#what gets me most is when someone tries to be closer after repeatedly failing me

[sun-lit-goth]

I got big romantic and platonic turn offs that I shouldn’t shame myself for cause it truthfully bites me in and around the ass later

[ravenlking]

𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄, 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓, 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄 having someone who was always looking out for them will always warm their hearts

part one (trey, rook, lilia) // part two (leona, floyd)

gender-neutral warnings: - implied relationships :D - slightly heated in Rook's part genre: fluff a/n: - I'M SORRY BUT DOMINANT READER IS JUST AHHHH (as a dom reader myself, I couldn't help the urge to write this-) - pictures don't belong to me, they go to their original owners! - please give me feedback :)

Let me know if you'd like more!

𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑

Being the unofficial father-figure of Heartslabyul was no joke. He had to deal with the mischief from the misbehaving Heartslabyul students (Ace and Deuce were a whole 'nother category, his head hurt thinking of the numerous messes), calming Riddle down before another overblot happens, vice dorm leader duties - sometimes he just wants someone to hold him and perhaps help me out.

Enter: you. Trey swears to the Sevens repeatedly that you were an angel descending to bless him with your presence. Riddle's face turning red? You'll be there to distract him with another duty, saving him and the unfortunate souls from being beheaded. Ran out of ingredients for an emergency Unbirthday Party tart? You were already running to Sam's shop to help him. Ace and Deuce about to blow up another Great Seven statue? Never fear, you'll be scolding them on why it's such a ridiculous idea before Trey had to step in.

You were always there to hold him when the workload gets too much, cuddling him in your warm hearts and letting your hearts beat as one. You were there to help him with baking because it isn't easy to bake everything for the regular Unbirthday Parties.

You were slightly possessive in a way and Trey delights in it. Something about having you grasp him by the waist and kissing him deeply to show off who he belongs to will never fail to bring a bright blush to his face.

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓

Rook Hunt is as eccentric as it gets. To have a dominant partner hunting him, treating him like a treasure to be earned or prey to be devoured, his heart races at the mere thought. But unfortunately, no one else in Night Raven College seems to think similarly to him so he is ostracised with the exception of a couple of Pomefiore members. (He tries to avoid the rumors and what they speak of him behind their backs. He may seem calm, but that doesn't mean his heart doesn't hurt like anyone else).

You were just someone who the mirror summoned, so Rook steeled himself for another person to push him away. However, the moment his hat was shot off his head by a bow and arrow, Rook was in love. He certainly didn't expect the new student to be so interested, a hunter no less!

He did his best to discover more but was hit with a brick wall each time. He tried to hunt you down, but you always combatted it by blending in with the crowd, leaving the hunter empty-handed each time at the end of his hunt.

But it doesn't matter because, in the end, you were the one to capture him in your trap. Ensnaring him in a clever rope trick that even the most mediocre of hunters could avoid. Rook felt his heart beat irregularly as he was caught under your smug gaze.

The day after that was filled with "hunter-courting" as he would call it. Arrows flying towards him with little hearts and love letters tied to them, being serenaded with music under his balcony over at Pomefiore, baking some 'diet-friendly' dishes that tasted delicious on Rook's tongue, it was like he was treated like a princess. Of course, he responded eagerly.

Slamming him against the wall, you pulled him into a heated kiss, and Rook helplessly submitted to the taste of you. He was helpless as you pulled his body closer, every curve being explored as Rook grinned into the kiss.

𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄

Outside, he's a lively fae who loves spooking the socks off everyone. He delights in the gasps and screams caused by his appearance and reappearance. But on the inside, he's a tortured soul, constantly haunted by memories of the past. His loved ones offered him a source of comfort, but they won't last forever either. In the very end, he'll be sobbing, holding their favorite flowers as he stands over their grave.

However, he didn't expect you to stumble through the mirror. He certainly did not expect the person stumbling through the mirror to be an immortal, no less. You immediately caught his eye.

He only got the real chance to talk to you after Malleus left from his nightly stroll with you. He was only trying to find his charge when he came across you. Hours later, Silver and Sebek stumbled upon him lying in your lap, sound asleep with the most peaceful expression they've seen on his face. Silver dragged Sebek away, but not before taking a picture.

It became sort of a ritual. He forgo-ed his nightly gaming in favor of teleporting to your side, sharing stories of his travels to make you giggle and laugh before you did the same. It always ended with him in your lap and you combing his hair soothingly, singing an old love song from your country.

He responded eagerly to the request for a courting. He did his best to respond to your affections with home-baked cooking (to not disappoint him, you trusted your immortality and ate the dish), gave you silly souvenirs from his travels, the list goes on. He was beyond happy when you accepted him, children and all.

Because he was much smaller and petite compared to you, you easily drawfed him in heated make-outs and cuddles. You constantly cooked for them (watch as Malleus, Silver, Sebek pray to you for saving their souls).

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 37

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 1417

Warnings: Swearing, insinuation of sex

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: True The Alchemy

****

Hangman

The blue light of breaking dawn peeked through his curtains, adding to the serene, surreal reality Hangman found himself in. Ghost lay beside him in the crook of his arm, her head on his shoulder and arm draped lazily over his torso. He traced mindless patterns on her bare back with one hand while his other rested on her arm. Sleep remained fleeting throughout the night, only allowing him a few precious hours of rest. It was Hangman's own fault. He feared if he fell asleep, that when he awoke, the events of yesterday and last night would be a dream. A cruel, heartbreaking, wishful dream. 

I love you. Ghost's words echoed repeatedly in his head. Hangman couldn't stop it. For so long, he'd ached to hear those words, and then she'd said them. Hangman hadn't quite been able to process it, still silently reeling from seeing the letters he'd written to her- with no intentions of ever relinquishing them to her- in Ghost's hands. Coyote had no right to give them to her, but while Hangman wanted to give his friend a piece of his mind about it, he also recognized that without it, he and Ghost may never have confronted each other about everything.

Ghost twitched in her sleep and whimpered. Hangman placed a kiss on the top of her head, and she settled down. A few moments later, she stirred, squinting at the daylight and letting out an annoyed groan. She shifted slightly up his body to hide her eyes in the crook of his neck.

Chuckling to himself, he whispered, "Good morning."

Ghost only let a tired grunt in response. She had never been a morning person unless it involved getting breakfast, so Hangman didn't take it personally. 

"You hungry?" Hangman queried. 

Ghost nodded but failed to move to let him up. When he pointed this out to her, she mumbled, "I think I'm going to choose starving and staying where I'm at."

Hangman, unable to stop himself from teasing her, said, "Can you say that again? I can't hear you when you're talking into my shoulder."

Ghost twisted her head and rested it on his chest, but didn't look up at him. She repeated what she'd said and added, "You didn't have trouble hearing me talk into your shoulder last night."

Hangman laughed good-naturedly, tugging her closer to him. "That's because you were screaming, not mumbling."

"Shut up." The searing kiss Ghost captured him in took away any seriousness from her statement. God, Hangman couldn't get enough of her. He never believed they'd be like this together, let alone even speaking. And the strangest sensation, the most unfamiliar emotion, settled over him. 

Happy.

He was happy.

Hangman tried to reflect on the last time he felt the way he did now. It didn't take long to figure out it had been before Ghoul died. A time when he and Ghost had briefly returned to Texas, and they sat on the bleachers of their high school football stadium, staring up at the stars, laughing so hard that tears filled their eyes. For the life of him, what they had talked about eluded him, but the memory and feelings remained, and Hangman would savor them forever, including the current moment he found himself in.

Hangman kissed the top of Ghost's head and said, "You relax here. I'm going to cook breakfast."

"No, no, I need to get up. Otherwise, I'll sleep until noon."

"We can go back to sleep after breakfast because God knows we barely got any last night."

Ghost grinned wickedly. "Who says we'll get any after breakfast?"

Hangman debated on saying 'fuck it' and skipping eating if it meant going another round -or two- with Ghost, but the love of his life decided for him, rousing herself out of bed and heading to the bathroom. He forced himself up and threw on some underwear and gray sweatpants before shuffling to the kitchen. He pulled out the bacon, the eggs, and some potatoes and got to cooking, playing some soft country music in the background.

About ten minutes later, Ghost padded in, wearing nothing but her underwear and his t-shirt. He nearly went weak in the knees at the sight but managed to stay upright through sheer stubborness. Ghost sat at the bar and watched him cook. Without a word, he slid a cup of tea over to her, already made the way she liked it with cream and sugar.

Ghost smiled sleepily and said, "I needed this."

"Wake you up for round two?" Hangman asked cheekily.

She snorted softly. "I'm pretty sure it'll be more like round six or seven, but no. It's not just because I got no sleep last night."

Hangman grated the potatoes to prep for the hash browns. "What's up?"

Ghost traced the rim of the cup, staring into the steaming hot liquid. "You know how my mom and dad split up for a bit before I was born?"

"Yeah, your mom came to Cali. Why?"

"She met up with Maverick while she did. They... had a fling."

"Huh. I'm surprised Charlie did that when she was still technically married. I mean, I know your parents were separated, but-"

"That's not the kicker."

"I feel I should stop grating the potatoes for this."

"You might want to sit down, actually," Ghost suggested with mild amusement. Hangman remained standing but braced himself on the counter. "It was roughly nine months before I was born."

"I don't... Oh. OH!" Hangman barely remained standing as the epiphany struck him harder than a plane going Mach 2. "You-you're-"

"Maverick's daughter," Ghost finished, crossing her arms on the counter and resting her chin atop them. "I haven't told anyone else in the Daggers. Not even Juliette. I wasn't planning on anyone finding out, especially Mom and Maverick."

"They know?"

"Yeah. Mom somehow found out, and I know she told Maverick because he tried calling me not long after Mom called me out on it. That was before I came over here, so, you know, was dealing with two existential crises at a time. Figured this one might be more easily solved since it was closer to home."

"Maverick's close to home," Hangman pointed out, tossing the potatoes onto the skillet. "Why not deal with him first?"

Ghost shrugged. "I don't know where to start or what to do about it. With you, I at least had history to go off of."

"And the knowledge that, for better or worse, I just can't say no to you."

Mischief flared in her eyes. "You shouldn't have told me that."

"Food first-" Hangman said, piling her plate with breakfast- "cardio after."

He joined her at the bar, and they said nothing as they devoured their food, starving from yesterday's activities. And last night's. But Hangman didn't mind the silence. It allowed him to wrap his head around everything that had happened and been discovered in the past twenty-four hours, and Hangman couldn't decide what shocked him more: Ghost sitting beside him as more than a friend or the news of Ghost's real father.

Maverick was Ghost's biological dad. 

How... well, he knew how, but still. How would this affect Ghost's relationship with the Captain? How would it affect her relationship with Juliette, who had practically been a surrogate daughter to Maverick? And Rooster, who might as well have been Maverick's son? 

"Trust me, I've had the same thoughts," Ghost said quietly, picking at the last few pieces of hashbrown on her plate.

"How did you-"

"I recognize the expression," she replied simply. "I should probably call my mom back, and Maverick too, for that matter, but I don't want to deal with it. I just... I want to enjoy a sliver of peace and happiness right now."

Hangman grabbed the underside of her stool and pulled her closer to him. "You don't have to face this alone. I'm with you."

"Forever?"

He leaned in and pecked her on the lips. "And always."

Ghost smiled, a blush rising on her cheeks. "Would it be okay if I stayed here a little longer? I don't want to go home yet."

"Of course," Hangman replied immediately, silently pleased not only for his own selfish reasons of keeping Ghost at his side for as long as possible but also because a little voice whispered sinisterly at him that if he let her out of his sight any time soon, he wouldn't see her again for a long time. 

****

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[basicallyahedgehog]

Right Over Left

Happy Trans Day of Visibility! I wrote this fic for the @magicaltrans 2022 Trans Comfest and then it just sat languishing in my docs drive for months. I figured that today was the perfect day to bring it back out and share it.

This fic is technically standalone but does include a canon character who has changed their name. The previous fics in this series can be found here.

Read Below or on AO3

Harry entered their room to find Eltanin cross-legged in front of their mirror, their eyebrows drawn together as they moved sections of their hair this way and that. He settled quietly on his bed, knowing that El would talk to him when they were ready. In the meantime, he enjoyed the time to admire his partner. 

In the weeks since they had come out to Harry, Eltanin had been openly growing their hair out. Where it had barely passed their ears two months ago, it was now falling past their chin, and Harry had noticed them getting increasingly frustrated with it in class. 

Last week El had stolen one of Luna’s headbands, only to return it the same day, complaining of the headache it caused. Harry had teased them about their big head, but not before he had soothed the ache with soft fingers in his partner’s hair. 

If Harry was pressed, he might admit that he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Eltanin’s hair.

After the failed headband experiment Harry had bought El a variety of hairclips, which his partner had immediately stuck all through their hair like an excited five year old. They had continued to use the clips every day, however Harry had noticed in Defence earlier that the clips didn’t really hold against vigorous movement. 

Apparently Eltanin had made the same discovery, as they repeatedly attempted to weave strands of hair together on the back of their head. 

After what could have been minutes or hours — Harry regularly found himself lost in time when watching his beautiful partner — Eltanin dropped their head into their hands with a groan. 

“This was so much easier on someone else’s head!” 

Harry slowly moved from the bed, careful to make just enough noise that Eltanin would know he was there. 

“Can I help?” he asked as he settled himself behind Eltanin, his hands already slipping into the silky strands. 

Eltanin tilted their head further into Harry’s hands, their shoulders relaxing as the tension bled out of them. “Not unless you know how to braid hair.”

“That isn’t currently part of my skill set,” Harry chuckled, a plan forming in his head. “But I’ve been told I give good head rubs.”

------

“I need your help.” Harry tried not to show his nerves as he awaited Pansy’s reply. Sure, the eighth years had all become closer over the last three months, but he had never spoken to Pansy one on one before, and he couldn’t deny that he’d always been a little afraid of her. 

“I’m assuming this is about Dr-Eltanin?” She fixed him with a piercing stare, but Harry was relieved at the tiny quirk at the corner of her mouth. 

“I want to learn how to braid hair. They said they learned from you.” 

Pansy’s gaze softened. “Is this about their hair in defence?”

“Yeah, even the clips didn’t hold it well enough. I went up to our room earlier and they were trying to braid their hair, but they said it was easier on another person.”

“So you thought you’d learn to do it for them.” Pansy smiled at him. “You know, I was a little worried when Eltanin told me you were dating. You two have always had the ability to hurt each other more than most. But I’ve never seen them as happy as I have during these past few weeks.”

Harry blushed. “I don’t think that has anything to do with me. It’s a lot easier to be happy when you can be yourself.”

“Which they wouldn’t be able to do without you.” The piercing stare was back. “Meet me in the old Charms room after dinner. I’ll teach you how to braid.”

------

“Right over middle. Good. Now left over middle. No no over middle, not under. Good. Now again.”

Harry hadn’t really thought about how Pansy would teach him to braid, but he had to admit that he wasn’t expecting this. 

Ginny and Luna sat on the floor, leaning against a transfigured couch. Pansy had her hands woven through Ginny’s hair, demonstrating the braid while Harry did his best to replicate it on Luna. He had a bad feeling that his friend would be left with a lot of knots, but she was being endlessly patient with his tugging and twisting. 

“Oi, Potter.” Pansy’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Less daydreaming, more braiding. Right over, left over, right over, left over…”

------

On Monday morning Harry stepped out of the shower to find El aggressively clipping their hair back, muttering to themself. 

“Stay there you stubborn motherfucker. I’m not going to lose the mock duel again just because of my hair.”

Harry resisted the urge to laugh, and stepped up behind his partner. 

“Come and sit over here, darling.” 

He led a bemused El over to his bed, gently pushing them to sit on the floor in front of him. Removing the clips — while ignoring El’s protests — Harry hummed as he started to braid. 

“Right over, left over, right over, left over…”

“Where…how…why??” Harry could hear the emotion in his partner’s voice, and paused to run a soothing hand over their cheek. 

“You deserve to be comfortable in class, so I learned for you,” he shrugged, lifting his hand to continue braiding.

Instead he ended up with a lapful of wiggling, happy Eltanin, who pressed flurries of kisses all over his face. 

If he could make them this happy just by braiding their hair, he’d do it every day for the rest of his life.

[still-a-morosexual-help]

Hello! I wanted to know your opinion on a pairing. How do you feel about Mammon being paired with Mephistopheles?

Hi! I didn't know people shipped it but it's really not for me. I don't really care what other people ship so I hardly ever dislike a ship even if I don't ship it but now that you brought this to my attention - turns out it's one of those ships I just don't like :/

I'm usually big on canon facts and what those add up to (even if canon says "actually no♡" eg: all the evidence that Diavolo's into Lucifer despite canon saying he's into MC cos this is a dating sim) so for me Mephisto × Mammon doesn't really make sense...

I'll breakdown why I personally don't like it under the cut, so if someone sees this and gets pissed it's their fault :D

1. They genuinely dislike each other? And I'm usually up for enemies to friends to lovers (very much so! Probably my favourite ship trope! No matter how fucked up it is *gently sweeps my batman fics under the rug*) but umm not this time around... It just rubs me wrong for some reason🤷🏻

2. Mephisto called Mammon an idiot

• During the lesson where Mammon outsmarted EVERYONE

• Mammon genuinely gets upset when people call him an idiot (to the point that I had to write a 6k fix it fic after MC did so)

3. The first time we see Mammon & Mephisto interact is when Mammon comes to MC's defense because Mephisto is being a little shit to MC/kinda picking on them being human. Ever since then Mammon reacts like "🙄" whenever Mephisto enters the room.

a.) this is hilarious I'm so sorry

b.) Mephisto is one of the people who still didn't like MC being part of the exchange program and this is how Mammon (the least violent of the brothers even when violence is warrented) reacts to said people;

c.) the whole thing gives the energy of your best friend catching someone being a shit to you (in this case (fantasy) racist) and holding a grudge against them for you

4. Mammon's canonically had sexual partners before MC but no long lasting romantic partners. There are 3 things that canonically made Mammon attracted to MC as a romantic partner. Mephisto goes against 2 of those 3 things;

a.) Being kind towards Mammon

• Mammon has commented on MC's kindness to him multiple times - even commenting on how weird it is because no one else is that nice to him

• He has commented multiple times on how he can always count on MC & how they're the only one there for him

• This leads to him kind of listening to MC's advice above others because he trusts them - closing his eyes for his b'day surprise in 2020, steering the ship in the pirate event etc

• Whenever MC is even the slightest bit (genuinely - not in a teasing manner) mean to him it really hurts him and he shows it

• In the "Thanksgiving" event Mammon said the thing he values most about MC is their kindness towards him

• Mephisto has not being kind towards Mammon and has called him an idiot or something close, while in front of Mammon, at least twice

b.) Being partners in crime

• Mammon has singled MC out as his partner in crime at least twice (has actually used those exact words)

• He constantly takes them along on his schemes and/or ideas

• He needs someone there to go along with his shit

• I don't see Mephisto doing this at all?????? A person who is so rich they've never seen a hamburger before is not going to spend a day selling stolen tea on the sidewalk or stay up all night designing clothes or subject themselves to repeatedly pricking their fingers while trying and failing to mass produce hand sown panda bear plushies

5. Mephisto actually dislikes Lucifer

• For however much Mammon & Lucifer may fight, they're each others favourite brother. Mammon does care about Lucifer and what he thinks of Mammon.

• Mammon has tried multiple times to get MC & Lucifer to be closer (from setting them up on a date in a devilgram to finding the necklace MC gave Lucifer during his b'day to commenting on how MC & Lucifer should have a more enthusiastic reaction to each other when meeting after a while apart in the main story to telling MC where to find Lucifer when he was upset despite being pissed at Lucifer himself)

• Mammon absolutely needs someone he can honestly talk about Lucifer with (they have so many unaddressed issues that the game hints at but never goes in depth) and he does this with MC - from complaining about Lucife to talking about how great Lucifer is as a brother

6. Whatever the "love triangle" between Mephisto-Diavolo-Lucifer is

• You've played the game, you've seen it

• They get enchanted to dream about their fantasies and Mephisto dreams about Diavolo?????

• Lucifer is the only one who matches Mammon in the "oh god it's Mephisto🙄" department

• Mephisto & Lucifer's continuous dick measuring matches???? The way if Mephisto wasn't a nobleman and Lucifer wasn't literal Pride they would have thrown hands by now

So yeah, not my cuppa.

I don't ship it but Mephisto × Satan makes more sense only because they'll do it to piss the fuck outta Lucifer

[royal1asset-if]

Conrad AU Family

So hello guys, it has been too long since I got writing and just listening to "Under The Bridge" by Red Hot Chili Peppers inspired me to create a family snippet for Conrad. Plus we have Luna and maybe just maybe I will create the other RO's their own respective AU's.

If you guys want just comment bellow and let me know who you want next or perhaps I just make a poll.

The snipper is under the cute :)

I let out a satisfying sigh as I placed the hefty bucket of water above the sink, wiping beads of sweat from my forehead. Being a woman may be a formidable challenge, but thanks to my training as the Aseet, I can handle even the most arduous of tasks. I glance around the room, taking in the sight of my humble abode. It's quiet in here except for the sound of crickets chirping in the background. As I take a deep breath, I can't help but chuckle as I think about how far my husband, Conrad, and I have come.

The first time I laid eyes on him was a whirlwind moment that turned my world upside down. Conrad was always cynical, gloomy, and dead inside, and he never hesitated to tell me so. I remember the first time he said with conviction, "I have no time for love!" But little did he know, I was not one to give up easily. Fate had other plans for us, and after much persistence, we tied the knot and soon found ourselves caring for our first child together.

I admit, it wasn't easy for him. He had no experience with child-rearing and often came to me for guidance on how to care for our newborn. I remember him asking me repeatedly about the rituals, portions, and anything else he could do to keep our child healthy. But I could see him struggling, never having been the naturally nurturing type. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy as I watched him, always looking lost and confused.

Yet, despite all the obstacles and challenges, seeing Conrad navigating his way through fatherhood was the most life-changing experience of all. The way he would cradle our infant in his arms, his eyes full of love and adoration, was nothing short of enchanting. His transformation was like watching a caterpillar turn into a butterfly, oh so beautiful, and breathtaking.

Except in the past Conrad was not what you would call father material yet. I smiled as I recalled one of the most memorable moments of our parenthood journey. It was the first time Conrad tried to take care of our child by himself, while I went out to run some errands. He had insisted that he could handle it, and I had reluctantly agreed, hoping that he would learn something from the experience.

When I came back, I was greeted by a scene of utter chaos. Our child was crying hysterically, clutching a sharp object in his tiny hand. Conrad was standing over him, looking furious and frustrated.

“What are you doing?” I exclaimed, rushing to take the object away from our child and soothing him with gentle words.

“I was trying to make him happy!” Conrad snapped. “You told me to do whatever he wanted, so I gave him this. He seemed to like it at first, but then he started to cry and bleed. I don’t understand!”

I sighed, shaking my head. “Conrad, you can’t give him something dangerous like this. He could hurt himself or someone else. You have to be careful and responsible.”

“But you also told me to be firm and not let him get away with everything!” Conrad protested. “So I scolded him and told him to stop crying. But he only cried louder and louder. I don’t understand!”

I looked at him with a mixture of pity and amusement. He was so clueless and helpless, but he was also trying his best. He had even taken notes on how to be a good parent, but he had failed to apply them properly.

“Conrad, you need to find a balance,” I said softly, taking his hand and pulling him closer to me and our child. “You need to be kind and loving, but also firm and consistent. You need to understand his needs and feelings, but also teach him right from wrong. You need to be his father, not his friend or his enemy.”

He looked at me with a bewildered expression, as if I had just spoken in a foreign language. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again.

I smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it soon enough. We’re in this together, remember? We’ll figure it out as we go along.”

He nodded slowly, wrapping his arms around me and our child. He kissed our child’s forehead and whispered something in his ear that made him giggle.

I felt a surge of love and gratitude for my husband and my child. They were my everything, my reason for living. And I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

After drying my hands with the towel, I tilted my head, my gaze fixated on the window overlooking our backyard. A warm smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I watched Conrad, his hands moving with grace and fluidity, conjuring mesmerizing ice birds that danced in the air. The sight brought an ethereal joy to our son, Cyril, who erupted into fits of giggles, his laughter echoing through the open space.

Yes, Conrad had certainly grown and improved over the years. Though occasional mishaps still occurred, like the time he turned bath time into a bubbly extravaganza, creating an ocean of frothy bubbles that spilled over the edges of the tub. We ended up having an impromptu bubble party that lasted well into the evening, our laughter filling the air, mingling with the iridescent glow of soap bubbles.

As I stood there, gazing at the idyllic scene playing out before me, a sudden glimmer in Conrad's eyes caught my attention. He turned his head towards the window, locking eyes with me. In that fleeting moment, I could see the love and adoration he held for both Cyril and me. With a gentle nudge, Conrad drew Cyril's attention to my presence, and they both turned to face me. A surge of warmth flooded my heart as Cyril's little hand rose in the air, his chubby fingers waving excitedly.

Conrad leaned down, whispering something into Cyril's ear, eliciting a burst of laughter from our son. I knew that look—the mischievous sparkle in Conrad's eyes. It meant he had a secret, something that involved me. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity mingled with a hint of playful suspicion. I decided it was time to join them in the backyard, to immerse myself in this wholesome family moment.

Stepping out into the sunlight, the grass tickling my bare feet, I made my way towards Conrad and Cyril. The air was alive with the vibrant hues of nature, the sweet scent of flowers wafting on a gentle breeze. As I approached them, Conrad's face lit up, a wide grin spreading across his features. Cyril, perched on Conrad's shoulders, looked at me with sheer delight.

"Surprise, my love!" Conrad exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement. "Cyril and I have been practicing something special just for you."

My heart skipped a beat, anticipation coursing through my veins. "What is it?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

Conrad's eyes sparkled mischievously as he gestured towards the empty space before us. "Watch closely," he said, his voice filled with a hint of mystery.

And then, with a flick of his wrist, Conrad conjured a breathtaking display of ice sculptures.Suddenly, a dozen ice birds flew towards me, forming a circle around me. They were made of sparkling crystals that reflected the sunlight, creating a dazzling display of colors. They had delicate wings that fluttered in the air, and graceful necks that curved and swayed. They had tiny beaks that opened and closed, and bright eyes that twinkled with life. They sang a sweet melody that filled my ears with joy.

Cyril's laughter rang out like sweet music, the sheer enchantment of the moment captivating us all.

I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with love and gratitude as I basked in the enchantment unfolding before me. Tears of joy pricked at the corners of my eyes, a testament to the depth of emotion that swelled within my chest. It was a snapshot of our lives—a moment of pure magic, shared between a husband, a wife, and their precious child.

As the sculptures slowly melted, their beauty fleeting yet eternal in our memories, Conrad took a step closer, his voice filled with tenderness. "We wanted to create something special for you, to express our love and appreciation," he said, his gaze never leaving mine.

I embraced them both, feeling their warmth envelop me, the love radiating from our intertwined embrace. "You've given me more than I could ever ask for," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. "This moment, this love—it's everything to me."

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow upon our little family, we stood there, connected by a bond that could weather any storm. In that moment, surrounded by love and laughter, I couldn't help but gush with gratitude for the beautiful chaos of our lives, the nostalgic memories we were creating, and the promise of countless more cherished moments to come.

[regarding-stories]

Rejection Carousel: "Sing 'Yesterday' For Me"

I quite enjoy watching this one, but after a while I realized that practically all characters either rejected someone, were rejected by someone, or both. Given that the cast grows over the time of the show, that's quite a rejection pile for one show!

Rikuo is a loser, working as an aimless loafer in part-time jobs after graduating college. There he meets Haru, an eccentric younger girl with a pet crow who keeps showing up at the store. Turns out she's been into him for five years. He rejects her.

Shinako went to college with Rikuo and they were friends, but upon graduation she moved back to Kanazawa where she came from. Suddenly she's back in town after six months, working as a teacher. Rikuo confesses to her. She rejects him. Eventually Riuko leans that Shinako is still grieving her first love Yuu, who died while she was still in high school.

Rou is the brother of Yuu and loves the much older Shinako, but she sees him only as a little brother. She rejects him. Repeatedly. He's learning to draw, the only skill people seemed to value him for while his dying brother got all the attention.

Minato is a former classmate of Haru who ends up working for the same gallery as Riuko. He was in love with Haru since high school. He confesses to her, knowing Haru is in love with Riuko. She rejects him and he gets closure, leaving Japan to see the world as a photographer.

Kyoko is Haru's employer at the "Milk Hall" café. We learn she rejected Izawa, the guy who runs Rou's art cram school.

Chika is Rikuo's ex-girlfriend who's avoiding her strict parents, so when she's out of a job, she crashes at Rikuo's place without asking - knowing he has no girlfriend and wouldn't say no. She didn't really reject Rikuo, in fact, she would have not minded a casual thing, but she dumped him after only four months in high school. She's basically never been in love with anyone and dumped Rikuo because somebody else asked her out, and she "likes being liked." So instead of rejection she dishes out loveless relationships... yay...

So this is Japanese romance, huh?

Basically the whole setup where all characters start from is either unrequited love or at least rejection from someone, starting out from Shinako over Riuko to Haru. (And Haru basically rejecting all her potential suitors - girl could have a harem...) And then, at a leisurely pace, the show tries to get moving.

I have no idea how it will end, actually, and that's two or three episodes from the finish line of a 12 episode (only) season. I think the anime makers had mercy on us, given that the manga was collected in 11 volumes, so it probably plodded even more than this one.

Not that I mind it so much, though. Japanese love stories seem to revolve about people not voicing their feelings for a long time, hurt, fear, rejection, and slowly growing closer. In spite of being a mature, maybe adult or young adult story, the roots of all loves are way in the past - most of them in high school, one in childhood, one in the first year of college. Each character has to wait five or more years for any sense of closure. And still the show never truly feels like a downer. Strange, huh?

Given how things move I might be pissed off at the ending, but it's a beautiful show, set before the internet age when people had to catch each other on their landline phones. If I read it right, this series took from 1997 to 2015 to fully get published, after all. (Anime aired in 2020.)

But if you want a show about lonely people and friendship that still somehow manages to feel good and has a sense of beauty woven into it, maybe you should check this one out.

Bonus

Also, how could somebody reject Manic Pixie Dream Girl Haru? (Well, I guess she's borderline for the trope, but the crow seals the deal...)

She's definitely the show's resident Miss Fanservice, showing off costumes as she plies her job as a ... coffee delivery girl?

What, no GIFs of her riding her delivery scooter!? You fail hard, internet...

PS - It doesn't stick the landing

I think the ending is utterly unconvincing given how Rikuo behaved towards Haru the whole time. Your mileage might differ...

I think Shinako should just see a shrink.

A bit of a shame, really...

[noteguk]

sweet | jjk | m

— summary; in which Jungkook just wants to be good for you. 

— contents and warnings; smut, pwp, established relationship, sub!jungkook x dom!reader, begging, crying :), good boy kink, handjob, blowjob, orgasm control & denial, cum eating 

— words; 1.3k

— author’s note; this is just a quick drabble for a mental image that has been plaguing me for some time so I’m gonna share it with all of you. Enjoy. 

After much thought, you had long come to the inevitable conclusion that you might have the best boyfriend in the world. 

Jungkook was the sweetest man you had ever met, the nicest and most polite little thing that had ever crossed your way. Even if he was far from perfect — after all, everyone had their flaws — his good side was almost blinding, making you quickly forget about his bad habits and annoying ticks. 

He was so good, so obedient, that he didn’t rebel against your commands, even when you brought him down from the most unsatisfying edging of his life. You watched as his large hands grabbed fistfuls of the sheets, his hips bucking up in a failed attempt to find any sort of friction. His cock was beautifully hard, engorged and red, bouncing against his abdomen as he whined and fumbled around, frustrated out of his mind. 

“P-please,” Jungkook stammered, his voice breathy and high-pitched. You were kneeling between his legs, watching the droplets of sweat that had started to accumulate on his chest, sparkling on his sweet golden skin like small diamonds. “Please, I can’t take it anymore, please—“ 

A hiccup interrupted his plea when your hand wrapped around his length, squeezing it tightly. Jungkook cried out at the feeling, hips bucking up against your palm pitifully. He was such a breathtaking mess: cheeks blushed and lips parted, the soft flesh swollen from the harsh kisses you had given him and also from the friction of his teeth against it. You wished you could keep that image forever ingrained in your memory. 

“Please, pleeeease,” he tried again, moaning when your thumb started playing with his slit, spreading his precum all over himself. Jungkook had been edged so many times that he was absolutely soaked by his own wetness, his chest rising and falling quickly; ears ringing with a sense of numb anticipation. “Please, __, let me cum, I need to cum, please.” 

You pouted, stopping your movements all together. His heavy cock fell back down, making Jungkook wince with the sudden hit against his skin. “What did I say, baby?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. “You cum when I decide that you can. Don’t you wanna be good for me?” 

“Yes, yes, I do,” Jungkook whined, fighting back the tears that started to grow on the corners of his shining eyes. God, he was the sweetest boy in the world. “I wanna be good for you, I just can’t- I can’t take it anymore.” 

“Why are you talking back, baby?” You asked, trailing the palm of your hand over his defined abs. Jungkook’s gym addiction was a blessing, and you knew he could turn you over and fuck you mercilessly if he decided to do so. But he was being obedient, holding himself back just like you had told him to. “I thought you were my good boy, and you can’t even do what I ask?” 

Jungkook sobbed at that, head thrown back against the pillow and cock throbbing pathetically on his pelvis. You wondered if he could cum like that, just with the eagerness that was flooding his veins. “I’m- I’m your good boy, yes,” he moaned out, desperate. “I’m so good for you, please. Please, let me cum.” 

You melted at his frenzied words, almost feeling the hunger which lived inside him, surging his hips upwards. Jungkook was the best boy, and you could not say anything against that. He had refrained from touching himself like you asked him to; he had not complained for the first few times you had denied him of his release; done everything you asked and now you were tilting him over his limits. You didn’t want to push him too far, even if he hadn’t used the safe word, because he was the most precious little thing you had ever seen, and the last thing you wanted was to have him upset with you. 

“You are, baby… you’re so good for me,” you eased in, watching as Jungkook struggled for air. Your hand trailed back down to touch his member, and the simple contact made Jungkook mewl out your name, thighs parting so you could move a bit closer. “And good boys like you deserve presents, no?” 

“Y-yes,” it was getting hard to speak when you started to pump his cock slowly, feeling it twitch between your fingers. Jungkook was absurdly close to his release, eyes glazed over and covered by a thin veil of tears. The pretty sounds he was making were traveling straight to your core, growing into a pool of wetness between your thighs. He was so, so sweet. You couldn’t even grasp how lucky you were. “Feels so good… A-are you going to let me cum?” He tried again. 

“Yes, baby,” you told him, and the sentence was enough to make the boy cry out in relief, hands digging into the mattress. The tears had already marked down his flushed cheeks, his nose now painted in the softest shade of pink. Jungkook always looked so beautiful when he cried, it was almost unfair. “Where does my good boy want to cum?” 

“A-anywhere?” He struggled to say. 

“Anywhere,” you agreed, squeezing his tip in a way that had him sobbing out a curse. “My good boy can cum wherever he wants. You deserve it.” 

And Jungkook almost came at your words alone, his mind a jumbled mess of incoherent thoughts and frantic needs. He couldn’t even believe that you would actually let him cum after so long, and the newfound wave of pleasure was so overwhelming that he thought he might faint if you didn’t end his suffering soon enough. 

“Y-Your mouth, please, please,” he moaned, chest heaving with his prolonged euphoria. Jungkook could feel his release building up in his spine, tugging on his balls and making his cock throb in your grasp. He couldn’t tell if he was in heaven or in hell. “It’s too much… N-now, p-please—“ 

No need to ask you twice. You leaned over and wrapped your lips around his crown, licking around his sensitive tip until Jungkook was whining and sobbing for more, his thighs shaking on either side of your body. You did as he requested, done with all the torturing, and shoved all of him inside your mouth in one swift motion. Jungkook was calling your name repeatedly, interrupting them with curses and praises, his hazed eyes glued to the movement of your head, mouth sinking up and down on his cock until he was almost hitting the back of your throat. 

“Oh-oh my g-god! Don’t stop, don’t stop!” He moaned, his voice was a pitiful cry for more. Jungkook felt like his entire body was burning up, heart hammering against his ribs as his mind became completely blank. “Please, please, I’m so close, I’m gonna cum, ple— fuck!” 

Jungkook spilled inside your mouth with a loud , high-pitched moan of relief, intoxicated by the feeling of your throat tightening around him, sucking him through his high. You heard him whimpering as you swallowed around him, licking his cock clean and drinking every drop of cum he had given you so eagerly. Like the sweet boy that he was, he fought against his sensitivity and waited until you were done, shivering and cursing under your touches. 

At last, you raised yourself from between his legs and moved closer to him, watching as that heavenly fucked-out look of his only deepened with your approach. Sometimes you thought that you didn’t even deserve someone like that, he was too cute. 

“Thank you.” Jungkook breathed out, wrapping one arm around your waist. “Was I good?” 

You smiled and placed a soft kiss against his lips. “The best, baby.” 

[potter-imagines]

A Worm? - Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader 

Prompt: It’s three in the morning and Fred can’t sleep. Luckily for him, his girlfriend has to most random questions on her mind. 

Notes: I've seen this on tiktok as trend to text your boyfriend so I made it into a write, hope you enjoy (: 

Warnings: None (:        (making out if that counts ???)

Word Count: 3.9k

You know that feeling of finally retreating to your room and crashing down on your bed after a strenuous day? Getting to snuggle into the warmth of the soft mattress and engulf your body in massive heaps of blankets, it was one of the greatest feelings in the world to Fred Weasley. Although what made it absolute perfection was the nights when his girlfriend, Y/n Y/l/n, would join him. Sleepovers were no rarity for the couple- nor for their roommates who had begrudgingly accepted the constant giggling and whispering throughout the night. Weekend sleepovers were his favorite as it meant neither of them were scrambling to get out of bed for class in the morning and he could lay with her for as long as they wanted.

Tonight was no different. Nearly every living soul occupying the lands of Hogwarts was fast asleep, lulled into a galaxy of dreams. Fred wondered if he was the only one awake at such an hour. The darkness from the nighttime sky poured into the room through the glass windows. The light casted shadows around the room making it difficult to make out the different shapes. Fred could barely make out the sleeping frame of his twin brother, George, who was tucked in his bed feet away. Similar was Lee, however his thunderous snores echoed off the walls giving confirmation that was in a deep sleep.

On Fred’s half of the room the silence was deafening. Lee’s snores had become second nature for Fred to block out and in all honesty, didn’t bother him much. Growing up in a home with eight other people, he had that keen ability to muffle out the noise around him. He had to in order to keep a piece of his sanity intact. No one in their sane mind could sit and listen to Ron and Ginny bicker for longer than five minutes before wanting to rip their hair out of their skull. In the same way, noise was comforting to Fred. Yeah, he ignored it for the most part, but it was a familiar feeling to be surrounded by loudness. It was discomforting in a way how still the world felt. Few and far between were the moments when Fred had time to himself. Now that he did, he didn’t want it.

Stealing a glance down to his chest Fred smiled at the sight. Y/n’s head was pressed against his sweatshirt covered chest and her hand was clenched around the material. Her body was cuddled close to him with a blanket draped over them. Fred watched as her stomach lightly rose and fell with every breath. He had lost track of time, not entirely sure how long he had been holding her. Seconds meshed into minutes which grew to hours. He was sure he’d been staring at the ceiling for almost three hours. His attention flipped back and forth, like the pages of a magazine. From the angle he laid, Fred wasn’t able to see if Y/n was awake like him or passed out like his roommates. In a cruel way he wanted to wake her on purpose just for the selfish purpose to hear her voice. He resisted the urge to ‘accidentally’ break her slumber.

Fred’s hand traced patterns on her back absentmindedly as his thoughts drifted like a sailboat floating along the ocean waves. The Quidditch match had taken a large toll on his muscles and all he wanted was to rest. Playing Slytherin was a sure guarantee someone would walk away with an injury- or be carried away. Although Fred knew he wasn’t injured, his arms ached with every slight move from the force he had exhilarated during the match. As much as he desired to switch positions and lay on his side, he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the girl resting in his arms. From her steady breathing he figured she had fallen asleep, that was until her head suddenly popped up from his chest causing the warmth of her head to flee his body. Her quick movement took Fred by surprise as his hand halted and his eyes fixed on the girl.  The feeling of sleepiness was fading as her large doe eyes glanced back up at him. Oddly enough, she appeared to be wide awake.

Arching a brow at her Fred looked utterly confused. If her alertness hadn’t startled him enough, her next actions would leave him mind boggled. Y/n perched herself up to a sitting position and wiggled over to place her legs over either side of Fred’s body so she sat in his lap as he laid. A childlike smile graced her lips at the small gasp of surprise from Fred. Tiredness vanished in her eyes as she tilted her head.

“Hey, Freddie?”

“Yes, angel?” He asked cautiously.

His hands reset to her waist to keep her steady as she sat. The stained glass window to the side of his bed allowed a glimpse of moonlight to create a beautiful gradient across her face. The moonlight, a glowing yellowy white, projected an ethereal glow around her. He swore he could see millions of tiny stars sprinkled along her skin, gleaming pin pricks of sparkles gleaming in her e/c eyes.

Y/n leaned forward to wrap her arms around Fred’s neck causing him to mimic her and sit up so his back was pressed to the bed frame. He grabbed the heavy cotton blanket from behind her and draped it over her shoulders. She smiled bashfully in gratitude. Peeking up to Fred, whose face was only a handful of inches from hers, she whispered,

“If I were a worm, would you still love me?”

Fred’s features scrunched in an instant at her question as he pulled back slightly. Half expecting for her to start giggling and the other half completely flabbergasted, Fred gaped at her in confusion. Yet Y/n’s face remained stoic in seriousness as she awaited his reply. He gave her a funny look, as if she’d grown an extra eye. Repeatedly his mouth fell open, then closed again as he failed to formulate a proper thought.

“I’m sorry- if you were a what?”

“A worm.” She repeated once again.

Fred forced himself to bite his tongue to hold his laughter in. As much as he wanted to chuckle at her randomness, she seemed so invested in his answer he didn’t know what to do. Fred averted his gaze to the window in search of an answer. His brain was stuck frozen, like the tracks in his mind were broken. Turning his attention once more to Y/n, Fred squinted his chocolate brown eyes as if examining her peculiarly.

“And why would you be a worm?”

Clearly annoyed by his constant string of questions Y/n let out a breathy huff as she rolled her eyes. Her hands waved up briefly, shooing his inquiry away without second thought. Shaking her head she pressed further. “Because I just am, now answer the question.”

Stillness entered the room while Fred pondered to himself. This time he didn’t hold back the teasing grin that spilled on his face.

“Well, am I worm too?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows to her suggestively. Y/n shoved his shoulder back playfully as she giggled softly. Fred always knew how to make her smile, even if the situation didn’t call for it. Even if it was three in the morning and the two of them should be flying through a dreamland of sleep.

Fred’s back leaned into the wood of the frame as he allowed his head to touch against it. Locks of ginger hair brushed against his face. Instinctively Y/n moved her hand out to skim them away from his eyes so she could see them. Fred fought a mental war against the shiver that threatened to escape his body from her gentle stroke. Shaking her head, Y/n shot down his interrogation. “No, you’re just a regular person.”

“So I would be a Muggle in love with a worm?” Fred chuckled at the bizarreness to her rules for her imaginary prompt. Although he hadn't a clue where this was heading, it was entertaining and he had every intention of paying into it, including teasing the girl a tad. There was something so adorable about the flashes of anger and frustration that snapped across her face at his procrastination to answer. Fred found it irresistible. The way her cute face knotted into uncomfortable glares and frowns while he continued to toy with her. He loved it.

Y/n sighed to herself, certainly growing exhausted then reiterated,

“No, no, you’re still you, I’m just a worm.”

“A magic worm?” His eyes widened in feign excitement while her’s narrowed. As much as she loved the childlike nature that was weaved into her boyfriend’s soul, it made it impossible at times to have a serious conversation- not that she truly considered this to be a serious conversation.

A deadpan mien was planted on her face. She turned for a moment to make sure George and Lee were still passed out. Then, she moved her head back to Fred before raising her voice a notch to ensure the message was received loud and clear.

“A worm, Fred.”

His fingers fiddled with the loose strings on her shorts as he pretended to debate his answer. Lips pursed into a thin line, Fred brought his pointer finger up to his chin and hummed.

“I mean… sure?”

Y/n’s grip around his neck loosened immediately at his answer. Her mouth skimmed the ground as genuine displeasure entered her veins. She pulled her arms back to cross them tightly against her chest. Fred’s hands found their previous position on her waist in order to keep her from falling off. She pouted over to Fred with her bottom lip poking out. She tried her absolute best to put everything she had into the over dramatic sad puppy look she had mastered. Fred only cooed at her and pinched the skin of her cheeks between his fingers lightly. Y/n grabbed his hand, pulling it away from her face with a scowl. Despite her glowering appearance, Fred felt a smug grin sneaking up.

“That isn't reassuring at all.” She said with a pointed tone.

Fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, Fred groaned dramatically as he ran his calloused hand against his skin. Peering up to Y/n he brought his hand up to occupy the warm skin on the back of her neck. He drew his hand closer, pulling her towards him, causing their foreheads connected in a tender touch. The bottom hem of his old tee that she now used as a nighttime shirt tickled his arm as she happily leaned in. With their faces barely an inch apart, Fred lifted his hips to place a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips.

“But angel, you’re not a worm.”  

“Just pretend!” She grumbled. Although Fred smirked right at her and, in a very snarky manner, said ‘no’. Y/n clenched her jaw in annoyance at his stubbornness and just as she went to tell him again to play along, a light bulb of an idea sparked in her head.

Stealing a glance over either shoulder, Y/n checked to assure both George and Lee were still snoozing. George was practically laying off his bed in a sideways fashion while Lee was spreading starfish across the whole mattress. She swore she could see the drool dripping from his chin from across the room. Her focus swerved to Fred as she felt him adjust under her. Providing him with absolutely no leeway to her plan at all, Y/n locked her arms around Fred’s chest and shoved him down so he was forced to lay on the bed. His breath hitched as his head smacked into the fluffy pillow. The darkness obscured his view leaving him lost at the turn of events until he felt the pressure of her knees pinning his arms to his side. Just like a war attack, she ambushed him. Y/n danced her fingers at lightning speed across his chest and under his arms. Fred broke out into a booming fit of laughter at the abrupt tickle war imposed on him as he desperately fought to get her body off of his. His feet kicked wildly as he tried to free himself but she had too strong of a hold. Fred tried to hold his laughter back but it was all too much for his bdy to handle and the uncontrollable giggles wouldn’t stop.

Y/n laughed at him as she continued to tickle every inch of his upper body that he wasn’t successfully covering. His frantic squirms made it difficult for her to torture him to the best of her ability, however she put up a considerable fight until Fred managed to slip his hand out from between his waist and her knee. Once he did, Fred clamped his hand to her side and flipped the pair around so he was the one sitting on top of her. Both of their chests heaved rapidly as they attempted to catch their breath, both grinning like fools. Fred moved his body to sit in front of her as Y/n took over his previous spot. His hand still remained clenched around her side to keep her from attacking once more. Struggling to regain his composure, Fred gave the girl a teasing glare.

“Fine! Yes, I would still love you very much, even if you were a slimy little worm.”

A satisfied gleam adorned her face as she gave a small cheer. Her arms extended as a welcoming for him to enter. He bent towards her to allow her arms to be thrown around his shoulders. The hug encapsulated his body in a blanket of comfort and love from the feeling of her skin. Fred pressed his lips to her neck and just as he did, her voice broke the air.

“And you’d still give me kisses and cuddles?”

His loud sigh was audible to everyone in the room as his head fell to her chest.

“How in the bloody hell am I supposed to cuddle a freaking worm-” Before he could finish his sentence, Fred saw the look of sadness clouding over his lover’s features and stopped himself. That famous, moody pout had crept its way up and Fred fell victim like always. He reached his hand out to pick hers up from her lap and laced their fingers. Lifting her hand, his lips kissed each of her knuckles then set her hand down on his leg.

“You’re unbelievable… but yes, I would still give you kisses and cuddles. Just not in front of people-” Y/n snatched her hand away from his and threw it across her chest with an animated scoff.

“So you’d be ashamed of me?”

“I hate you so much right now, why the hell are you even asking me?”

The jokingness of the situation breezed out from the room as Y/n tensed. Fred watched her eyes flicker from over his shoulder, then up to his eyes. It was impossible to read the rambunctious ideas bouncing off the walls of her mind and Fred knew better than to speculate but rather give her the time to process. He always said that her mind ran faster than the Hogwarts Express. There was a small smile on her lips, though one he couldn’t read. The spark of glee still flashed through her yet at the same time she seemed uncertain. Her hand pushed loose strands of her hair away from her view, a nervous habit of her’s Fred had picked up on early in the relationship.

Swallowing her nerves, Y/n let her body sink into the plushness of Fred’s bed as she shrugged her shoulders.

“Just wanna make sure you’d love me no matter what.” She mumbled hushly.

Fred furrowed his eyebrows as he studied her in bewilderment. As silly as the conversation was, he could feel a tang of guilt budding in his gut from teasing her. The two had discussed some of the most random, weird topics out there and it was usually just that, a random discussion. Fred was a bit stunned there was a bubble floating around in her thoughts that there might be a time where he stops loving her, because for Fred, the idea of not loving her was simply implausible. Besides, he had fancied her since they met their first year and there was no chance Fred was willing to lose her.

“Okay, well,” Fred crawled to sit next to Y/n’s side as he went on, “I’ll entertain the thought. If you were a worm I would still love you more than any other living creature on this planet. I’d also protect you from all the birds who want to eat you for dinner.” Fred finished by placing a gentle peck to her nose. There was no sense in hiding the contagious grin

“So sweet, Freddie.” The scent of peppermint from her chapstick wafted to Fred’s nose drawing him closer in. Y/n snaked her hand to his cheek and dragged his face towards hers. Right before their lips connected, she paused for a moment. Her e/c orbs flickered to his plump lips, then in one swift motion, she closed the gap with a pucker of her lips and a collision with his. Fred had expected the kiss but was taken aback by the fire she brought to it. The sheer force of her lips caused Fred to sit up and take notice.

Y/n nudged at his side, a silent signal for him to get on top. Fred didn’t need her to ask him twice. He was quick to kick the blankets covering his legs and repositioned himself between hers. Fred leaned forward to spark the flint once again. His hands attached to her face immediately as he pulled her in tightly. This embrace nearly knocked Y/n right off the bed. She parted her lips and felt him washing over like a tsunami of passion, curling her toes, unfurling all her senses as the taste of him impaired her. Her whole body tingled, the pressure of his fram leaning on hers as his arms wrapped around her felt like an array of fireworks during the finale of a grand show. Her lips parted against his and the abrupt swipe of his tongue inside her cheeks sent a rush of shivers through her body. The intensity was overwhelming as she struggled to keep hold of his shoulders.

Y/n came to at the need for air and pulled away from Fred. A sharp breath filled her lungs as her hands pressed against his chest keeping him in place. However, Fred was growing impatient by the second and the need to be as close to her as possible was too strong of an urge for him to ignore.

Fred pulled her in, claiming her mouth again, hungry and intense, until her arms gave in and she was using his body to support herself. She was nearly slipping from the bed from the pure force of his kiss. Fred kept his free hand steady on the back of her neck to ensure she wouldn’t fall but in the moment, she really couldn’t care. Wasn’t like they hadn’t had a makeout session on the floor- come to think of it, George had walked in on them just last week.  

Their hands roamed over each other as if it was their first time touching another. His fingertips grazed the side of her neck earning a muffled moan from the girl. She tugged at his red hair, which was a guarantee to keep his adrenaline pumping. A vibration buzzed in her mouth as Fred groaned into her from the lustful pain. His body was ever moving as his hips grinded into her. This was a familiar position yet the passion was what made the kiss so electrifying. His elbows were placed on either side of her head to hold himself up as he moved his lips against hers and continued to work his tongue with hers. Y/n trailed her hand down from his fiery locks to his sharp chin where she pressed his lips as deeply into hers as she could manage.

Softly as possible, Y/n slowly pulled herself away from Fred. His eyes cracked open at the lost of warmth against his skin and he glanced down at her. Both smiled at each other until Fred rolled over and slid under the covers. He fixed the blankets around until he felt satisfied then opened his arms, as if inviting Y/n to enter. She obeyed without question and coozied herself into his arms. He wrapped her in a loving cuddle as he pressed a quick kiss to her temple.

Y/n leaned into his body, resting her head against his arm that was linked under her. There was a comforting silence that replaced the steaming air. The clock on Fred’s night stand shone bright with the time, ‘4:08am’, meaning morning had practically arrived and Fred had yet to catch a wink of sleep.

Just as Fred was preparing himself to welcome his slumber, a notion came. Propping himself up on his elbow, Fred reached out to shake the girl’s shoulder.

“Hey, Y/n?”

Y/n gleaned over to him in curiosity. Twisting her body she set her gaze directly on Fred, as if to show him she was intune and listening.

“Yes?”

“If I were a worm, would you still love me?” Fred asked in a whisper. Y/n leered up at him in a disgusted fashion. It looked as if she had been force fed a full can of lima beans and sardines. Those sleepy eyes were replaced by saucer like eyes of revulsion. Poking her tongue out she pretended to gag as her eyes twisted shut.

“Ew, no, why would I be in love with a worm? You can’t even talk and if I kissed you, I might accidentally kiss your butt, gross!” Y/n covered her mouth to mask her fit of laughter that shook through her chest. Fred’s mouth dropped in shock at her words as she unwrapped herself from his hold to shift to her side. He stared at her in astonishment as she threw her legs over the side of his bed. His hand reached out to yank her back but she was already up on her feet smirking to him.

“Are you kidding me? Get back here!”

“I need to use the bathroom- I’ll be back in a flash, wormie.” She blew him a taunting kiss and a wave, then quietly shut the door as she journeyed down the hall to the restrooms. Fred still heard her unruly laughter from behind the large wooden door. As her footsteps grew shallower, Fred tossed his head into the pillow and rolled his eyes. Just like earlier, silence overtook the room and this time, Fred was overjoyed because it meant he no longer had to hear about worms. That was at least until she got back, then he’d surely be having a discussion.

[yoondles]

Unholy - P.JM

Devil! P.JM x Reader

Summary: The Devil doesn’t ask for repentance, he punishes those who fail to repent.

Themes: A few religious hints here and there but it’s just porn without plot

Word Count: 5k, edited if you close your eyes

Inspo: nothing but ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒˡʸ ᵇᶦᵇˡᵉ jk

Warnings: Degradation (he calls you a whore), huge dick like hUge, fingering, oral (m receiving), bondage, unprotected seggs, rough seggs?, teasing/edging, creampie, mature language, mentions of murder, drug dealing, and Jimin is a 🤏 cunty.

A yawn. It was what had woken you up, it was ironic however, the person who yawned must’ve pulled something from his muscles that he had to yell loudly. His bones cracked as your eyes opened, lashes fluttering as you sneaked a glance towards his direction. He cocked one of his eyebrows up, giving you a look that he was indeed better than you. You tried your best to move around, only to find out that you were held locked against the mattress.

The chains repeatedly moved against the wooden frame of the large bed. Your legs were locked up, but most importantly, you were naked. Cheeks tinted a pink hue as your observed the entirety of the room, your heart was pounding against your chest as you tried to cover yourself. Your eyes avoided his, gazing at the dark hues of red that scattered around the room.

The cold air did nothing but remind you of your current form, knees quivering as your nipples went hard from the cool breeze. Breath halting as you felt the man beside you breath against your neck. “Where am I?” You dared to ask, after all, your mouth had not been forced shut, might as well put it to use.

“Ah, the pure innocence humans have when they’ve finally reached my domain.” He muttered, his shoes clacking against the tile of the room. Pushing his tongue in his cheek as he fixed his coat, gently placing it behind the chair as he dragged it lazily in front of you. “You’re in hell, darling!” He exclaimed, eyes turning bright as he met your terrified eyes, pearly white teeth glowing brightly in enthusiasm. “No, seriously, where the fuck am I?”

“Well, aren’t you a crude little brat?”

“This is fantastic, you little grievances just keep on getting cocky,” He was annoyed, licking his lips as he gazed at the corner of the room, as if he were trying to calm himself down. He pushed his hair back, cracking his neck before gently placing both of his hands in his hips. A derisive gaze lingered on your body as he eyed your entirety.

The silver from his ears glowed brightly under the light that illuminated the room, his prominent cheek bones were highlighted, his plump lips were slightly open as he finally moved to meet your eyes. “Having the time of your life, aren’t you?” You wondered how long you’ve been staring at him, nitpicking, trying hard to find a flaw in his image. His mood was quick to change as he leaned forward, hands reaching your neck before enclosing it in a inhumane grasp, limiting the oxygen that flowed within you. “Always so fragile.” He muttered under his breath, watching the way your veins would appear.

You choked out a breath. You coughed out as his hands began travelling south, touching the area around your hard nipples but being careful to the point that he doesn’t allow himself to touch them. “Get your hands off of me, freak!” You yelled, the sound of metal rattling blasting the entire room.

He seemed unfazed. “You’re a feisty little bitch for someone who’s supposed to be punished, very ill-mannered if I may add. I’ll talk to God about this design flaw,” he was shaking his head as he grabbed a small notebook from his coat pocket, alongside a pen, writing down his observations as he muttered against his lips. “What?” You yelled once again, chains rattling loudly as you did your best to run away from this lunatic. “God, as in G, O, D. Father of almighty, creator of heaven and earth, do you want me to continue reciting the Apostles’ Creed?”

“Stop playing around, just — let’s get this over with, I want to go home.” He was confused, completely taken aback by your sudden submission, closing your eyes as if you were waiting for something to happen. Thunder rumbled from the outside, as the ground slightly shook. “Completely lost will to live, shows lack of loyalty...” the sound his pen made against the grain of the paper brought you back to reality, you couldn’t help but laugh at how much he took this seriously. Sure, it was one thing to live in your fantasy, but to write things as if this were reality? What type of weed did he smoke to get this high?

You let out a yelp as his fingers hit your exposed cunt, wincing as he shifted the pen back to its’ original position, closing the notebook with his pen inside. “May I remind you, you’re in hell, darling. You don’t get to boss me around, most importantly, you don’t get to push me into listening to your orders.”

The tone of his voice never faltered, “you’ve been quite a naughty little bitch out there, criminal records going quite far. You’re going to love it here, maybe you’d roam around as a middle class woman, especially with that reputation.” You shut your mouth, pulling once more as you tried your best to break free. No one knew about your criminal records, no one knew that you did illegal work. So who the hell was he, coming out here and telling you about this? You suppose he was a man of power, or maybe the police had finally caught you, you had no idea. “Normally I’d approve of it, you know, living your own life. However, you brought this hellhole, quite literally, so many souls. Imagine having to get in a queue to enter hell. All the drug dealing, corruption of innocent souls, let’s not forget about the old woman you forced your subordinates to run over.”

“H-how?”

“I rule hell! For someone who’s been living a life as lavish as yours, you’re quite dumb.”

His fingers were tracing small circles in your stomach, pinching it every once in a while as you moved your hips trying to avoid his warm hands. “So, you’re Satan?” He pulled his hand away, rolling his eyes. “Of course, that’s what you would say...” he pushed his slick hair back situating himself in the chair near your bed. “Whichever you prefer, however, the lilt the name Jimin has is something I’m quite fond of.”

It was distracting trying to listen to him as his fingers slapped your cunt once more, forcing you to hold your breath. You tried your best to limit your reactions, trying to not feed into his ego as you were already held captive and bound. Whether he was lying or not, you had to at least play safely around him. His hands travelled towards your thighs, quietly observing the way you would react. The way you would shiver every moment he inched up closer to your weeping vulva. “You’re such fragile creatures, y/n.” Closing your eyes as you felt him inch closer, his breath fanned over your clavicle. “Fragile enough to be tempted by the devil himself, aren’t we?” You whispered in his ear, breath shaking as his skin came in contact with yours. He let out a laugh, hands flying towards your needy breasts as he drew lines with his finger. “That’s a common misconception, darling.”

His eyes failed to meet yours as he continued to harvest reactions and small almost undetectable movements from your body. He was left in awe with the way you responded, shivers ran up and down your spine, breath hitching, the small goosebumps that formed, you were intriguing. “The devil doesn’t tempt you. You imbeciles try so hard to find someone to accuse of your haughty little actions. May I remind you, you’re in control.”

“Well, not right now.” His dark eyes held fire within them as he found yours, gaze burning holes in your body as you finally stopped resisting. There was something about the way he talked, the way he felt so close to you, the way he focused on you and you alone. You felt something from deep within you combust.

“You do everything just to avoid responsibility for your own actions, tell me, y/n. How does it feel to become powerless now that you’re here?” You closed your eyes tight, toes curling as one of his fingers found your clit. His voice dropping octaves as he rolled the pads of his fingers against the wet bundle of nerves. Your eyes rolled back as your limbs rattled the chains in protest.

“Is there a flush of regret? Maybe a hint of happiness because you’re a masochist? Tell me,” you shook your head, still refusing to fall into his hands as he moved faster. Failure to elicit sound lead to a sudden halt in his movements, a whine would emanate from your lips, before he started to move his fingers once more. A sexual punishment where you never reach the peak, a mixture of annoyance, pleasure and humiliation bubbled inside you.

“Your mouth shuts itself off, doesn’t it?” Fingers moving lower, and lower, and lower, finally penetrating your hole as your lips parted. Slick coating it before accepting it with the warmth of your unexplored cavern, he let out a sigh out of satisfaction. You were clueless, you had no idea when you had become this wet, but you were thankful for the penetration. Sighing, you pushed yourself towards his finger as you tried to reach for more, to push him even further inside you. “Oh my,” he was amused, laughing at the humiliating actions you made just to feel more of him.

“Humans tend to break so easily. This time around, I’d be honoured to tell you that maybe I did tempt you. But all I did was fuel the sexual drive you had, nothing more.” You tried to shut him off, your hips grinding harder against the single finger deep within you. Moaning ever so silently, desperate to climax on your own. He remained motionless, doing nothing to help you. You were eager to feel the knot inside your stomach unravel before him. “I wish you’d see how pathetic you look, y/n.” Still you didn’t stop, tears rimmed your eyes as you tried to chase something far away from you. You felt yourself moving closer to the edge, the lack of stimulation from both your clit and your insides had been nothing but excruciating.

Despite the many whines you let loose, he still wouldn’t budge. He left you fending for yourself as the rough spot from within you begged for any form of contact. His fingers were deep enough, but due to the restraints you weren’t able to angle yourself to the perfect position. Hence, his fingers danced around the spot, never touching it. Absentmindedly pushed yourself, you never reached what you had been searching for. The corners of your eyes were starting to fill up with tears due to the pent up frustration that’s been keeping you grounded. Jimin watched in amusement, one of his eyebrows perked upwards as he let his smile loose.

“I c-can’t.” Your elbows were shaking, using them as leverage in order to get into the angle you needed in order to push yourself. In the end, you were nothing but a puddle of your own arousal and sweat. “Please, just— move,” your words were nothing but a whisper, but he heard your pleas. After all, the Devil was always listening.

“Let’s get things straight, y/n. I’m not here to ask you for repentance, you’re beyond that point. You’re here for punishment, not for pleasure.” The tears finally managed to escape your eyes, crying as you did your best to get off. However, with your lack of mobility plus his unforgiving form of punishment, you grew more impatient and far more frustrated. “Please, please, please...” you begged, pleas growing far more silent as seconds passed by. He huffed, pulling has hand away as you uncontrollably shook your head in protest. He grabbed a handkerchief, wiping his finger diligently. “Begging won’t do anything, darling. The devil never settles for bare minimum.”

Maybe it was the touch he cared to give you earlier, maybe it was how the wind carressed your bare figure, you didn’t know which one it was that put you in this situation. You normally had a lot of self control, why were you fallinng apart? The warmth from within you slowly crawling out of your skin in forms of tiny little droplets of precipitation, your breathing came in small gasps, neck craning as you followed the man claiming to be the devil himself. “You want this to be over, just so you could go home... Normally, that would mean I’d finish my business with you, blah, blah, blah... But I’ll need something a little more straightforward. Something I could take as a green flag.” his pearly white teeth appeared right in front of you, smiling in a mocking way. “I’ve got all eternity y/n.” he crossed his legs as he sat down the chair. Opening a bottle of wine, and pouring himself a generous glass.

Thunder rumbled from the outside, and once again the floor shook. Jimin was amused with the way you moved in the bed. Your eyes calculating possible escape routes, as they glossed over the entire room. The sound of the chains echoed in the empty room, repeatedly yanking on them in a small attempt to at least get them off of you. Letting out a huff the moment you realised that this was getting you nowhere. Your little hole was twitching from the cold air that surrounded the entire area, reaching your nipples making them hard once again. Hearing him drink the glass of wine he poured himself had driven you over the edge, somehow, it managed to reflect something so carnal.

You whined in frustration, it was obvious enough that at least one of your worries needed to be eased. “I’ll need words, I’d never hear the end of it if you don’t consent.” Raising your brows up in curiosity, the devil took a step, rising above you with the wine glass directly on top of you. “God might get pissed at me, circumstances like that... Honestly, if his disciples made me look so bad in their little book, I might as well play the part.” He shrugged, talking to himself as he inhaled the scent of the alcoholic beverage. His mere presence tempting you as your vulva weeped for more, shivering against the cold gust of air, in the midst of talking to you, he accidentally tipped over the glass, spilling a little bit on your stomach.

The liquid was enough to send a jolt running through your body. “Goodness me,” he muttered as he grabbed a piece of cloth from his coat pocket. Wiping it down, moving towards the direction of your cunt, wiping a little bit of the wetness off. You whimpered unintentionally, “you were messing the sheets.” he scrunched his nose towards your direction. You tried your best to close your legs, chains producing more noise, before you finally gave in. “Please, use me. I need you.” It happened quickly, Jimin’s ears were trained and hadn’t missed a best. He raised his brows, glass long forgotten, setting it aside. “A little louder please,” a tone danced with his voice, as if the excitement finally had erupted from within him. “Use me as you will, please.” It wasdegrading, but it was worth it when you felt him squeezing in two of his delicate fingers. Pushing past your walls, finally gaining the courage to breach further and dwell deeper inside of you.

You arched your back, the desperation had finally reached you. “Fuck me,” you silently whispered, his palm hitting your tiny bundle of nerves, as he continued to pound his fingers against you. “Look at your little cunt,” he was astonished, the way your tight walls enveloped his fingers, it would restrict him from spreading his fingers apart. “You must have a sinful mind, I’ve barely done anything to you, and yet, here you are.” His eyes widened as he smiled, a small ember flame growing larger, reflecting his heightened need for sexual attention. He was getting far more excited as he felt your walls grow wetter, and even tighter. He could feel your orgasm coming, the way your short gasps would erupt from your mouth, how your stomach moved in an attempt to ease the knot you feel inside of you, the way your legs shaked, with the noise of your restraints moving against the bed posts. “Faster,” and yet, you howled for more. He tore his gaze away from your dripping vulva, observing the way your face would contort.

The way your mouth was left agape, how small lines appeared from beside your eyes as you shut them tightly, how your neck tilted, exposing flesh he’s desperate to mark. And so, you came undone. The pleasure rippled from your core, reverberating throughout the expanse of your body. Your legs quivered in a desperate attempt to close your legs.

He let you ride your high, finally, pulling his fingers away. “Open wide, y/n. I’m teaching you how you must clean up after yourself.” He laughed at his own comment, happily obliging you opened up for his fingers. Sucking off remnants of your arousal, not minding the salty taste of your release, indulging. “For a human in hell, you’re quite decent. You know how to follow orders,” he pulled his fingers away with a pop, being the diligent man he was, he cleaned his fingers with the same handkerchief he used earlier. Discarding the fabric, letting it flop in the table.

“Such a pretty little figure. A shame humans had gotten their hands on you,” he bit his plump lips, walking slowly from one side to another as he watched your naked figure. Presented in a way so delicately, so small, and yet your eyes burned with a far cry from innocence. He could break you, have you begging for his dick all night long, but he too had limits. Just with how tight his pants felt, he knew at least by the next few hours he needed to be inside of you. Your lustful gaze never left his figure, the scent that erupted from your sex had been too intoxicating that even the finest wine couldn’t compete. You were far too precious to be laying down here, all prepped up just for him and no one else.

The area below you slowly sunk down, informing you that someone had occupied the empty space. The heat that emanated from his body was noticeable, but it was nothing unusual. The pads of his fingers danced around your face, holding your jaw tightly as he forced you to look up to him. You held your breath as you waited for his next move. His hand trailed downwards, finally giving your soft mounds the attention that they deserved. Perky nipples greeting him once more, flicking his finger against one of them just so he could hear your moans once again. Giving the other a harsh slap, quickly turning in a shade of red due to the sensitivity of your skin. “How should I have my way with you, y/n?” Although he addressed you, you were certain he’d been talking to himself as he experimented with your body.

Hands moving south as he drew circles on your stomach, your cunt managed to produce more wetness, making it look like an appetite underneath the single lightbulb from the room. Leaning down as he gave the area just above your pussy a small quick peck, before inhaling your scent. Closing his eyes as he tried his best to imprint the unique smell only you could make. “You’re a fucking sin, y/n. You’re the embodiment of everything unholy,” he found the area between your legs the most enticing to him. For the first time tonight, he let himself have you. He let himself fall under your temptations.

You felt butterflies, the juices you released finally had purpose. No longer discarding the liquid you brewed for him. Maybe it was the validation that he, too, wanted you, the humiliation that even the devil didn’t want to have a piece of you was beginning to eat you away. One quick flick of his tongue was enough to erase any harsh feelings. His lips wrapped around your clit as your mouth did their best to put emphasis on the two syllables that represented his name.

Just as quick as it had happened, he was pulling away. Slowly prying the buttons open to his shirt, coat long discarded in the ground as he gave you an exclusive show. The way his biceps would flex in front of you. His chest moving along with his harsh breathing. Never missing the way his shoulders would move, and how the veins would protrude as he discarded his clothing. Soon followed his belt, the latch hooking against the chain, making it pull on your leg slightly, reminding you how bare you were in front of him. Gently pulling the zipper down as his huge dick finally showed itself. Sporting a few tattoos here and there, as he threw the last of his garments somewhere across the room. You bit your lips, as you unconsciously moaned just when you take in everything presented to you. Your breathing grew far more harsh.

You took in his entire figure. His dick long enough to go past his belly button, thick enough to make his hands look very small. His tip was glistening with precum, tiny droplets that glowed, licking your lips as all you could do was fantasise about drinking him all up. You didn’t really expect that he’d be merciless with you, but when you felt his presence right above you, and his tip just below your lips. You opened your mouth greedily, moving your head forward, eager to finally have him down your throat. “Well aren’t you a good little bitch,” he muttered under his breath as he held your hair with a makeshift ponytail. Pulling onto it as he moved forward. “Open wider, darling. You and I both know I’m not gonna fit,” chuckling as he continued to instruct you.

He held your head in place as you opened your mouth as wide as you can, slowly he entered you. Your teeth barely missed his length, experimenting as you moved your tongue below his shaft, loving the way you could easily make him moan. He was sensitive. “Good grief,”

He pulled back out, your greedy lips encasing him in, just as his tip was about to leave your mouth. Your mouth was left agape as your eyes followed the direction of his tip, finally close enough just so you could kiss it, licking a stripe as you tasted his precum. Sighing out of satisfaction as you bobbed your head even further down. He was barely halfway in when you felt him hit the back of your throat. “You’re greedy aren’t you?” He pushed himself even further down, making your body jolt due to the sudden movement. “Avid little mouth sucking me just back in, you’ve barely prepared yourself and yet here you are, sucking my cock like a fucking whore, letting me hit your throat.” You tried to nod, however the obvious intrusion didn’t allow you.

Your tears welled up, as you tried your best to make him proud of you. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath as he felt your tight throat constricting around him. Quickly he was pulling away, your lips had remnants of his precum, mixed with your own saliva as you held your mouth open for him to inspect. Your eyes shed tears due to how deep he went inside of you. Lashes turning heavy as droplets of tears continued to house themselves there. You were breathing heavily. “The devil isn’t usually rewarding, but I’ll make an exception for you.” Another shift in your positions as he stood up. Proudly walking around with a body sculpted by the greatest sculptors, his back muscles to tight, his sweat doing him justice making every single part of him far more contoured, emphasising every movement he made as he was finally setting himself in between your legs.

You pulled onto your chains, as you desperately wanted to hold onto him. His hair was barely covering his eyes as he watched you in amusement, his dick in hand as he positioned it against your cunt. “Let me touch you please, Jimin.” You winced at your own voice, rough and coarse as it reminded you of the previous events. You rattled the chains even louder this time, you could feel the underside of his dick grazing your cunt, making you moan as he reached forward freeing both of your hands. You were quick enough to hold onto his neck, “this doesn’t seem like I’m punishing you, I’m just drinking you in at this point, y/n.” You shut him up with a kiss, letting him taste himself. You were too distracted to even notice him positioning himself, and with one quick piston of his hips, he went balls deep inside you.

You broke the kiss apart, the devil looking at you with a smirk in his lips as he gave you no choice but to willingly accept all of his harsh thrusts. You were desperately searching your head for anything coherent to say, but you were knocked out of words. Thrusting harshly as all you could do was moan just below him, yelling his name every once in a while as you felt him hit a familiar spot deep within you, legs shaking as you did your best to keep up with his pace. He held your hips in place, as he continued to pound inside you like a savage. The occasional grunts that left his mouth would continue to echo in your head, giving you fuel to push yourself harder.

“A cunt like yours deserves to be in hell. You’re a freak, y/n.” His deep voice growled against your ear, his gruff voice bringing you back to earth. You felt your sanity drift away from you due to the deep and harsh stroked. Dick carving its’ way through far deeper, able to hit the entrance of your cervix, you were almost certain he’d be marking it as his territory too due to the repeated blows his dick gave.

“God, Jimin,” you muttered upon reaching your second orgasm for tonight. Your breath hitched, toes curling alongside the rise of your body against the soft sheets. He only pushed in deeper and harder, emphasising his presence. “We’re still calling onto him aren’t we?” He moved his hips far harsher this time, hitting your spot. Your vision turned white from the feeling of overstimulation, as if the first orgasm never really stopped, you felt yourself forming another knot from within your stomach. “You pathetic little brat, you should be calling onto me, not him. Tell me, is he the one making you feel this way?” His words were hard to understand as each one of them were emphasised by a harsh roll of his hips, balls smacking, managing to graze your clit with his own skin, as his dick carved itself inside of you. “N-no,” you tried to be obedient, but it was hard when all you felt was the way he was marking you as his territory. “Then who is, y/n? Tell me,” a dark chuckle escaped his plump lips as he bit himself, watching you from below him with hooded eyes.

“Fucking answer me!” He growled, choking you while he continuously pounded inside of you. “Y-you are, Jimin. Fuck!” Colours danced in your eyes, closing them shut due to too much pleasure. As if he wasn’t deep enough, he pushed even further. As if asking your cervix for entrance, acceptance, manhood pounding against it’s doors as you let out a pained moan. Not once did you ever expect you’d be having a dick this big. “That’s right, you’re all mine. Aren’t you?” His hands grew a little more tighter, yelling out your response with a hoarse voice. “I’ll make sure anyone who dares to fuck you next knows,”

“Carving the shape of my dick in your velvet walls,” he was inhuman, yes he was far from being a human. The way he still continued to pound you whilst speaking without a single stutter, how he’s held out his own release even after having his dick sucked. “You like that don’t you?” Encapsulated in your own little bubble as you desperately reached for more oxygen, all you could do was nod at him. “You’re my personal fucking slave, y/n.” With each words he pushed himself deeper, grinding on your g-spot repeatedly, the pleasure was unlike what you’ve felt before. It was pure, something that only the devil could make you feel.

“And I don’t like sharing.” A kiss in your forehead was all that you got before he finally came undone. Alongside the knot you’ve been holding onto for a while, your juices mixed. You felt him pull out, followed by a trail of your mixed essence. He tilted his head in amusement, using one of his fingers to feel the creamy substance that erupted from your vulva. “You did well. I’m quite surprised, you’re a special little bitch, y/n.” Too tired to even form a coherent response you closed your eyes and looked away from him. His words began to sound more fuzzy in your head, the sound of the shower filling in the silence.

A gentle touch on your forehead woke you up, it was his lips kissing you goodbye. “I’m afraid I’ll have to go,” he pulled his slacks back up, buttoning up his shirt, concealing the tattoos and hiding his heavenly body. “To where?” Your voice would almost sound pitiful, he carded his fingers through your hair before standing up and wearing his coat. “Doing God’s work, I suppose.” He grabbed the comforter before encasing you in, your sore legs finally able to close themselves as the sound of his leather shoes hitting the wooden floors slowly dissipated. “I’ll do my best to meet you soon. Please, do enjoy your stay in Hell.”

© Yoondles 2021, All Rights Reserved

[juniorgman187]

Be Forever Young (Reid Fluff Fic)

Summary: After Penelope’s resignation from the BAU, she attempts to set up her tech protégé, Reader, with Reader’s intellectual match yet much older counterpart - Dr. Spencer Reid. 

A/N: The POV switches between Reader and Spencer, just use context clues to detect who the narrator is.  Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: 21 year age gap, headcannon proposal Playlist: Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny Word Count: 6.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Prologue

Events like these weren’t exceedingly rare. They weren’t anything like Halley’s Comet, by any means, where it only happens once in your lifetime - if you’re lucky. But they weren’t exactly sunrises - something that you can count on occurring every day without fail. 

The best celestial phenomenon I could compare it to are blue moons. Rare enough to still have an element of surprise when they came, but not so rare that I should never expect them. 

These ‘blue moons’ are actually the events in which I meet an intellectual match. 

It’s not too often that I find a mind quite like mine, so you’ll forgive me for the reaction it elicits to watch them transcend the physical level and connect with me on the psychological one. There’s only been a handful of people who’ve ever had the exact standard of aptitude to be permissible into this metaphysical world with me, but now - there’s a handful and one. 

The newest addition to the list is her. 

_ _ _

Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia is nearly impossible. Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia about Dr. Spencer Reid is impossible. 

I couldn’t tell you when the first time she brought him up was, but I could probably tell you just how many times since then she’s mentioned him. 

A trillion. At least. 

For months on end, he was the only thing she would talk to me about. Morning, noon, and night. Every single day she’d gush about him with the same unrelenting zeal as she had the day before and the day before that. It was both scary and impressive how she never seemed to run out of good things to say about him. 

“You would just die for his apartment. It’s got this super chic dark academia thingy going on. You’d be really into that,” she would say. Or something to that effect. I was never really listening. 

Not that I wasn’t interested in learning about Dr. Reid - I was very interested in him.

As a superior. 

I first learned of him when he taught my Psych 101 class. Freshman year me was simply enthralled with him as a speaker, probably due to the charm of his awkward humor. I found it eerily relatable and touching, in a way. That was probably my favorite class, minus the assholes who made it less than enjoyable at times. (That’s a story for later).

The next interaction I had with him happened not even a year later when he came back after temporarily teaching to sit in on a philosophy class. Even though he was only auditing the lecture, whereas I was enrolled in the course, he ended up sitting in the seat right beside me. Had he not been gifted with an eidetic memory - a fact I found out during one of my obsessive research sessions - I doubt he would’ve even remembered sitting next to me.

Our shared field of work helped to bring us back together repeatedly throughout college. I would run into him at seminars, workshops, once even at a library where we were both looking for the same book. 

But for the most part, our relationship was parasocial. It largely consisted of me learning from him at a distance. I would use his brilliant research to support my own assignments, read the books he recommended, audit the classes he would teach. 

Rather than accurately interpreting my very limited, very professional connection to Dr. Reid, Penelope was deliberately using it as ammunition for her arsenal of reasons why I should consider dating him. 

“You guys are basically already friends, and nothing is cuter than the friends-to-lovers trope!” Now that she actually did say, and the only reason I remember it verbatim was it was so outrageous I couldn’t not remember it. 

And probably because she just said it to me right now. 

“We’re not friends! We’re ... acquaintances. Colleagues, if you will.” My attempts to gain distance from Penelope and this topic of conversation were crashing and burning. The more I tried to walk away from her, the faster she would chase me. It was inconceivable how she managed to do that and continue to pelt me with her perky persistence. 

“Even better! You know I’m no stranger to workplace romances.”

That I did. One Derek Morgan or one Luke Alvez ring a bell?

“Dr. Reid and I don’t work together,” I reminded her, if only to burst her bubble of insanity. 

“Exactly my point! If you two don’t work together, then there’s nothing keeping you apart.” 

I was stopped dead in my tracks, almost causing Penelope to trip since she was right on my heels. 

“Nothing? Really? Try 21 years.” 

That surely kept us apart. 

Our age gap was one of those glaring disparities Penelope couldn’t wave away with her magic wand. Frankly, it wasn’t an age gap so much as it was an age Grand Canyon. He was a whole person of legal drinking age older than me!

Hell - our age gap itself was older than me!

Maybe there weren’t any contracts or agreements or supervisors to keep us apart, but there was still one significant thing doing that. 

Time. Arguably the most important thing you needed to get right for a relationship to work. 

If there were any chance that he and I were good together, that was squandered by our divergence in age. 

Right person, wrong time ... but wrong time by more than two decades.

I could see the smallest fragment of hope wither away in Garcia’s eyes, and it actually hurt to have known that I caused that. Her voice was more solemn when she said, “You don’t have to date him, I just want you to go on a date. Get to know each other better. Who knows? You might finally graduate from colleagues to BFF’s.” 

Not that I was seriously considering the possibility of growing closer to Dr. Reid, but there was one question lingering in my mind.

“Does he even want to go on this date? Have you asked him how he feels about it?” 

Part of why I was wondering was on the off chance that she’d tell me he had the same objections towards this that I did, which would be good news for me since it would mark my reluctance as a sound judgment. If there was anyone whose opinion was worth something, it was his, right? After all, he was the provable genius in the same compromising position as me. 

“Trust me, he’s been dying to do this.” In spite of her preface to trust her, I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure if she was suggesting that he’d been dying to go on a date with me or if he’d been dying to go on a date in general.

No offense to him, but I guessed it was the latter, and if that was the case, he was only being a team player because she hadn’t told him it was me she was setting him up with. Already suspecting that I’d probe further to navigate through her vagueness, she cut in with one last Hail Mary. “One date! That’s all!”

Whether you believe me or not, 100% the only reason why I said what I said next was to put an end to this madness. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Maybe 99.99%.

_ _ _

I never knew how I could lose so much time. Sure, if anyone asked, I could probably account for everything I’d done in my day, second by second. But still, there was this cloudiness, a fog, inhabiting my brain, casting this haze on whatever else dwelled in my mind, too. 

I couldn’t focus on anything for more than 4 seconds at a time, and while that wasn’t incredibly concerning for the average human, it was disconcerting for me. 

What was going on? 

What is going on?

“What’s going on?” 

Suddenly, a hand began to wave in front of my face. “Yoo-hoo? Anybody in there?” JJ wondered aloud, causing me to realize it was her voice that asked the question from before. 

“Yeah, sorry,” I shook my head to regain some clarity, but that did me no good. My foggy brain still remained. It goes without saying my words were worth nothing as well. JJ saw right through me in a way that never failed to scare me shitless. I could never conjure up a lie good enough to follow that look she’d give me. So I settled for the truth. The question that cast the haziness in my brain to begin with. 

“What do you think about me dating again?” 

If I thought that first look was bad, then the one she was giving me now was something of a nightmare. At least with the first, I knew what she was thinking. With this one, I hadn’t a clue. 

To relieve us from some of the insufferable silence, I found myself speaking again in my defense. “Garcia mentioned something earlier about setting me up with someone and it got me thinking.”

Thinking about Max that is. 

Being my most recent girlfriend, it made sense why she was freshest in my mind. That being said, we’ve been broken up for 14 months, which in any other context would seem like more than enough time to start dating again, but therein lies the catch. 

We didn’t just break up. She said “no” when I asked her to marry me, which, if you ask me, is one hell of a way to break up.

So from that perspective, it obviously begs the question: is 14 months too fast to move on from something like that? 

JJ sharply inhaled. “Well, are you ready to start dating again?”

I still didn’t have an answer for that myself. “I don’t know. There isn’t exactly a rulebook on how long you have to wait until it’s socially acceptable-”

“Lemme stop you right there, Spence,” She placed her hand on top of mine. “You can’t just do whatever statistics or studies or science say is right all the time. You not only need to be more in tune with your own needs but accepting of them, too. Screw what anyone else has to say about you dating again - including Socrates, including Einstein, including Aristotle ... including me. Do whatever you think is acceptable by your standards - not society’s. Do what you wanna do and I’ll support that.”

There was something special about having JJ’s approval. It was like getting permission to be excited, something I didn’t know I needed or wanted. 

“I’m ready.”

Born ready, as Penelope herself would say.

_ _ _

I was starting to get suspicious that maybe I had an invisible string attached to me and on the other end of that string was Penelope. It was the only explanation as to how she managed to trail behind me at an isochronal pace. Perfectly equidistant, perfectly equal intervals of time. Must’ve been some form of magic that she was able to synchronize that connection for as long as she did as we pranced around the office, basically chasing me.

“Okay, I know the date isn’t until Saturday, but I really think we need to amp up your wardrobe choices ... like stat.”

Hearing that I was seeing my superior still didn’t settle well with me. I don’t think I could ever get used to the thought. 

I should’ve been offended at her suggestion to change my clothing taste as it implied my stylistic choices weren’t up to par, but a part of me, a very small part of me, knew she was right. And just because I wasn’t keen on the idea of going on a date with Spencer didn’t mean I didn’t want to look nice for him for it.

“I’m assuming you’ve got some ideas in mind,” I said in a teasing voice, knowing that’s precisely why she brought it up.

“See! You are a genius! Exactly why you and Spencer are meant to be together!” Her exclamation was just as loud as it was outlandish. 

“Alright, calm down sparky,” I shot a warning look. “It’s just one date - we’re not soulmates.” 

Then, talking in the quietest voice I didn’t think Penelope was capable of speaking with, she said, “Not yet.” 

I knew the minute I showed even the littlest bit of interest in Penelope’s fashion guidance, I’d end up draped in ruffles, sequins, glitter, tulle, rhinestones, or all of the above. Nothing again Penelope’s personal style - it’s just not mine. 

I was scared to ask, but I had to know. “So what were you thinking?” 

Before my very eyes, Penelope’s constantly-there smile transformed, something akin to the mischievous grin of the Cheshire Cat. “I was thinking …” 

In a Mary Poppins-esque fashion, Penelope produced a dress that in no feasible reality should have been able to fit within that little Hello Kitty side bag. 

I suppose it must’ve been absolutely backbreaking for Penelope to refrain from choosing a multicolor or at least pattern-riddled dress, so as compensation for the fact that it was only one singular color throughout, it had to be a bold one. 

Red. 

“Not too shabby, right?” Her eyebrows jumped on her forehead, knowing she’d made a good choice. 

And a part of me actually died saying this, but it was pretty perfect. 

_ _ _ 

My life didn’t flash before my eyes, per se, the moment I finally arrived at the delicatessen. It was more like a very specific, singular memory had flashed before my eyes. 

That story for later? This is the one. 

Psych 101 was my best class in Freshman year ... by a long shot. Come rain, wind, or snow, I was always excited to go. It was a standout course on its own, but not because it was terribly spectacular or the most fascinating subject in the world, but more so because of how it changed my own person. It challenged me, like all worthwhile things do. 

There were more judgmental meatheads - boys, if you will - than not, who would jump down my throat for being a smart ass or a teacher’s pet if I so much as answered one of Dr. Reid’s questions. Par for the course, really. 

As a result, I had a proclivity to avoid raising my hand. It wasn’t that I was hyper-fixated on managing my reputation, just that participating wasn’t worth the eventual harassment from my dimwitted classmates. 

Nonetheless, one day, I felt compelled to answer Dr. Reid when he asked what our thoughts were about the sampled, pretense manifesto.

No one else was jumping at the chance to speak, perhaps they were just as cowardly as I was, and it was clear that he was going to stand there waiting until someone finally would. The silence was painfully awkward for everyone and so I felt obligated, as a student who was actually enrolled in the class for credit and not just to audit like 90% of the other girls here, to break it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my hand hesitantly inched up into the air until it floated just high enough above the student in front of me’s head. As soon as I knew he saw it, I let it plunge straight back down. 

“Yes, Ms. (y/l/n)?”

I could already feel the dirty looks and snide comments coming before I even said a word. 

“I know we’re all collectively referring to this unsub as a man, and while that might just be a general assumption or Freudian slip perhaps ... I think the language is steeped in betrayal and contempt. And it would be ignorant not to notice how it reads more like the wrath of a woman scorned than your typical jilted male lover.” 

“Lover?” Someone two rows back snickered quietly, clearly to mock my choice of words. I didn’t even have to look to know it was Brad who had said that. Nevertheless, Dr. Reid was impressed with my answer. His lips curved into the faintest smile as he nodded his head. If he had heard the commentary of one Brad Sterling, he made no visceral reaction to it.

With an extended hand, palm facing up, he gestured for me to, “Please. Stand up.”

I fumbled my way up and out of my seat to possibly delay the shit I’d get for this mere action.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is what it looks like to have courage,” He underlined his words with a grand flourish of his hand in my direction. “Putting yourself on the line even in the event you’ll be mocked and ridiculed or deemed wrong. That’s something you’ll need if you are seriously considering being part of the BAU, or the FBI at any capacity.”

My face was flushed from the acclaim he was showering me with. Suddenly, I was glad I volunteered. 

Taking me completely by surprise, Dr. Reid wasn’t done yet.

“So, Mr. Sterling,” He began, directly calling out the boy in the back who without a doubt made the remark. I wouldn’t have had any reason to believe he heard it since his attention never diverted away from me long enough to catch the comment, much less the culprit. I wonder if he’d heard all the times Brad made jokes at my expense. Was he finally at his wits end with the sarcasm? “Make fun all you want, but might I suggest that if you like a girl, you do the opposite of that.” 

His sickly sweet drawl was followed by a short wink at me as if to say ‘I have your back’, and I was lucky to have already been in the process of sitting back down because my knees would’ve given out underneath me from the sheer exhilaration of his praise. 

The thought never once crossed my mind that Brad was so fixated on me because he had a crush, but it all made sense once it did. And if I didn’t know any better, Dr. Reid only humiliated him and brought it up because the realization dawned on him, too.

Was it possible that Dr. Reid was ... jealous?

In the spirit of complete transparency, that suspicion may have lit the tiniest wildfire imaginable in my chest. A wildfire that, even now, has yet to extinguish. Perhaps that little flame is the 0.01% of the reason I said yes. I could only imagine what kind of omnipotence it would soon gain if this date went well. 

If he could light such an enduring kindle with simple praise, think about what would happen if he smiled at me. If he laughed at my jokes. If he held my hand. 

If he kissed me.  

Dr. Reid’s validation would be something I actively sought from all walks of life, I knew that much. What I didn’t know was how far that desire would take me.

I would have never guessed it would lead me here. 

Standing in front of a fancy restaurant in a pretty red dress with the tenuous hope that the professor inside might just like it so much that he’ll end up liking the girl wearing it, too.

_ _ _ 

No matter how many times I adjusted the bouquet of poppies, they sat perpetually crooked on the table. Much like the dark gray tie around my neck that tightened around my throat with every passing second. I had to keep messing with it to loosen the noose-like grip it had on me. Who knew if it actually was becoming more restricting or it was the flourishing bundle of nerves in my stomach that made it harder to breathe. 

I was never very good at lying in wait patiently. Especially if I was expecting something. Now that I was expecting someone? I could say with perfect clarity - I was not good at waiting. 

I don’t wanna seem the way I do 

Every time the door opened, my eyes flashed to it instantaneously. And every time it wasn’t her, a little part of me was disappointed. It was still too early to say for certain that she was standing me up, but my mind was doing what it did best. It wandered. There was nothing else to do after all. 

Except maybe adjust those blood orange poppies one more time.

I’d picked them out specifically because Penelope slipped in a not-so-subtle comment about her dress being “a perfect match to the color of papaverales” - her words exactly. I thought if she went through that much trouble to find a color coordinated plant and say the scientific name for me to decode, it was worth picking up a bouquet of them on the way. 

It was only the most ironic occurrence in the world that when I went to rearrange them one last time, I devoted my full attention to the action, missing the very moment I was on the lookout for the past hour and a half. 

I didn’t even see her until the red poppies camouflaged into the identically colored setting of her dress. 

Then there she was.

All the disappointment in the world was worth that first time I saw her with fresh eyes. 

I was dumbstruck for a moment, long enough that it warranted an apology for not standing up sooner. 

“(Y/n)! Hi!” I accidentally squealed. I couldn’t control myself, let alone control the pitch of my voice apparently. 

I could see, in her, youthful naivete where, in others, I saw their age. She paradoxically had not aged a minute, and yet a new womanhood was piercing through her ultimately adolescent appearance. 

“Hi, Dr. Reid,” She said through a laugh and a smile, shaking my hand politely and professionally. She was greeting me like I was still her professor and she’d just happen to run into me on an errand. Next, she’d be attempting small-talk for as long as it took for me to let her go. 

Unfortunately for her, I had no plans for that. 

But I’m confident when I’m with you 

“Please, it’s just Spencer,” I reminded her, hoping to break down that governing image of me she surely maintained. 

“Spencer,” She tried again; doing it more to be obedient to my instruction than to satisfy her own desire. It sounded so unnatural to her, just as it did to me. I found it adorable, actually. It seemed like she was breaking this unspoken, and very much illusionary rule to say my first name. “It’s nice to see you again,” She added after I pulled out her chair for her.

“Is it?” I asked when I rounded the table to get to my seat. “I get the feeling you’re a little disappointed.” The only reason I pointed it out was that it was true, not just that I’d observed the notion grow more poignant in her face for the past minute.

“Not at all,” She shook her head, which luckily for me, drew a line of congruence between her body language and verbal language. At least, she was being truthful. “It’s just that I’m sort of embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” I repeated in astonishment, unable to cultivate a list of reasons that would justify her feeling that way. I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done to provoke that emotion, and it nearly broke me to consider her internal being substantiating it. 

“Embarrassed isn’t the right word, but I can’t find a more accurate one for what I’m feeling,” She shied away from my eyes when she lowered her head as she spoke. 

“You could try to explain it to me?” I offered gently. It took an overwhelming amount of self-restraint to not offer my hand with it. It would’ve been so easy to slide my hand across the threshold to enter her territory of the table, but who knows if doing so would just make her that much more uncomfortable. 

“Well for one thing, I don't really go on dates,” From this alone, I could already relate to her enough to laugh at the fact. “Don’t laugh at me! You know how dangerous first dates can be,” She swatted her hand in my direction to chastise me. 

“I do! I do! I think it’s really good that you’re protecting yourself to the point of avoiding dates,” I was teasing the implication that she wasn’t asked to go on very many, which was thankfully delivered well enough to make her laugh again. 

“Hey! Many people have wanted to go on dates with me, thank you very much. You included.” 

“Me included.” I nodded in approval. We sat in a short period of silence while we exchanged one soulful glance, borne from the insinuation of what I just said. 

“And for another ... I respect you too much as a figure of authority to see you in that way.” 

_ _ _ 

“In what way?” 

Rather than tossing me a lifeline, he was feeding me to the sharks. Forcing me to dive into the deep end. He wanted to see me struggle to stay afloat in the sea of his sticky toffee eyes. He knew I'd get suspended in them when he gave me that look. How much I’d be willing to get lost in them just so I could wander in the depths of his honeyed orbs for a little bit longer. 

That look ...

“You don’t find it weird?” This was the most honesty I could’ve demonstrated. 

“Find what weird?” For someone with such a high IQ, you’d think he’d be quicker on his feet. 

“This! You - me. On a date!” I gestured to the space between us. “You’re ... well frankly, Spencer, you’re old enough to be my father.” 

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” He genuinely cared about the answer.

“Only in theory. Not in actual life,” was the most precise response I could give.

“So what is making you uncomfortable?” Again, I could tell my answer mattered to him. 

“You were my professor once, and now I’m just supposed to go on a date with you and see you as my equal when I’ve spent the entire time I’ve known you, putting you on a pedestal? Do you know how much pressure that puts on me? To be perfect?”

“Who says you have to be perfect? Who says you’re aren’t already?” 

That one caught me off guard. I had to gulp down the lump of shock. 

“You think I’m perfect?” 

“That, or you’re pretty close to it.” 

Lately all I feel is bad and bruised

I could’ve smiled, I could’ve thanked him, I could’ve fallen at his feet and thrown my dignity down there along with it, but I just laughed. I laughed. 

“That’s ridiculous! You barely know me.” 

“You’re wrong,” He simply replied with a firm shake of his head and a cavalier sip at his drink. It showed just how confident he was in his answer. How cocky he was. 

“How am I wrong?” 

He cleared his throat as though he were preparing to deliver the world’s greatest speech. Then, he leaned forward, motioning with his fingers for me to do the same. 

“If I’m remembering correctly, which you know I am, you were the student who had the gall to raise your hand and correct me on my gender identification of the unsub, right?” 

The second the sentimental thought, ‘aww he remembered’, came into my head, it was soon followed by, of course, he did, idiot. Eidetic memory, remember?

Tired of tripping on my shoes

“What does that have to do with me being perfect? Or so you claim?”

He was piercing deep into my eyes now, his gaze overwhelming my senses and sending shockwaves akin to the feeling of butterflies everywhere … and I mean everywhere.

“Bravery is the audacity to be unhindered by failures, and to walk with freedom, strength, and hope, in the face of things unknown.” 

I recognized the quote as one of Morgan Harper Nichols, but the words went right to my chest like they were his own. 

That damn wildfire just got a whole lot bigger. 

“I’ve always thought about how if I could be unfazed by failure or even just the prospect of it, if I could just be strong enough or have enough hope to face what I couldn’t predict, I’d be set. I’d be golden,” He paused. “I’d be perfect ... but you? You, little one, have already got that figured out. So whether that means you’re perfect on your own because of your bravery or you're a perfect match for someone fainthearted like me, is up for you to decide. Whichever interpretation of being perfect you choose would be correct, but you should know - I meant both either way.”

But when he loves me I feel like I’m floating

When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody

Even when we fade eventually to nothing

You will always be my favorite form of loving

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked when he finally refound his voice. 

“Since the minute I walked in.” I replied after refinding mine. 

_ _ _ 

“You always take girls to your apartment on the first date, Doctor?” Asking this in the name of taking a jab at him was the most clever way I could think to conceal my underlying motive of trying to gauge how giddy I could let myself feel about the fact that he’d taken me to his ‘super chic dark academia’ themed residence - Penelope’s words, remember?

“Well, in my abundant dating history,” He sarcastically began, “I can’t say I ever have, no. You’d be the first.”

That shot another quick bolt of lightning to the wildfire in my heart that I’m ashamed to admit made the heat reinvigorate. The flame must’ve been too much for my chest to contain so it had to relocate to my face, where my cheeks were left to burn under his gaze and thanks to his admission. 

I was the first. 

He must’ve seen the glint localizing on my countenance and decided to speak on it. “Why does that amuse you?”

“I don’t know,” I dumbly but truthfully replied. He didn’t need any more information to get his answer, though. Because even if I didn’t know what amused me about being his first, I never denied that it did, and that was more than enough confirmation for him. 

“You promise to be here when I come back?” He wagged a cautionary finger at me like it might persuade me to stay and hold me accountable if I didn’t. 

Spencer needed to go into his room to collect an item that ‘shall not be named’ but was apparently essential for our super secret plans tonight (secret to even me) and he was leaving me in the living room while he did so. I guess being the initial girl he took home on a first date was okay, but being the initial girl he took into his bedroom on a first date was crossing a line. 

That was alright with me, though. I was in this for the long haul.

“I promise I pose no flight risk, Your Honor,” I taunted with a coy tone. “But I can’t promise I won’t snoop around some.” Hey, at least I was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

“Snoop around all you want,” He laughed ruefully, demonstrating an openness I quite envied and admired. “You’ll probably learn a lot about me that way. And you won’t even have to talk to me to do that!” I knew he was only saying that out of self-deprecating tendencies he harbored, but I couldn’t help feeling that a small part of him actually believed that I wasn’t interested in talking to him.

“Spencer, you know I do like talking to you right?” I caught him just before he ran into his room. Already halfway in the door, I could still catch the megawatt smile on his face. 

“So stay then,” His smile grew impossibly bigger. “We can talk all you want when I get back.” 

The door closed, and then suddenly reopened to let just his face through, a face that said, ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

After a few minutes of loudly sorting through his room, I heard the sanctimonious cry of victory. “Found it!” 

I could hear the little pad of his feet and he happily trotted out of the room. “Ta-da! My stargazing kit.” He said it as though he were introducing the basket he was holding to me, and me to it. Like it was a real person he wanted me to know. I almost felt obliged to say, ‘Hi stargazing kit! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m (y/n)!’

“Let’s go,” He smiled, reaching for my hand. 

I unabashedly took it, because although it meant that I was truly leaving his apartment, I had a very strong feeling that I would be back here again one day. 

_ _ _ 

We were lying there on this big quilted comforter that was stashed away in that stargazing kit of his, staring up at the sky, drunk on the sound of our occasional fits of laughter. 

“It’s Earth Day, you know that?” I wondered aloud in a state of complete euphoria.

“I actually did,” He said through a sheepish laugh, almost as if he was admitting the knowledge of it against his own will to protect my fragility. 

From out of nowhere, there was a small tug on the skirt of my dress. I looked down to find Spencer’s hand there, playing with the fabric until it lay perfectly on my leg. 

I coughed to possibly relieve the tension brewing in my loins. “So then you know the Lyrid meteor shower is tonight,” I moved the tiniest bit closer to lean into his touch.

“At exactly 4:33 a.m,” He moved too.

“Is that why you brought me here? To watch the shooting stars? To make a wish?” I thought for a second that I would appear exceedingly childish - more so than I already did being 21 years his junior. But he didn’t judge me at all for the kid-like notion of making a wish on a shooting star or the implication that I still believed in those things. 

In fact, I piqued his curiosity, telling by the way he moved only his head to the side to watch my reaction. “Say I did. What would you wish for?” 

In the throws of dreamy elation, I softly murmured the only honest answer. “To be older. But not the unfulfilling 9 to 5, loveless marriage, ‘I do my taxes for fun’ older. I want to be old in the ways that the stars and the sky are old. I want to be infinite.” 

“...To be infinite.” He whispered my wish back, sounding sort of in awe of me. 

Just then, the overhead horizon grew larger. With no buildings or people to block the view, it was just us, the stars, and the sky. I could actually feel that I was lying on a planet. It was so wide. So infinite. 

“Can I hold your hand?” I asked softly, in a manner so vulnerable it scared me.

Without any words or hesitation, he put my hand in his.

“The universe seems so big right now. I just needed something to hold onto.” I explained quietly, practically with the hopes that he wouldn’t hear me. But he heard.

“I’m here.”

We didn’t know what was ahead of us then. We were just two people, looking up at the sky on a cold February night. We weren’t divided by power, or age, or space. We were ourselves and no one else. 

My eyes fluttered shut again and a smile stretched across my face. “Stargazing was a good idea.”

The world and the sky and the stars and I - we were all infinite. I couldn’t have felt bigger in my own body. In the best way possible, I was taking up so much space. I was occupying the earth. I was made up of matter. I mattered. 

Just as I began to open my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a fading shooting star. Though I had wished to be older, I still felt like a child. Then it hit me. I didn’t feel older because I wasn’t older.

I was infinite. 

Yes, I was a child, but not in the pinch your cheeks, bottles and pacifiers, babyish way. I was a child in the ‘you have a life full of possibilities ahead of you’ way.

You are young. He tells me with his eyes. And that is a good thing. Be forever young. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

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[rebeccccccaaa]

ʙɪɢɢᴇsᴛ ғᴇᴀʀs

_________________________

ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: (ANON) Heyyya I saw that you were taking requests! I love your writing and could I maybe get a fic where the reader is slightly new to the avengers and they’re at one of Tony’s parties and someone tells the entire team how she’s always felt that no one could lover her and somehow Bucky reveals his feelings for her and it maybe ends in smut or fluff? Thank you 💗

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: Smut 18+, Bucky gets upset and it’s kinda hot ;), insecure!reader, fluff

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Thank you for the request darling! I tweaked it a bit but i think i did alright… Anyhoo enjoy!!

_______________________

“Quite the party, Tones. Really one up yourself tonight didn’t you?” Nat said after everyone cleaned up. It was around one in the morning, Everyone that Tony invited to yet another extravagant party had finally left.  Leaving you and the rest of the team for a small little after party,  as per usual  according to Nat.

You joined the Avengers not long ago and you had yet to be invited to one of Tony's parties.  This was the first of many to come and boy, did those fantasies get fulfilled.  Guests dressed to the nines occupied every corner of the room, it was almost too crowded for your taste. 

But now here you were settled on the couch with the rest of your teammates laughing and giggling about stupid things that happened during the party. 

“Hey, you had fun,” Tony pointed sternly at Nat, who simply shrugged with a devilish smirk. 

“So what now? Because I don’t know about you guys but I am not tired at all,” Clint groaned.

“Truth or dare?” Nat said.

“What?” 

“Truth. Or. Dare,” she repeated.

“Dare,” he challenged.

“Lift Thor’s hammer,” she mocked, considering the last they all tried it no one succeed and a robot crashed their party.

“Alright,” he grunted, standing up.

“Tony, got any robots that wanna kill you this time?” He laughed.

“I don’t think so,” Tony looked around, making everyone laugh.

“What happened last time?” you whispered to Bucky. 

“I have no idea, I was in hiding after I almost killed my best friend,” he whispered back.

“I’m so sorry,” you had a shocked look on your face.

“It’s ok, doll. We’re all fine and dandy now,” he winked, making you feel flustered. 

Bucky had the one you felt most friendly with. Nat too but you usually spent most of your time with him. He was just so nice to you and not to mention how incredibly charming and handsome he is.

“Had enough?” Nat said.

“Bitch,” Clint grumbled before sitting down after having failed yet again to lift Thor’s hammer.

“Who’s next!”

You guys went back and forth giving dares to everyone, from making Steve and Bucky have a beer chugging contest, to asking Vision if he had a dick, you know being a robot at all, to you taking three shots of tequila with no chase, ultimately failing and almost dying.

“Ok, we’re doing too many dares; I’m running out of ideas,” Nat laughed.

“Y/n, truth or dare.”

“Truth, I guess,” you said.

“What’s… your biggest fear?” a collection of ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ah’s’ echoed.

“Oh, well uh… clowns,” you chuckled, not really wanting to reveal you real fear; you felt it was kinda stupid.

“Clowns? Bitch, please. What is it for real?” Nat scooted to you.

“Um… well, uh-”

You took a deep breath.

“Being unlovable,” you whispered.

“What? We love you, Y/n. You’re family now; we all love you,” Steve spoke up.

“Yeah we love you,” everyone chimed in. 

“I know it’s stupid,” you said, shaking it off.

“It’s not stupid if it’s your biggest fear,” Nat said rubbing your back.

“I guess what I mean is… You know that love where you just think about that person and your palms get sweaty, you start feeling hot, your stomach kind of erupts into butterflies. And it's just because you thought about them. You see their smile and you want to smile too. You see them laugh and it's music to your ears; and all you can think about for the rest of the day is how you can make that person laugh again. And when you touch them, your fingertips start to tingle. Your body turns cold and then they leave and then your body turns really hot and you get super sweaty. That kind of love is so intimate between you and that person. I've never had that and I'm terrified that I never will.”

Everyone looked at you with their full attention. They never really thought about it because they’ve all loved someone. Steve felt that way about Peggy, Tony with Pepper, Nat and Bruce felt that way with each other, Thor had Jane, Clint was married and had a family, Wanda and Vision. It was just you Sam and Bucky and it was obvious you three had never been in love like that.

“How can you say that?” Bucky broke the silence.

“What?”

“How can you be afraid you’ll never be loved? Y/n, any man, woman, anybody would be the luckiest person alive to call you there’s. You are so special and unlike anybody I’ve ever met. I see you smile and it’s like a work of art. Your laugh is the most precious thing I’ve ever heard. Everytime you touch me I can’t help but wish…,” he paused, remembering there were other people around.

“You’re perfect and anyone who can’t see that is goddamn fucking idiot,” he huffed. Bucky didn’t give anyone time to process what he said before he left the room to his own.

“I think I’m done… for the night,” you whispered walking out. 

“Yeah good night guys,” Nat followed you out. 

Everyone scattered and went to their rooms, tension still in the air. You went to your room and thought about Bucky’s words. It felt like there was something between you two but it was exactly clarified. You changed into sleepwear and decided to talk to Bucky real quick before bed.

“Buck?” you softly knocked on his door.

“Hey,” he said, awkwardly opening the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course,” he opened the door wider and closed the door behind you.

“I thought about what you said, tonight.”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to upset you or make you uncomfortable,” he scratched his neck.

“I’m not upset.”

There was a moment of silence between you.

“Y/n,” he spoke up.

“Yeah?” 

“I like you,” he said bluntly.

“So when I heard you say you didn’t know if you were unlovable I got kinda upset because well,” he trailed off.

 “Really?” you asked, smiling softly.

“Yeah, I get it if you don’t-”

“No! I do, I do. I like you,” you laughed. Bucky breathed out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He walked closer to you until he stood toe to toe with you. Your stomach fluttered like you wished it would for so long before . You felt hot and resisted the urge to reach out and touch him.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n,” he cupped your face.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” you responded.

You melted ainst Bucky when his lips touched yours. You felt unsteady and reached forward to holding his waist, smaller than you originally thought. He walked slowly forward until your knees buckled and you sat on the bed. 

You fell back and pulled on top of you making Bucky’s hips settle between your legs. His rough hands felt gentle moving slowly up your body under your shirt. His hands brushed the curve of your breasts making you gasped lightly. 

Bucky lips traced your jaw line and you moved your head back giving him room to nip at your neck. Your hands instinctively went to hair and you moaned softly at Bucky's lips on your neck. 

You slightly pushed him off of your body and lifted his shirt. Bucky lifted his arms not without a chuckled and discarded to the floor. You moaned at the sight of his muscular torso, your nails lightly scratching him make his abs tighten under your fingertips.

You practically tore your own shirt off before throwing yourself to him kissing him hard. He laughed wrapping his arms around your bare torso bracing himself from falling on the floor with his feet.

“You’re so handsome, Bucky,” you giggled.

“And you’re so gorgeous,” he responded.

You both rid of your bottoms and you laid back for Bucky to hover over you. His eyes were lustful, nearly black, as he stared hungrily into your own. Your skin raised, chills running down your spine. Bucky kissed you as he lined himself with your entrance. 

Up until this moment you hadn’t realized how wet you were, arousal practically oozing from you onto your thighs. You peeked in between your bodies and was taken back by his impressive size.

“Is it gonna fit?” you looked up at him.

“Of course. But if not, well there are plenty of ways to give my girl pleasure.”

“Your girl?” you smirked.

“Hell yeah, doll. I didn’t almost reveal that I’ve been waiting to get my hands on your delicious body for nothing.”

“You’re too funny,” you kissed his nose.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his face softening.

“Yeah.”

He pushed himself in sliding easily from your slick. You closed your eyes and moaned as did Bucky, throwing his head back slightly from pleasure.

“You feel fucking amazing, baby,” he groaned.

You just moaned feeling incredibly full. You squeezed his shoulders allowing him permission to move and he resisted thrusting animalistically because you felt so velvety. You felt so warm and perfect; like you made for him and him for you.

“Fuck, Bucky. Harder please. Fuck me hard.”

“You sure honey?” he questioned not wanting to hurt you.

“Yes, please!”

He grabbed your hands and brought them over your head thrusting into like a maniac. Your back arched causing Bucky to hit an entirely new angle making you moan louder. 

“God you sound so fucking pretty. Those precious little sounds from me fucking you stupid,” he whispered lowly in your ear. 

“Fuuck!” you drew out. Your legs wrapped around Bucky pulling him closer chasing your orgasm. 

“Look at that, baby. Look how your pussy’s taking me,” Bucky grunted. 

You looked down to see the lewd image of Bucky going  and out of you repeatedly. It was so eroctic however, and you moaned before finally feeling the tightened coil in the pit of your stomach burst. 

Your back arched once again and your arms wrapped around Bucky’s neck after he let go reaching his own high too. You both moaned before settling in silence; your body trembled under him and Bucky breathed heavily into your shoulder.

“Fuck, that was unbelievable, doll,” Bucky laughed.

“Yeah, man. You’ve got a good dick,” you smirked.

“If you let me, I want to take you out. On a real date,” Bucky said.

“I’d love that,” you smiled. 

You two fell asleep that night and woke up in each other's arms. Bucky took out to breakfast, then lunch, and then dinner. You guys didn’t like the food at the restaurant too much so you used Tony’s card that you snuck out and went to McDonald’s dressed highly inappropriately, better dressed for Tony’s party than this. 

Nonetheless, it was perfect and that fear you had long disappeared for everyday bucky made sure you knew he loved you. And of course you did the same.

[ruby-whistler]

I feel like if we really want to take a closer look at the topic of c!Dream’s obsession with c!Tommy, we have to look into both his reasons for it, and the tactics he employs to achieve his goals concerning it.

[ /dsmp /roleplay I did not tag this that way but this entire analysis is hugely c!Dream critical and focuses on the various facets of his manipulation, so if you’re not in the mood to read that, you have been warned not to. ]

Interestingly enough, before the SMP was actual heavy roleplay, back during the original disc war, the reason c!Dream listed for keeping the discs was to use them as bargaining chips, because he knew c!Tommy wanted them back, as they were hard items to get at the time, and knew he could use them for that purpose.

He had just gotten mugged and repeatedly killed by c!Tommy, who had also participated in a conflict beforehand, and only gave a half-hearted apology in the end. He had also seen him cause problems on the server before that. The discs were meant to be something he would threaten to destroy if c!Tommy started acting out of line, because he didn’t trust him to keep his word and wanted a guarantee. That was the reason he insisted on keeping the discs after getting his armor back, which is why he originally stole them.

And I feel like c!Dream’s train of thought, while skewed and twisted with irrational mindsets, is rather straightforward in essence. Conflict is what he actively stands against and what stops him from having a united server, hence in his mind, he needs to destroy things that bring conflict, and control what he can’t or doesn’t want to destroy. He thinks c!Tommy brings conflict, so he feels like he needs to find ways to control him.

Sure, we all know about the systematic abuse and isolation he employed to make c!Tommy believe he was his friend, but one of his major tactics since the beginning has also been intimidation, or a particular type of manipulation that leads to people fearing him or thinking that he has more power than he actually does. In his mind, if people are scared of him, they’re much more likely to listen to him. And the most fascinating thing is that it works.

During the initial exile conflict, despite him being just a single person with no official political power, he assures victory by aggressively, and very intelligently, threatening his way through the negotiations. c!Tubbo is scared of him, and that is not a coincidence. It’s purposeful.

Seeing as he planned to give L’Manberg technical independence either way - he said that there was no real way for him to stop them from pursuing that anyways, so that wasn’t the intention - even the war seems like a very likely ploy to make the revolutionaries fear him enough so that they wouldn’t start conflict after seceding. c!Wilbur is careful not to start anything with the Greater Dream SMP after this, because c!Dream has shown that he can and will ruin them if they do. c!Tubbo also knows exactly the lengths c!Dream will go to if he promises war thanks to this, and that if he says he’ll build a wall and keep them from leaving it with force, he’s going to do it. When c!Tubbo is faced with an ultimatum, seeing as his goal is to keep New L’Manberg safe and peaceful, he knows he has no option but to give in.

Another variation of this tactic is making himself seem more dangerous and unpredictable than he actually is and obscuring his motivation. If people don’t know what he wants, they are less able to devise effective tactics to stop him from getting it. The element of surprise is something that he utilizes constantly throughout warfare, and psychological battling is no different. For instance, during Doomsday he begins talking about how the server will “be at peace now” thanks to L’Manberg being gone, before c!Tommy barges in, and begins implying he did this all because he hates him.

DREAM Tommy… Look. In all destruction *looks at the falling TNT* there is a new beginning.

TOMMY You- you did this…! To all of us! Not just to me, but to everyone here…!

DREAM Beautiful. You know… the unfinished symphony, right?

…

TOMMY Why…?

DREAM The server will be at peace now.

TOMMY Why, Dream…?

DREAM Because I didn’t-

TOMMY Couldn’t you just- couldn’t you just burn the discs…? Couldn’t you just do it to me? Why did you have to…?

DREAM This is much more fun.

[ credits to @dsmptranscripts on twitter ]

Although c!Dream’s motivation for destroying L’Manberg was actually that, much like with c!Tommy, he thought that it bred conflict and division, he picks up on this and switches to saying how he did indeed do this all to hurt c!Tommy because he finds it fun.

He talks very inconsistently plenty of times, but it’s rather easy to spot a pattern of him being honest about his motives with his allies but straight up lying to his enemies. This makes sense, and it is usually employed as a deliberate tactic.

Intimidation is something he also uses to manipulate people during his time in prison. Ever since he got locked up, it became a mental fight. If people fully realized that he was powerless to stop them from hurting or killing him, his life only hanging by a thin strand on the concept of the revive book, he would’ve lost the control he needed to assure his survival.

The difference is that before then, c!Dream had actual physical power, however the manipulation gets harder to pull off when he has none, even with people he finds naive enough to fall for it. He still risks it because he’s desperate, and has nothing but his own life to lose, which is something he believes to be protected by his possession of the revival book. He had never been big on self-preservation besides staying alive to reach his goals.

He first tries this on c!Sam, who, rather unpredictably, begins to get morally corrupted by the power he has over c!Dream, on top of other factors. c!Dream talks to c!Sam about exile and about c!Tommy because logically, if he’s afraid of him, he’s less likely to try to hurt or kill him. This backfires because this new, unexpected version of c!Sam begins to fiercely hate c!Dream instead, hurting him further.

The same thing happens with c!Tommy - when he realizes that he can’t influence him through repeated visits anymore, he attempts to scare him into obedience again. He establishes himself as someone dangerous who has the power to escape and hurt c!Tommy as well as his friends, which he hopes will subconsciously sway him to not do things that he would disagree with. We can see him pretending to be the one in control throughout the stream after c!Tommy first got revived.

He also tells him that he can bring back the person who he’s afraid of the most and get him on his side, which is precisely the bit that ends up backfiring, but it doesn’t really matter, and trying was still the best thing he could’ve logically done.

If he hadn’t, at some point people would realize he actually has no power at all, and pay back the fear he’d instilled in them previously. This happens with c!Quackity, who began to take advantage of c!Dream’s lack of control as soon as he realized how easy it was to strip away the last bit of power he has, which is also keeping him alive.

Getting back on track, c!Dream essentially tries to control c!Tommy first by manipulating him into believing he is his friend, then believing he is a threat to him when that fails. We can see this from the way the Finale is prepared to be somewhat of a final showdown between the two, and also by him actually revealing the tactics he used to employ during exile, for example talking about taking away the invites to the party and not actually being his friend. This also proves he knew exactly what he was doing during that time, and he could easily switch between tactics because the end goal of controlling c!Tommy was more important to him than what c!Tommy thought of him.

And that’s it.

It’s all just a ploy to control him because he finds him one of the hardest people to stop from causing conflict.

Controlling him is as important to c!Dream as destroying L’Manberg and dethroning c!George and collecting people’s attachments, because what is important to him is achieving his goals through whatever means necessary, not the means themselves.

As for people, while he has no desire to actually kill them - or feels he cannot, because they could still be useful to his plans in the future - he treats them as either tools or obstacles he needs to deal with, especially if they ever get in the way of his plans, and he isn’t particularly attached to them. He does this to himself as well, and doesn’t seem to care about his own well-being or reputation as long as he achieves what he wants. While he’s focused on the ends to his means, that is the only thing that is important to him.

You could argue this does stem from thinking of the people he wants the server to be united for as important, since cc!Dream said his goals are for “everyone to get along”, but that doesn’t change the fact that the ways in which he works towards that goal doesn’t treat others’ or his own feelings as consequential at all. In the case of people who stand against him, their entire well-being is put to the side until what needs to be done in his mind gets done.

c!Dream isn’t “scared” of c!Tommy per se, nor does he seem to be obsessed with the guy himself, but he finds him something necessary to get out of the way to accomplish his goals, and he does so, ruthlessly as ever.

And even though the goal of eradicating conflict and uniting the server is something that he is so focused on that it could definitely be called an obsession, c!Tommy really isn’t that important within the equation at all.

This wasn’t a post to excuse or downplay any of his actions, nor do I agree with the “logical” thoughts I mentioned. There is a reason why I used phrases like “he finds” “in his eyes” “he thinks” “in his mind” “he feels like” a whole lot throughout this essay.

The character has an extremely flawed worldview that I in no way agree with (and although that should probably be pretty obvious, you really don’t know with this fandom). All this post is for is to analyse certain traits that are assigned to him, and figure out through logical reasoning whether they’re a mischaracterization or not.

And as far as the evidence goes; c!Dream isn't obsessed with c!Tommy, he is obsessed with his goal, and he sees Tommy as a big obstacle to achieving it, which makes him focus on him. These feelings he puts on display are an illusion to distract people from his real goal so they don't know how to get in his way - because, just like cc!Dream said, he “likes to withhold information; withhold plans; and withhold feelings” from everyone else.

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 7 - Games

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff.

Summary: Trying to make sure the two of you stay out of the bedroom, you suggest playing a game of Twister and Gojo's mind starts to wander.

A/N: Sorry if there are mistakes! I don't have a beta and get tired rereading the chapters over and over again. This is a little short but we have some fluff and feels and we get a little insight on how Gojo has been feeling. I'm building up to something, I promise!

- - -

“Okay, left foot on green…”

With his right foot remaining on the red circle, Gojo spread his legs wide to place his left foot on the green circle towards the end of the mat. Things were easing up on his end when it came to work and he decided to take advantage of that by spending his free time with you tonight. What he didn’t expect was for the two of you to be in the middle of your living room playing board games instead of the usual physical activity that you both have grown accustomed to partaking in.

“Is this really how you want to spend our evening together?” he asked, taking the spinner from your hand as he proceeded to flick the arrow with his thumb and index finger.

You nodded your head, “We need to keep ourselves out of the bedroom. Otherwise, we will never leave...”

Gojo rotated his neck from side to side before replying, stretching to prepare himself for the awkward positions he was about to hold, “you’re making it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Listen, game night is going to make up for movie night which never happened because we wound up doing it on your couch instead...”

A smug grin spread across Gojo’s face, thinking of your failed plan to have a scary movie marathon with him. You were hoping to catch the sorcerer squirm but what you didn’t expect was him teasing you thirty minutes into the film that inevitably resulted in you being fucked senseless on his couch.

“You’re really going to put the blame on me for that? If you were paying attention you wouldn’t have succumbed to my advances so easily,” he retorted defensively.

“You had your hand up my skirt!”

“Now, I told you what that skirt does to me,” he jokingly snapped, pointing his finger at you sternly before shrugging his shoulders. “I couldn’t help myself…”

“Okay, well how about the night we were supposed to go out for dinner but missed our reservation because you decided to rip up my dress on the car ride over…”

“Let’s not get too dramatic, I merely broke the zipper and I did buy you another dress.”

“Okay, how about last night?”

Gojo parted his lips, pausing to think how the two of you wound up naked in the shower instead of going to the karaoke bar with Rina and her friends.

“Last night... wasn't my fault,” he pointed out, arching his brow at you as he recalled the way you teased him into submission.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right…” you shyly replied, biting your bottom lip as you scratched the back of your head. “So, uh, what’s my next move?”

“Quick to change the subject, I see?” Gojo answered with an easy smile, “Put your left hand on the blue circle…”

With your feet on the green and yellow circles, you leaned your body forward to put your left hand on the blue sphere. Meanwhile, Gojo dropped the spinner on the ground beside you, suppressing a laugh as he watched you struggle to spin the arrow and call out his next round.

“The point here is...” you grumbled as you tried to adjust yourself back into a comfortable position, “...the two of us are getting carried away. I just think this little break might do us some good.”

“I don’t think working up a sweat is a bad thing,” Gojo insisted.

“Well, we can burn calories after I kick your butt,” you added on, waiting for the arrow to land. “Right hand on green...”

“For someone trying to make sure we keep our distance, you sure picked an interesting game tonight,” Gojo teased, finding his new posture which brought his face close to yours.

“I know for a fact that you can’t cheat playing Twister,” you reminded, before glancing up at him from under your lashes and inching forward to peck him on the tip of his nose. “Besides, I never said I wanted space, I just thought I’d change things up for the evening.”

Gojo’s smiled into your lips as he gave you a soft kiss in return, “if you think you can distract me by being cute, you are absolutely wrong .”

“We both know how much of a sore loser you can be,” you answered back, “I just hope you’re ready to throw yourself a pity party by the end of this because I am definitely winning.”

“Mhmm, whatever you say. Right hand, blue…” he continued, trying to pay attention to the game and observing you reach your arm slightly underneath him to place your hand on the circle.

He couldn’t explain when things became this comfortable with you. If he had known that hooking up with you would bring you both closer together as friends, he wouldn’t have rejected your offer that easily.

You’ve both already broken one of your rules. However, Gojo didn’t mind forgoing the “drinking” rule to decide whether or not the two of you wanted to hook up. You both no longer needed the excuse anyway, after a while it became painfully clear that regardless of what the plans were, things always resulted in the two of you tangled up in someone’s bed sheets.

The sorcerer spent a majority of his spare time alone, unaware of how much it bothered him until you came along. He thought about the way you described yourself when you were in a relationship with your ex-boyfriend, and wondered if this felt similar in any way. Not that he considered you as anything other than a friend...but he was curious .

You both were different in many ways but often clashed when it came to your perspectives on love. You believed that there was a person out there for everbody, that there was nothing like falling in love with somebody who looked at you as if you were their whole world.

Granted, those were your opinions when you were in a happy and loving relationship but Gojo always disagreed with you because he was convinced that relationships were messy and only brought unnecessary drama to the table. That’s why he had his own personal rule that was standard practice when it came to his “love” life.

He never hooked up with somebody more than once.

Rumors about his womanising ways only stemmed from the fact that he did actually have plenty of lovers. However, he could barely recall their faces and didn’t even remember their names. Sometimes they recognized him on the street, and foolishly attempted to strike up a conversation with the handsome, rich stranger who paid for their company.

Gojo would politely brush them off every time. His stone cold reaction broke the hearts of those who were lucky enough to even be in his presence. He surely didn’t need to pay for the escorts or call girls but the act itself was easier and he had the money to spend anyway. These acquaintances never asked him any questions about his personal life, which benefited him greatly because it left very little room for anything other than small talk. Once both parties were satisfied, Gojo would leave every encounter without ever looking back. Sex was a routine way for him to blow off steam or merely take care of his natural urges. However, you didn’t know that you were the first person who he consistently kept as company in the bedroom.  

Up until this moment, he had been suppressing his desire for you. Now that he has you, the sorcerer could tell he was getting greedy. He respected your wishes when you asked him not to see anyone else on the side but surprised himself when he realised that he had no interest in seeking out the strangers that used to keep him company at night.

Even though you both insisted that this new partnership had no influence on friendship, Gojo was observant enough to see that it was not the case. Little things were starting to change here and there, and he was carefully making note of it every time it happened.

For example, whenever he was off fighting curses, you started habitually checking up on him to make sure he was okay. One night when he was unable to answer his phone, he received a string of unusual text messages from you to find out what happened. He remembered calling you right after, teasing you to ask if you were worried about him. You surprised him with your fear, how you easily believed that something was powerful enough to harm him despite him repeatedly telling you that nothing could touch him. When you responded to his question with a sincere yes, an unexpected sensation spread across his chest. If he wasn’t paying attention to how much you cared about him before, he was more aware of it now.

To ease your worries, he made it a point to shoot you a text whenever he could just to let you know that he was alright. Although, he did sometimes forget which resulted in you panicking on the phone with him. Only this time, Gojo never made fun of your concerns.

In turn, he realised how fiercely protective he became of you and it killed him whenever he had to deflect your questions when you asked about his life. There was so much you wanted to know and so much that he wished he could tell you. However, he had every intention of maintaining this invisible boundary. The last thing he wants is for you to get caught up in something that you couldn’t understand. If he were to invite you into his whole world, that would only lead to you facing dangerous threats that loved to lurk in the shadows.

He would never forgive himself if something were to happen to you.

A few more rounds passed, and the two of you were intertwined in the most precarious situation. You were in a reverse tabletop position, looking like a crab with two hands and feet on the blue and yellow circles. Meanwhile, Gojo was in a plank position above you, his palms pressed on the red and green circle by your side, with one foot next to yours on a blue circle and another on a yellow circle.

You were shaking underneath him, desperately trying to maintain your awkward stance while Gojo appeared bored holding his own position with ease.

“Okay, I didn’t take your strength or height into consideration…” you groaned with a pout.

A chuckle escaped his lips, “give up, yet?”

“No…” you groaned, eyeing the spinner by your side as you reached for it with your right hand. You lifted your head slightly, your neck straining as you tried to call out the next move. “Left foot, green…”

Gojo picked up his leg but as he stretched himself out he realised that he couldn’t bend himself properly in that particular way.

Your eyes widened, watching him shake as he tried to rotate his body without lifting himself completely up off the mat.

“Or maybe your height is actually a disadvantage?” you questioned, ignoring the way your arms burned from holding yourself up as your heart raced with anticipation.

“Shhh, I’m concentrating...”

Gojo kicked his leg out one way and then the other, the comical image of his tall body in motion only made you laugh at his reaction. He tried his best to ignore the sound of your voice but knew that he could barely maintain his balance as he tried to find the green circle. However, he miscalculated the gravity of his own weight when he shifted to the left side of his body, his elbow buckling underneath and causing him to collapse.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, raising your arms up in victory, paying no attention to his body pressed on top of yours.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, breathing in deep to inhale the scent of your soap. He felt your hand pat the back of his head lightly, indicating that you wanted him to get off from on top of you. He slowly unraveled himself, irritated by his own misfortune as he rolled onto his back to lay down beside you. He tilted his head to look at you, noticing you turn so you both were making direct eye contact with each other.

Gojo always knew you were beautiful. Nothing in this world could convince him otherwise but he never paid attention to the details of how pretty you actually were. Little things about you that made the gears in his head turn, from the gorgeous mane that sprouted on the top of your head, to the way your eyes sparkled whenever you were excited or how the curve of your lips was your secret tell to let him know exactly what you were feeling when you couldn’t find the words to explain yourself.

Why me? He thought to himself, if you wanted to fuck around with somebody then why did you ask me?  

A kiss on his lips snapped him out of his drawn out thoughts, he felt the pads of your fingers along his cheek, slipping lightly underneath his blindfold to reveal just one of those blue eyes.

“Ready for another round?” you questioned.

Gojo softly smiled, thankful that you haven’t grown bored of him just yet. He lifted himself up, bringing one of his hands to cup your face as he pulled you in for another kiss. His tongue parted your lips and he allowed himself this one indulgence as he trailed his hand to the back of your neck.

Whatever thoughts that were running through his mind, he chose to ignore. There was no reason for him to consider such trivial things anyway. You were spoiling him with your body, playing out the fantasies that plagued his mind. He was aware that his greed fueled his lust for you and honestly did not know what he would do if you were to ask him to stop.

He deepened the kiss, allowing the frustrating thought to play out in passion instead. You shifted your position, your hand falling to his chest as you gripped onto the collar of his tee. Still holding onto the kiss, Gojo lifted himself upright so he was seated and as much as he would love to take advantage of this current situation, he chose to pull himself away instead.

“Best of three?”

“That sounds good to me!” you replied as you circled your arm around his neck, before returning to kiss him again.

Gojo gave in for only a second, before cheekily breaking away and tapping you gently on the forehead with his index finger.

“Oh no, you aren’t doing this to me again...” he said, his hands moving to your waistline as he gently pushed you away from him. “You wanted to have a game night and we are going to see it through.”

He leaned across from you to pick up the spinner, before settling back down and holding it in between the tiny space that separated you both.

“Winner goes first.”

- CHAPTER 8: HEAT - 

[tennessoui]

Hi miss Kit! So um, I'm not the anon who had the idea about the Pokemon obikin AU but I saw that you're still looking for a prompt so I did some brainstorming?

Obviously Anakin is aiming to be a Pokemon Master which is why he'll have to fight the elite four eventually. Which is not an easy task despite what the games might imply! So what if, despite breezing through the gyms before, beating Team Rocket and having a team that is powerful and adores him, he still fails his first attempt at the league.

I remember Prof Oak telling your rival after you beat him in gen 1 that he lost to you because he doesn't love his Pokemon enough which is bullsh*t!! But must surely be a cutting remark.

So ofc he goes to caretaker!Obi-Wan afterwards because he is a former Pokemon trainer so how has he dealt with loss before? Does Anakin really not love his team enough? Bonus points if Obi has challenged the league before (and won??)

I just realized that this is way too angsty for the Pokemon universe >.< everything is nice and soft here

alright!!!!!! finally!!! here is that pokémon au, a bastardization of this prompt and @sinhalbutnoangst 's prompt "24: Right before a passionate/first kiss & 16: “There’s nothing to be scared of, okay? I’m right here.” For a Pokémon AU !!!"

I hope y'all both enjoy or at least find parts to be happy about!!!

(fair warning i don't know a lot about pokémon so who knows how accurate this is at ALL)

(3.3k)

(i've linked each pokémon name with their pokedex picture just so everyone knows what they look like. no need to read the descriptions or anything)(god knows i didn't half the time)

Obi-Wan is in the water, tending to a shy gyarados a trainer had left behind as a Magikarp a few months ago, when on the shore his flareon raises its muzzle and barks loudly. That’s her signal that someone’s arrived at the Daycare center proper. Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows, as he strokes his hand down the gyarados' side.

“I always tell them to call ahead,” he mutters as the pokemon nudges closer for more attention. “Why do they never call ahead?”

Gyarados knocks him hard in the arm. It’s clear she wants more pats, but business calls.

“Would you mind terribly taking me back to shore, dear?” Obi-Wan asks politely. It’d be faster than swimming all the way there, and it would strengthen the Pokémon's connection with humans.

On the shore, Flareon bounds around in a circle, tail flickering back and forth. It must be someone she recognizes the scent of. A regular then. That means Obi-Wan can take his time getting back to the counter to greet them, but he probably shouldn’t show up dripping wet in only a pair of swim trunks.

Luckily, Gyarados gives him a lift, bellowing mournfully to be left alone again when Obi-Wan alights onto the sand. When her trainer comes back to pick it up, Obi-Wan has half a mind to offer to buy her from them. No one who actually cares about their pokemon would leave a magikarp to become a gyarados under the care and instruction of someone else.

But becoming known as the Daycare Runner who gets attached to Pokémon and tries to keep them is perhaps a serious threat to his business as a whole. And he’s already done that too many times.

No, the best thing to do is to wait for the trainer to come back and sit them down to give them a serious talk about their Pokémon’s emotional needs. They’re probably young. Most trainers are these days. On some level you have to be in order to have the energy to travel as much as you do, to sleep on the ground more nights than not.

Yes, they’re probably young, and more focused on gym battles than their Pokémons’ growth and happiness. It happens sometimes with tunnel vision like that. Too many advertisements for the Pokémon League, the Elite Four, the Gym badges. Obi-Wan had been the same way when he was a kid.

He gathers his clothes from the shoreline and slips on his shoes. Flareon tries to help dry him out by wrapping herself repeatedly around his ankles and cooing out gusts of warm air, but all it does is create a new and unusual tripping hazard.

Especially when she suddenly perks up, about halfway to the building and jumps forward into a run. Obi-Wan stares after her, confused, clothes held in a slackened grip until he sees a very familiar growlithe running fult tilt from around the building. It hops the fence with practiced ease that makes Obi-Wan inwardly despair at the lesson it’s unwittingly teaching all of the other Pokémon.

But he can’t deny the way his heart thuds when he realizes what its presence means. His flareon, embarrassingly enough, seems to be thinking along the same lines, as she bounds up to the growlithe and starts winding between his legs instead, rubbing her head over every part of black and orange fur she can reach.

Obi-Wan sighs and shucks on his buttoned shirt, shaking out the water from his hair. He doesn’t even really bother with pants, seeing as his wet swim trunks go almost to his knees.

It’s Anakin. Anakin’s here. Anakin hasn’t been here for four months when he left in the midst of a shouting match. Obi-Wan has been trying--unsuccessfully--to put Anakin out of his mind. And now Anakin’s growlithe is prancing towards him like it’s a special present to see him at all.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pausing in buttoning up his shirt so he can pet at the growlithe’s--what does Anakin call him again?--muzzle. For a second, the Pokémon nuzzles back, scenting his face and neck as territorial Pokémon are wont to do, before it moves quickly forward and grabs Obi-Wan by the shirt, swinging him up onto its back.

Out of shock and a latent survival instinct, Obi-Wan drops the rest of his clothes and clings to the Pokémon’s back. “Shit!” is on the tip of his tongue the entire two minutes it takes to bound back to the fence, over it and through the welcome doors of his own Daycare.

Anakin is standing, back to the entrance, furiously tapping the bell on the desk, looking somehow both desperate and bored.

Growlithe barks once, twice, and shakes himself hard enough that Obi-Wan knows to let go before he gets rolled over upon.

It’s not the most graceful entrance he would have chosen after going months without seeing Anakin, to land on his back, partially dressed and smelling like the sea at the Pokémon trainer’s feet.

Anakin at least has the wherewithal to be both surprised and immediately worried. “Obi-Wan!” he yelps, turning around immediately upon his growlithe’s bark of victory.

“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan says dryly sitting up from his sprawl and combing a nervous hand through his hair.

“Where are your clothes?” Anakin asks shrilly, turning a very interesting shade of magenta and looking quickly away from Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan couldn’t be more different, what with the way he looks at Anakin as if he’s starved for the sight of him. It’s been several long months since they last saw each other. The fight had been...awful, to say the least. Anakin had accused him of not really wanting him to succeed. Obi-Wan had accused him of the same tunnel vision he diagnoses most young adults to have.

Neither had been true. Obi-Wan hadn’t even meant it, but he’d been mad. He’d been mad that Anakin hadn’t even thought to listen to him more than a Gym Leader he’d just defeated.

Palpatine had urged him to go straight to the League. Obi-Wan had thought it prudent to return home to his mother, give his Pokémon a break, work his way to the island of the Pokémon League naturally as a means of bonding with and further testing his Pokémon. He has no idea who Anakin ended up listening to. It’s been something that has haunted him for weeks.

“Out in the back,” Obi-Wan grunts, standing and trying to pick up the shattered pieces of his dignity under the Pokémon trainer’s wide-eyed stare. Anakin’s grown older in the past few months, his face sharper. What is he now, newly twenty-three? Halfway to twenty-four? “Your Growlithe was quite enthusiastic to bring me here as soon as possible.”

Anakin flushes and looks down at his feet. He looks tired, Obi-Wan decides. Like he’s walked the entire continent just to show up at his door.

“Sorry,” Anakin says sheepishly. “I had--”

“Him out and walking with you, I know,” Obi-Wan finishes with a fond shake of his head. He buttons the last necessary button on his shirt and sweeps past Anakin to stand behind his desk. “You always liked having one of them out with you. How’s your Jolteon?”

“Twilight?” Anakin asks, sounding surprised Obi-Wan even remembered he had a jolteon. He tries not to feel offended. It’s an unfortunate truth that Obi-Wan remembers almost everything about Anakin, the trainer that used to hang around his daycare as though he couldn’t bear to step more than fifty paces from his front door. “He’s fine. A bit angry with me, I think.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks, furrowing his brow as he looks up at his guest. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Anakin is quiet for a few seconds, and his hands clench down on the edge of the counter-top. When he speaks, his voice wavers. “Obi-Wan...do you think my Pokémon love me? Like, do you think I am a good trainer?”

Obi-Wan stares at him. This isn’t a conversation he should have without pants on, he decides. He slowly puts his pen down. “What happened, Anakin?” he asks gently, reaching out and laying a hand on the arm Anakin still has resting against the counter.

“I lost,” his favorite trainer whispers, looking down. Growlithe--Resolute, that’s what Anakin had named him--noses into the nape of his neck. Obi-Wan is not jealous. “I challenged the Elite Four, and I lost in the second round.”

Obi-Wan’s hand tightens completely involuntarily. He hates hearing that after their years-long friendship, the last few years where he’d thought perhaps they were on the verge of being something more, despite his reservations, Anakin had listened to Palpatine over him. Palpatine.

“Come around back here,” he instructs after a second’s thought. Somehow, still, after all these months, he thinks he knows what Anakin needs. “And release all of your Pokémon from their Pokéballs.”

“All of them?” Anakin asks, sounding so unsure Obi-Wan’s heart aches with the doubt of it all before he reigns that in. This isn’t about him.

This isn’t about him, but he can’t stop himself from asking, just once, “Yes. Do you trust me?”

Anakin’s fingers hesitate on the seal of his first Pokéball, and Obi-Wan’s heart jumps into his throat. “Yeah,” Anakin finally says gruffly, pressing the release. “Yeah, I do.”

His altaria pops out of her Pokéball with a trill and a flap of her cloud-shaped wings. He just catches a hint of the jolteon materialize into existence before he turns his back. “I’m going to put on proper clothes,” he tells Anakin over his shoulder. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure your Pokémon will remember half the ones here.”

And all of the ones Obi-Wan calls his own, he doesn’t add. Anakin should know. Anakin’s known them since he was fifteen years old and surly over the fact that his mother wouldn’t let him go out and hunt legendary Pokémon until he finished schooling.

He finds his abandoned clothes quickly, and shuffles into them. Flareon noses around him curiously, with more than a bit of excitement. She probably smells Anakin on him. The thought doesn’t warm his cheeks, but if it does, he’ll blame it on the sudden amount of heat she’s giving off.

He leaves his shirt as is and doesn’t even bother with the vest or tie. He’s not here to be Professor Kenobi. He’s here to be Obi-Wan, Anakin’s friend. That’s what Anakin needs from him right now. A friend.

He fixes his hair anyway in a mad bout of nerves, but no one, not even his mienshao or flareon, obsessed with appearances as they are, are paying enough attention to him in order to soothe his sudden insecurities.

More than anything, he wants to be back in the sea, surrounded by the gyarados’ coils. He doesn’t understand humans as much as he would like to, and he certainly doesn’t understand Anakin. Not anymore. Perhaps he never did.

His flareon bumps at his wrist with the crown of her head and he looks down with a sigh. “Someone’s excited, I see,” he murmurs wryly, smoothing down the stuck-up fur of her hair and chest mane. She purrs. “Not the most excited though,” he adds with a huff as he sees a blur of white and blue from the corner of his eyes as the female Meowstic who spends most of her time strolling the parameter of the Daycare abandons her position to dart towards the backdoors where a newly emerged navy male Meowstic stands waiting.

They collide and curl into each other, two halves of one whole brought back together.

Well, that’s as good as any sign to approach Anakin, who has decided to collapse on the soft grass of the enclosure. Other than the Meowstic, his freed Pokémon have curled around him. The jolteon, Artoo, rests by his head, while his charizard, Mustafar, brackets the length of his body with his own. The growlithe sits watchful at his feet, while a new, unfamiliar pancham curls up on his chest. Finally, his gallade sits cross-legged to his side.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan drawls before he can help himself, “It’s very obvious that your Pokémon don’t love you.”

Anakin bolts upright at the sound of his voice. The pancham growls at him, a baby noise that Obi-Wan didn’t necessarily think the species capable of.

The Pokémon trainer hushes it quickly with a stern, “Vader, no.”

Obi-Wan comes to sit cross-legged in front of the man. “You didn’t have a pancham last time,” he says easily. What he really wants to ask is much more complicated. He wants to know everything. He wants to know how Anakin changed. When. Why. He wants to know what’s still the same.

It’s always complicated when it comes to Anakin. It’s never been easy.

“He was injured when I found him,” Anakin admits, stroking the top of Vader’s head. “But a fighter. I think I was injured when I found him too.”

The man seems so lost in his own recollections that Obi-Wan hates to interrupt. Carefully, Anakin’s jolteon, Twilight, noses his hand. When he’s not pushed away, he jumps into Obi-Wan’s lap with a trill. Flareon lets out a hiss, but acquiesces when the jolteon licks at her snout, accepting her ownership of Obi-Wan.

“I had just lost,” Anakin says slowly. “I wanted to come back here, rent a Lapras and just ride until I saw the shoreline I knew was yours. But I didn’t know what you’d say to me. How mad you’d still be.”

Obi-Wan bites his lip. He wouldn’t have been mad. He’d been worried, from the second Anakin left his property. But how to tell the man that? Would the other even want to hear it? Would he think Obi-Wan was trying to infantilize him, to protect him?

“I didn’t want you to be right.” Anakin whispers, arms tightening around the Pokémon. “I didn’t want you to be right and say that I wasn’t ready. And then I was in the forest, walking home, and I found this guy. He’d been attacked by a bug pokémon who was probably a higher level. But he was so angry still. I...I wanted him on my team. I needed that fire back.”

Obi-Wan suddenly thinks that there’s much more distance between them than there should be. He wants to be hugging Anakin, to be kissing his temple. These were allowances they had given each other before the fight, things that Obi-Wan had squirreled away, close to his heart.

He wants them back.

“But I keep thinking about how the professor who gave me my first Pokémon told this guy I beat in my first battle that he lost because he didn’t love his Pokémon right, and I...I’m just worried that’s why I lost.” Anakin stares down at his pancham, who puts his paws on his cheeks and pats a few times.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs. He thinks it sounds too fond, too revealing, but Anakin looks up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I’ve never known a trainer to love his Pokémon more, dear one.”

“Then why?” Anakin asks plaintively, scooting forward until their knees brush. “Why did I lose? The gym leader of Cinnabar Island told me I would win!”

Obi-Wan, quite maturely in his opinion, doesn’t mention the fact that the recently defeated Palpatine probably had ulterior motives for Anakin to challenge the league too quickly and then fail. “You weren’t ready, Anakin,” he says instead, placing his hand on the other’s knee and holding it even when the trainer jerks out of his grp. “Please, listen. It's about sheer time, training experience. It’s not about you or your relationship to your Pokémon. You have such an amazing, strong relationship with them! They love you. Anyone could tell. And you’re not lacking in skill either. I know your mind is sharp and ready for battle.”

Anakin looks at him teary-eyed. “I’ve been so worried that maybe they didn’t know I loved them,” he admits in a wavering voice.

Obi-Wan can’t resist moving impossibly closer to his trainer. “Oh, Anakin, of course they do. Pokémon don’t always express or interpret love the same way humans do, but they do have their own ways of showing it.”

“Like what?” Anakin sniffles, wiping at his wet eyes. If Obi-Wan had really been listening, he would have noticed the change in his tone. As it is, he continues immediately, too focused on trying to stop his trainer from crying to think of anything else.

“A fire-type Pokémon wil try to warm you if they think you’re cold, even if it means staying up all night to keep you in in its flame. And fighting-type Pokémon are capable of throwing a blanket over you if they think you need to rest. Psychic-types have been known to read their trainer’s emotions and either hug them or give them distance whenever they want. Ground- and bug-type have been known to bring berries to their trainers to get them something to eat, and electric--why are you looking at me like that?” Anakin’s nascent smirk grows bigger at this interruption and he cocks his head to the side as he studies Obi-Wan’s face. “And what does it say about a man who spends all of his time around Pokémon, that he would do those exact same things for me?”

Obi-Wan at least understands enough to scurry backwards a few paces, much to the jolteon in his lap’s distress, who jumps away with a huff.

“I’m not sure I understand,” he says quickly.

Anakin inches forward, setting the pancham, Vader, aside. He really has grown in the past few months. The loss of the League, the months apparently spent on the road, have aged him so that he’s both recognizable and something new and wild. “What if I knew of a man,” Anakin murmurs, falling to his palms as he closes the gap between them. “One who warmed me when I was cold, covered me when I was tired, hugged me when I was needy, and fed me when I was hungry? What would that mean, in terms of Pokémon?”

Obi-Wan swallows nervously. His entire body is bracketed by Anakin. Anakin, who seems to have discovered his most-guarded secret in their months apart. Anakin, who is hovering over him now with a dark look in his eyes. Finally something in Obi-Wan gives way. This is it. He will give Anakin everything he asks for. Everything he needs. He’s always tried to do this exact thing.

“I suppose that would mean he loved you,” he whispers, closing his eyes so he does not have to see Anakin’s recoil, Anakin’s disgust.

Anakin hums instead. “Obi-Wan,” he whispers, exhale hitting his lips. “Obi-Wan, open your eyes. There’s nothing to be scared of, beloved. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

At these words, Obi-Wan’s eyes jump open of their own accord. Anakin’s lips press down onto his in a movement just as sudden. He whimpers involuntarily and reaches up to clutch at the trainer’s hair, hold him to his mouth. Just as involuntarily, his lips part and Anakin’s tongue licks around the gap before darting inside. He moans. It’s shameful, the way he goes from scared to sucking on Anakin’s tongue as if he’ll die without the warm intrusion of it.

It hardly feels like the first time they’ve kissed. It feels like they’ve been kissing for years, like Anakin knows his mouth completely and utterly.

There are so many secrets left between them. Obi-Wan’s one unopened Pokéball, sitting on his belt. Anakin’s relationship with that last Gym leader. What he’s been doing these past few months. What Obi-Wan Kenobi made his fortune off of.

But none of it matters now. Not here at this moment. All that matters is showing Anakin that he’s been just as missed, just as wanted.

With that in mind, Obi-Wan rolls on top of his trainer and shoves his hands up inside Anakin’s shirt to trace along the muscles of his chest and back. This was his. His, his, his. He had come back to him. Everything else could wait.

[allisondraste]

Death and Other Things That Should Have Been Fatal

Fandom: Mass Effect

Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

Word Count: 4715

Summary: A follow up to Cockroaches and Other Things That Just Keep Living, Shepard wakes up after destroying the Reapers and copes with the fallout. Thankfully, she doesn't have to do so alone.

[Click Here for AO3]

“Shepard?”

The voice was little more than static in her ear, jarring her back into excruciating consciousness, head throbbing, extremities numb.  Spears of pain coursed through her chest with each and every breath, and she didn’t know whether it was the several broken ribs or the sight of Anderson's lifeless body slouched next to her.  She tore her gaze away from the closest thing she’d ever had to a good father figure, eyes fluttering closed as she attempted to focus only on the person speaking to her.

“Garrus?”  His was the first name that rolled off her tongue, the only person in the galaxy she wanted that disembodied voice to be.

“No.” Came the stern reply.  There was a long pause as any hope for comfort in her final moments came crashing down around her.  Then the voice spoke again. “It’s Hackett.”

A jolt of resentment toward the Admiral coursed through her at his introduction.  What more could he possibly want from her?  Had she not already done enough, sacrificed enough for just a ghost of a chance to stop the reapers.  Surely someone else could take it from there.  Why did everything fall on her?

Because someone else would have gotten it wrong.

She shook herself out of her head and back to the present. She would have been mortified under normal circumstances, but she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn now. “I apologize sir, I’m— What do you need me to do?”

“The Crucible is docked, but is not activated,” he explained, “We think there’s something that needs to be done on your end.  Is there a trigger? Some sort of terminal?”

His words clung to the air around her, and her eyes locked onto the terminal the Illusive Man had used earlier.  It was just a few feet in front of her and still so far away. She tried and failed to bring herself to her feet, legs buckling beneath her and sending her plummeting to the floor.  Hot tears burned in her eyes as a new array of pain shot through her body, and she groaned in agony.

“Shepard?”

“I’m here, sir,” she growled, forcing herself up onto an elbow and dragging her body to the terminal, vision beginning to blur at the corners.. Not yet , she pleaded with her consciousness as she reached up toward the terminal, hand sweeping clumsily across the haptic display. Not. Yet.   “I’m at the terminal but I… I don’t— I can’t find—”

Her vision went dark, supporting arm trembling and giving out as her consciousness faded.  Hackett’s voice called out to her repeatedly, further and further away until it was gone entirely.

She awoke to bright, burning light, buzzing in her ears, sensations anyone else would have associated with death.  But Shepard had been dead before, and this was nothing like the last time.  She’d never forget that dark, quiet empty.

“Shepard,” shouted a voice, both familiar and foreign, “Wake up.”

“What?” Blood dripped into her eyes from a wound she couldn’t feel. “Where am I?”

She scrubbed her face with the back of her hand, blinking until her vision cleared.  Her body screamed in protest as she rose to her knees, louder still as she brought herself to her feet and searched for who—or what— had spoken to her.

“The Citadel,” came the reply, “It is my home.”

She snapped her head in the direction of the voice, it’s owner a glowing, translucent entity in the shape of a ghost.  Her heart slammed against her aching ribs, and a name rushed to her mouth before she could stop it. “Kaidan?”

The entity examined her for a moment that felt more like an eternity, long enough for her initial relief to fade, consumed by dread as she awaited its answer.

“No,” it stated in a cold, matter-of-fact way Kaidan could never have managed, “I am the Catalyst.”

Rage ignited in her stomach and chest at the sound of him twisted and distorted by a chorus of synthetic echoes, and she growled. “I thought the Citadel was the Catalyst.”

“The Citadel is part of me,” it explained, then paused, tilting its head in examination of her again, “My appearance disturbs you.”

Shepard let out a derisive snort. “Yeah. You could say that.”

“I apologize,” it said, “I chose a form that I believed would help us communicate. You had fond memories of this one.”

“Too fond.”  She looked down, unable to meet its vacant eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Is this one more suitable?”  It’s voice shifted registers and when she glanced up Thane stood before her.

Hot tears burned in her eyes but she held them back and shook her head. “No.”

“Perhaps you would prefer this?” This time it’s tone was higher pitched, clipped.  Mordin.

“No,” she spat through clenched teeth, “I’d prefer if you’d just pick a nightmare and tell me whether you can help me or not. ”

“Very well,” it said, Kaidan once again as it motioned for her to follow after it toward the beam of light before them. “Perhaps we can help each other.”

She limped after it, listening as it spoke, as it explained its creation, it’s function, the purpose for its very existence.  It was nothing the Leviathan had not already revealed to her, but spun in a way that painted the Reapers as innocent pawns simply fulfilling their duty, wiping out entire civilizations to ensure galactic balance, to protect organic life from its own chaos.

Bullshit , she thought as flashes of destruction played behind her eyelids with each laborious blink.  She remembered the sinking void in her gut as she fled Earth, watching it burn beneath Reaper hands.  She thought of Palaven, the harrowed Turian faces as their military and government collapsed, the anger and disbelief that vibrated in Garrus’ voice and beneath his skin. She recalled Thessia, the most advanced civilization in the galaxy reduced to rubble before her eyes and she, helpless to even salvage one artifact, Liara’s anguished sobs as she trembled in her arms.

The Catalyst and its Reapers were responsible for every lost colony in Batarian space that Shepard had shouldered instead.  Every single face on the memorial wall at the Citadel, every orphaned child and refugee, every life touched by this goddamn war, and the lives of those in every cycle that came before— it was all their fault.  They had corrupted and indoctrinated some of the greatest minds of her time, broken some of the strongest wills.  She wondered what had been said to convince Saren and Benezia. What had the Catalyst become to take hold of The Illusive Man?

The echoes of Sovereign’s boasts of supremacy and Harbinger’s threats of annihilation rang out in her ears as clear as the days they’d been spoken. And this entity, this artificial intelligence with the power and capability to stop it all, expected her to believe they were simply creatures bound to a purpose. The Catalyst truly believed she would help it achieve its pinnacle of evolution.

No, just because it was in a shark’s nature to eat her, did not mean she would allow it to do so. Despite the original intent behind their creations, the Reapers were monsters, and they had to be stopped. The galaxy deserved justice. She took one lumbering step toward the trigger on the right, one step closer to settling things once and for all.

“It will happen again,” the Catalyst called after her, “Machines will be rebuilt, and chaos will continue. Organics and synthetics cannot coexist separately.

“That’s…not true,” she grunted, and took another step, “The geth and the quarians have brokered peace.”

“It will not last.”

“You don’t know that,” she shouted, fists clenched at her sides, “The beauty of chaos is that you can’t know that.”

The entity fell silent, briefly considering what she said, then continued. “Perhaps not; however if you choose to destroy the Reapers, the geth will be destroyed as well. The two will not have the opportunity to disprove your hypothesis.”

A pang of guilt pierced her and she halted in her tracks.“All of them?”

“Yes.  The Crucible’s beam is powerful but unfocused.  It will be unable to distinguish between Reaper technology and other forms of synthetic life.”

Another pang of guilt as realization dawned on her. That meant EDI would die, too. Someone who was every bit a friend and member of her crew as anyone else, someone who had put herself on the line multiple times to protect Shepard, to make certain she could get the job done.  EDI, who confessed just before the battle that she finally felt alive. Now, Shepard was forced to weigh her newfound life and the newfound intelligence of the geth race, against the destruction of the Reapers.

What was it Garrus had called it? Ruthless calculus, that brutal math that awaited anyone who spent enough time at war.  Shepard had done plenty of those calculations, had made more than her fair share of difficult decisions, and she’d dealt with the consequences, good and bad.

This time, it was different, more final.  And she was entirely alone.  The future of the galaxy lay upon her weary back, and she was far past the point of compromise.

Shepard wanted the Reapers to pay for what they had done for millennia, wanted to watch them disintegrate in space as the cheers of her fleet rang out over the comms.  She wanted to know with certainty that the war was over.

More than anything, however, and most heavy on her mind,  she wanted to survive. It was a potent wave of selfishness that overwhelmed her as she thought of her friends back on the Normandy, of the relationships she’d forged and that had forged her.  Her heart ached at the thought of never seeing them again, never hearing their voices. She was sick at the possibility that her last moments with those who had carried her through every storm were hurried and spent in a war torn camp on Earth.

Knowing that they were worried and waiting for her to return, remembering Garrus’ desperate plea that she come back alive, it was more than she needed to motivate her to do so.  For the first time in her three decades of life, she had something to go home to. She had given so much of herself to save the galaxy, and she had more than earned the right to live in it.

There was no certainty that destroying the Reapers would ensure her survival, but it was the only choice without the certainty that she would die.  She was willing to take her chances. She had to. With a trembling arm she raised her pistol, aimed at the glass case guarding the trigger mechanism, and fired.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as the glass shattered and her vision faded to white. “I’m so sorry.”

Shepard had been dead enough times to know that sound always came first, the discomforting beeping of medical equipment and garbled chatter ringing out in the darkness as her nervous system attempted to orient itself. Smell and taste came next, a package deal.  This time the antiseptic and the metallic tang of blood barely masked the rank of burnt flesh.

Then the pain set in, dull but constant and everywhere, numbed only slightly by neural blockers and local anesthetic.  She did not need to see her injuries to know how serious they were, how fatal they should have been.  Yet there she lay, once again waking up from something that would have killed anyone else.

And she was alone.  Again.

She began to panic as her eyes opened to the empty, sterile room, setting off the many monitors she was hooked up to.  Her heart pounded violently, each breath she took sharp and shallow as she yanked herself free from the dozens of tubes and IVs constraining her. How long had she been out this time? What covert operation for which secret, extremist organization had found and resurrected her for their benefit? How much more could one galaxy ask of her?

There was a hiss of opening doors and an unfamiliar asari entered the room urgently, arms extended out in front of her.  In one breath she reassured Shepard that everything was going to be all right  and in the next called for a medical restraint, a sedative.  She stepped slowly toward Shepard as one would approach a frightened, feral animal, and two more uniformed aliens entered the room.  Shepard stood tall, despite the ache in her bones and glared at the three of them.

“Ma’am, I know you must be very disoriented right now, and I am happy to answer any and all of your questions,” the asari said, holding her hands up, “But you are in no shape to be out of bed.  I need you to calm down before you hurt yourself further.”

Shepard glanced from the asari to the two salarians on either side of her.  They all wore generic attire that was standard for medical professionals across the galaxy, but their uniforms had no indication of their names or who they worked for.  She crossed her arms and winced through the pain as she argued. “How about you start by telling me where I am, then I’ll decide if I want to calm down or not.”

Just as she finished speaking the doors opened again, this time to faces she knew, and the subsequent wave of relief that washed over her nearly knocked her back into the bed on it’s own.  On the right stood Dr. Michel, who she remembered helping out on several occasions during the Reaper War.  A bit sweet on Garrus, if she remembered correctly. On the left, wearing a smirk and a raised eyebrow, was none other than Miranda Lawson.

“Sit down, Shepard,” Miranda asserted in her trademark tone.  She flashed the hint of a smile and continued, “The residents aren’t being paid enough for you to harass them.”

Shepard’s eyes flicked over to the three aliens who’d been tending to her just moments before.  They were now speaking nervously with the doctor, who muttered something about tests they needed to run followed by some other medical jargon that Shepard couldn’t decipher.  She did as her friend directed and eased herself back down onto her bed, offering a sheepish grin as she did so. “I feel like such an ass.”

“Don’t,” Dr. Michel chimed in as she approached the bed, and began to scan Shepard with her omni-tool, “You have been in a coma for almost a month.  It was expected that you would be agitated when you awoke, especially considering everything you’ve been through.”

Shepard’s chest swelled with something like gratitude.  A month .  She’d only been out for a month, and she had woken up in what she could now tell was Huerta Memorial under the care of a physician she trusted and one of her closest friends.  This was nothing like the last time she died. She looked up at Miranda and asked,“Had to put me back together again, I see?”

“I only helped this time,” Miranda explained as she worked to reconnect some of the IVs Shepard had ripped out, “Dr. Michel contacted me a few weeks ago for a consultation about your cybernetic augmentation.  I was already on the Citadel, so I came in person to oversee the repairs.”

“Is everything working?”

“Mostly,” Miranda shrugged, “Not quite up to specifications, but your injuries are still healing. With time, you should be fine.”

“And hopefully far away from any more life-threatening battles, yes,” remarked Michel, moving to a terminal near the wall and transferring data collected from her omni-tool scans.

Shepard let out a huff, and let herself recline onto the bed, walls crumbling away at the comforting conversation.  She took a breath and let her eyes flutter closed for just a minute, and said, “If I can. If the galaxy will let me.”

“The galaxy’s going to have to,” announced an unmistakable voice from the door, and Shepard bolted upright to face it.  To face him .

She hadn’t even heard the door open, and yet there stood her turian, with all that easy confidence he’d always carried himself with and a bouquet of indistinguishable gift shop flowers in each hand.  Her pulse jumped, a fact the vitals monitor in the corner was quick to inform her and everyone in the room about. She would never live that one down.

“Garrus!”

“Is that cardiac arrest—“ he motioned toward the screen with one of the bouquets— “Or, uh… are you just happy to see me?”

Shepard just rolled her eyes, unable to stop the grin that twitched at the corners of her mouth as he sauntered up to the bedside.

“I wasn’t sure which you’d like better,” Garrus explained, glancing with uncertainty between the flowers in each hand, “So I got both.  There’s also some chocolate and a few books of hanar poetry back at the gift shop if you just absolutely hate the flowers. I can run back down and—“

She laughed and shook her head at him. “They’re perfect.”

“Are you sure?” He examined each bouquet again.  “You might need the poetry to bore you back into a coma.”

“I thought that anthology was quite beautiful and romantic, myself,” Michel remarked, amused.  She approached Shepard again and administered something that relieved the throbbing pain in her head she’d barely noticed in all the commotion. “There, that should keep you comfortable for a time. I will come and check on you in a  few hours ”

“I’ll be going as well,” Miranda said, eyeing Shepard and Garrus knowingly. “Call me if you need anything.”

She turned to follow the doctor out of the room but stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, and Shepard?  I’m glad we got to see each other again “

Shepard nodded. “So am I.”

With that Miranda left the room, the door sliding shut behind her.  Shepard turned her gaze up to Garrus who was already looking at her, pale eyes scanning every inch of her face intently.  His mandibles twitched and flared in the very specific way they always did when he was agitated or worried.  He shook his head, discarded both bundles of flowers onto the nearby bedside table, and sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, staring off at the wall in silence.

“Shepard I— I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” he said finally, turning to look at her and placing a hand on her leg, “I’d just gone to get some air…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, reaching for his hand and wondering just how many sleepless hours he’d sat by her bed waiting for her to come to. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, lingering there for several long moments.  She brought a hand up to trace the rough ridges of scarring along the right side of his face.  His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and he let out a heavy sigh, as if she’d lifted some invisible weight off of him with just the tips of her fingers.

“You know,” she spoke up, breaking the powerful silence between them, “I think I finally have some scars that’ll give you a run for your credits.”

Garrus laughed, but it was quiet—almost sad— and he pulled back to examine her.

“How bad is it,” she asked, “There aren’t any mirrors in here.”

He laughed again, this time with more enthusiasm. “Hell, Shepard, I don’t know. You always were ugly, so it’s hard for me to say.”

“Okay,” she admitted with a smirk, “I had that one coming.”

The room went quiet again, with the exception of the buzzing and whirring of the equipment around them.  It wasn’t uncomfortable, though— nothing had ever been uncomfortable with Garrus— but it was heavy with unspoken pain and unasked questions for which Shepard wasn’t sure she wanted answers.

“How’s everyone else,” she ventured.

“Recovering,” he answered with a sigh, “Joker tried to outrun the blast, but even the Normandy wasn’t quick enough.  Crash landed on some human colony world. Everyone made it except—“

“EDI,” she said, name bitter on her tongue. She’d hoped the catalyst had been lying about the Crucible’s effect on synthetic life.

“Yes… how did you—“

This time, she was not able to dam up the wave of emotions that crashed into her.  Tears rushed to her eyes, shame and remorse tightening her chest like a vice. She was a soldier, and she knew that sacrifices won wars, but that did not make it any easier.

“It’s a long story,” she said with a sniff, looking away from him and attempting to wipe away the tears before he could see them, as if he hadn’t already.

“Well—” Garrus reached out and grabbed her chin, gently, giving it a tug until she brought her gaze back to him. “It’s a good thing I cleared my afternoon schedule, then. Tell me everything.”

And so she did. With a shaky voice, she recounted everything that happened from the time she called the evac for Garrus and Liara to the moment she was struck by the Crucible’s blast.  She told him about The Illusive Man, Anderson, the Catalyst who wore Kaidan’s face, and the impossible choice she was given.  He listened to every word, offered her his hand, and didn’t complain as her grip grew tighter and tighter with each devastating revelation.

When she was finished, eyes swollen and head throbbing, she looked at him and said, “I fucked up, Garrus. I had a chance to save EDI and the geth, but I just… couldn’t do it.  I was so angry and… scared , and—“

“Shepard,” Garrus interrupted her, laughing and shaking his head.

“What?”

“You’re about the only person I know who could save the whole damn galaxy and feel guilty because you didn’t save it better.”

“My life isn’t worth more than EDI’s was, and it definitely isn’t more important than the entire geth race,” Shepard argued.

Garrus blinked back at her a few times, then responded.  “It is to me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come, so she clamped it shut and frowned.  Her entire argument fell apart in the wake of his blunt confession. How the hell was she supposed to respond to something like that?

“It was selfish,” she finally managed past the lump in her throat, “It was genocide.”

“Maybe,” he answered, firmly, “Maybe not. We have no way of knowing that anything the Catalyst told you was true.”

“Why would it lie?”

“I don’t know, maybe to save it’s own ass?”  His words were pointed but not directed to her.  “It was clearly trying to get in your head, Shepard, using Alenko like that.”

“But—”

“No,” he snapped, “You made the right call, and no one is going to fault you for it except you.”

“ Garrus …” she began, but trailed off when she noticed him looking down at their intertwined fingers, shaking his head and seeming to struggle with his emotions.

When he spoke up, his voice was hoarse.  “You’ll forgive me if I say I don’t think you owe anyone—not EDI, not the geth, not the Alliance, not the rest of the galaxy— any more than you’ve already given.”

He paused for a beat, then added in a lighter tone, “Except me. You owe me a long retirement on your fancy Alliance pension.”

Shepard snorted out a laugh, despite everything, and reached up to take his face in her hands.  She pulled him closer to her, just so that she could press a kiss against the side of his mouth.

“I’ll think about it,” she whispered.

Just as they pulled apart, the door opened and they both turned to see who had entered. Dr. Michel stood at the threshold smiling at them apologetically.  “I am sorry for the interruption, but—”

“Someone tell Garrus to quit hogging the Commander,” complained an all too familiar voice as he pushed past the doctor and into the room. “The rest of us have been waiting just as long as he has.”

“Joker,” Shepard exclaimed, nearly jumping up out of the bed to greet him.

“The one and only,” he said proudly then held up a small plastic crate to show her, “And I brought you something.  Basically had to wrestle the Alliance brass for it when they declared you dead.”

“What—,” she asked as she squinted at the box, noticing movement in the corner, “Is that my hamster?”

He sat the container down carefully on the table next to the flowers Garrus had tossed aside,  “It’s not two bouquets of useless flowers or anything, but, well…you know.”

“We can’t all be as romantic as you,” Garrus said sarcastically as he stood up and stepped away from the bed, allowing the other man space to approach Shepard.

“Thank you, Joker,” Shepard said with a nod as she sat up in the bed, “And about EDI, I—“

He cut her off with the shake of his head, clearly not ready to discuss it. “Not your fault, Commander.”

Shepard just nodded, sorry, but not wanting to force the issue.  Joker puffed his chest out and saluted her, just as more commotion rang out from the door.  She darted her eyes across the room again to see the flood of other people pouring in from the hallway.

Ash was the first to rush to the bedside, throwing appropriate Alliance protocol out the window as she threw her arms unceremoniously around Shepard.  The embrace was firm, but not so forceful that it caused her aching body any extra pain, and when Ash pulled away, Shepard could see the tears glistening in her eyes. She stiffened up and saluted just as Joker had done, and said “Ma’am.”

Much to Shepard’s surprise, Ash then approached Garrus and embraced him briefly as well, pulling away and then giving him a pat on the arm.

The others followed suit after that, offering words of gratitude that she had saved the galaxy, and relief that she’d managed to pull through.  Tali and Liara had followed Ash’s example and hugged her.  The others didn’t but greeted her with enthusiasm all the same.  Vega mentioned how “epic” it was when the fleet realized she’d made it to the Citadel and got the arms opened while Traynor and Cortez nodded along.  Javik, in his typical fashion stood quietly in the corner but nodded at her with a look of admiration she had yet to see from the Prothean.  Dr. Chakwas and the crew from engineering squeezed themselves in the now cramped space as well. Chakwas approached the bed and gave Shepard’s hand a firm squeeze.

Humbling was not a strong enough word to describe the experience of seeing everyone who’d been on the Normandy with her in that final journey to Earth gathered around celebrating her survival.  They had all meant so much to her, and only now did she realize that she’d meant the same to them.

She’d grown accustomed to being a sole survivor, watching her own back and carrying on alone with each of her mistakes strapped to her shoulders.  She was used to blaming herself with the voices of those she lost, of nightmares and flashbacks and consoling herself back to sleep in the middle of the night.  She had trained herself to be numb because she could not bear feeling guilty.

Now, she didn’t have to.  For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had people who cared about her, people who she trusted, and they had survived. For the first time, she wasn’t alone with her grief and she didn’t have to be numb.  She had friends who would hold her together while she sorted herself out, just as she had done for each and every one of them.

“You okay,” Garrus asked as he approached the bedside again, letting a hand tousle her hair gently before falling to her shoulder.

“Yeah.” She nodded and glanced around the room slowly, taking it all in. “I really actually am.”