lights now illuminate the city like stars scraping the earth’s surface and you can’t help but feel amazed by how beautiful the scenery is, with the wind trickling through your hair and soft music from busking sessions in the background.

“I’ve never actually walked along the Han River before,” you confess to him as you gaze down at the black waters sloshing against the river edge, “thanks, Minho.”

He has the look of a satisfied five year old child who got a gold star for his best behaviour, “you’re welcome.”

“Who knew you’d be the one to bring me here?” You jostle his shoulder playfully before taking a sip of your hot chocolate.

“What’s that you’re implying?” He frowns.

“That you’ve surprised me and my expectations.”

“And that’s supposed to be a compliment?” He looks horrified and dramatic, “you’re harsh, Y/N. I’ll have you know, I haven’t—“ he stops himself just in time for you to swoop in and push, “yeah? You haven’t what?”

“Nevermind,” he sips his own drink and you notice the way his ears have turned red.

You giggle, “tell me, have you gone on dates before?”

“Wha—of course I have! What kind of question is that?!” You keep on laughing and laughing at his face, shaking your head as you try and muffle your chuckles the best you can, “oh god—oh my god, you never have. It’s written all over your face—“

“You talk too much,” he mutters into his drink and turns away from you, ears as red as a fire engine.

You nudge him, smiling, loving that side of him that he’s never really shown anyone before. Because you all know the cool, confident Minho. But this, this side of Minho is uncharted territory.

And you’re all here for it.

“Why not, though?”

His eyes narrow as he looks back at you, “what?”

“Why haven’t you brought anyone out before?’ You fidget with your cup, glad that it’s warming your hands so you can busy yourself with something, “because I’ve seen you, with different types of girls. All the time—“

“Yeah that didn’t mean anything.”

“But you still went out with them.”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?”

“What?” Heat flushes through you, “no, I just—“

That’s when you feel it. His hand, fluttering up to yours. He pries your hold from your cup gently before bringing it down between you, fingers entangling with yours like they’re meant to be there in the first place.

And when your eyes flutter to lock onto his, there’s liquid warmth in those pools of brown, a tenderness you’ve seldom seen before.

“This is new too,” he murmurs then, “all of this.”

Your heart skips a beat. There are no words to be said.

You swallow thickly, look away, and don’t miss the soft chuckle that falls from his lips as he keeps swinging your hands back and forth between you, his smile a permanent fixture on his face. One that your lips mirror faintly as you keep walking back towards your dorms in comforting silence.

———

“Was that romantic enough for you?”

Minho’s question is met with a chuckle from your part as you finally reach your dormitory. A few stray students are still studying deep into the night, some already asleep on the deep blue couches in the common room as you make your way through, hands still entertained from earlier.

Your heart has been skipping and rollerblading into ecstasy ever since.

“Hmm,” you hum, even tilting your head in thought, “guess so. Though if I had any complaints—“

“You wouldn’t tell me, because there aren’t any,” Minho finishes for you, “right?”

“Oh i have plenty, but I’ll keep it for another time,” you flash him a mischievous smile. You’ve reached your corridor by that time, your words causing Minho to shoot you a suggestive look.

“another time?” He repeats with a cock of his brow.

You bite your lip and look away to avoid the fact that there’s a faint, yet growing smile on your face, “yeah. Maybe.”

The said young man’s lips pulls into a small smile, “I can work with that.” He murmurs, and something warm pools in the middle of your chest.

It’s hard to control yourself around Minho especially when he’s not being a little shit. Because the fact is; he’s very enticingly charming and likable.

“Well, that’s me,” you’ve reached your door then, glad that for once your dorm room is free of activity since both your roommates have gone home for the Christmas season, and turn towards Minho.

“Thanks you, for tonight,” your cheeks are warm with heat but you can’t resist grinning up at him, “I had more fun than expected.”

Minho sucks in a dramatic breath, “wow. I think i finally got a compliment out of your mouth.”

“Trust me, that’s me being nice.”

“I know,” he flashes a grin at you and before you know it, his arm has gone up to press against the doorway, caging you in and suddenly making you feel smaller than you are already. His body heat rolls into you in waves, the scent of his boyish cologne making you dizzy as your body leans into him unconsciously.

“So,” he breathes. He’s so close, so close that if you move just a little, your noses would brush, “since I’ve taken you out on a date, do I get to kiss you now?”

Air stills in your lungs. Your teeth find your lower lip.

“It depends,” your whisper is so soft he barely catches it, too enthralled by the way your mouth curves and moves with the words, “will you take me out again?”

“If her highness wishes,” Minho chuckles, tilting his head so that your noses brush. Electricity zaps through your body, goosebumps raising at the back of your neck, “I’ll take you wherever you want.”

Your eyes lock. There’s warmth, want. Desire swimming through his own pools of brown.

“Sounds like a promise,” you breathe, “so when will that—“

“Y/N.”

The way he says your name has a knot tightening in your stomach. Your body tenses in anticipation.

He’s gazing at you as if he’s only just seeing you. His lips are so close, you can feel his breaths on your lips. Hot against cold. He smells divine.

You’re so lost in your own daydream that you respond a few seconds late, “y-yeah?”

“Do me a favor?”

One hand cradles your cheek. You freeze.

“Hm?”

“Stop talking.”

And before you can do anything else, his mouth presses against yours.

Fireworks explode. Behind your eyelids. Through your body. Blood races and your brain goes fuzzy with want and desire as Minho’s other hand wraps around your waist to tug you in, his other hand clasping your jaw firmly as he kisses you. Once. Twice. He’s a good kisser, yet so gentle and tentative.

You’re taken by surprise for a few seconds, before you finally melt into him and kiss him back. A sigh escapes you as your hands go up to wrap around his neck, and the groan of satisfaction he lets out makes your entire nerves buzz with delight.

Tilting his head to the side to kiss you deeper, longer, you let out a gasp against his mouth as he pulls you even closer still, as if he can’t get enough of you. You haven’t realized you’re pressed to the door until your back meets the hard wood underneath and you yelp softly at the way his tongue swipes over your bottom lip to ask for entrance.

He kisses you softly, yet so firmly as if you’re the only thing keeping him alive, satiated. His hand at your hip moves up, tracing the back of your spine, the side of your rib cage before brushing against the corner of your bra and making you squirm while your hands curl into his hair. You tug, causing a grumble to echo out of Minho’s chest. His tongue darts in and you part for him like melted butter so that he can kiss you and ravage you without restraint.

Everything falls away, with only Minho being your anchor. You smell him, feel him against you, and want nothing else other than the dizzying rush that makes your stomach erupt with fireflies.

Your mouths part with a pop and he takes this chance to nip at your jaw, littering kisses down your neck before suckling on a soft patch of skin. Your body reacts instantly, curving into him as your lips part in a soft, minuscule moan. That’s enough to snap him back to attention.

He gazes up at you, chest heaving and all heavy breaths. His lips are swollen and red and just so beautiful. Hair tousled like he’s just tumbled out of bed and you quickly decide that’s the look you love best on him.

The curfew bell sounds and he curses.

“Minho,” you murmur when he leans in, noses brushing to capture your lips into his once more. You sigh, eyes falling shut as he takes your next set of words away.

It’s almost as if he’s drunk on you, as if he just can’t get enough.

The thought makes you shiver. Your heart swells with emotion.

“Minho,” you murmur once more against his lips. He groans, pulls away onto to bury his face into your neck and humming, “yeah?”

“Curfew’s in two minutes.”

“I know,” he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses over your collarbone and you can’t help but whimper and cradling his head closer to you despite trying to make sense of your thoughts.

“Y—You should go,” you stutter out but it’s almost like you’re talking to yourself. He’s clearly in his own world, suckling onto your skin and leaving purple marks to claim you as his. He pulls away, groaning appreciatively at the sight you make.

“Do I really have to go?” His dark eyes — darker than you’ve ever seen them — flickers over your features. There’s a kind of hunger to them that makes you shiver.

“Yes,” you stammer out, heart almost bursting out of your chest when the boy merely tugs you close before he rests his head atop yours. He holds you, breaths you in, and your eyes close on their own accord, taking in the moment like it’s the last.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” his whisper grazes the shell of your ear and you shiver. He pulls back and there’s the kind of crooked smile that makes your heart tighten, “goodnight, Y/N.”

“Good night, Minho,” you murmur and dropping a last kiss atop your temple, you watch him walk away, raising a salute with his hand as he does so.

———

A/N: GAHHH IDK WHAT I WROTE AND I GAVE UP AT THE END I HOPE IT’S ALRIGHT BUT ANYWAY I’VE BEEN OBSSESSED WITH MINHO THESE DAYS.

[moonstruckme]

hi could i request doctor!remus with a r who’s scared of needles? love ur writing!!

Thanks babe!

cw: needles, fear of needles

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 756 words

You’ve been dreading this ever since Remus had mentioned it earlier in the week. He’s pretended not to notice (there’s no point in talking about what neither of you can help, right?) but now that he’s gotten you into his office, your legs swinging restlessly off the edge of the exam table, it’s impossible to avoid the issue.

“What, you don’t trust me?” Remus sets his tray of supplies down by the computer, sending you a little smile to let you know he’s only giving you a hard time. 

“It’s not about that,” you insist anyway. “It just—it’s weird.” The paper covering crinkles under you as you squirm. “It goes under your skin, Rem.” 

“Funnily enough, I was briefed on that part in med school,” he says, deadpan tone at odds with the placating hand he rests on your thigh. It works, and you still, but his heart still contracts at the tensed watchfulness of your eyes as they flit to the needle on the tray. “It’s not as sinister as you think it is, love. Might help if you quit looking at it, though.” 

“Sorry.” 

“I don’t get it.” He frowns. “You’re not normally this squeamish.” 

You look upset, wrapping your arms around your midsection protectively. “I don’t get it either. It just freaks me out, I don’t know.”

Remus eyes you for a moment, assessing the apprehensive set of your shoulders, the wariness in your expression. His mouth pulls sympathetically to one side. “If you wanted, I could tell you about everything this has in it and why it’s good for you, but that doesn’t seem like it’s going to help you very much. Is it?” 

“Probably not.” You gnaw on the inside of your lip, looking at him apologetically. “I know logically that you’re right, but honestly? If we talk about it much more I think it’s going to make me nauseous.” 

He rubs your leg soothingly. “That’s alright. There’s not always room for logic in these things, yeah? We’ll make this quick.” 

That doesn’t actually seem to help, and your arm tenses as Remus cleans it off. “You’re alright,” he promises, grabbing the syringe before using the back of his hand to tilt your face in the other direction. “Don’t look.” 

“Why?” Your voice pitches high. 

He makes his low and soothing to counter it. “Because you’re already nervous, dove, and it’ll only get worse if you watch. Ready?” He takes your arm in his hand, gentle but firm in case you try to move. You grip your leg so hard it looks like it hurts. 

When you nod, Remus wastes no time. You’re barely able to take in a surprised inhale at the slight sting before he’s setting the needle back down on its tray, smoothing a plaster over the pinprick. 

“There, done,” he reassures you, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles over the spot while he watches your face. The tension hasn’t left your expression. “Okay, sweetheart?” 

You blow out a breath, seeming to shake something off you. “Okay.”

“Was that worth all the buildup?” He’s unable to resist teasing you a little, and you reward him with a small, reluctant grin. 

“No, but it’s still gross.” You roll your eyes. Remus switches from rubbing your arm to your thigh, halfway apologetic. “Thanks, Rem.” 

“You’re welcome, dove,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “I ought to be thanking you, this will be the first year since I’ve known you that I won’t have to take care of you when you get the flu.” 

“Don’t jinx it,” you warn, accepting the hand he offers to help you off the table. “I could be one of those people who has a worse reaction to the jab than the flu itself.” 

Remus scoffs. “That almost never happens.”

You all but grunt in response. “We’ll see.” Your arms come back around your middle. “Can we get out of here? This place gives me the heebies.” 

Sympathy and amusement war in Remus’ chest, but he satisfies both by chuckling as he wraps his arm around you, guiding you out the door. “You’ve really chosen the wrong boyfriend, sweetheart.” 

“My trouble is with this place, not you.” Your lips turn down, and Remus thinks he feels a tiny shiver beneath his arm. He pulls you closer, just in case. “You don’t smell like chemicals and illness.” 

“What?” He does his best to sound appalled, though he has none of Sirius’ talent for dramatics. “But that’s my favorite part of coming to work every morning—the lovely chemical-and-illness aroma.”

[chvoswxtch]

i had an idea for matt but idk if it was good but reader who is matt’s neighbor and she always drops stuff off for him like a new first aid kit and food because she knows he’s daredevil and matt has no idea who does it till he catches her one day

like super fluffy

hi nonnie!

I actually LOVED this idea and thought it was super cute, so thank you so much for requesting it! 💘

warning: slight angst, cavity inducing fluff word count: 2.7k

[part two]

care packages

The first time it happened, Matt hadn’t thought much of it. He simply thought he’d placed an order that he had forgotten about, tossed the package containing a first aid kit and other items into his bathroom, and called it a day. Ever since taking down Fisk, the caseload at Nelson and Murdock had nearly quadrupled, and all the remaining crime lords in Hell’s Kitchen were competing for the vacant throne. Needless to say, Matt hadn’t been sleeping more than usual, and if you asked him what day it was, he probably couldn’t even tell you.

But then it happened again. And again. And again. And again.

Every couple of weeks, a new package arrived at Matt’s door, and the contents varied with each box. Some of them contained first aid kits, bottles of ibuprofen, other over the counter medications, ice packs, epsom salts, and various other supplies. Other times there were carefully packaged homemade dishes and freshly baked treats. Foggy and Karen both swore it wasn’t them, and even inspected the packages on Matt’s behalf. There wasn’t ever a note left, or anything written on the boxes, so none of them could figure out where they were coming from. Foggy lit up like a child on Christmas morning every time Matt entered the office with a new batch of goodies, and Matt couldn’t deny how nice it was to have a break from all the takeout. Whoever was leaving the packages was an excellent cook, and an incredibly skilled baker, but not knowing who was leaving the packages or why was driving Matt absolutely insane. 

Between both of his hectic lives, he didn’t have much time to investigate where the packages were coming from. He had asked his neighbors on a whim if they had seen anything, but they didn’t have a clue either. On the rare occasion when Matt did have an off day, he camped out on his couch in anticipation, hoping the next care package would arrive while he was home. 

But it never did. 

Karen had suggested leaving his business card taped to his front door, making the argument that it had his name and phone number on it in case whoever it was felt brave enough to contact him. But Matt was hesitant, because he wasn’t sure if the person leaving the care packages was leaving them for him, or for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and the latter made him nervous. He had no idea if they had made the connection, and he didn’t want to make it for them. 

For two months, Matt drove himself completely crazy trying to solve the mystery. 

By some miracle, or the grace of God, Matt was home at a normal time one Thursday evening. He was in the kitchen loosening his tie and reaching for a beer in the fridge when he smelled it. A familiar scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies that had been infused with cinnamon and nutmeg. The exact same chocolate chip cookies that had been left in front of his door four times in the past two months. The ones Foggy had dubbed, “crack cookies”. They were, in his defense, highly addictive.

Matt instantly froze, focusing solely on the sound of light footsteps approaching his door from the side of the hallway by the stairwell. The person’s heartbeat was steady, and they were humming softly to themselves as they bent down to place the package directly in front of Matt’s door. Matt abruptly slammed his fridge shut, racing towards his front door to fling it open like a madman, nearly tearing it off the hinges in the process and earning a shocked gasp from you as you were still knelt in front of his door.

He cocked his head to the side slightly, noting the sharp uptick in rhythm of your heart rate as you stared wide eyed up at him, fingers gripping tightly onto the sides of the container. For a moment, neither of you said anything, until the scent of cortisol creeping into your bloodstream snapped Matt back into focus.

“Are…are you the person that’s been leaving these?”

Letting out a shaky breath, you swallowed thickly as you gave a slight nod of your head.

“I…um…yeah.”

Your voice was timid and quiet as it came out, and there was something familiar about it. There was also something incredibly familiar about your scent, but Matt couldn’t quite place it. Your heart was thundering loudly in Matt’s ears, and he could hear the anxiety in every shuddering breath you took in. As his tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips, he slowly extended his hand out towards you.

“Do you…will you come in?”

Glancing between Matt’s outstretched hand and the dish in your own, you stared up at him silently for a moment. It suddenly occurred to him that his reaction might have made you more tense than the fact that you had been caught, and he pulled his lips into a gentle half smile.

“I’m not upset. I just…want to talk to you, if that’s alright?”

His words seem to put you at ease, and you carefully placed your hand into his own, allowing him to pull you up to your feet. Matt liked how soft your hand felt in his own, and he reluctantly let go to step back to grant you space, gesturing for you to come inside. After closing his door, he followed you cautiously into his living room, tuning all of his senses into you as you turned around to face him while still clutching the dish in your hands. There was something recognizable about you, but Matt for the life of him couldn’t place what it was.

“Um…I guess the obvious first question is…why you’re leaving all these care packages?”

Matt kept his voice even and gentle, not wanting you for a second to think that he was upset. As far as he could tell, you were leaving them with genuine intentions, and while that warmed his heart, he still wanted to know why. He caught the way you trapped your bottom lip between your teeth and tilted your head to stare down at the dish in your hands, taking in a deep, shaky breath before answering.

“Because you saved my life.”

Matt’s lips parted slightly in surprise, cocking his head to the side slightly as he took a step closer towards you and fixed his gaze in your direction with an expression of confusion. 

“I…I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve represented you-”

“You were wearing a different suit.”

Matt’s entire body instantly went rigid. You did know who he was. Panic started to rise in his chest, and his brain wasn’t working fast enough to come up with some kind of lie or excuse to protect his identity.

“I…I don’t…I t-think you must have me confused with someone else-”

“Those men didn’t just want to rob me. They wanted to hurt me. They followed me home from that bar and pulled me into that alley. If you…hadn’t shown up when you did, they probably would’ve killed me, or left me there after they did what they really wanted to. I…I’m honestly not sure which would’ve been worse.”

Matt stilled hearing the way your voice trembled, tasting the fear that built in the corners of your eyes as the memory sent a shiver cascading down your spine. Suddenly it all clicked into place. That’s why he remembered you. He recognized your voice because he remembered hearing your frenzied cries for help from the rooftop. He recalled the scent of you lingering beneath his nose while he held you comfortingly to his chest as you gripped onto his shoulders, begging him not to leave you alone in the dark. After taking care of the men that had attacked you, he’d waited with you until the cops came, doing his best to keep you calm and reassuring you that you were safe. 

Your name tumbled from his lips before he could stop himself.

“Y/N.”

He remembers asking for it that night. He remembers repeating it back to you soothingly, enjoying the way it tasted on his tongue while wiping your tears away with his gloved fingers. He remembers the sweet melody of your voice as you thanked him endlessly, and the way you struggled to let go of his hand once the police arrived and he had to disappear into the darkness.

He noted the way your lips tugged into the faintest of smiles as you nodded.

“You remembered.”

Matt had wanted to find you, as himself, to offer you legal representation if you wanted to build a case. But with things being so hectic lately, he never got the chance. Another wave of confusion settled over his features when he took another step forward towards you. 

“Wait, but how did you-”

“I live in this building. I saw you on the roof about a week later.”

Matt’s lips parted slightly at your words, giving a slight nod of his head to encourage you to continue. 

“I was up there kinda late one night. There was a lunar eclipse that was supposed to be visible at a certain time, and I wanted to see it. I saw you. You disappeared through that door on the roof, and I thought it just went to a stairwell, but none of the stairwells I found led to that same door. I kinda put it together that it only led to your apartment…and it wasn’t that hard to figure out which one was yours from there.”

“So…you didn’t…know that I was-”

“No. I didn’t know who you were, not really. I never saw you again after that. I just…you looked like you were hurt that night. I wanted to do something…something to help you. I felt like I owed you.”

Matt pursed his lips as he shook his head quickly, letting a dry chuckle escape his mouth.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life.”

Matt paused at the sincerity in your voice, noticing that it came out a lot firmer as you spoke those words. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides as you let out a soft sigh, turning around to place the dish of cookies on his coffee table.

“Look, I’m sorry if I…I freaked you out or anything. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to do something nice for you since you saved me. I figured you probably go through a lot of first aid kits and don’t have much time to cook with your busy night job.”

Matt chuckled softly as a light smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, placing his hands on his hips as he followed your movements.

“That’s an understatement. Can I…can I ask…why you didn’t say anything? I mean, you never knock or leave a note or anything.”

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and shrugged lightly as you fiddled with a ring around your finger.

“I told you, I didn’t wanna freak you out. I’m sure you wear the mask for a reason. I…wanted to respect your privacy. Look, you don’t owe me anything, certainly not an explanation. You don’t have to tell me anything at all, and I would never tell anyone about this, I swear.”

The steady, strong rhythm of your heartbeat had Matt’s chest swelling with gratitude. He knew you were telling the truth. 

“I believe you.”

There was a faint smile pulling at your lips as you stared at him, and Matt desperately wanted to know what you saw, and what you were thinking. He didn’t think it was a coincidence someone like you had fallen into his lap. He didn’t believe in coincidences. But he did believe in divine intervention. What were the odds of him saving your life, being your neighbor, and the recipient of your unwavering kindness and genuine understanding? 

“I…I’m not a doctor, or a medical professional by any means, but I do know my way around a first aid kit. I’m also a horrible insomniac, so I’m usually awake at ungodly hours throughout the night. If you ever…need…or want any help, I just live a floor down. I’m in 5C.”

“I…thank you. And thank you for all of the care packages.”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

Matt felt his cheeks heat up at the candor in your voice. He didn’t get thanked often for what he did every night, not that the praise was his main motivator, but they were still two words he didn’t hear all that much. The people he took down certainly weren’t thanking him for sending them to prison, and sometimes the people he saved were in too much shock to speak, or he had to take off before he got caught by the cops. But something about the way the gentle inflection of your voice dripped into his ears like honey had warmth spreading throughout his entire body. He took another careful step towards you, extending his hand once again for you to take as his lips parted into a tender smile.

“Matthew. My name is Matthew.”

His heart started to beat a little faster feeling the way your mouth pulled into a smile of your own, reveling in the feeling of your soft hand slipping into his once again, fingers delicately curling around the bottom of his palm.

“It’s nice to meet you, Matthew. Officially.”

Matt keened at the way his name sounded falling from your lips, and he gave your hand a faint squeeze.

“It’s nice to meet you officially as well, Y/N.”

He didn’t miss the way your heart jumped slightly when he repeated your name, or the fact that neither one of you seemed to want to let go of the other’s hand.

“You know, my partner is going to be beyond excited that I’ve finally found the person responsible for those amazing cookies.”

Matt’s chest expanded with pride feeling the rise in temperature across your cheeks, lips parting slightly as your soft giggle hit his ears.

“Nice of you to share, Matthew.”

A wider smile tugged across his lips hearing you say his name again. He lightly stroked his thumb across your knuckle as he shrugged.

“I thought at first one of them was doing it, but neither of them are as good of a cook or a baker. You’re a hit in our office, by the way.”

“I am?”

“They ask me everyday if I’ve gotten a new care package. Obviously the edible ones are their favorite.”

Another soft giggle slipped past your stretched lips, and Matt found himself inching closer to the sound as heat spread down your neck and across your chest.

“They…they know, too?”

“They do.”

“Well, then they’re just as deserving.”

Matt found himself completely in awe of you, wondering how he had managed to find an angel when he walked the path of the Devil. 

“Can I…can I take you to dinner? To say thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me-”

“I want to. You’ve provided me with a ton of dinners lately. I’d like to treat you to one.”

Matt angled his head to the side slightly as he listened to your heart’s tempo increase, enjoying the way you delicately tightened your hold on his hand as you took in a shaky breath.

“Well, how can I refuse my savior?”

“You can’t. It’s against the law actually.”

A large grin spread across your mouth at Matt’s playful tone, peering up at him with curiosity.

“Are you a lawyer, Matthew?”

“I am.”

An incredulous giggle escaped your mouth as your brows knit together in the center of your forehead.

“So, wait…lawyer by day, vigilante by night? How does that work, exactly?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure that out.”

Matt chuckled softly as you giggled, resisting the urge to reach his hand up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear like he had done the first night he met you. 

“So, Friday night?”

“You know where to find me.”

“I do, now.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

[myfictionaldreams]

Don’t Fall Asleep // Mafia!Stucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal day, but not in fate's eyes as you and Sam are hit by a drunk driver. How will Steve and Bucky react when they hear their girls been hurt?

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst (LOTS), Fluff, car crash, blood and injury, crying, anxiety, hurt/comfort, recovery, domestic bliss, teasing, praise kink, daddy kink, fingering, multiple orgasms, nipple play

Words: 5.1k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link 

Life is precious, something that many take for granted. On occasions, phrases such as ‘live life to the fullest or ‘you could die tomorrow, take the opportunities as they come’ are often quoted but then disregarded. Every person who is living, has ever lived and will ever live; will experience the positives to living, the happiness that swells in their chest but then the balance to this, that makes living so tumultuous was the sadness and darkness that could destroy lives in a blink of an eye.

You, for one, were thankful for all of the time that you’d been able to share with Steve and Bucky. They’d changed your life to an unimaginable level, having never experienced true love, protection and simplicity until being in their areas. But of course, happiness can only last for so long, too many opportunities for near misses within the mafia that your luck was bound to run out at some point.

The real kick in the teeth was that this darkened day in your life was even centred around the gang and its criminal activities. In fact, it had been a rather plain day for you, starting the same as any other, Steve and Bucky attending the office to make sure everything was running smoothly and you’d planned to run some errands with Sam Wilson, your friend and bodyguard.

So far, you’d been food shopping, collected a couple of parcels and now were on your way to the art shop to pick up a few supplies for Steve who liked to draw in his spare time.

Sam was driving the two of you, rolling his eyes playfully as you flicked through the radio channels, not finding any satisfaction with what was being played and being too lazy to connect your phone to the bluetooth.

“Oh, I love that song!” Sam gasped, brushing your hand out of the way and switching to the channel you’d just casually skipped past. You laughed at his excitement, happy to also listen to the song if it made Sam happy which by his exaggerated singing, he was definitely enjoying it.

The roads around you weren’t excessively busy, thankfully the football was on so the majority of people were inside a bar and watching that. It was just a perfectly mundane, normal day but life always liked to test your limits when you least expected it.

The initial impact was something you wouldn’t ever remember, as a drunk driver smashed into your side of the car, causing it to flip several times before landing upside down. You’d been knocked out for a couple of minutes, only just waking up as Sam’s urgent shouts made it through the buzzing in your ears, your entire body felt lifeless and drained as he was able to undo your buckle and pull you a safe distance away. The drunk driver who had crashed into you had died on impact.

It was as the sirens blared in the distance, did you begin to feel the wetness and warmth starting from your head and moving down various parts of your body but you were completely dazed to understand that you’d sustained a head injury, your right wrist and leg broken and pointing in the wrong angles and a multitude of cuts and gashes covering your exposed skin due to the glass.

Sam was holding a section of his ripped shirt against the area of your head that was thumping along with your racing heartbeat, and in his other hand, he held his phone plastered to his ear. You couldn’t tell who he was on the phone too, but the desperation in his eyes, as he looked down at you, it wasn’t good. As you had taken the direct hit of the car and Sam was on the other side, he had the pain and aches from the whiplash, a deep gash through his eyebrow that was steadily leaking blood and then a scattering of cuts from the glass, otherwise was mostly unscathed.

“That’s it, sweetheart, keep looking at me, the medics aren’t far away”, Sam’s voice sounded as if he was underwater, completely drowned out by the high-pitched, excessive buzzing that still consumed your consciousness. “Yeah, she’s awake-” Sam continued on the phone, unbeknown to you, to your boyfriends who were already in the car and driving to the area.

Oh course, he had already called the medics, as well as a couple of people from the growing crowd around the accident and soon after called his bosses, Steve and Bucky who sounded like they were both going to throw up and kill someone at the same time.

“Sam?” you managed to ask, not for anything in particular, in all honesty, you were just trying to reach for some kind of comfort and seeing him above you as just that.

“It’s ok, the boys are nearly here, you’re doing so well, just keep your eyes on me, please sweetheart, NO- don’t close your eyes”, Sam tried to keep you awake, dropping his phone onto the pavement below to give you his fullest attention but you were already unconscious again.

The next time you’re awake again, the paramedics had arrived and neck support had been attached to keep you stationary. “Hey y/n, can you hear us? Can you squeeze my finger for me?”, the closest medic was asking but you didn’t respond, mostly still out of it, dazed and confused.

Then across the commotion, the deafening screech of ties breaking across the tarmac was heard and the frantic shouts of your name as Steve and Bucky had arrived. This was something you would never remember, your eyes closed before they even reached you and it was probably for the best that you couldn’t remember it, possibly only adding more trauma to the situation.

Sam stepped back and watched the scene unfold before him, giving both of your boyfriend's room to be next to you as the medics continued to look after you. The bodyguard wiped a hand over his face, ignoring the painful injuries as tears welled in his eyes at seeing his bosses and also life-long friends completely break down.

They seemed lost between wanting to still be possessive, demanding to know everything that the medics were doing, and then the heartbreak of seeing you so injured and unresponsive, they didn’t know whether to shout or cry. At one point Bucky had to step away to vomit, it was complete chaos.

It took a couple of days for you to be fully conscious again and even this wasn’t a relief, even though it was something that Steve and Bucky had begged to anyone that would listen to occur. The confusion of the accident was still evident, unsure of where you were, why you couldn’t move properly, and why there were so many things attached to your body. You became quickly hysteric, ignoring the pleas from Steve and Bucky to try and calm down but your response was enough that the doctors deemed it appropriate to try and sedate you back into a peaceful sleep.

This was definitely for the best as you weren’t able to comprehend the state of which your boyfriends were even in, something that definitely would have upset you further. They both hadn’t changed their clothes the entire time, malnourished of food and drink as they obsessively sat next to your bed, day and night, unshaven, the whites of their eyes red from lack of sleep and crying. Both would take it in turns to go to the toilet before coming so you always had someone next to your bed, it was obsessive and no matter how many times the Doctors tried to escort the men to get some real sleep, they would simply shoot daggers at the professionals with their eyes before being left to it.

 Thankfully after every scan and test that was done, it was determined that there would be no lasting damage, the wound on your temple was sutured with dissolvable stitches and your wrist and arm were placed into casts, with physiotherapy planned in the future and of course, your body was deeply bruised along with whiplash strain. Now, they just needed you to wake up to assess the memory loss and if there was any other damage from the impact to your brain.

They were lucky that the gang were able to continue as usual with the remaining members who had all been ordered to not disturb you all, no distractions necessary. Natasha was the only person to have the courage to visit and thankfully didn’t back down from the fight as she gave both of her bosses a stern talking too.

“When she wakes up, which SHE WILL, do you think she’d want to see you both looking like this? She’s injured and will be for some time, she shouldn’t be waking up with you both in this state, it’s probably make her more distressed. You need to get your shit together, go and shower, shave, eat a proper meal, and put on some new clothes so that when she wakes up, she has some stability and you’re actually prepared to look after her rather than moping around feeling sorry for yourselves!”.

In any other situation, Steve and Bucky would have been ready for a fight but Natasha’s brutal honesty was what they needed to hear, not as their employee but as their friend so they did exactly that.

Another 24 hours passed and you were finally beginning to stir, eyes fluttering open and head turning in the direction of the welcoming voices of your boyfriends and for the first time in days, they saw a hint of a smile on your beautiful face. You had no recognition of the last few days or anything from the accident but after a few further tests, they were happy to discharge you home to rest which you needed as it was complete agony to try and move with the ache in your muscles.

The two men didn’t seem to want to let go of you the entire time, if they were holding your hand, they were rubbing small circles against your uninjured leg, or stroking their thumb against your cheek, it was almost as if they were scared that once they let go of you, something bad would happen.

This only aided with the fact that you couldn’t walk was just another excuse for Steve and Bucky to carry you everywhere which was difficult at first with the discomfort in your body but it was better than any other option and it meant that you could properly embrace them, even for those short moments.

Then at long last, you were home, and you couldn’t deny crying happy tears as you saw the decorations that had been left in surprise by the Rogers gang, banners reading “welcome home!” and balloons covering nearly every surface of the living room. Everything was perfect, even the natural smell of your home was enough to have you crumbling into a mess.

It was hard to try and get accustomed to living at home after surviving such a traumatic experience, the physical and emotional toll was something no one could have prepared you for. As the three of you settled into your bed that evening, you had to find the right way to lie with the casts on your limbs still making it difficult to move and the ache still throbbing throughout your neck and spine, it wasn’t particularly comfortable. But finally, with you lying in the middle, your leg propped up on a couple of pillows, Steve to your right and Bucky to your left, you began to comprehend everything that had happened.

You sobbed harder than you thought possible, even becoming breathless as you verged on hyperventilating at thinking about your life nearly ending. Steve and Bucky tried to soothe you but their own emotional trauma came to a head as they too revealed their devastation at nearly losing you, both men crying as you all held one another.

But as the saying goes: ‘time heals all wounds’.

It wasn’t easy, not that you’d expected it to but as each day passed and your body ached less and less and the scratches began to heal, it lessened the pain in your heart. There would always be struggles but they were made easier with your devoted boyfriends.

With the broken wrist, it was difficult to cut your food and eat so Steve and Bucky insisted on feeding you, even if you could use your one hand to lift a fork to your mouth, they were going to make sure you rested in any way, smiling as they fed you every bite of every year. The worst change was going to the toilet, the boys offering to wipe but this was one step too far, you could do that but it was getting up again off of the toilet or waking them in the middle of the night that had your cheeks burning with embarrassment but they were more than happy to help you

“I’m here to look after you, no matter what it is that you’d like, I WANT to do it Doll. Ii know you want some dependency but this isn’t forever, it’s just for now so please let me look after you”, Bucky sweetly said after you frustratedly dropped your shirt to the floor, having been struggling to put it on for a while.

After a week of being home, Sam finally came to visit and once again you found yourself crying as he dropped to the couch and you both held onto each other. He’d been given some much-needed time off to recover and had been visiting his sister and nephews but now, he wanted to come and visit, really see that you were healing.

Finally gathering your emotions, you pulled back and wiped your face of tears, a genuine smile replacing your sad features as you saw the scratches over his face had most healed, only leaving the healing cut over his eyebrow.

“Everyone is going to love this new rugged look”, you commented, glancing at his injury. “The ladies will come running with the bad boy look”.

“Ah I know, who could deny such a handsome face, it’s a curse believe me”, he joked back, relief also settling over his body at hearing you relaxing. “Even better now we’re matching, bet we look like a right pair of hooligans”, he joked, looking up at the plaster still attached to your head covering the healing stitches.

“I think it just adds character”, you grinned back at him before your smile slowly faded as your tone became more serious. “Sam… I can’t even begin to thank you for looking after me”.

Sam’s eyes dropped to look into his lap, losing the strength to hide his emotions, “I didn’t do much-”.

“Yes, you did! You pulled me out of the vehicle and looked after me before the medics arrived, but it’s not just during this accident, you’ve always looked after me. I’m so grateful to have you in my life and I’m so glad you’re ok”.

Sam’s eyes twinkled as he looked up, his throat bobbing as he couldn’t muster up the words to talk, instead just pulling you into a hug that conveyed more emotions than words could have. Steve and Bucky also pulled Sam into crushing hugs, “Thank you for looking after our girl”, whispered between friends.

“Please go and put your feet up Sam, you deserve the time off!” you shouted after Sam as he moved towards the exit.

“I’ll try my best Boss Lady, you rest up too”, he replied with his beaming smile returning to his handsome face.

Another day passes as you sat at the edge of your bed with Bucky on his knees between your legs, his expression stern and unblinking as he concentrated on his job at hand.

“How does it look, is it horrible? Is it long? Do I look ugly?” you asked, looking up at his face as he leaned in closer to your face, his fingers gently easing the plaster away from your face as he inspected the stitches on your head.

“You could never be beautiful”, he mumbled under his breath, easing the last corner of your plaster off and then sitting back to assess the sight before him. Bucky’s face dropped causing your heartbeat to increase frantically in your chest.

“What? Is it bad? Bucky what is it?!” you asked desperately. Racing across the bed, you tried to pick up the hand mirror to have a look yourself but Bucky snatched it up before you could grab it, holding it at arm's length so that you couldn’t reach it.

“I’m not sure that you’ll want to see this Doll”, his voice was low and thick with concern.

“Oh my god Bucky please tell me, has it healed wrong?” You were really beginning to panic now, about to call for Steve to come and help when Bucky’s hard exterior broke and a taunting grin spread across his face making his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“You look just as beautiful mama”, he affectionately whispered, kissing your cheek and handing the mirror to you to show that the injury was nearly completely healed, only a different toned colour lay on your forehead, the stitches mostly invisible.

You rolled your eyes dramatically realising that he had been teasing you, “That wasn’t nice Barnes”.

“Ah, but you love me”, he mocked, lips brushing against yours softly, only enough to feel the slightest pressure of his soft lips.

“Yes I do”, you gave in instantly, using your uninjured hand to cup his jaw tenderly, stroking against his slightly stubbled skin, holding him there to kiss more deeply.

Before anything became too heated, Bucky was pulling back, pecking the tip of your nose before helping you into his arms to carry down for some dinner.

This was how it had been since returning from the hospital. It wasn’t that you were rushing to be intimate with them but they were both so adamant about your healing that there had been a very strict: no-touching rule. At first, when it even hurt to move you were more than happy to comply with the instruction but as your mobility improved and their kisses began to linger for longer or hands would wash over your body with more intent than to clean your skin, it was becoming more difficult to resist the urges that you were experiencing.

Downstairs, Steve was preparing a stew for you all, chopping the vegetables on the counter and smiling over his shoulder as he saw you and Bucky approaching. As Bucky placed you at the dinner table that was in the sizeable kitchen, Steve wiped his hand on the kitchen towel and sauntered over, leaning his arms on either side of your chair, his eyes level with your revealed head injury.

“It’s looking good isn’t it?” Bucky commented as he took over Steve’s job of chopping up the vegetables.

“It does, and it’ll keep looking better with each day, the Doctor did a good job of fixing up my baby”, Steve responded, his finger under your chin to tilt your head back so he could leave a searing kiss against your mouth. Your body leaned into a kiss and then he was moving away far too prematurely, leaving you wanting more but you didn’t verbalise this, not having the heart to complain after they’d been looking after you so much.

“Could I… Could I help in some way please?” you asked, looking hopefully between Steve and Bucky as they continued with prepping dinner. The two glanced at each other before Steve walked over with a chopping board, knife and carrot that had already been peeled. “Thank you!” you beamed up at him, happy that even though there were so many things that they were willing to help you with, they did try and give you some independence.

Not that it was easy to try and chop up a carrot with one hand still in a solid cast so after far too many attempts at sawing into the carrot, you decided instead to slam the knife down in sharp chops, leaving the carrot in three large chunks.

“Um… done!” you nervously announced to the boys.

Steve returned to pick up the chopping board, “good job, baby”, he praised, kissed the top of your head and you grinned as he placed the carrots in with the rest of the mixture, even though it was extremely obvious which carrot you had chopped compared to Bucky’s thinly sliced carrots. You loved the way they handled you, there was no hint of condescension from either of them when you tried to help and it was all to help you get back into a routine of normality.

Even if they did still continue to feed you which you secretly enjoyed now as it meant you get to sit in either of their laps and feel close to them.

That evening, you asked if you could have a bath which they were happy to help you into, Bucky was in charge of keeping your arm and leg outside of the tub to not get the cast wet and wrapping them both in cling film took entirely too long. Whereas Steve was in charge of washing your body with a sponge slathered in shower gel, another insistence from them both, even though you were more than capable of washing your body with your other hand.

You couldn’t wait for these damn casts to be off, “I can’t wait to have a shower”, you vocalised to them both, watching as Steve washed across your shoulders from where he sat on the edge of the bathtub.

“Hmm. I am going to miss this though”, Steve observed, not hiding that he loved being able to look after you. Closing your eyes, you enjoyed the little pamper session but as the sponge grazed over your perked nippled, you couldn’t help but lean into the touch, a moan forming in the back of your throat.

Steve’s chuckle had you looking up at him through half-lidded eyes as he asked, “Did you like that, baby girl?”

“Yes”, you admitted, watching as he did it again, paying particular attention to the very peaks of your nipples and then rubbing over the rest of your breasts in circular movements.

There was nothing you wanted more than to feel their bodies pressed against yours but with your limited use and weakness throughout your entire body, even with your good hand, you knew you’d tire quickly and not be able to satisfy them so you still refrained from asking them to fully pleasure you.

“You’re so beautiful, Mama”, Bucky watched with dark eyes, licking his lips almost hungrily and you whined at the sight, back arching more into Steve’s movements.

As the sponge moved over your body, through the water that lapped against the edges of the porcelain tub, you noticed the way that Steve was pressing more firmly on certain areas, especially in between your legs that had you grinding to feel more.

But like all of the other times, he never made a move to go any further and you were feeling more sexually frustrated than you had before, even after they both helped to dry you with a towel, in between your legs remained damp as your juices still trickled out.

Bucky carried you to the bed, placing you in the middle, the same as every night and you were completely naked, something that you had quickly decided was the comfiest, it always takes far too long to put on your pyjamas when Steve and Bucky always wrapped around you and kept you warm.

As you settled into the bed, leg again propped up on multiple pillows, you waited patiently for the boys to both join you as they cleaned the bathroom. However today, it was taking far too long and if you concentrated hard enough, you could hear them both talking quietly to one another.

As you opened your mouth to ask what was taking them so long, they joined back in the bedroom, removing their clothes, save for their boxers, switched the lights off and clambered into bed. As their overtly warm skin smoothed against yours, your questions slipped into the back of your mind, finding their comfort already distracting.

With a kiss on each of your cheeks, you closed your eyes to try and go to sleep and ignore the agonising ache in your core. But it seemed Bucky had other ideas as his hand rested on your abdomen, over your belly button, his thumb stroking the skin in slow circles as his hand dripped lower and lower.

You didn’t stop him, chest rising and falling with increasing speed as his fingers teased over your mound, the lowest that they’d been since between the accident. Your breath caught in your throat, screaming in your mind for him to keep going, to dip that little bit lower.

Steve’s hand cupped your jaw, the touch distracting you from the one teasing to push between your legs as he forced your head to turn in the direction of where he lay. Opening your eyes, even in the dark you could see his intense stare, as he began to speak, his minty breath coated your face, “Do you want us to keep touching you, baby?”

“Yes”, you sounded more desperate than you’d hoped to, his question feeling like some sort of light in the darkness, now realising this must have been what they had spoken about in the bathroom.

“You sure you’re feeling up to it?”, he continued to ask, his fingers moving over your jaw and down your throat, grazing over your collarbone and still lower until hovering over your left nipple.

“Yes, fuck yes”, you groaned, arching up to feel his hand but he kept it far enough away that you didn’t get the touch you wanted.

“If you get too tired and overwhelmed, will you tell us?”

“I promise!”, you pleaded, moving your unbroken leg to the side slightly, giving Bucky more room. “But…But I also want to touch you, I want you both to feel good!”

It was Bucky who spoke next, his mouth moving to graze the shell of your ear as he tutted, “Not tonight Doll, let us make you feel good, wanna hear your sweet moans, you deserve this, you’ve done so well”.

You were moaning before his fingers even slipped lower but as the tip of his middle finger grazed between your folds and touched against your throbbing clit, your whole body seemed to come alight.

Steve's fingers then lowered as well, in time with Bucky, pressing against your nipples and he groaned at just how hard they were, gently pinching and tweaking them before grasping the entire breast and massaging the tissue.

“You’re so wet for me Honey, is this what you wanted? Did you want us to touch you here?” Bucky teased before nipping the lobe of your ear.

“Wanted it so bad!”, you gasped as Bucky moved lower, finding your hole and circling it a few times, feeling just how soaked for him that you were before pushing in a single digit, not stopping until it was all the way in. “Bucky!”

Your walls fluttered around him, having not been penetrated for what felt like so long now and he was careful to start slow, really building up the pressure which matched with Steve’s hands on your chest, was already driving you insane with arousal.

In and out his finger slowly moved, his thumb skillfully brushing over your clit to match his pace. Then he was adding another finger and your leg widened further, thighs shaking slightly as you had to refrain from reaching out for them both, knowing that you’d end up knocking your broken wrist so kept them at your sides.

“That feels so good Bucky,” you praised, turning your head towards him.

“Yeah? Want me to make you cum, Mama?” he asked, his lips now hovering over yours.

“Yes, please!”.

As his lips met yours, hastily moving against each other, Bucky’s fingers began to curl and his thumb applied more pressure. Every nerve in your body seemed to come alive as they were being pleasured and you were experiencing the ultimate thrill. Your core was tightening with each tug against your g-spot, chest rising and falling harshly into Steve’s grasp as he moved between each breast, each sending sparks straight to your cunt.

You were a wet, babbling mess when the overwhelming sensation to cum took over, not even having time to tell your boyfriends but they already knew you were close and began touching you with more urgency.

Your pussy began clenching in quick succession as your orgasm destroyed you, pulling away from Bucky so you had space to scream out his name, hips bucking widely at the touch until it became too sensitive.

Bucky eased his wet fingers out of you, bringing them up to his lips and humming at your exquisite taste that he’d been desperate to taste for so long.

Steve gave you another moment to gather yourself before his fingers began to fill you up, replacing where Bucky was, two fingers rocking in and out as his thumb rolled your clit in a circle. Bucky’s metal fingers then teased your pebbled nipples, the cool feeling making you gasp more.

“Let’s see just how many more we can get from you, baby” Steve growled into your neck, sucking the sensitive skin.

“Yes, Daddy”, you moaned whilst lost in your ecstasy.

Steve and Bucky worked well together, knowing exactly when to slow down their movements, letting you get used to the sensations before ramping up the speed and pressures, bringing you to the peak of orgasm before starting again. They took it in turns until your breasts were sore and puffy and your hole ached and your juices soaked the sheets below.

You were a mumbling mess when they determined that you had enough, your entire body feeling like it was floating and light as Steve licked his fingers clean one more time before tucking you in close to his side.

“You feeling ok, Doll?” Bucky asked, sliding in close as well, his arm wrapping around your middle.

“Mmm so so good”, you muttered, eyes drooping close with exhaustion. “I can’t wait to take these casts off so I can repay the favour”.

Steve’s checked vibrated against your ear as he chuckled, kissing the top of your head, “Get some rest, my love”.

[clockwayswrites]

A Broken Sort of Normal, Part 15

WC 1133, Masterpost

“Danny!”

“Lena, no,” Danny groaned. He let his bag slump off his shoulder as he turned to face them. “Lena. It’s Friday. I have been in meetings for the last three days. I have plans. I am actively leaving the building. Lena. Why are you stopping me, Lena?”

Lena held their tablet up, covering up the lower half of their face. Their dangerously large doe eyes looked over the top of it. “I just have one last thing!”

“Is it an emergency?”

They rolled their eyes. “Do you hear any alarms?”

“If I don’t deal with it until Monday and an emergency happens, are people going to be out of supplies they need to deal with said emergency?”

“No,” Lena huffed.

“Then can it please wait until Monday, Lena? Please? I’m begging you. I don’t want to have to get down on my knees, but I will,” Danny said. “Oh great now more of you are here. Please tell me you don’t all have things you need from me? Why are you smiling like that? If this is a mind control thing just thrown me tied up in my office and let me at least sleep under my desk.”

“You’ve been hanging out with the heroes too much Danny,” Greg said with a laugh from where he leaned on the bright green partition of his cubical. “You’ve picked up on their dramatics.”

“No, I’m just used to the crazy now and this,” he said, motioning to his gathering underlings (HR wouldn’t let him call them minions anymore), “is suspicious.”

“Well if you feel that way, we don’t have to give your gift,” Lena said.

Danny perked up a little. “Gift? Wait, gift?”

Hamid snorted. “Of course he pays attention when gift is mentioned. Danny, someone could catch you with a piece of cake under a cardboard box.”

Danny flapped a hand in Hamid’s direction. “Hush. But why gift? You all don’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course we did!” Lena said. “It’s your one year being the boss man, Boss!”

That made Danny pause. It couldn’t be, could it? Had he really been working as leadership in the Justice League Response Team for a year now? It felt like yesterday still when he had been moving to Central City.

“I think we broke him,” Hamid whispered loudly.

“I just can’t believe it’s been that long,” Danny said honestly.

“Well it has been, so here,” Lena said. They grabbed a tissue wrapped bundle and handed it over.

Danny unwrapped it carefully, aware he was grinning stupidly and not carrying to stop it. It was really sweet of his team. “I couldn’t have made a year without you all.”

“We know,” Greg said, which made Danny laugh.

When the paper was finally discarded, Danny was holding a mug that said ‘You’re the Best Boss’ with the word ‘best’ scratched out. Stuffed inside the mug were floppy Titan figures wrapped with fake bandages. “You’re all jerks, I love it. I’m taking a picture and sending it to the Titans. Nightwing’s little broken leg is inspired.”

“Thank you,” Lena said proudly. They waited for Danny to snap the picture before taking the mug away. “Now you go. I’ll put this on your desk for you.”

“Thank you, really, you’re all the best.”

“We know,” all three of the coursed as Danny headed out the door with a wave.

-

“I can’t believe they broke mini me’s leg!” Dick wined when Danny got back to his and Wally’s department.

“Of course they broken your leg with all the stunts you pull,” Victor said as he flicked the cap off a beer with his thumb. “Wait, that sounded wrong. It’s not like those were voodoo dolls or anything. Right…?”

Danny laughed hung up his work bag and keys on the hooks by the door. “Greg is right, you’re all paranoid and I’m around you way too much for it to be rubbing off on me.”

“Really only Wally rubs off on y—” Garfield started only to get a face full of pillow tossed by Donna. It sent Gar right over the couch back he had been perched on.

“No one needs to hear that,” she said.

“You’re just jealous Wally has a hot boyfriend,” Gar said.

The couch shifted a little before a green cat popped out from under the front of it. Danny picked Gar up as he passed, setting him back on the couch.

“I am not the hot boyfriend,” Danny said.

“Yes you are.”

“Right.”

“Dude.”

Victor just snorted.

“Wally,” Danny called out. “Our friends are being weird. Did you all get a collective head injury or something?”

“Our friends are always weird, babe,” Wally called back from either the bedroom or the office.

“Yes, but this is extra weird.”

There was a pause then Wally appeared with the monstrosity that was the current Uno set up. It now included a board and six different dice. “Okay, what’s extra weird?”

“That they think I’m the hot boyfriend.”

“Danny, babe,” Wally said. He leveled Danny with a look. “You are the hot boyfriend.”

“Collective head injury, all of you!” Danny said, throwing his hands up.

Wally just laughed, the bastard, and set the game box down so that he could pull Danny into his arms. “Accept it, you’re hot.”

“No,” Danny said, purposefully pouting.

“So hot,” Wally insisted before leaning in to kiss Danny.

Gar whistled while Victor made a fake gagging sound. The kiss broke as Danny laughed at being hit with a pillow.

“Okay, okay. I’m going to go change out of my work clothes. Is food ordered?” Danny asked as he dragged himself out of Wally’s arms.

“Indian. An absolute feast too,” Wally said, reluctantly letting Danny go.

“Good, I’m starving.” Danny headed for their bedroom, shucking off his clothing as soon as the door was closed. He hated meetings where people expected him to wear suits. It was a relief to change into jeans and a comfortable t-shirt.

“…wait till the others are here?” Dick was saying to Wally when Danny opened the door.

“I know we should, just…”

“Wait for what?” Danny asked.

It was a little startling how both their heads jerked up to look at Danny.

“Um, just explaining the Uno rules! You know?” Wally said with a nervous laugh. “Not all of them have played this version, yeah?”

Danny raised a brow, spotting the lie easily but not knowing what it was about. It was usually safer to not get between Wally and Dick plotting something though. “Right… pass me a cider?”

“Sure, babe!” Wally said with far too much perkiness.

Danny had just accepted the uncapped cider when suddenly the room was filled with a screaming alert. From the volume that wasn’t just one communicator.

That was everyone’s.

---

AN: I managed to shake out some words! I'm not actually sure of the pacing of this one, but I won't know till I write the next part! There's a chance this might get more added to it. We'll see! I wonder what Dick and Wally were talking about??

Stay delightful, darlings!

I no longer tag, instead you can subscribe to the masterpost.

[atlabeth]

dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.1k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake. 

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point. 

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel. 

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there. 

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always. 

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.” 

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?” 

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.” 

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.” 

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says. 

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes. 

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says. 

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.” 

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs. 

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.” 

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.” 

-

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file. 

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene. 

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house. 

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt. 

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control. 

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.  

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics. 

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it. 

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.  

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything. 

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect. 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.” 

“What has he been charged for?” 

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail last year, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs. 

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind. 

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive. 

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.” 

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh. 

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising. 

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock. 

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford. 

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.” 

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?” 

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?” 

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says. 

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…” 

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house. 

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all. 

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub. 

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.” 

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?” 

He nods. “I had a change of heart.” 

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.” 

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.” 

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Charles area.” 

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him. 

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things: 

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be. 

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school. 

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts. 

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says. 

You glower at him, but you stay silent. 

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.” 

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.” 

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” 

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?” 

You nod. “He lives with me.” 

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away. 

“Why is that?” Hotch asks. 

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too. 

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”  

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going. 

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.” 

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.” 

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?” 

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you. 

“Really?” 

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him. 

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her. 

And he didn’t even know when she died. 

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad. 

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went five years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says. 

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb. 

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.” 

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.” 

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even. 

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.” 

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.” 

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.” 

“Do you want them to?” 

“...No.” 

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.” 

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.” 

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you. 

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.” 

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says. 

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.” 

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.” 

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door. 

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again. 

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up. 

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?” 

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.” 

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.” 

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret. 

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.” 

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case— 

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.  

You’ve changed a lot. So has he. 

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him. 

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind. 

-

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.” 

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!” 

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.” 

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts. 

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief. 

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused. 

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss. 

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.” 

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.” 

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses. 

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once. 

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck. 

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on. 

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity. 

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs. 

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world. 

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air. 

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

- 

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger. 

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it. 

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.  

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing. 

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people. 

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong. 

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you. 

Because god— what are the odds? 

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother? 

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years. 

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time. 

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you. 

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.” 

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties. 

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. 

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?” 

“Not one for small talk,” you remark. 

“I never have been.” 

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.” 

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now. 

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face. 

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.” 

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.” 

“And home is?” 

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.” 

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says. 

“Sources can lie.” 

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.” 

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up. 

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had. 

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened. 

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”   

“None of those sound like questions,” you say. 

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. 

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I don’t ask questions.” 

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it.” 

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.” 

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?” 

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.” 

“You didn’t tell him—” 

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?” 

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse. 

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.” 

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.” 

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.” 

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?” 

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.” 

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply. 

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly. 

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” 

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken. 

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.” 

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you. 

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.” 

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.” 

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.” 

“...I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least. 

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.” 

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.” 

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.” 

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.” 

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron. 

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“You know th—” 

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.” 

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.” 

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file. 

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking. 

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.” 

“The profile—” 

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.” 

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.” 

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly. 

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this. 

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right. 

You have to be right. 

The room feels even colder. 

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do. 

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him. 

-

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room. 

“She does not like you.” 

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie. 

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.” 

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands. 

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor. 

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.” 

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.” 

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him. 

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him. 

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things. 

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.” 

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again. 

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.” 

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.” 

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.” 

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation. 

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.” 

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego. 

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.” 

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside. 

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch… 

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore. 

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you. 

“They sent a new one in,” you say. 

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual. 

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off. 

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.” 

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation. 

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time. 

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks. 

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks. 

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says. 

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet. 

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong. 

-

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier. 

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once. 

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron. 

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s head as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard. 

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you. 

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round. 

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed. 

Aaron says your name, and you hum. 

“Are you listening?” he asks. 

“Of course,” you say. 

“Your eyes are closed.” 

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?” 

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly. 

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully. 

Your eyes open and you frown. 

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate. 

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.” 

“...Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?” 

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?” 

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron. 

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction. 

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up. 

“Go for it,” you finally say. 

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?” 

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.” 

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.” 

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder. 

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything. 

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand. 

Sometimes you need reminders. 

“I love you too.” 

-

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.” 

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs. 

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third. 

No one expected this to happen so soon. 

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt. 

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work. 

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation. 

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved. 

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it. 

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press. 

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount. 

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.” 

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.” 

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.” 

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on. 

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.” 

-

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight. 

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city. 

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information. 

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.” 

“What are they?” Hotch asks. 

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says. 

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks. 

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.” 

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.” 

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.” 

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests. 

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.” 

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?” 

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.” 

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully. 

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.” 

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.  

“And?” Hotch asks. 

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.” 

Hotch frowns. You? 

“You’re sure?” he asks. 

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.” 

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again. 

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.” 

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.” 

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up. 

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.” 

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.” 

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.” 

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died five years ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail last year.” 

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.” 

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.” 

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.” 

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.” 

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.” 

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.” 

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says. 

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods. 

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him. 

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says. 

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks. 

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.” 

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him. 

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him. 

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?” 

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.” 

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.  

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?” 

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—” 

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.” 

“What would I do without you?” he asks. 

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.” 

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up. 

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him. 

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze. 

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind. 

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”  

And he does. 

-

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear. 

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale. 

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame. 

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner. 

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff. 

Of course you have to deal with this now. 

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down. 

“You’re already packed.” 

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.” 

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning. 

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask. 

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. 

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.  

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks. 

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?” 

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.” 

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.” 

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit. 

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”  

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him. 

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?” 

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head. 

You take the box from him and smile thinly. 

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

-

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open. 

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.” 

“They haven’t been back, have they?” 

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail. 

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests. 

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.” 

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops. 

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff. 

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.” 

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit. 

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.” 

“I agree with you,” he says. 

“That’s it,” you muse. 

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up. 

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.” 

“...Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.” 

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?” 

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to. 

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.” 

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.” 

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

“Then what are you saying?” 

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.” 

“What have they said about me?” he asks. 

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…” 

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.” 

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.” 

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.” 

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.” 

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.” 

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home. 

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up. 

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.” 

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before. 

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard. 

Then, there’s nothing. 

-

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is. 

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at. 

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims. 

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger. 

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. 

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters. 

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that. 

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him. 

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.  

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that. 

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?” 

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.” 

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.” 

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching. 

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up. 

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night. 

And now… 

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not. 

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?” 

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it. 

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.” 

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.” 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly. 

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him. 

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.” 

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words. 

-

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why. 

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes. 

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs. 

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze. 

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.” 

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.” 

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body. 

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life. 

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.” 

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.” 

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?” 

“...You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.” 

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.” 

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.” 

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say. 

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.” 

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.” 

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises. 

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother had divorced him by then, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided. 

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?” 

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!” 

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.” 

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.” 

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to. 

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly. 

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget. 

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out. 

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here. 

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now. 

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.” 

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.” 

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.” 

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.” 

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says. 

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats. 

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.” 

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.” 

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?” 

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.” 

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you. 

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns. 

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think. 

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?” 

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.” 

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave. 

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.” 

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.” 

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?” 

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.” 

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.” 

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.” 

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.” 

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.” 

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”  

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.” 

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you. 

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.” 

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you. 

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it. 

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground. 

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you. 

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him. 

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force. 

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead. 

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake. 

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms. 

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment. 

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.” 

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers. 

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron. 

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!” 

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours. 

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete. 

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.” 

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name. 

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die. 

-

You wake up in the hospital alone.  

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you. 

The real surprise is that you wake up at all. 

Lucas is dead. 

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded. 

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real. 

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life. 

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day. 

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all. 

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life. 

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind. 

He was going to kill you. 

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU. 

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner. 

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him. 

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you. 

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside. 

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly. 

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.” 

“And how long have I been here?” 

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.” 

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask. 

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…” 

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.” 

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.” 

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.  

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?” 

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start. 

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.” 

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.” 

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.” 

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!” 

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.” 

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—” 

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same. 

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life. 

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.” 

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues. 

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number. 

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.” 

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner. 

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.” 

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together. 

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.” 

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.” 

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit. 

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.” 

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.” 

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.” 

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out. 

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume. 

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.  

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.” 

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down. 

“Okay.” 

And he stays. 

This time, he stays.

[twstfanblog]

*~Period Drama~*

A/N: This was a funny idea I had and Now I'm gonna do another series with my Yuu OC. Note that I write most of the cast in a platonic sense with my OC because that's how their story formed. I'm fully open to doing requests with characters in a romantic sense. Word Count: 4.7K Warnings: Period mentions, allusions to sexual assault (They are assumed, nothing actually happens), She/They OC Pronouns Pairings: Azul/Reader (Poly), Jamil/Reader (Poly) Enjoy! Start (Here), Part 2 (Octavinelle), Part 3 (Heartslabyul), Part 4 (Savanaclaw), Part 4.5 (Diasomnia pt.1), Part 5 (Diasomnia pt2)

Yuu was forgetting something, she knew she was. But sitting in her pjs on a Saturday morning, an over-filled bowl of sugary cereal in hand, she couldn't be bothered to really care.

It was shaping up to be a good day too. None of the staff needed her help with anything, her friends all had their club meetings, and the kitchen was stocked with easy-to-grab snacks for Grim. the cat monster himself had even started his homework on Friday night with minimal fighting. Literally, nothing could be wrong, but she still felt uneasy. They woke up feeling weary and oddly bloated.

With an inquisitive expression, she taps her spoon against her bowl. They really hoped they weren't going to spend all day in a strange sense of deja vu…

Then she sneezed and everything made sense. Yuu blinks, moving back to pull the seam of their pj pants, looking down as they groan, "Ah, shit…"

Azul loved Saturdays, they were his biggest money-maker days. Students came to the Mostro Lounge either to get a head start on homework, grab a drink after practice or clubs, or merely have a freshly cooked meal. It also was the day he had most of his workforce available so he could spare the time to walk around campus or catch up on his own paperwork.

But, what he's trying to do was gather his courage and think up a plausible enough reason for him to go visit his date-mate. Not that he usually needed one, they were very vocal about how he was always a welcomed presence in their company.

But, Yuu had been…easily irked? Prickly? Upset. Yuu had been upset for most of the week but anyone who questioned their mood was quickly shot down. The prefect would then tensely state they weren’t mad and then questioned why people thought they were mad. Sure they had a very intense resting bitch face but who didn't at Night Raven? (He's fairly certain you needed to either be handsome or have the most terrifying resting bitch face to be admitted to this school).

So he wasn't too pressed about his date-mate's mood until Floyd said something. He had come into the back office pouting of all things, saying 'Shrimpy smelled off'. They had also punched him when the eel merman attempted to pick them up, which wasn't normal.

Jade handled his twin, trying to cull Floyd’s decreasing mood, while Azul opened a few text chats to ask if anyone had caused Yuu reason to want to kill someone. The genuine confusion and concern that answered back only made him more uneasy.

Now, on a sunny Saturday, Azul made the long journey toward Ramshackle. With an obscure board game tucked under his arm and a bag of exclusive gummy candy in hand, he was on a mission to improve his dear pearl’s mood.

Or he was until he was suddenly being dragged down the dirt road in a different direction. He yelped and shouted, trying to angle himself to see what was pulling him through the mud and sticks. The answer was Sam’s shadows, the black willowy wisps quickly yanking him into the shop and setting him on his feet. Azul looks down at his outfit, scowling at seeing the dirt and grass stains. Sevens, did he rip his slacks?

“Lil fish.”

Azul jolts, eyes wide and semi-fearful at Sam’s echoing tone. The man stood behind the counter, a number of medical supplies laying across the surface as his nails gripped at the wood. Sam’s eyes were wide, pupils pinprick as his amethyst orbs almost glowed under all the shadows. Speaking of shadows…Azul looks around the shop, feeling actual fear stir in him. The shadows were everywhere, zipping through the aisles, slithering in and out of the back room, and some were even racing out of the shop, “Uh…Yes, Sam? H-how can I be of assistance?” He didn’t stutter, he refuses to admit he stuttered.

“Do you know what a pad is?”

…

“Like…Like a notepad or-”

“NO!” Sam slams his fist onto the counter, the lights of the near-endless shop flickering wildly at the force of it. He rests his face in his hands, paying no mind to his makeup and hat that fell to the counter. Looking up, his intense stare was replaced with one of desperation, “You’re killing me here, kid. Look, if you know what a damn pad is, just tell me where to get one! I know you and the lil pup talk!”

“I swear, I have no clue what you’re talking about, sir.” Sevens, had Azul ever felt scared of Sam? He didn’t like this, why was his fellow businessman so frazzled? What kind of pad was he talking about? Why couldn’t he find it and assumed Azul would know where and what the damn thing was?

Sam groans, hands running furiously through purple-tinted lock braids. With a snap of his fingers, the wisps all stop. Either quickly entering the shop or bleeding into the shadows to hide once more, “Look just…Go see the prefect. They called me asking for sanitation pads? That’s the business name they told me anyway…That and just…a lot of pain potions.”

Azul clicked out of his confusion, growing nervous at the potions request, “I…wait are they hurt? Shouldn’t they be in the infirmary?”

“I suggested that, but they insisted they didn’t need to go, just the potions. I’m sending them over soon, Crewel is due to deliver my order in an hour or two. I’ll send him over after ya once he gets here.” Sam grumbles under his breath as Azul rushes out of the store. ‘Primadonna dog hates when I call him while he’s brewing…’

Azul pulls his phone from his pocket, sending a text to both Jade and Floyd. Yuu was in pain, they had requested something called a ‘sanitation pad’? Whatever those were. By the name he could only guess they were used for cleaning of some kind. He sent the twins a message to meet him at Ramshackle ASAP, potentially 119 status. Yuu had always joked about the Octavinelle trio being the first ones they’d call if they needed to hide a body. But, it seemed when it came time for them to actually make the call, the poor thing must have been overwhelmed. He could only think they had done it in self-defense, but the cause didn’t matter. There wasn’t going to be a body in a few hours.

Halfway through the woods to Ramshackle, he hears other footsteps hurrying to catch him. Looking over his shoulder, he raises an eyebrow at the extra amount of people, “Why are they here?”

Ace, Deuce, and Jamil all kept a quick jog behind Floyd and Jade’s long-legged walk. Floyd rolled his eyes, pointing behind him with his thumb, “I was at practice. Crabby and Sea Snake saw the text and wanna help lil Shrimpy too…”

Deuce raises a hand, "I saw them leaving the gym on my way to track practice. Yuu's my classmate and friend, it's only right I help them."

Jamil hisses under his breath, side-eyeing Azul as he sped up to walk beside him, “Plus, they’re my date-mate too, asshole…”

Rolling his eyes, Azul sighed, waving Jamil’s attitude off, “Yes, yes. We can meet with Draconia later about our timeshare lover's crimes. But for now, we need to go and assist them with the dead body I’m sure is on their property.”

Ace sighs, relaxing more as he leans back, arms folding behind his head, “Yuu finally did it, huh?”

“I mean…They can only threaten to murder someone so many times before they’d snap…” Deuce pipes up, rubbing the back of his head, almost dreading getting blood on his uniform again.

Floyd giggled, “I can’t wait to see who Shrimpy squeezed~. I bet they made it real messy!”

“Hmm…I wouldn’t put it past Yuu to kill someone via strangulation. But their MO seems to lean more toward bludgeoning.” Jade smiles to the group, eyes closing in barely hidden glee, “If anything clean up will at least be interesting if we’re just dealing with some blood splatter and a puddle!”

 Ace and Deuce wince, watching Floyd, Azul, and Jamil simply nod at Jade’s examination.

The mood was instantly broken once they came into view of Ramshakle. Floyd and Jade tensed, their smiles dropping off their faces before racing toward the dorm as two teal-colored blurs. Azul shouted, only to choke on his tongue at the smell. Blood. His nose wasn’t anywhere as sensitive as Floyd's or Jade’s but even at this distance, he could smell the sharp iron smell. He jogged to catch up with his dormmates, his expression of panic causing the other three to speed up as well.

All he could smell was Yuu’s blood. Sharp and salty, but spiced and sweet because of their diet. A hint of some type of alien fragrance that no one could place and Yuu couldn’t name mixing it all together perfectly. And that was all he was smelling, not even a hint of another person’s blood.

When the rest of the group had made it to the front porch, Floyd was pounding on the door, eyebrows creased while Jade searched the bushes for the hidden key, “Shrimpy! Open up! Shrimpy!”

Jade’s fingers had just grazed the false rock when the door’s locks clicked open. Floyd swung the door so hard it nearly sent Grim into the hallway wall. The feline monster kept to the ground, eyes wide and teary with fear, “Yuu’s bleeding all over everything and they won’t tell me why!”

Deuce was the only one who had the mindset to scoop Grim into his arms, the rest of them instantly rushing up the stairs toward Yuu’s bedroom. The sound of their footsteps pounding on the floor echoing in the house, each of them calling out in panicked voices. Azul could only grow increasingly worried, the scent of blood growing stronger and stronger.

Jade slams the door open, Ace instantly diving into the bed and startling Yuu awake.

“The-The fuck- hello?”

Ace cupped their face, using what medical lessons Riddle had drilled into his head to see if they had a visible injury, “Yuu! Can you hear me? We were calling you all the way downstairs- Ay!” He tumbles off the bed when Yuu shoves him aside, dark eyes glaring down at the redhead.

“Yeah, I was sleeping. Why are all of you in my house?”

“We smelled blood shrimpy!” Floyd kneeled onto the bed, sniffing around trying to find the main source of blood. Ignoring or nipping at Yuu’s hands trying to shove his face away from her body.

Azul stepped forward, eyes roaming in barely concealed haste, “Sam sent me over. He was worried by a request you had called him about? It’s sent him positively spiraling.”

Yuu raises an eyebrow, having given up on getting Floyd off their bed and wrapping an arm around him instead, “Yeah I was about to ask. Octobaby, what truck did you get dragged behind and did you at least get the license plate?”

Whatever positive flow of atmosphere that was building ended, Floyd grasping the duvet covering them and pulling, “Shrimpy, where are you bleeding-”

A single tug was all it took for Yuu’s bottom half to be flashed. They all look in stunned silence. Fresh red blood on a series of towels under them, a smear on the inside of their bare legs. Yuu shouts but none of them respond, minds spiraling at what could have possibly happened.

“Floyd! By the Seven, I’m not wearing any pants!” Yuu snatches the blanket back, draping it over their legs with a huff. They turn to Floyd only to have their face gripped harshly. Floyd stared at them with a dead expression, his single golden eye almost glowing with the force of his anger, “Floyd?”

“Who?”

“Wha-”

“Who?”

“Floyd.” Jade’s hands come into view, pulling Floyd’s grip off of their face and his brother off the bed. Jade was no better, a pleasant smile on his face but eyes wide and void of any emotion, “It’ll do no good to pressure them into telling us. Let us let our two professionals deal with this. The two of us can brainstorm methods of...disposing of the unsavory culprit once we have a name or description.”

Yuu watched them slowly leave the room. Floyd just barely letting Jade pull him along as his expression started to finally morph into a look of anger. His fists clenched as he gritted his teeth, body so tense his movements were more shaky than his normal loose glide.

Looking beside them, Yuu catches eyes with Ace and Deuce. Ace quickly turned away, a hand covering his mouth as a single tear slid down his cheek and his shoulders shook. Deuce was no better, gripping Grim in his arms as he hiccuped softly with just barely contained sobs. He looked like he was fighting back the urge to go into 'delinquent mode'.

Jamil finally moves, a hand on each of Ace's and Deuce's shoulders, guiding them to the door. Softly pushing them out too once Jade had managed to pull Floyd out of the room, “Let us talk to them…We’ll…we’re gonna figure this out…”

Yuu watches stunned as Azul walks toward them as though he was approaching a wounded animal; softly, with just a hint of fear and pity, “Azul…What’s-?”

“It’s ok.” Jamil closed the door, still facing it so Yuu wasn’t sure if he was saying it to them or mumbling to himself, “It's…It’s ok, you’re gonna be fine…”

Azul had finally reached them and they could clearly see the unshed tears in his eyes, “It’s not your fault. This is not your fault, do you hear me?” He ran his fingers through their hair, his other hand gently cupping against her cheek as his thumb shakingly caressed their skin. He opens his mouth, closing his eyes while he sighs a shuddering sob. Gathering his wits again he opens his eyes, a fiery determination glowing in them, “We’re here for you, my pearl.”

“Wha…?” Yuu could only wrap their arms around Azul, the merman diving to embrace her in what had to be the most protective hold he could do with just his two arms. It felt safe and sturdy, like a cool blanket was wrapped around their body. While it was welcomed, Yuu only grew more confused feeling a wet spot start to form on their shoulder where Azul’s face had snuggled into, “I’m…very confused…”

“Yuu.”

If Azul wasn’t holding them, they would have jumped off the bed. Jamil stood right next to them with a blank expression. His face pulled into a mask of neutrality, but his eyes were steely, an ice-cold fire in them waiting to find a victim.

“Who. You can tell me, you can trust me. We’ll handle everything, you won't even have to look at the bastard unless you want to beat him to death yourself.” He kneels on the bed, his hand moving to touch her covered thigh before retreating, a pinched expression breaking his mask before it was back in place, “You have to tell us who did this to you, hayati.”

Did what to them?

Yuu stared at Jamil, blinking when he finally had to look away to bite his lip. He looked to be holding back tears, fully turning around to put his face in his hands to mutter under his breath. ‘How could he let this happen? Why couldn’t he have just one thing with nothing to ruin it?’ a teary sob of ‘Do they not trust him?’

“My pearl?” Azul pulls his face away from their shoulder, sniffling before he removes his glasses briefly to wipe his tears, “Do you…Would you like me to draw you a bath? This can’t be comfortable-”

“Azul!” Jamil whipped around, glaring at the merman, sparing them a worried glance before turning back to Azul and whispering heatedly, “They can’t take a bath until they get checked, you moron!”

“What’s there to check Jamil!? We can all clearly see what happened! Why put them through the extra…extra poking and defilement when we know what happened!?”

“Because we need evidence!”

“What we need is a name! Or a description! I’m not even going to entertain the idea of bringing this to a court. We have plenty of manpower on campus to bury whoever did this 12 times over.”

“Excuse me, what the fuck are you guys talking about?” Yuu spoke up, eyes glancing between the two of them, “Because if you mean the bleeding, that’s pretty standard at this point.” Maybe they just…forgot they had a vagina? Boys normally didn’t react well to period talk in the first place, but this was an all-boy school and Yuu was more non-gendered than female-gendered. Maybe they just honestly forgot.

But, what they said had only made things worse, both Azul and Jamil looking at them in absolute horror. Standard. This was normal. This had happened multiple times already.

Azul starts to openly sob, wrapping himself around them in a way to keep everything else away, nuzzling his head into her neck and whimpering out apologies. Jamil covered his mouth, a look that Yuu could only call devastation on his face before he stood from the bed to pace the room. Mutters grew in volume and speed before Yuu finally realized what they thought had happened.

“Oh. OH!” They quickly pull Azul from their neck, hands pressed to both his cheeks to keep him looking into their eyes, “Sevens! Guys no! That isn’t what this is, I promise! No one hurt me like that!”

“You expect us to believe that!?” Jamil turns on them, eyes wild and red with held-back tears. He gestures to the bed, alluding to the mess of blood under the covers, “What else could this possibly be!? Why are you trying to defend them!?”

“Jamil, I’m on my period!” Yuu looked back at Azul once her words seemed to hit Jamil, “It’s just my period. No one hurt me. I’m…well, not fine. Periods are a bitch. But not that…I swear it wasn’t that.”

No one made a sound past Azul’s labored breathing, the merman’s expression slowly morphing from one of despair into confusion. Once his breathing was finally under control, he pulled Yuu’s hands from his face, a single brow raised, “Your…your period?”

“Yeah…It’s just my period.”

Jamil pulls a face, eyes looking down as his brain worked to understand what Yuu was saying, “...Like the punctuation?”

Yuu frowned, turning to Jamil, “Don’t you act fucking dumb with me.” They press a kiss to Azul’s forehead, letting him slump against their chest, not seeing the gears turning in his head, “You and your sister are basically the same petty soul shared between two bodies. You know what a period is Jamil.”

The two mages catch eyes across the room, both…so painfully confused. Azul takes his time to finally untangle from Yuu, giving a small smile and patting hesitantly at the blanket, “O-okay…A period…right?”

At Yuu’s annoyed nod, Jamil sniffs, checking that he hadn’t cried before looking over to the door, “And…Najma will know. You’re sure she will?”

“I mean basically every girl gets a period so I would think so Jamil…”

The two boys share another look, communicating in a way Yuu hadn’t learned to do with them yet before they turn back to them with those soft, weak smiles. Azul caresses their face again, saying they should go back to sleep and that someone will bring up something to eat later on. It was slow, they clearly didn’t want to leave, but they both closed the door behind them. They share another look in the hallway, nodding before moving to regroup with the others.

The contained chaos they walk in on was almost comical if the reason wasn’t so mortifying. Jade had a hand gripped on each of Floyd’s shoulders while they took up the loveseat, whispering to the taller eel as he held him back. The whispers growing in intensity as his eyes widened in manic glee every time Floyd growled and moved to pull out of his brother’s hold. Ace was leaning against the wall, anger clear on his face as his nails bit into his forearms. He was the only one who looked up when they walked into the room. Deuce sat on the couch, curled around who they could only think was Grim, his shoulders shaking with barely contained cries.

Ace speaks up first, calling everyone else’s attention to their entry, “Well? Who’s the bastard we’re hunting down?”

Jamil and Azul pause, Jamil looking to the side and sighing, “They say nothing happened-”

“They’re lying!” Grim cries from Deuce’s arms. 

The spade Heartslabyul soldier sniffles, raising his head to look from over the couch, “Grim said they’ve been bleeding since this morning. From before he woke up…”

Jamil pulled out his phone, already dialing his sister, “They said Najma would know what’s going on…They were…so sure nothing…happened…”

Ace opened his mouth to yell only to be cut off at the sound of Najma picking up the line on speakerphone.

“Jamil? What’s wrong, you never call me?”

“...” Jamil gulped, gripping his phone before speaking, “Najma, I need you to be completely honest with me. Swear on your life levels of seriousness. Do you know what a period is?”

“...Like the punctuation?”

Azul bit his lip, a hand moving to cover his mouth and start to pace around the room. He walks closer to Jade and Floyd to explain, the two eels listening to his quick words in clear confusion.

“I…Najma, something happened. Is it…normal to…” He let out another sigh, almost wishing it would take his soul with it, “Is it normal to bleed…out of your vagina?”

The beat of silence almost gave Jamil hope. Maybe it was some super secret girl thing that no male was allowed to ever know about. Maybe everyone in the room would have to be killed once Najma confirmed its existence. He knows he would at least prefer that over the alternative.

“Jamil, what the fuck? No!? No, that's not normal!? Jamil who do you know that’s bleeding out of their-”

“Don’t have time, I’ll call you back once this is all settled.” He’s never hung a phone up so fast. It quickly rings again, but he just declines Najma’s call and silences his phone. Now looking around, everyone else in the room is just as confused if not more so than he and Azul were.

“...What?” Jade tilts his head to the same degree his brother does while they both study Jamil, each trying to find…something in the conversation they just heard.

Azul spoke up, leaning his elbow against the fireplace, a hand coming up to rub at his temple, “They said they were simply on their period and that this was normal. They were also very certain Najma would confirm this sentiment, claiming it was a natural thing girls did.”

Deuce sat in thought, his brain working overtime to try and piece together the information they had, “Maybe…Uh…Wait, I can ask my mom!”

“What is your mom gonna know, Deuce!?” Ace hissed, more frustrated than actually angry.

“I don’t know, she’s like...an older girl? Maybe she knows more about it than Najma would?”

“...” Jade looks toward Azul with a shrug, “It’s another source of information. We’re literally going in blind with this.” He looks down in worry, feeling Floyd relax in his arms. His brother wasn’t calm by any means, more so his mood had finally reached so low that his homicidal urges couldn’t properly latch onto it. He just kept Floyd in his arms, holding his taller brother under his arms as though he was a cat.

Deuce pulls out his phone with one hand, the other keeping a grip on Grim as the monster whines. It only took a very rings before the phone was answered again.

“Hi, Deuce! I was just about to send you a text. I found this new cafe and they make the cutest parfaits-”

“Mom, that’s cool. Send me a picture later but. Um…I got a really weird and private question to ask you-”

“Deuce, we talked about this sweetie. There’s nothing wrong with liking certain things-”

“NOT THAT, NOT THAT!” He blushes, quickly cupping his phone away from view of the others. He whispers his question into the receiver, waiting with bated breath when the other line was quiet.

“Sweetie. Am I on speaker?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“That isn’t…that isn’t something that should be happening. Is this…Deuce, is this about your friend Yuu?” At the affirmative, she continued, “I know you said they weren’t from around…anywhere really. But you boys need to tell your teachers about this. Whoever told them this was normal lied to them.”

The nervousness returns, everyone sharing a look, Deuce thanking his mom before hanging up the phone. Pass the stray sigh or muffled rambles no one spoke, each one of them was scared to voice their theories. Everything easily pointed toward…assault. But Yuu was such a level of certain that it was hard to deny the doubt that grew at the idea. There were magical ways of getting the truth out of people, they had Jade and Jamil, so it wouldn't be hard. But none of them wanted to break the trust Yuu had given to them. Not to mention the small chance that something did happen, and forcing Yuu to recount the horrible situation was cruel even by Night Raven standards if they were trying to actively suppress it. 

It seemed like they sat in silence for hours before they all heard the front door slam open, footsteps quickly stepping through the hall before a signature black and white coat filled the doorway. Crewel stood with one hand on his hip, the other impatiently tapping his crop against his leg.

“Ok, what’s going on? I’ve had students running around terrified from Sam’s shadows. I go to see Sam to ask about it and he informs me that he sent you runts to check on my puppy.” Crewel looks around the room, his frown turning into a scowl before he schools his expression again, “And there's no sign of my puppy in this pack of dogs, so what’s happened?”

After a prolonged silence, Ace groaned, deciding to bite the bullet since no one else wanted to, “Yuu’s bleeding from…from their vag and won't tell us why.”

…

“...” Crewel stepped to the side, light gray eyes seeming to look past all of them while he used his crop to point down the hall, “Get out.”

“Sensei-”

“Get. Out.”

The scramble they did out of the room was like a pack of dogs released into the wild, each of them refusing to meet the glacier-level stare of their teacher as they ran past. They didn’t leave Ramshackle property, choosing to instead stand outside and wait to be fully dismissed.

Crewel took the stairs two at a time, flinging Yuu’s bedroom door open. The sound of it slamming into the wall made Yuu groan in protest. He walks to the bed and sits, a hand instantly brushing their bangs back to alert them to his presence. He couldn't tell through his gloves, but they had seemed flushed, “Puppy? Puppy, talk to me. What's happening? I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Yuu hums, just barely getting back to sleep before Crewel woke them up again. A hand pressed to their lower stomach and grumbled, “Hmmmm….Period…” “...Pup. What’s a period, explain it to me.” He keeps his hand in their hair, petting in a way to soothe both of them if needed. Period, Yuu clearly wasn’t talking about punctuation. All his mind could reach then was that period was speaking of a state of time. Meaning this was something that happened on some type of schedule.

Groaning, Yuu sits up, letting her head rest against Crewel’s shoulder, “Period, monthly bleed and all that. It’s girl stuff, you know biology, Crewel…”

Taking her in his arms, Crewel rubs at their back. Monthly…It’s at times Crewel is made painfully aware of how lacking he and the rest of Night Raven College were in knowledge about Yuu’s biology. “Yuu…That’s not a thing in Twisted Wonderland.” He can feel the moment they tense up, letting them pull back to look at him.

Yuu stares at their pseudo-father, eyes searching for some sign of the past hour being nothing but a really bad joke. Seeing none, they feel a cold realization hit, “Oh…Well, this is gonna be a real interesting time…”

[vacayisland]

Alright I’m giving ya three request- you can do one, all, none- doesn’t matter lol. I’m just obsessed with trolls

Clay x Nerdy! Troll! Reader

Aight, now this reader met Clay while he arrived in Putt Putt village. (Your choice for gender) They are a complete dork, clumsy, always excited to do serious stuff. But also a little insecure knowing they can get a little out of hand with overthinking/overexcitement

@!; You're my "hole-in-one" Clay / Nerdy! Troll! Reader

"Summary"! Clay meets someone who can finally keep up with him and his... outlandish ways in helping Viva run Putt Putt village. Some could say it's a match made in heaven. He says it was simply his "lucky stroke". "Tags"! literally one too many golf puns (only in the title and summary), Clay and Reader being dorky together, literally just fluff, maybe a little hurt but then fluffed out!

@!; You had been one of the trolls that came to the Putt Putt village with Viva; having gotten trapped in the tunnels as they collapsed, there was no where else to go other than with the Princess. It was a small populace when you all found the abandoned gulf course and decided to call it home. And though your numbers slowly grew, it would be years before an outside Troll would come across the Village. "Did you hear?" You woke up one morning to the sounds of murmuring in the street, trolls glancing around at each other in a skeptical manner. Whispering like a Bergen was on the brink of finding the village. "I didn't think any Pop troll would come out this far!" Whispered another Troll nearby as you tried to catch what everyone was saying. It was harder to do so here, as everyone was slightly more weary and reserved than normal Pop Trolls. "And nevertheless ask to stay in our village..." There was a beat, "What if he's spying for the Bergens? What if the Bergens found everyone again and there was some sort of agreement made?" "Do you really think the King would do something like that?" All the rumors were a little insane, you had to admit. Most were logical, sensible and reasonable. Others just made you scrunch your nose and turn away; questioning if people could really think that way. Either way, all you knew is that you had to meet this new Troll! You doubted they could be a spy, as the Pop Trolls didn't exactly know where the others in the tunnels went... or even knew if we had survived. So the most logical answer is that they just happened to stumble onto this village without realizing who inhabited it. So, they shouldn't mean any harm.

@!; In the long run, you had been right! Clay didn't mean any sort of harm. In fact, Viva seemed rather excited to welcome him into the village with open arms and a big smile. It put most of the other Trolls in the village at ease seeing Viva deeming the newcomer as friendly, and saw no reason to draw any sort of suspicion onto him. You met Clay later than you wanted, a few weeks into his stay at the village. In fact, you had to be introduced to Clay for the two of you to even meet. "Oooh, (Y/N)!" Viva's voice carried through the small 'serious' office you had made yourself. Viva had always been the outgoing one, the social one; the one who everyone would turn to because she knew what to say or do and how to make everyone feel better! You were the brains behind it all, at least before Clay got introduced. You ran the logics of every outing and reconstruction of buildings. You made sure the food supply would last and that any part or sing-out wouldn't be heard by anyone nearby. You ran everything in the background that allowed everyone to be safe and you did so not because you were told... but because you genuinely enjoyed it. Filling papers, sorting folders, punching in numbers, thinking over statistics and finding out that hidden number! Oh it could make you happier than singing any sort of song; Pop, Country, Funk or any other genre. Many Trolls didn't get it, your love for crunching numbers. They would rather sing and socialize, but you didn't need their approval. You had your happy place within numbers and the smell of vanilla folders and they had there's outside handing and whatnot. Which is why when Viva said the new Troll, Clay, wanted to come help work in the office, you were shocked! "You want to help me?" Dumbfounded, even, as you started at the door while helplessly pointing at yourself. Viva couldn't help but giggle as your look, your jaw at the ground, as Clay shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Yeah." He seemed a little nervous, "Of course, if that's okay with you. I wouldn't want to encroach-" "Encroach?" You voice suddenly boomed, now to Clay's shock. "Encroach?! I've always been looking for someone to help me here! It gets a little lonely sometimes-.. My friend, as long as you can crunch numbers and be okay with sorting vanilla folders by month and year and preforming probability equations with me you can saw we're already more than partners!" Clay let out a surprised yell as you rushed over and hugging him. Viva let out another bit of laughter, always getting a kick of seeing you so excited. "We're practically friends! Maybe best friends- wait. Wait! Too soon, ah I'm so sorry." Clay's feet hit the floor again with a small thump as you backed away from Viva and him. "Where are my manners, I'm sorry, I-" "Don't get turned off by them Clay. They're just very excited about their job." Viva tried to explain, watching as you had stumbled over your feet while backing away from the two; bumping into your desk and knocking over papers and pencils and pens. Clay couldn't help but feel all his nerves leave him at once. He had a feeling you both would get along just great.

@!; From that day on, you worked along side Clay behind the scene for Viva and the village. Not many Trolls understood what drew you two to the more slow paced life, but you found comfort in each other's understanding. Now, after some time, Clay knew about your habits to get over excited about your job; he found it both endearing and a little cute. Such as he came back from checking the economic logistics about rebuilding a building to find you hard at work at your desk. You were scribbling down letters in a hurry, scratching out numbers that didn't work and rewriting numbers in an effort to get the correct answer. There was already a pile of paper in the trash beside you. Clay wasn't sure if it was the oh-so determined look on your face that caused him to stop and watch, his clipboard still in hand, or the way your effortlessly calculated numbering in your head. The way your eyebrows furrowed every time you got the incorrect answer. The way you crumpled up a paper with rage and tossed it off to the side before returning to work with it all gone. It just drew Clay in for some reason and he couldn't understand it. You just had such and odd effect to him he hasn't felt before. "Ah! FINALLY!" Your shout snapped him out of his thoughts as you shot up from your chair like a rocket; causing the chair to lose balance and tumble down, crashing onto the floor and scaring you. Flustered, you rushed to pick up the chair. You didn't notice Clay until he started chuckling besides you, "Finally got the right number there?" It was a tease, a light jab from Clay. Though he didn't expect your sudden acknowledgement of his presence would cause the chair to go tumbling again. "Are you..?" As amusing your overexcitement could be, paired with how flustered you got afterwards, Clay was kind of concerned about the chair. And you. He was also concerned about you. "Yes! I'm good. I'm good.." You fiddled with your fingers, a dorky yet embarrassed smile spread cross your face as your eyes darted from Clay to the paper on your desk. "I just-..." You stopped yourself, chewing at the corner of your lip. "Go on, what happened?" Though Clay encouraged you, not bothered by your excited nature and your clumsy tendencies. "Ah! Okay!" There was that brighter smile Clay always adored on you, "So while you were gone I opened a request from Viva, and at first I thought it was going to be something like checking the speakers or the mechanics on the clown to see how long they'll take before rusting. But actually it was one of my favorite jobs! "Viva asked me, ME! To calculate how long we could all survive on the supplies we have here before there needed to be some sort of expedition for supplies." Clay didn't mind the way your voice bounced with such a lively tone, or the way you dancing on the tips of your toes with excitement, or how you jumped up and down while shaking your hands as you couldn't contain all the emotions bursting inside you. To Clay, that's what made you, well you! And he wouldn't change anything about you.

@!; Clay never thought he would find a day, though, where you would be doubting yourself this bad. He had gone out to take a five minute break from the office, leaving you to work in relative peace and silence. He only needed a stretch, some fresh air, and then he would be right back. It had only been five minutes, at least Clay thought it had. He guessed he did stop and talk to Viva about some projects, along with light chatter and making lunch plans with the three of them. It surely hadn't been that long!... or maybe it had. Clay found you holding the edge of your desk and gripping your pencil as though your life depended on it. Sure he knew you overthought a lot, as it was usually a reason why you got so overexcited when you get something right and prove yourself wrong. Yet he's never seen you like.. this. On the brink of tears, sitting on the edge of your seat, breath slightly ragged as you tried to calm it, looking down at the paper like you had lost all sort of hope and had failed everyone and they were long gone and eaten. it scared him. It really did. He didn't know what to do for a moment, and he later kicked himself in the ass for standing there and watching you struggle for so long, only rushing to your side when you fell off your chair. "(Y/N)! Hey! Hey, what's wrong?!" Clay rushed to your side, sliding to his knees to be right next to you and your shaking figure. He was terrified, but he needed to be strong for you in this moment. You weren't responding and Clay tried his best to remain as calm as he could. Slowly he reached his hands out, cupping over your hand that held a death grip on a pen. He tried slowly loosening your hold, carefully getting you to drop the pen you were holding onto the floor. He spoke softly to you while he did this, trying to get your mind to ground itself back to Earth, working on getting you to let go of the desk next. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I promise it's okay." Clay wasn't sure if you even heard him at this moment, yet he was going to do all it took to calm you down; you didn't deserve to hurt yourself like this. "I promise everything is okay. Whatever happened, whatever you're thinking, it's all okay. You're okay, the village is okay, there's nothing you cannot do..." Clay managed to break your hold from the desk and moved to hug you, tightly and securely. He continued to try and comfort you, bring you any sort of relief from whatever pain you were causing yourself. It was a while before he felt you wrap your arms around him, slowly hiding your head into his shoulder as you began to sob. It broke Clay's heart to hear you sob. It broke Clay more when your body began to tremble as you couldn't even begin to explain what you were feeling. You held so many big emotions for a Troll, Clay knew that all too well, and sometimes those big emotions were horrible and nasty and infesting. Clay wished he could protect you from those emotions, but logistically knew he couldn't. So he sat with you, on the floor of the small office, providing all the comfort you needed until you were okay again. And he'll be here forever; ready to stick with you through the thick and thin, the harsh and the best. All to be able to see your bright smiles and your excited little gimmicks and even your worse days. Clay loved you, and that's something no logic could deny.

.ᐟ this work is published and owned by @vacayisland. please do not plagiarize, copy, or steal this work; like, reblogs, and saves are appreciated :D

[discordantwritings]

Distractions (Benn Beckman x Reader)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, minor talks of cuts and blood, Benn has a hair pulling kink you can’t convince me otherwise, PiV sex

WC: 3.5k

Summary: As the doctor for the Red Haired Pirates you know there’s only so much you can do to curb their bad habits. But maybe you can help your favorite patient, Benn Beckman, kick his smoking habit with a bit of distraction.

Notes: for the lovely @fanaticsnail who is correct, Benn needs more love

“You already know what I’m going to say.” You tap your pencil on your clipboard, looking up at the grey haired man on your examination table.

“Doc, don’t start this again.” Benn’s tone is only slightly annoyed as he looks back at you.

“All that smoking is going to kill you.”

As a doctor on a pirate ship your life was all uphill battles that you were not going to win. Telling pirates to be less risky, drink less, and as is the case with this particular first mate to smoke less- all of these were battles you know you were not going to win. But it sure doesn’t stop you from trying, determined to be the annoying thorn in their side to at least make them stop and think before doing something stupid.

“Being a pirate is going to kill me, not the smoking.” Despite his tone a smirk sits on his face, he’s familiar with this song and dance you two engage in at the end of every regular check-up.

“I’m just trying to make sure you die of plain old age, alright? You know I expect the most from you Beckman, you’re the only responsible one around here.” You swivel around in your chair, placing your clipboard on your desk before standing.

“I think you’re wrong there.” Benn stands up as well reaching into his pocket to pull out his carton of cigarettes.

“Don’t you dare- not in my office!” You playfully hit him on the arm and he laughs.

“See- you’re the responsible one.” He twirls the carton in his hand, movements you’ve seen him use to spin his guns.

You roll your eyes but you can’t muster up any actual annoyance. “Maybe I am. But you’re a close second.”

Benn moves towards the door out of your office but hovers before he opens it. After a few seconds he turns back to you.

“But if I wanted to cut down- not quit mind you- just curb it. What would you suggest I do?” It takes all your professionalism not to grin from ear to ear that you had finally broken him down.

“Well, since we don’t have any nicotine substitutes one of your best bets is developing new habits.”

“You’ll have to explain a little more for me Doc.”

“Well, smoking is a whole ritual, right? You have to cut out the ritual around it and the best way to do that is to from some new rituals and habits. It’ll be good to think about some good distractions for when you feel cravings.” You explain, happy to see that he is actually listening to you.

“That does all make sense.” He shoves the carton of cigarettes back into his pocket. “I’ll try out your advice, but no promises, okay?”

“Just you trying means a lot to me.” You say honestly.

“Alright, alright. See you later Doc.” He waves and leaves you to take your next patient.

It’s only two days before Benn is back in your office, hovering in your doorway right after sunset. When you really look at him you sigh. A rag is wrapped around his hand and red is seeping through the white fabric near his palm. He gives you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for coming in right as you should be getting off for the day but-“ You are already right in front of him, delicately unwrapping the rag to assess the damage.

“Beckman what happened?” You tilt his hand to look at the deep gasp across his palm.

“Well, really it’s your fault.” He says as you guide him to sit before grabbing your supplies.

“My fault? Really?” Laying out your salves and antiseptics you shoot him a curiously look.

“I was trying to distract myself by sharpening up my daggers and, well…” He trails off but you can put two and two together.

“You’re not normally on the list of people I have to tell not to use weapons while they are of not sound mind.” Carefully you clean the wound, impressed with the way he doesn’t flinch as you do so.

“I didn’t think I was that out of it.”

“It’s your first day of cutting back.” You sigh as you get a clear view of the wound. “You’re really lucky this wasn’t any deeper. You still need stitches though.”

“Whatever you say Doc.”

Despite today’s events he was your best patient, never saying no when you tell him something needs attention. You thread up your needle and begin your work.

“Well, I guess pain is a distraction.” He jokes and if you were to look up you’d bet good money he was smirking.

“Don’t make this a habit Beckman. I can refuse to help you.”

“You would never. You’re too nice for your own good doll.” You have to bite the inside of your cheek to try and tamper your reaction to the pet name. It’s not often he uses them for you, almost always referring to you as “doc” or “doctor” but when he does it always makes your heart lurch into your throat.

It’s stupid, you know, having a crush on a pirate. Having a crush on someone you work with. But when he’s so kind and thoughtful and helpful and so damn handsome… well who could blame you?

“You really should let me teach you how to shoot one of these days.” He says after a few more moments of silence.

“You know my answer.”

“You really should know how to protect yourself.” There’s serious concern laced in his voice.

“I’m a doctor, I took an oath to do no harm.” You explain to him, like you have many times before.

“And you’re the only doctor working on a pirate ship who takes that oath seriously.”

You pull the last stitch tight before looking up at him. “I know but, the thing is I’ve never felt the need to protect myself on this ship. Sure I’ve felt in danger due to the sea but from other pirates?” You shrug. “I’ve never had any doubts you’d be there to protect me.”

There’s a few beats before you’ve realized what you’ve said.

“And Shanks and all the other crew.” You quickly add, darting your gaze away as you grab a bandage. He chuckles and you hope to whatever gods are out there you aren’t completely flushed.

“Well, can’t say I don’t like that answer.” He keeps his hand open as you wrap the bandage securely around his hand, wrapping it around a few more times for security.

“Now do your best to not break your stitches, alright?” You finally look up at him, matching his gaze.

“I’ll do my best.” He promises and you believe him. “But I’ll probably need a different distraction.”

“Yes you will.” You laugh. “Look I know it might be boring but I do need help sorting through the supplies I picked up last week when we were docked.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” His serious tone has you concerned for a second but you see that sly grin. “You’re just using me to do your dirty work.”

You gasp, mock offended. “You really think that low of me?”

“I would never think low of you. In fact, making me do your grunt work is very smart.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“No, seriously you do so much to help us all it’s only fair I help you.” His uninjured hand covers yours it’s in that moment you realize you never let go of his hand after bandaging it up. You freeze and feel your skin heating up somehow more than it already was.

“That’s- I mean- it’s my job you don’t owe me anything.” You don’t meet his gaze directly but don’t move your hand away either.

“It’s your job to help us if we get sick or injured in battle. It’s not your job to help us every time we get drunk and accidentally shoot or stab each other.”

“Very good point.”

He pats your hand before pulling both of his away and standing up. “Again, you’re too good. But I’ll be around tomorrow, alright doll?”

There was that damn pet name again and you fought the urge to melt into the floor. “Thank you Beckman.”

“Thank you Doc.”

It’s embarrassing how you count down the hours until he’s at your door again, knocking on the open door with his good hand. You’re already in the thick of organization, crates of bandages, medicines, and other supplies strewn about your office.

“Oh! Hi Beckman! C’mon in.” You stand up and begin gesturing around. “It’s a bit cluttered but trust me there’s a method to the madness.”

You go through and explain what needs to be done and Benn listens carefully, asking questions when he has them. The second you’re done he gets to work, following your orders perfectly. Well, that’s one of the many reasons why he’s an amazing first mate you suppose.

The two of you work together and have casual conversation for a few hours and the time flies by in his company. Before you know it you’re almost done and working side by side with Benn on the last few things.

“Did you redo your bandage today?” You ask as you get a good look at his hand.

“And miss the chance to have your capable hands do it?” He smiles as he hands you the final box of gauze you need to put away.

“Or I think you just forgot.”

“Maybe.” He admits and you get up to get fresh bandages.

“You’re lucky you already helped me with all this work or I might’ve handed you the bandages and sent you on your way.” You hop up on the exam table you had been using to sort supplies and take his hand, carefully unwrapping yesterday’s bandage.

“Didn’t we go over this yesterday sweetheart?” His smooth tone has your heart hammering in your chest.

Sweetheart. That was a new one.

“Yeah, yeah.” You try to play it off but you know you’re flushed. You busy yourself with replacing the bandage. “Anyways, how are you feeling? Did this help?”

“Hm? Oh the distraction thing.” He thinks it over a second, watching you bandage his wound. “Mostly.”

“Mostly? Still feeling the cravings?” You finish your work but selfishly still hold his hand in yours.

“Yeah. I mean working with you did the trick, don’t get me wrong but now that I think about leaving and going back out on deck…” He shrugs. “But I guess that’s just how it’ll go for a while.”

“It will. But I’m not kicking you out, you can stay here as long as you like.” You secretly hope he sticks around, his presence made your work faster and your heart lighter.

“You’re offering to keep distracting me?” There’s a tilt to his voice that makes your heart hammer in your chest.

“Ah- I mean-“ You kick yourself internally for being so easy to fluster. “If that helps.”

Benn chuckles. “Now you’re not thinking anything dirty are you?”

Well- none of those thoughts were at the forefront of your mind before that but now? You’re acutely aware of the fact the hand you’re holding is so close to your lap and how close his chest is to your knees.

“No?” Your attempt to lie was uniquely pathetic but it earns you another laugh.

“And if I was thinking something dirty, you wouldn’t think less of me would you doll?” He slowly stands up as he speaks, tall frame hovering over you.

“I would never.” Your voice comes out as a whisper as you stare up at him.

“You’re too good to me sweetheart.” The hand not in your lap is used to hold himself as he leans further over you, face closing in on yours. “But I gotta know this isn’t just a treatment plan.”

“No- Beckman-“

“Benn.” He corrects softly.

“Benn.” You repeat. “I want this. I want you.”

That’s all he needs before he closes the gap and kisses you. His lips are chapped but his kiss is soft and the hand in your lap moves to intertwine his finger with yours. His kisses you until you’re breathless, having to pull away to gasp for air. As you do he moves to your neck, pressing delicate kisses along the sensitive skin. Your free hand comes up and tangles in his long grey hair, anchoring yourself.

“Can I-“ You moan as he mouths against the curve of your jaw. “Confess something.”

“Anything.” He stops to look into your eyes.

“You look really hot when you smoke.”

There’s a pause where he process what you says before bursting into laughter, and you can’t help but follow suit.

“So that’s why you didn’t make me go cold turkey?” You feel his smile against your neck.

“I can be a little selfish.” His body is still a little too far away so you push your hips forward, able to just meet his. Benn groans against your neck as you feel his clothed length press against you.

“Doc, be as selfish as you want.” He adjusts his stance so he no longer has to lean on his hand and uses the now free arm to pull you flush with him. You automatically wrap your legs around his hips, moaning at the friction.

“Then can I selfishly ask for you to take your shirt off?”

“Of course.” He places one more quick kiss on your lips before pulling away and taking off his shirt. You can’t help but admire his frame- broad shoulders filtering down into a narrow waist.

“Don’t go giving me an ego now sweetheart, I’ll be as bad as our captain.” His fingers play at the hem of your shirt before pushing under, calloused finger tips splaying over your stomach.

“You could never.” You press up against his touch, needy. “C’mon Benn.”

His hands slide up and push your shirt up over your head and the second the fabric is past your face he’s kissing you again, deeper than before. Your legs grip tighter around his waist, chasing any friction you can get. His hands now push against the waistband of your pants and he breaks the kiss to whisper in your ear.

“Let up a second doll.” You obey without a second thought, unhooking your legs so he can yank your pants and underwear off, stepping away so he can fully snuck them off your legs.

Long fingers hold your thighs open as he hovers back for a second, getting a good look at your soaked core. Embarrassed you go to shut your legs but you’re not match for Benn’s strength.

“Don’t hide yourself from me.” He finally moves back in, slotting his hips against yours as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. There’s a hunger to his kisses now as you press your hips up and grind against him, moaning into his mouth.

You feel those long fingers dip down between your bodies and you let up on your grinding, inviting him in. Two fingers press into you and you break away from his kiss to throw you head back in a moan. His mouth moves to your neck as his fingers take you apart, curling in while his thumb gives you the pressure you need on your clit.

“Fuck- Benn-“ You hand comes up to grip in his hair and as he hits that spot inside you you pull on his hair.

His fingers falter for a second as he groans into your neck and you smile knowingly. “You like that?”

“Don’t tease me doll.” He redoubles his efforts, a third finger sliding in that makes you see stars.

You can only hold onto him while he takes you apart with just one hand, your moans filling the air as you get closer and closer to your peak. You slap his shoulder as you feel yourself on that edge, warning him.

“Hm? Don’t worry I can feel how close you are sweetheart, it’s alright I want you to cum all over my fingers. Can you do that for me?” His low voice is right in your ear and is all you need to be pushed right over the edge.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” Benn speaks to you softly as he slowly pulls his fingers out and you whine at the loss.

You watch as his holds his fingers up and you can see them covered in your slick. You’re about to be embarrassed and turn your gaze away but then his tongue darts out and licks and sucks away all of your cum. It’s hypnotizing the way he actually relishes in your taste and you feel a whole new wave of need wash over you.

“Benn- I need you in me now.” You pull his hair tight and he chuckles.

“Who am I to say no?” His hands quickly work at his pants, pulling them down just enough to release his cock, springing up to lay at your folds.

You can’t see his dick from this angle but you can feel it- long and veiny as Benn grinds between your folds. You moan as he ruts up against your clit but you’ve had enough teasing.

“Inside- please Benn.” You whine and he presses a surprisingly soft kiss to your cheek.

He guides his tip to your entrance and he easily slides in after all the work he did moments before. The two of you groan in unison as he slowly pushes in, careful not to hurt you. He stills when he’s full sheathed in you, his head resting on your shoulders as he pants.

“Sorry- fuck doll you just feel so good- need a second.” You feel him throbbing inside you and you run your hands through his hair gently, giving him the time.

“Take your time baby. Love feeling so full.” He seems to reach and fill every last inch of you and you soak up the feeling as he gathers himself.

“Gonna start moving.” He warns you just before he slowly moves out, the drag making your toes curl.

He’s slow and steady and you can feel every inch of him moving in and out of you. One of his hands is holding him steady against the table while the other is on your hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin there.

“You feel so good sweetheart- so warm and tight around me- knew you’d feel good doll.” He whispers loving praises into your ear as he thrusts and you grip the base of his ponytail to anchor yourself.

It’s not long before his pace picks up and you lock your legs around his waist as his thrusts get rougher and deeper. Your moans and the sound of his hips meeting yours fill your office, the lewdness of it all making your head spin.

“Fuck- I can feel you gripping me doll- you close? Keep- fuck- keep sounding like that I’m not gonna last long.” The hand on your hip moves and one of those damn fingers finds your clit again. You yank on his hair and grin at the way his pace stutters when you do so. “Just like that doll- please-“

You can’t deny him- not when he’s making you feel this good. You pull on his hair as your other hand grips onto his shoulder for dear life. Praise spills out of Benn’s mouth as he thrusts into you and works your clit and there’s nothing you can do but take what you’re being given. It’s not long before you feel your orgasm building up, vision blurring at the edges as you throw your head back.

“You’re almost there aren’t you sweetheart? Need to feel you cum around me- fuck- please doll.” He sounds so needy and at his demanding you’re pushed over the edge again, cumming around his cock.

“Shit-“ Benn spits out as he quickly pulls out of you and right as he does so you feel his warm cum splatter onto your hips and stomach.

The two of you catch your breath, still holding each other closely as you both figure out how to speak full sentences again. Benn’s the first to regain functions, pressing a kiss to your forehead before untangling himself from you. He walks away but you see him go over to your sink and wet a wash cloth, coming back over and cleaning you up. You hum in appreciation, kissing whatever skin of his you have access to as he works.

“So Doc, if I ever need a distraction…” His hands hold your hips as he looks down at you with a smile.

“Then you can come find me.” There’s a slight pause before you add on- “Preferably in a bed next time.”

The two of you laugh and you’ve never been so happy with a course of treatment.

[tightjeansjavi]

The Menu | Part 3

“a peggin’ a day keeps the doctor away”

A/N: grumpy, guard dog men like Joel Miller sometimes just need a cock up their ass, okay? Besides, he loves it. He told me so himself ;)

~word count: 5.3k~

pairing | dark!joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel has a request just for you. He wants you to fuck him with a strap on.

Warnings: smut, smut with little plot, dom/sub vibes, fingering (f receiving), anal play, strap on sex, handjob, oral to a dildo, unprotected p in v, possession, degradation, humiliation, some manipulation tactics on both sides, praise kink, possession, orgasm denial (male and female) cockslut, pretty girl, pretty boy, flirting, denial of feelings, some fluff and angst?? Mentions of drugs and smoking, teasing, flirting, gaslighting, insecurities, age gap, Joel is in his 40’s and reader is in her late 20’s, reader has no physical descriptions such as skin color and body type, readers nickname is Angel, one minor mention of religion, +18, NSFW, minors dni!

What was supposed to simply be a one-time fuck, turned into a normal routine for you and Joel Miller. In fact, you had completely lost track of how many times you showed up at his apartment searching for that vice that only he could supply you. Or the amount of times you’d give him a handy in a back alley, or allow him to finger you under the same table that he would conduct his business. There was something so thrilling about the possibility of being caught while his long, thick fingers scissored your tight hole, and his thumb simultaneously rubbed expertly tight circles against your neglected pulsing clit.

His freehand was occupied with divvying up a baggy of pills, while the FEDRA officer counted out a stack of ration cards and paid no mind to what was possibly taking place under the table just a few inches away.

“I’ll need the baggy back.” Joel spoke gruffly as the heel of his palm completely encaged your bare cunt. His fingers that were buried deep inside of you were dripping in your juices. It was a miracle that none had leaked down the side of his hand.

“Sure. Sure.” The FEDRA officer responded in a monotone voice as he stuffed the baggy of pills into his pocket.

Joel gave him a tight nod that sent the officer on his way. When the door to his apartment finally closed, Joel turned towards you as he curled his thick digits inwards.

“Was that the FEDRA fuck that you slept with before I split ya in two, Angel?” He inquired with a raise of his brow, and a smirk crawling up his lips.

“Mhm.” You nearly mewled and reached for his bare forearm. You sunk your nails into his skin while your other hand was clenched tightly around the side of the chair. “Can I please come now, sir?” You nearly begged him as you gnawed on your lower lip.

“Nope.” He chastised.

“Jooeel.” You whined out of frustration as you tighten your grip around his forearm. Your nails created little crescent moons indentations in his tanned skin.

“You can ‘Jooeel’ me all you want, Angel.” He mocked you, “But y’dont come till I say y’can. Y’know the rules.”

Your eyes narrowed into slits while his shit eating grin only seemed to grow bigger.

So, yeah, you and Joel fucked a lot. You saw his brooding stature everywhere you turned as if he was a lurking shadow covering your footsteps. More like gum stuck to your shoe.

The most irritating part of it all was that somehow, someway, Joel Miller was always there to save your ass. Hell, he was even saving you in your dreams.

And as the months droned by, you were beginning to spend more time in his shitty apartment then your own. A dead giveaway was your backpack that was filled with a change of clothes, toothbrush, and a spare pistol that Joel had personally lent you was inconspicuously placed alongside his bed.

“Y’plannin’ on movin’ in or somethin’, Angel?” He gestured causally to the backpack while he was undoing his belt.

“What are you talkin’ about, Joel? Why the hell would I—” your words were muffled as you tore your shirt over your head in a haste.

You swore you heard him snicker as his chin turned towards the direction of your backpack. “Mmkay. S’then what do you call that?” He tugged his jeans down his thighs and kicked them off to the side.

“Call what?” You played dumb as you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Okay, so maybe you did place it there on purpose.

“Don’t play fuckin’ dumb with me, Angel. That wasn’t there the last time you were here.” He grumbled under his breath and reached for your own jeans. He looped his thumbs through your jeans as he yanked you towards his chest. “What’s in there anyway. Your secret diary?” He said teasingly as his fingers moved swiftly to pop the button on your jeans and yank down the zipper.

“My secret diary? Really, Joel? I ain’t a teenager.” You scoffed and reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re just a bratty little—”

“Slut.” You deadpanned.

“Correct, but c’mon, whad’ya got in there?” He pressed with obvious curiosity as he tugged your jeans down over your hips.

“A change of clothes, toothbrush, and the pistol you lent me.” You responded casually while you slipped your hand beneath his tight briefs, grasping him firmly as your thumb swiped across the tip of his cock. “Y’got a problem with that, Miller?”

His breath caught in his throat as he lurched forward into the palm of your hand. His lower lip caught between his teeth as he suppressed a grunt from slipping past his lips. “Nope. S’not a problem at all.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You muttered under your breath just as you felt his fingers brush against your chin and tilt it upwards. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw ticked. Tension filled silence engulfed his unadorned bedroom. His eyes flickered down to your lips in contemplation.

Your hand stilled against his hardening length as you stared directly into his eyes. “I thought you don’t think about kissing bratty little sluts like me, Joel.”

“I don’t.” He scoffed before dragging his thumb across your lower lip. His nose scrunched under your scrutiny at the thought of kissing you. He wouldn’t. He’d never, so then why was he leaning in?

“Guess you do now, huh?” Your words were soft in comparison to the way that you were looking at him. Eyes hungry and twinged with curiosity to see if he actually would do it.

“Shuddup.” He grumbled low. His lips brushed yours before you found yourself reaching for his jaw to pull him in closer. Soon enough he was licking hungrily into your mouth with only one thought on his mind; asserting his dominance over you.

Your fingers tangled through the soft curls at the back of his neck as you pressed his back right up against the wall. Your teeth sunk down into the flesh of his lower lip as he shoved his hand between your thighs. You were a mess of symphonic moans by the time he redirected you to the bed.

He loved when you were pliant with his desires, and you loved the way he took what belonged to him.

Sweat tangled limbs, a hint of laughter when he accidentally pulled his hips back a bit too far and slipped out of your sopping cunt. He apologized with his face buried between your supple breasts as you grasped the base of his cock and pulled him right back in. Nothing was off limits on his menu. Doggystyle, missionary, reverse cowgirl, (one of his personal favorites) neither of you really had any complaints with any of the positions you partook in. Somehow, someway, Joel just knew how to fuck you stupid in all of them.

You thought that by now the older man would be fucked out as he lay panting on his back. Beads of sweat shine like polished diamonds on his skin. His eyes are closed, lips parted as puffs of air slip past them. You’ve made your mark on his body tonight. Long, red scratches raised on the scarred skin on his back. Teeth marks littered across his chest like constellations. A lovebite to his jaw, right between the patches in his beard. Another under his ear and at the base of his throat.

He hisses between his teeth when he feels your lips dance across his hip bone, teeth scraping the sweat soaked skin. Your tongue darts between your swollen lips as you soothe the bite mark with an open mouthed kiss.

He hums in satisfaction. His arm reaches lazily towards the nightstand as he plucks up one of the cigarettes he freshly rolled this morning and places it between his lips.

His eyes lazily drift down to your face where your cheek is now resting along one of his strong thighs and your fingers are lightly tracing across his stomach creating random patterns along his skin.

Joel would never consider himself to be an intimate man by any means, but whatever this was, he liked it more than he was willing to admit.

He reached his arm out once more, snatching up the rusted lighter before igniting the flame against the unlit end of the cigarette. He shifted slightly as he deeply inhaled the tobacco smoke before exhaling towards the ceiling. “C’mere.” He rasped low and deep.

Your body worked on autopilot as you pulled yourself up towards his chest. You flopped down beside him with your cheek pressed against his chest, right where you could feel his steady heartbeat. His arm dropped to his side before wrapping around your frame. Joel Miller did not hold hands, but his fingers laced through the top of yours. The sheer size of his hand encasing yours completely. He took another long drag from the cigarette as the familiar stench of tobacco smoke and post-sex filtered through the air.

Your lashes fluttered as your fingers subconsciously squeezed his own. Your thigh came to lazily rest across his hip as your foot gently brushed across his softened cock that laid against his thigh. He grunted low from the feeling before he offered you the cigarette.

“Still can’t break that nasty habit I see.” He broke through the silence as his eyes watched the way your lips wrapped around the tip of the cigarette.

You inhaled before exhaling to the side. “Mm. Nope. Picked up another nasty one along the way.” You murmured soft and sweet as your lashes fluttered shut once more.

You felt his chuckle rumble from his chest and up his throat. He knew exactly what that other nasty habit was.

After he finished what was left of the cigarette and doused butt-end of it into the ashtray on his nightstand, you felt his lips ghost across your forehead in an intimate sweep. “Got somethin’ I wanna show ya, Angel.”

Your immediate response is to groan because the mere thought of moving sounded godawful. “Joel, c’mon. Can it wait, please? I’m real comfy right now.”

“Y’dont gotta move, baby. Y’just gotta lay there and look nice and pretty for me, kay?” His freehand came to rest around your calf as he hiked your thigh up higher. “Or, I can just slip right back on into your little fucked out hole if y’dont wanna cooperate with me.”

God dammit.

“But, you’re my pillow.” You huffed out of annoyance.

“Gross.” He quipped back before gently releasing you from his grip. His fingers slipped out of your grip before he was sitting up and forcing you out of your comfortable position.

Despite your soft protests, he swung his legs over the side of the bed before standing up. You got a front row view of just how much you really shredded up his back, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. “Come back to bed, Jooel.” You grumbled into his pillow as your foot kicked out at his bare ass playfully.

Before you could even make contact, his hand grabbed your ankle firmly like the way a snake strikes at an unsuspecting mouse. “Watch it.” He warned with a glare.

“You’re no fun.” You pouted with mock disappointment

“And you’re annoying.” He scoffed before releasing your ankle from his grasp.

“Asshole.” You muttered before rolling over so your back was facing him.

“Brat.”

You thought about reaching for your discarded panties from the floor as his footsteps faded down the hall. You never once spend the night for unspoken reasons. It was the apocalypse after all. What was the point of attachment if there was no guarantee of survival? Seemed like a waste of time and energy.

With a heavy sigh you dragged yourself to the edge of his mattress and scooped up your panties and shirt before sitting up along the comforter.

Joel’s footsteps paused in the doorway when he saw you slip your panties on over your ankles.

“Y’dont have to leave y’know.” He had his own backpack in his hand as he leaned against the doorjamb.

“No, but I should get out of your hair and go home.” Your back was still facing him as you slipped your shirt over your head with a sigh.

Yeah, but I don’t want you to leave.

“C’mon, Angel. Jus’ stay a little longer, alright? Still got somethin’ to show ya. Aren’t you a tad bit curious?”

“Alright, show me what it is that you gotta show me, Joel. And then I’m heading home.” You finally agreed before turning on the comforter to face him. Your legs were crossed like a pretzel as he joined you on the mattress once more.

“So, Tess and I went explorin’ the abandoned mall. Y’know, the one at the farthest part of the QZ?” He unzipped the backpack while he spoke.

“Yeah, the one that is all boarded up because y’know, you’re not supposed to go in there because it’s crawling with infected? What the hell were you—”

He cut you off with a stern warning look and a tight shake of his head. “It ain’t crawlin’ with infected. FEDRA pushed ‘em all out of the QZ years ago. Now, as I was sayin’, we were explorin’ the mall. Which, by the way, you’d be amazed to see how much shit was left behind.”

“Well, yeah. I mean I doubt people were grabbin’ dildos and lingerie at the end of the world, Joel.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny, Angel. Aren’t you just one smart cookie?” He snorted under his breath.

“The smartest. Joel, you didn’t fuckin’ get me lingerie, did you? I swear to god—”

“Fuck no. Y’think I wanna be seein’ you in that crap? No way.”

Now I know exactly what I’m not getting her next time.

“Well, you don’t need to go and be a dick about it.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Okay, so you went to the mall and got what exactly? Just spit it out, Joel.”

“Y’really ain’t have one single patient bone in your body, huh?” He shook his head with a tight grin before he reached into the back. “Close your eyes for me.” He requested.

“Are you serious? Ugh, fine.” You decided to play along mostly because he looked pretty eager to show you whatever the hell was in his backpack. There was no harm in playing along.

Once he was satisfied that you weren’t going to peek, he shuffled around in the bag before pulling out a few items. One of the stores that was not raided at the end of the world was The Body Shop. It was stacked full of soaps, shampoos, and lotions. Shit was expensive, too. Joel couldn’t believe the amount of money that people would spend on this crap.

Tess made fun of him, of course as she watched him stuff his backpack with the fragrant soaps. “The hell do y’need all of that for, Texas? Are you trying to smell like a baby prostitute?

He glared at his female counterpart as he zipped his bag up. “It ain’t for me, Tess.”

“Alright, you can open your eyes now, Angel.”

You peeked your eyes open slowly because you really had no idea what the hell Joel Miller was about to show you. You raised a brow at the spread of body care products laid out on the bed. The older man looked pretty pleased with himself as he awaited your reaction.

“Soap? Oh, because you stink! Like, really though. How many times do you shower a day, Joel? Because seriously, you stink.” He really didn’t smell all that bad. But any opportunity you had to tease him a little, you pounced on it like a cat.

He was less than impressed. His jaw ticked and clenched as his eyes narrowed in on you. “I. Do. Not. Smell.” He enunciated every syllable to get the point across. “And they’re not for me, you idiot. They’re for you.” He grumbled in annoyance.

“For me?! Are you tryin’ to tell me that I smell Joel—”

“NO! You don’t smell—goddammit. I jus’ I don’t know! Thought maybe you’d appreciate some sweet smellin’ things in this shit hole! Is that so hard to believe?! He threw his hands up in the air exasperatingly. Before the outbreak happened he made no time in his personal life to get to know someone romantically. Between Sarah, Tommy, and his job, his hands were pretty full. That didn’t erase the fact that Joel was a natural giver.

“So, you got me soap and body care stuff just because..you felt like it?” You finally met his gaze. The gesture was sweet, there was no denying that.

“Yeah. Just because I felt like it. Sure.” His response falls flat as his fingers twitch at his sides. Maybe this was stupid. Soap? Really, Joel? He can feel his anger begin to bubble and simmer in the pit of his stomach. He isn’t even really sure why he’s allowing your words to affect him this much. Who the fuck cares? You were nothing to him. Just a tight wet hole for him to occasionally stick his dick in.There was nothing else going on between you and him. It was strictly just sex.

So, if that were the case, why did it hurt?

“Joel, hey man, c’mon. I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” You lightly joke as a way to bring him back down to earth.

You try to peel back the layers of tension that are creeping in. This is exactly the reason why you were planning on leaving in the first place. You couldn’t handle the complications that came with sleeping with someone this frequently. Someone in the end would always get hurt inevitably.

“If you’re gonna ditch me, then just fuckin’ ditch me already. Don’t hold your breath, Angel. Jus’ do it.” He snaps under his breath. Feeling that bubble of anger begin to morph into something more.

“What the hell is your problem, Joel? You’re so hot and cold.” You fight the urge to scoff.

The muscles lining his back and shoulders clench. You can see them flexing under the lowlight from the table side lamp that occasionally flickers. His mouth quirks, but he doesn’t smile, he grimaces.

“And you ain’t?! It’s just me? Right, cause you’re so fuckin’ perfect.” He snarls, and you’ve had enough.

“Oh, absolutely not. I am not going to get into a screaming match with you right now, Miller. You know how fuckin’ pointless that is?! For fuck sakes. Are we really about to do this right now?!” Your hands rest around your hips as you shoot daggers with your eyes at the side of his face. You’re unknowingly taking the bait that he constructively laid out for you.

His nostrils flare as he lets out a heavy exhale. “So, then put me in my fuckin’ place. C’mon. You have it in ya, don’t ya Angel?”

“What the fuck are you—”

He turned to face you. His grimace turned into his classic Joel Miller smirk. His brow cocked as he watched your brain process right before his eyes exactly what he was insinuating.

“Y’heard me, Angel. I want you to fuck me.”

The tension in the room was palpable. It was as if a thick fog of lust saturated itself into your skin. You visibly swallowed the nerves that were bubbling in your throat. Joel’s smirk didn’t falter, but his eyes drifted down to your lips just as they parted.

“You want me to put you in your place by..fucking you? Well, with what exactly? I know you’ve got your kinks and all, Joel. But I sure as hell am not shoving my fingers up your ass. Why don’t you ask Tess—”

His hand reached out suddenly, fingers grasping your chin in a tight grip. “I don’t want Tess to do it, Angel. I want you, my sweet, filthy girl. Don’tcha want to hold some power over me? C’mon. Ain’t that what you desire? To get back at me? To hold me at your mercy?”

You could feel the heat begin to rise in your cheeks as you struggled to tear your gaze away from his searing one. Sure, Joel could have easily gone to Tess to fill that itch he was feeling, but no. He wanted you to be the one to satiate his needs.

“O-okay, but like I said, I’m not sticking a fucking finger up your ass, Joel. That’s where I’m drawing my line.”

“My sweet, I never said anything about you havin’ to stick your fingers up my ass. Listenin’ ears, Angel. Use ‘em. Do you really think I risked my skin goin’ to that mall with Tess just for some measly soap products?” He questioned.

Ah, there he is again.

“Frankly, I still don’t understand why the hell you’d do something as fucking stupid as that.”

“Course you don’t, Angel. That’s ‘cause you ain’t me. Why would you think about upholding my own desires?” He tuts before reaching back into his backpack.

“Lucky for you, the mall has more than just perfumey soaps to offer. Conveniently, there was sex shop that was fully stacked. Guess people weren’t thinkin’ about needin’ lube and condoms durin’ an apocalypse, eh?”

“You didn’t.” Did he really bring home—

“Oh,” he chuckled, “but I did.”

Your eyes widened at the sight of Joel pulling out a strap-on with an extremely pink, sparkly silicone dildo on the end of it. The dildo itself was average in size, but you couldn’t help the pleasurable tingle rolling down your spine at mental images of Joel Miller on his hands and knees just for his Angel.

“Get on your knees.” Your thoughts were brazen, running wild as you yanked the strap-on from his grasp before discarding your flimsy panties in a haste. Joel Miller was about to become your little cockslut, and he had no idea.

“Now, hol’ on jus’ a minute there. Let’s not—”

You cut him off swiftly with a second demand. “On your knees now, Joel. Don’t make me ask a third time.”

His cock betrayed his grasping for control as it twitched against his thigh from your demanding words alone. He didn’t dare defy you as he slowly sank down from the comforter and onto his knees.

You never felt a power quite like this until you had Joel fucking Miller on his knees for you. You were going to drag this out for as long as possible, that was for damn sure.

“There’s lube in the—”

You shook your head to the side with a smirk crawling up your lips. Your entire body was vibrating with suspense. Excitement. The nerves had dissipated as you stood above him with the velcro straps now secure around your hips.

“Nuh-uh. We don’t need lube when you have a perfectly cable mouth for me to use. You’re gonna suck on my cock and get it all nice and wet for me, pretty boy.”

Joel nearly whimpered through his gritted teeth as the blood flow in his body trailed downwards. The second he heard you call him “pretty boy,” his tip weeped a bead of precum. Oh, he really wanted to be put in his place.

When he went to wrap his hand around the base of the silicone dildo, you slapped it away with a warning glare. “No hands. Just your mouth.”

He retracted, recoiling like a snake as he instinctively brought his arms behind his back.

“Yes ma’am.” He complied graciously.

“Good boy. Now, c’mon. Get to work, Joel. It ain’t gonna suck itself, remember?” You questioned as he scooted himself closer to situate himself between your thighs. You could feel his hot breath fanning your skin as his big brown eyes flitted upwards to meet your gaze. He had never looked more beautiful than he did right now. Even more so when he obediently wrapped his plush, pink lips around the head of the dildo.

His tongue dragged along the underside of the shaft as he blew out a puff of air through his nose. His actions had you thinking that maybe this wasn’t his first time.

He let out a tiny whimper of unabashed appreciation when your hand slid down to his hair, gripping the tendrils firmly, nails scratching his scalp.

“C’mon, pretty boy. Somethin’ tells me that you can take a bit more than that. I want to see you gag on it.” You crooned before yanking his head upwards with one swift tug.

A hum vibrated up his throat from the pleasure mixed with pain. He relaxed his jaw as a bit of drool ran down the side of his mouth. Tears soon brimmed his waterline and leaked down his cheekbones. His eyes never left yours as little gagged whimpers slipped out when the tip of the dildo hit the back of his throat.

“That’s it. That’s my good, pretty boy. Such a little cockslut you are, hm? So pretty, gagging on my cock like this.” You pressed your hips forward as his nose brushed against your pubic bone. He hollowed his cheeks, creating a vacuum with his lips as he bobbed his head.

You were soaked. Absolutely dripping between your thighs at the little sounds he was making. His whimpers, his tears in those big brown doe like eyes.

You slipped out suddenly, watching the string of saliva that connected from the tip of the cock to his wet, glistening lips.

You bent down to his level, grasping his chin between your fingers before you kissed him deeply, licking into his mouth as he let you have full control.

“On the bed, pretty boy.” You mumbled against his lips.

“Y’gonna fuck me now, Angel? Gonna fill me up with your cock?” He mumbled into the kiss. He wasn’t quite ready to detach from the embrace, but you left him with no choice in the matter as you pulled away. With a loving slap to his cheek you pointed in the direction of the bed.

He was like an obedient dog on a leash as he pulled himself up from the floor and sauntered over to the mattress.

“On all fours, pretty boy.”

He loved the feeling of humiliation just as much as he loved the carnal need to own you. He loved that he could openly explore his desires with someone who was just as filthy as he was. That’s why you were perfect for him, after all. Not just a sweet little Angel, but a devil between the sheets. He could see your two little red horns popping up from your brain cavity now to match his own. Hell had room for two more sinners.

You were kind enough to grab the bottle of lube from his backpack as he situated himself on all fours with his back slightly arched.

“M’ready for you, Angel.” He rasped deeply as he felt the mattress dip and faintly squeak from your knees pressing down on it.

He lurched forward from the familiar cooling sensation of the lube being poured over his puckering hole, followed by your warm fingers rubbing it in generously.

“Gonna fuck you now, pretty boy. You’re gonna take every inch of my cock like the good little cockslut that you are. I know you can be a good boy for me, Joel. You want to be good, right?”

“Mmhmmph.” He pushed his ass back towards your hips as he pressed his cheek into the scratchy fabric of his pillow. Someone was mighty impatient. “I wanna be a good boy for you, Angel. I wanna make you so proud.” His voice was muffled, but you could still make out every word.

“That’s right, pretty boy. All you want to do is be good and make me proud.” You squirted a bit more lube around the dildo and his tight hole.

The seconds seemed to tick by before he finally felt the familiar stretch that sent his heavy cock twitching between his thighs. As you sunk further into his warmth, the more Joel had begun to unfold.

“Fuuuck.” He whimpered pathetically into the pillow when you had completely bottomed out.

“Please move, Angel. Please. Please. Please.” He begged with a wanton moan as he wiggled his ass back against your hips. He was on the verge of desperation and you couldn’t get enough of it.

You pulled your hips back slightly, before thrusting them forward. His cheek was pressed deeper into the pillow with each heavy calculated thrust that you gave him.

He liked the feeling of your breasts pressed against his back and the way that you seemed to encase him the same way that he did. His moans were strangled as he chased after that high.

He hoped that all of his neighbors could hear just how good you were making him feel.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ come without my say, pretty boy. You hold it in for as long as I tell you too, you got that?” Your lips were at the shell of his ear where you could literally feel his pulse point skyrocket.

“Angel, Please. Please. I’m so c-close! Please, let your pretty boy come!” He cried out.

“No.” He could feel your devious little smirk against his skin. The skin of his knuckles turned stark white the second you had slipped out. He could have pounded his fists into the mattress, but you were quicker than that as you grabbed ahold of his hands and forced him onto his back.

His skin was red hot, slick with sweat as his eyes locked on yours. His brows were furrowed tightly together. His cock was painfully hard and desperate for release.

“I want to see your face when you come, pretty boy. I wanna see all of it.”

Not one single shred of rational thought could be seen in his darkened irises as you grasped a hold of his strong thighs and bent them towards his chest before you slipped right back into his fucked out hole.

As you ground your hips forward into his ass, you spit into your hand before wrapping it around the base of his cock, giving it quick tugs as he threw his head back against the pillows. The prominent veins in his neck visibly protruded against his sweat stained skin. A mixture of slurs and profanities tumbled past his lips as he thrusted his hips into your hand.

white hot pleasure coursed through his veins as your freehand wrapped around his throat, pushing him further into the mattress.

You owned him entirely. More than he even had begun to realize.

“Come for me, pretty boy.” You demanded.

He crumbled in an instant as his thighs quivered and tensed followed by hot ropes of cum shooting from his tip. He painted his stomach in his release as you squeezed out every last drop he had to offer. Before he even had a chance to breathe, your mouth was around him in an instant, licking up the salty musky flavor along his skin.

His breaths came out in a labored wheeze as he went off into his own little post-orgasm world. His eyes fluttered shut as your warm mouth enveloped his softened cock deliciously.

It was only when you moved your head back to slip him out, did his dominance return from the haze.

“Daddy’s tired, Angel. Why don’t you keep it in your mouth for me, baby. Keep it nice and warm for your good pretty boy.” He rasped.

Even through your glare at his request, you could see the lazy, relaxed smile grace his features when you reluctantly obeyed.

His hand reached down to gently hold your face in his palm. His thumb stroked against your cheekbone lovingly.

“That’s my good pretty girl.”

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications!