#y’know what yeah. i think i’ll brush my teeth; then shower; then sit in my room with the fan on until 1am writing smut

[fingertipsmp3]

Just remembered I really definitely unambiguously need to shower tonight because I’m going out tomorrow

[leclerced]

lando with a girlfriend that has a very complicated hair care routine and it confused him at first but she taught him about it and now he takes better care of his hair. I’m absolutely a sucker for self care and smth about him and his girlfriend taking care of themselves together just drives me insane. in a very soft mood right now, but I can’t help it. someone needs to protect his curls 😔

-

🩰

pls i tried having a curly hair routine for like a year but ive reverted and gone back to straightening it once a week bc its less work /:

the first time lando stays over, she says she’s going to shower and he wants to join. she immediately tells him this is a real shower, no fun. he thinks he can convince her until he sees all the products and she starts telling him about his routine. it’s torture for him watching her wash her body, exfoliate, use an in shower moisturizer. after her body routine, she uses a deep cleansing shampoo, followed by her regular shampoo and after rinsing, starts massaging her scalp with a massager and follows that with a deep conditioning treatment. after rinsing her conditioner, she uses a scalp treatment and a repair mask on the ends. while it sits she might shave or massage her scalp more. then she finally rinses her hair and he thinks she’s finally done. he’d have washed his hair and entire body while she was doing her three step body routine and just watched the rest, swapping places with her when she needed out of the water stream.

he gets out of the shower and tries dragging her to bed before she can even touch her robe. she pushes him away and tells him to wait, throws him a towel and wraps herself in her robe and her hair in a microfiber towel. he thinks she’s teasing him when she rubs lotion on while he watches, but it’s just to lock in moisture from the shower. then she brushes her teeth and does her entire skin care routine, and he’s again thinking she’s done, until she lets her hair down and begins another routine, creams and gels and oils, scalp massaging and combing. its like a two hour process from start to finish and he wonders what it feels like to be so pampered. when she finally puts on pajamas and crawls into bed, he asks how often she does that and she’s like, “which part? that was like an everything shower, i won’t do all of that tomorrow, and i’ll do a different skincare routine in the morning because that’s my night skincare routine, and it’s a thursday, so tomorrow night i have to use different products because there’s certain ones you don’t use two days in a row, y’know?” lando nods and agrees even thought he has no clue what she’s talking about.

he wakes up while she’s doing her morning routine and is offended she started without him because he wanted to see what was different. she stops and shows him what she did and then continues once he’s caught up. then she offers to let him use the products or asks him about his skin and shows him all the products she has and what they’re for, pulling out the ones she bought and never used because they didn’t work for her. he goes to shower later and asks her about her hair products and she immediately offers to join and show him. he’s thinking shower sex again, but she showers with him and tells him about each of them again while washing his hair and massaging his scalp.

he’d pretend to be neutral about it when they get out and she asks if he wants her to keep going and do the rest of her routine with him, like, “yeah sure if you want to” but he’s honestly dying for her to keep running her fingers through his hair. he sits on the toilet while she does her routine on his hair and then she shows him what her skincare routine for the night is and they do it together. they keep doing it every morning and night and the first time he’s away at a race, he calls her from a beauty store asking her what products he needs to buy to do their routine and she’s like, “oh you’re like, actually doing it?” and he’d whine, “well yeah? i didn’t think i’d need to, so i didn’t bring anything and my skin feels awful. so now i’m supposed to do a deep cleanse on my hair tonight and i can’t remember which one we use.” she tells him to pick one he likes, but to make sure it’s for curly hair, and he tells her, “no, i want the same shampoo because it smells like you.” she just about melts inside and rushes to the bathroom to send him a photo to ensure he gets the right one, and then sends him photos of all the other products he needs for his routine. he facetimes her after his shower because he wants to do his routine with her, and she’d have been waiting for his call to start hers because she had a feeling he would want to.

[monaisdark]

AHHHH! I loved your virgin shiggy post, I was wondering if you could make a part two with reader giving shigaraki a tit-fuck in an empty classroom, with degradation kink, and exhibition kink! I'm sorry if this too horny - Anon ♥♥

haha.. im back i guess. Its been a couple weeks but i have some time to start writing again :)) checking my inbox, i did NOT expect this many people wanting a pt2 to my virgin shiggy post. prolly my fault for holding it off for so long :/ so i made it longer than i planned but count this a thanks for 200+ followers!! <3 anyways i really need to catch up on my inbox but expect more from me !!

➨ paring — Virgin! (not anymore) Tomura Shigaraki x Fem! Bully! Reader

➨ warnings — Sub! Shigaraki, Dom! Reader, mommy kink, slight masturbation, humiliation, degradation, begging, exhibition, tit-fucking, hand-job, cum denial

PART 1

Shigaraki messed up. It’s been a week. A week since you cornered him in a room and took his virginity.

He still remembers what you told him when you left— “Take a shower tomorrow. Also wear a different top for god’s sake. If you do... I might let you touch me.” 

Shigaraki beat himself over for agreeing to it as soon as he got home. You were his bully. One of the people making his school experience even more unbearable than it already was.

Yet he completely was undone as soon as you placed your hands on him, and you knew it. He just didn’t know what you wanted.

Dick? No, you were pretty and popular— you could probably get some from more desirable guys. To bully him? Sure, you said mean things to him during the encounter but the bullying was always around your friends.

For a whole school week, he stayed home. Making up some bullshit to the school that he had the flu. Frankly, he was scared to go. How was he supposed to face you?

Did you tell anyone? Secretly record it? Was he currently the laughing stock of the entire school for begging to continue to fuck you?

But even away from school, you had an effect on him. He’s still a horny guy. Now, jerking off wasn’t the same anymore, not when he had some taste of pussy thanks to you.

Shigaraki would always end up thinking back to you, even with porn he couldn’t get you out of his head. His hands clamping around his cock weren’t the same as your pussy, same with the bodies of other women.

He found himself indulging into mommy kink porn, something he didn’t really get off from before you. Shigaraki pretend it was you talking to him, bouncing onto his lap and letting him touch you.

But after a bit— Shigaraki found it going no where, they weren’t you.

Cursing, he would always finish early. And not in a good way. In a way where he was left unsatisfied. Putting his painfully hard cock back into his sweats and trying to sleep his horny-ness away.

Shigaraki realized he needed you, you talking to him, you around his cock. Now, he regretted not sticking to his word. But he’ll make it up for you.

You were quite mad. Shigaraki hasn’t been to school since that day. How ungrateful, you literally let him put his dick in you and now he ghosts you in real life.

You fully expected him to be at school the next day with the way he begged you to stay, clean and ready for you. So imagine your annoyance in seeing him not show up for several days.

But today was different, the newly ex-virgin actually showed up. To your surprise, he still did more than you expected him to do despite being a week late.

Shigaraki had changed his hoodie to a whole new one, it looked recently bought. As well as his hair, looking more soft than greasy like it typically was. Though he didn’t style it, it still overhanging on his face.

Still, he definitely looked a lot better, not enough for others to notice but enough for you to smirk at your work.

Both of you didn’t interact with each other besides a few glances until lunch. You guys sat on completely different ends of the cafeteria, him sitting in a small corner table while you sat in a large one.

Shigaraki looked fidgety, meekly looking up every few minutes to watch you interact with your friends. He was waiting for school to end, planning to catch you at the same empty classroom you took his virginity in.

Though you had completely other plans.

“Hey, I’ll be right back.” You got up from your table, grabbing your bag from off the floor. “To?” One of your friends asked, not looking up from their phone.

“Some nerd, he’s gonna do my homework we got last period. Apparently, his parents found out he’s been doing our homework and now he's gotta do them during lunch. Gotta make sure they do it right.” You lied through your teeth, hoping they would just back off.

They didn’t look up, instead pulling their homework worksheet out of their binder with one hand, putting it in yours, “Get him to do mine.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the paper, “Yeah.” You walked away, crumbling the paper to throw it in the trash. You’ll just say you lost it. Not like they’ll do anything about it.

Narrowed eyes landed on Shigaraki, his eyes currently focused on his phone. You strudded your way to him, smirking to yourself.

Shigaraki almost jumped when he felt something brush against his leg. Looking up, he was met with you sitting down next to him.

“Hey.” You said, placing your bag on the table and putting your last period’s homework on the table.

“You’re good at chemistry, right?” You questioned, shifting through your bag for something to write with.

“...Well— I... um...—“ Shigaraki stuttered, unsure of what was currently going on.

“Great.” You pulled the phone out of his clammy hands, replacing it with a pencil. “...What?” He tilted his head, was this a joke? Did you completely forget about a week ago?

“Hm...? Well, get onto it.” You uttered him on, putting your chin in your hands, eyeing him. Reluctantly, he looked back to paper, beginning to work on it.

After around 5 minutes, you brushed against him even more, getting close to his side. “What does that say?” You pushed yourself further into his side, your chest touching his arms.

Shigaraki cursed himself for already becoming red, he pants tightening around his crotch as last week flashed into his head again.

“Um... m-mole is a unit of measur— Hmph!“ He held back a loud whine when your right hand traveled to his crotch.

“What— what are you doing?” He asked under his breath, holding back small whimpers as you palmed him, “Where have you been?” You questioned sternly, upset he kept you waiting.

“I’m sorry... I got sick.” He bluffed, it was too embarrassing to admit he was scared. With how he left you hanging, he expected people to be laughing at him the moment he stepped onto school grounds.

“Sick? A whole week?” You hummed, you could already tell he was lying. Still, you were proud that he even bothered to make it up to you by fixing himself up.

“With your diet of energy drinks and chips, I’m surprised you’re not dead.” You decided to let it go, he was just nervous to show up.

Yet you think he deserves a bit of punishment.

Shigaraki felt heavy as you teased the zipper of his jeans. He immediately tensed, “Wait— now..?” He saw you narrow your eyes, “Something wrong?”

“There’s people here!” He whispered yelled, flinching as he felt you unzip his jeans ever so slowly, trailing your finger along his exposed boxers.

“So? You’re just some loser in the corner, nobody will notice if you aren’t obvious.”

Shigaraki could already feel pre-cum form at his tip, staining his boxers a bit. You giggled a bit, feeling the dampness of his boxers. “Already?” Shigaraki shook his head, “I... I haven’t came since... that day.”

You laughed a bit louder than you expected to, good thing the cafeteria was already loud. “How sweet of you. Couldn’t get it on?”

Shigaraki focused his eyes on your paper, muffled moans caught at the back of his throat as you freed his cock from his boxers.

Now slowly pumping him, Shigaraki dropped the pen of the table. He wanted to do something with his hands, to touch you.

He moved his hand to your thigh, but of course, you didn’t allow him, “You’re too eager. Get back to work.” You ordered. Shigaraki was about to question you but you stopped him with stroking his cock faster.

Both of you continued this way for a bit, him answering questions with his shaky hands while you jerked him off.

Shigaraki could’ve sworn he felt eyes on him a couple of times, yet every time he looked up, nobody was even batting an eye in his direction.

He could feel his cock twitch at the excitement of being caught. How would they explain one of the most popular girls giving an outcast a hand-job under the table?

As he got to the last question— he was already drooling on the paper, mouth clenched shut to avoid moaning and panting to be let out.

You could tell he was about to cum, the writing on the paper progressively getting sloppier as time went on. “M-mommy...” Shigaraki whispered just enough for you to hear, “Hmm, you want to cum?”

He nodded furiously, he was extremely pent up and needed release. And just as he thought, you were the only one who can give it to him.

Shigaraki whimpered when you pulled away, looking up at the clock and collecting your stuff. “Then after school, room 204. Actually listen and show up when I tell you this time.”

You walked away just in time for the bell to go off, signifying that lunch was over. Leaving Shigaraki, once again, a mess.

Here he was again, feeling nostalgic as you walked into the empty classroom. Shigaraki easily grew again while anticipating this, the tent prominent in his jeans.

“Y’know, good job for showering and changing.” You gave him praise, Shigaraki turning red from your words. “This... this means I can touch you, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I actually keep promises.” He ignored the jab at him, it didn’t matter how mean you were— he was going to touch you finally.

Shigaraki awkwardly shuffled towards you, raising his hands up to look at you with wide eyes. He slowly paced a hand on your boobs, trying to see if this was just some test and you’ll get mad at him.

When he didn’t get anything back, he immediately started to dough on your clothed breast, cupping them. Then, he moved to unbutton your shirt, already seeing you thought ahead and took off your bra before coming here.

He fully took off your shirt, not wasting time on latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, both hands playing with your breasts. Shigaraki was basically humping your leg, sucking your nipples like a baby.

You giggled a bit, patting his head. He looked up at you with a clouded look, pure joy in his eyes as he finally got to touch you.

Looking back down at him, another idea popped up— you already took his virginity and gave him his first hand-job, whats another one of his firsts? “Shigaraki, do you want to feel really good?” He unlatched from your nipple, “I can be inside you?”

“No.” He frowned a bit, but perked up when you trailed your fingers on his boxers. “What if I put this,” You pointed at your boobs, “In between these?”

Shigaraki was already down, eagerly sitting on a desk while you got on your knees. He freed his cock, putting it in between your slick pushed together breasts, thanks to his sucking earlier.

You wasted no time on stroking it up and down with your breasts. He moaned feeling the softness of the valley between your chest, your breasts around his cock giving him warmth as you stimulated him.

Shigaraki was definitely feeling great, you even let him bend down and grab your breasts to control the speed of the tit-job.

Though, Shigaraki wanted more. You were giving him all these things, a hand-job, a tit-fuck. He’s been inside you once and he didn’t get to do what he wanted in the first place. To cum inside his mommy.

He feels a knot grow in his lower abdomen, but he doesn’t wanna cum yet. Instead, he pulled himself away from you, much to your confusion.

“What? You literally were about to cum and I was gonna let you!” You groaned, getting up as Shigaraki faced you.

“...Mommy, can I fuck you?”

“No, you didn’t come to school for a whole week. If you really wanted to you would have showed up.”

Shigaraki turned red, sputtering as he held onto your arm, “Please! I just want you cum inside you.” He whined, tears pricking at the chance of not getting to have sex with you after all this time.

You looked at him stoned faced as he begged, even falling to his knees dramatically to add to his desperation. “Fucking virgins, man.”

Shigaraki felt himself be pushed down, your skirt and panties on the floor. You straddled onto his length, moans filling the room quickly.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, mommy!” Shigaraki thrusted his hips into yours, feeling even more over-joyed when he was allowed to touch your chest while you were on top of him this time.

Shigaraki desperately missed this, now he remembers why his hand didn’t compare to your tight pussy after trying to jerk off. He found his own rhythm quickly, muffled ‘mommy’s due to his mouth on your breasts.

“I’m doing this because you cleaned up, if you didn’t I would’ve left you to your own sad-ass devices already.” You lied, honestly, you hated the idea what he possibly was ignoring you by not showing up to school.

Even then, you’ve grown a bit found of him. His body, his expressions, his voice, everything really. It didn’t bother you as much when you saw his still messy hair, you were just glad to see him.

Though, you’d never admit it. Instead, it showed through the way you were tightening around his cock, panting as he moaned into and out your body. Shigaraki very quickly wrapped his arms around you, both of you on the edge.

“Fuck— Shigaraki. Cum, cum for mommy, okay?” You ordered, Shigaraki more than ready to fulfill it.

“Ah, thank you! Thank you, mommy! I’m gonna cum inside you!” Both of you rided out your highs, Shigaraki filling you so much it started to drip outside your full cunt.

He fell on top of you despite you initially being on top, you wanted to scold him but honestly couldn’t bring yourself to right now.

The room quieted down, the only words being exchanged were by Shigaraki softly muttering “Thank you, mommy.” into your neck

[sukifans]

aahhh I’m so excited I love your writing!!! your sokka “help me” fic is one of my favs ever I seriously think about it at least twice a week. in a similar vein, would you be able to combine prompts 10 & 12 for sokka x fem!reader? thank you!!! :)

SOKKA + “can i try that new chapstick? i wanna have a taste” + “i hadn’t noticed but my sweet, funny, goofy best friend is kind of hot, especially since they’ve been on this fitness kick”

⇦ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

“nastiest skank bitches” Group Message

loml: ladies, i need a girls night

loml: desperately

babygorl: god i’m down, this semester blows

fugly slut <3: i’m in!! always here for a girls night 🥰

loml: y/n??

you: gals. pals. as much as i would love to...

fugly slut <3: ughhhhhhhhh

babygorl: you better not be blowing us off for sokka again istg

you: 😅

loml: TRAITOR BITCH

fugly slut <3: HOES BEFORE BROS

babygorl: WHORE

you: bruh.mp3

you: he’s coming by after the gym to help me with my physics homework!!! I NEED THE HELP PLS I PROMISE ILL BE THERE NEXT TIME

babygorl: lying is a sin y/n

babygorl: sinner

loml: if sokka’s gonna b there maybe she’ll be sinning in........ other ways...... ahaha

loml: fuckboy_emoji.jpg

fugly slut <3: when you gonna tap that fr

you: NEVER LITERALLY NO EW

you: HE’S MY BEST FRIEND

you: UNLIKE YOU RATS

fugly slut <3: he do b kinda yummy tho liiiike 👀

you: STOP

loml: yeah he’s hot sorry queen

you: HE’S NOT HOT

babygorl: i almost hate to admit it but...

babygorl: his biceps 🥴

fugly slut <3 emphasized “his biceps 🥴”

loml loved “his biceps 🥴”

you: hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!

fugly slut <3 disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

babygorl disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

loml disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

babygorl: uh huh yeah sure

loml: yall hear sumn?

NEW MESSAGE from sokka :^)

“hey i’m omw up!”

you: whatever you guys suck

you: i gtg

fugly slut <3: AND YOU SWALLOW

babygorl: bye girly!! get that bestie dick!!

loml: save a car, ride an engineering major >:)

you: desgostang.jpg

You dropped your phone onto the bed next to you with a groan. Your friends really and truly could be such freaks about your relationship with Sokka—or lack thereof. They’d been especially adament ever since he started some stupid bet with Zuko about who could get the most “gains” by graduation, incited by Aang making the mistake of commenting on Zuko’s more pronounced muscle mass.

Idiots.

That’s what Sokka was. Your idiotic best friend, who was funny, and sweet, and intelligent. You loved him, of course, but not like that. And he was not hot.

Definitely not.

The pounding on your dorm door interrupted your musings before Sokka let himself in, dropping his gym bag on the floor and kicking off his slides. His hair was loose and still damp from his post-workout shower and he wore slim joggers with a loose muscle tee.

“Hey!” He smiled brightly when he spotted you sitting in your bed. “What’s up?”

“The usual.” You moved your legs out of the way so he could flop down onto your mattress. “How was the gym?”

Sokka groaned. “Cardio. I’m already sore.” He stretched his arms up to fold behind his head, pulling his muscles taut.

Hm. He does kind of have nice biceps...

You shook yourself internally. Thoughts like these had been creeping out of your subconscious for weeks now, no thanks to your rabid friends.

“My leg’s been killing me, though,” he continued, rubbing his opposite foot across the skin that covered that metal pins and plates holding his bones together after a nasty break in high school. The leg often still gave him problems, ranging from the dull ache he could ignore on the day-to-day, to throbbing pain that left him limping.

You frowned, looking away from his arms to meet his eyes. “You should probably rest up before you hurt yourself,” you said.

“I’ll be fine.” He shrugged and propped himself up on his elbows. “Gotta catch up to Zuko, y’know.”

“Why? You’re already taller than him.”

“So? I wanna be more yolked, too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Buncha dumbasses.”

Sokka quirked an eyebrow. “You want this dumbass to help with your physics homework or not?”

“Haha,” you chuckled nervously, “just kidding, buddy! I meant Zuko and Aang. You—definitely not a dumbass. Nope.”

“That’s what I thought.” He shot you a smug look as he pushed up to sit cross-legged across from you on the bed. He held his hand out with a dramatic, world-weary sigh. “Alright, give it here.”

You opened your laptop to pull up the website that hosted your homework practice problems. “You know I love you, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, grabbing a notebook and pen from your desk to work out the math as you handed over the computer. He paused before standing to retrieve his bag, plopping it on your desk chair so he could root through it and pull out his glasses case. You felt your cheeks warm a little when he set the frames on the bridge of his nose.

Fine—he was kinda cute. You could concede that without having to dig too deep into your somewhat jumbled feelings for your best friend.

But you would certainly not “tap that.”

Well...

No. You would not.

You watched his eyes flick over the screen as he tapped the pen against his chin, catching the cap between his teeth while he thought about the formulas he’d learned in a past semester. He nodded to himself and started scribbling out a diagram and the math to go with it. You found yourself a little mesmerized by the way he simply just knew what to do, confidently scratching away at the paper as easily as one might write the alphabet. Your eyes trailed from his long fingers and calloused hand sweeping over the page, up his toned arm (lingering on his bicep a little longer), and to his face. He chewed at the inside of his cheek in concentration, sometimes parting his lips to murmur the logic to himself.

For someone who often said a lot of stupid shit, he sure had a pretty mouth.

You considered what he might do if you snatched a fistful of his shirt and yanked him into a kiss. Would he shove you away and leave? Awkwardly but kindly reject you? Or, would he kiss you back—throw the work out of the way and grab your face to coax you in deeper? Maybe push you back onto the bed and—

“Okay, so basically—”

Jesus Christ, get a fucking grip.

“—from the problem and draw it out like this to apply the formula, yeah?”

Sokka looked to you expectantly and you blinked at him as your face burned. “Sorry, I zoned out. What did you say?”

“C’mon, I know you hate physics but you gotta at least pay attention to me if you wanna pass,” he teased, shifting close enough that the sides of your bodies pressed together. Was it getting warmer in your room, or was it just your best friend?

He launched into the explanation again and you nodded along while internally willing the blood to leave your cheeks. Even as your thoughts ricocheted around inside your skull he managed to break it down in a way that somewhat made sense. He sat back and watched as you slowly worked through the next problem. You glanced up when you heard a soft pop to see him applying chapstick.

“Is that a new flavor?” you asked.

“Yeah, chocolate orange or something.” He held the tube out to you. “Wanna try?”

Fuck it.

Before your rationality could catch up you pressed a hand to his cheek to turn his head and pulled him in for a kiss. Your lips only slotted together for a brief moment before you pulled back to stare wide-eyed at each other. You could feel the fire creeping from your cheeks down your neck, mirrored in the reddening of his tanned skin.

He blinked. You blinked.

The chapstick slipped from between his fingers. Rationality arrived late.

You bolted.

“Uh, see ya later!” you shouted as you threw the door open and rushed out of the room.

“Wait, (Y/N)—“

You didn’t stick around to hear the end of his desperate call. Even thought it was your dorm and you were barefoot you still raced down the hall, wincing at the sound of a door slamming behind you.

“(Y/N)!”

Damn that lanky bastard. You were booking it and he was already hot on your heels. You barreled into the door leading to the stairwell and almost made it down the first step when he grabbed you around the waist and yanked you back. Despite your struggles, the arm hooked across your middle was unyielding until he pushed you into the corner and crowded you against the wall, hands caging you in from either side. Your heart was racing and you weren’t sure if it was because of your escape attempt or that he was close enough you could smell his body wash and deodorant. It was almost enough to make your head spin.

“Sokka, I-I don’t know why—I’m sorry, please, I shouldn’t’ve—“

“(Y/N),” he said firmly and your mouth snapped shut. “Why did you run away?”

“Uh, I—well, um...” You shrunk down against the wall and swallowed hard. “I-I don’t know.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to respond.”

“Look—“ You paused and stared at him once you processed what he said. “What?”

He laughed, dropping one of his hands to brush against your cheek before threading into your hair to cup the base of your skull. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

With that he surged forwards and kissed you enthusiastically, making you gasp into his mouth. You balled your hands into the front of his shirt to keep yourself steady as you melted into him. His free hand pressed into your lower back to bring you in closer. His tongue slipped out to tease at your bottom lip and he chuckled when you had to quickly grab his shoulders as your knees almost buckled.

“Get that,” he murmured against your lips, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you gasped for air.

“Oh,” you breathed, “that.” You hummed happily when he kissed you again, his stubble scratching against your chin and under your palms when you cupped his face.

You both looked up when a stairwell door somewhere above you slammed open, followed by a group of jostling male voices. Sokka grinned when you glanced at him with wide eyes and shiny, swollen lips. You tried to hide behind him as the clamor bounded closer and closer. The group of guys rounded the next flight and gave shouts of recognition upon seeing you two standing against the wall.

“Sokka!”

“Hey, man!”

“Hey, guys,” Sokka said, holding his hand up in greeting.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, is that (Y/N)?”

“Nice, dude!”

“Ah, yeah...” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and you raised an eyebrow at his turned head. They all cheered and congratulated him, slapping his back as they passed and disappeared down the next set of stairs. When Sokka met your eyes again you cocked your head.

“Who were they?” you asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“Sokka.”

“My reputation precedes me, what can I say?”

“Mine doesn’t.”

“Well—“ he suddenly became very interested in the underside of the stairs above you “—my reputation may or may not involve talking about you. A lot, apparently.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t do it on purpose!” he interjected quickly, taking your hands in his. “It’s just—I dunno, I guess I think about you a lot, so...”

“Oh.”

“Fuck, okay, that sounded weird.” You laughed a little at his embarrassed floundering. “I just mean, like, things that remind me of you or, y’know, stories that involve you...” he trailed off, flushing at your amused smile. “Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Making fun of me!”

“I didn’t say anything,” you giggled, hooking your arms around his neck.

“You’re still laughing at me,” he whined, lips turning into a frown. His hands slipped back down to your waist.

“You’re cute.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Without preamble, he ducked down and hoisted you over his shoulder as you shrieked in protest. “Sokka! Put me down!”

“No can do, baby; we have unfinished business to attend to.” He said as he marched you back in the direction of your room.

“You’re gonna finish my physics homework?”

“Nope.”

Oh.

A/N: 2k words bc, again, i have no self control. thank you for the request!

ATLA TAGS: @hotgirlazula @octophopi @blazedbakugou @protect-remus @akiris @sunflowerazula @wooscottoncandyhair @chewymoustachio @ohno-caroline @sunflowerr-mami @1vitamin @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @u-4iia @nymeria-targaryen @tommy-braccoli @dizzy-miss-lizzieeeeee @a-sloppy-bitch @nomin-rights @siriuslyslyslytherin @starryncn

SOKKA TAGS: @fiantomartell @avatarayeaye @zvkta @sher-lockedmarvel @grandmascottlang @captainshazamerica @yuesallura

[master-sass-blast]

Care and Trust: Chapter One.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Summary: "The shockwave hits second.

You’re strolling through Avatar Korra park, out on your lunch break. It’s a beautiful, late winter day; with the sun shining high up in the sky, it’s warm enough that you aren’t shivering like a frightened kitten as you amble along the plaza.

Several people gasp, and you look up in time to see a fireball pluming up over the docks.

And then the shockwave hits.

It hits your chest like an armadillo tiger; the explosion roars through the air, making your ears hurt. You go down, grunting when you hit the snow-covered knoll behind you.

You stand with a groan, brush yourself off, then start booking it to the nearest hospital.

Shit like this always demands all hands on deck."

AKA Plot Finally Happens.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: T.

Word count: 2.1k.

The shockwave hits second.

You’re strolling through Avatar Korra park, out on your lunch break. It’s a beautiful, late winter day; with the sun shining high up in the sky, it’s warm enough that you aren’t shivering like a frightened kitten as you amble along the plaza.

(But, as they say, all good things must come to an end.)

Several people gasp, and you look up in time to see a fireball pluming up over the docks.

And then the shockwave hits.

It hits your chest like an armadillo tiger; the explosion roars through the air, making your ears hurt. You go down, grunting when you hit the snow-covered knoll behind you.

Cries pierce the air. Screams of panic, exclamations of disbelief, exhortations to call the police.

Yeah, you think as you eye the thick, black smoke that belches into the air, something tells me they didn’t miss that.

You stand with a groan, brush yourself off, then start booking it to the nearest hospital.

Shit like this always demands all hands on deck.

***

As predicted, the injury count is high.

You run the halls of Yue General, triaging the more serious patients until things slow enough that you can start checking the ones not actively dying. It’s a non-stop frenzy of gauze, saline, and bandage wraps until you can see the blue glow of your healing whenever you close your eyes.

By the end of it, your feet are practically dead and it’s nearly four in the morning.

You drag yourself onto one of the trams and let the teeth-shaking rattle keep you awake until you’re on your block. You count your steps until you make it to the front door, then let out a sigh of relief when you step into the building lobby.

“Elevator Out of Service. Please Use Stairs.”

You stare at the placard in front of the elevator bay in disbelief, then groan. Fuck my life.

***

The climb up to your floor is agony.

You’re huffing and puffing by the time you make it to your apartment door. You lean against it as you slot the key into the lock, then push inside.

Some distant, responsible part of you manages to turn the deadbolt before your brain shuts off entirely. You kick off your shoes, drop your purse on the ground, then shuffle over to the couch and flop down face first on it.

When you lift your head again, sunlight’s streaming through your living room window.

“Fuck.” You wince, then peel yourself gingerly off the couch. You cringe as your body protests, and rub your hand over the back of your aching neck. You glance at the clock, but the gurgle your stomach makes is more than enough to tell you that it’s past lunch time.

You sit up, then frown when you get a whiff of yourself. Antiseptic and B.O. Not a good combination on anyone.

You need a shower. And food. And a good round of stretching.

Nice, long, hot shower. You smile as you shuffle towards the bathroom. And then take out. Narook’s. With extra squid ink noodles. Your stomach rumbles again. And maybe Golden King’s… mmm, extra summer rolls… with sweet and sour dipping sauce. Yum.

***

You feel more human after showering. You change into sweats and a loose shirt, put in delivery orders at Narook’s and Golden King’s, then flip on your radio before dropping down onto your sofa.

It’s too early in the day for mystery shows, but the disc jockey’s still playing music requests. Smooth jazz --something with a rolling beat and brass--pipes out of the speakers, swirling around your apartment until the mental grime of the previous day starts to fade.

You sink back into your couch and hum along. You sigh and stretch, relish in the ache in your legs as tension leeches from your sore muscles.

The radio hums, then crackles. “We interrupt this broadcast for an announcement from the Republic City Police Department.”

You roll your eyes as an announcer rattles off a report about the explosion yesterday --site is secure, no risk of further fire or explosion, the city police are hard work, stay clear of the site, blah blah blah--then relax when your music starts playing again. Thanks for telling us what we already know. You close your eyes and let yourself drift. Why do they always shove that into every single press release? ‘We’re working hard to serve Republic City and ensure the safety of her citizens--’

Lin.

You gasp and bolt upright; she would’ve attended the scene. Hell, for all you know, she was one of the responding officers.

It’s probable, given her propensity for “hands on police work,” for not staying above the grime and grunge her officers have to work on.

Hell, it’s even likely. Given what you know about Lin, you’d be solid money that she’d rather work the explosion site than deal with the panicking politicians.

Is she okay? You chew on your lower lip as the thought circles your mind like water in the bathtub drain, swirling down and down into blackness.

You blink, and then your phone’s in your hand, and there’s hold music in your ear as the operator makes the connection. You gulp and palm your phone once the music stops and the ringing starts. Please don’t let this be a mistake, please don’t let this be a mistake, please don’t let this be a fucking mistake…

“Chief Beifong’s office. This is her assistant, Ryu, speaking. The Chief is not available at this time, but I can take your message and deliver it to her later.”

You blink at the sound of her assistant’s voice. “Uh… hi…” You swallow, then rattle off your name and callback number before Ryu can hang up on you. “I’m a, uh, friend of Lin’s. I was just calling because --y’know--the explosion--”

“I’m sorry, but the Chief cannot comment on an ongoing investigation--”

“I’m not calling about that,” you interject, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m her friend; I just want to be sure she’s okay.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when Ryu speaks again, she almost sounds… pleased? “Chief Beifong’s not in right now --but I’ll have her call you back as soon as she’s available.”

“Is she hurt?” you blurt before she hangs up on you.

Another pause. “As far as I know, no.”

“Okay.” You nod, gulp, then nod again. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Have a nice day.”

You eke out something similar, then put your phone back on the hook when the line goes dead. Your heart thuds uncomfortably hard in your chest, and you have to blink a few times before your brain starts working again.

You head back to your couch and jazz --but long gone is your relaxed, exhaustion induced stupor. Anxiety claws at your chest, threatening to snap your ribs and leave you bleeding. You inhale deeply through your nose, then force yourself to let it out slowly so your body calms down. She’ll be fine. She’s got, what, thirty years on the force? This is old hat for her. She’ll keep herself safe.

Still, if you spend the next couple hours watching your phone, that’s no one’s business but yours.

***

Your phone rings around seven in the evening --right as you’re shovelling leftovers from lunch into your mouth.

Go figure.

You half-scramble, half-try-to-not-choke over to the phone; you pick up the phone, try to swallow, then tuck the food in your cheek like a hamster when it’s apparent you’ve got too much in your mouth to swallow. Mom always said I ate like a pack of polar bear dogs. “Heffo?”

There’s a dry huff of laughter on the other end of the line. “I take it I caught you at a good time.”

“Lin!” You cover your mouth with one hand (even though she can’t see you) and alternate between chewing and swallowing. “I --I was ea’in ‘inner.”

“Sounds like you decided to do it all at once.” She chuckles when you grumble, then moves on. “My secretary said you called?”

“Yeah, around lunch time,” you say as you finally get your mouth clear.

“Where I’m presuming you had your mouth full of that meal, too.”

“Fuck you.” You grin when she laughs, then lean against the wall and cradle the receiver against your shoulder. “I just… wanted to check on you. With the explosion and all.”

“You heard about that.”

“The whole city heard it, Lin.” You sigh. “I worked the triage team at Yue General until four in the morning.”

“Shit.” Lin groans, and you can hear the creak of her leather office chair as she sits. “I thought you only did massage therapy?”

“They call everyone who passed a healing course when stuff like this happens,” you explain. “Besides, I had to pass an intensive injury treatment course to get my rehabilitation certification. I’m licensed to assist surgery teams, if need arises.”

Lin hums. “That’s a nice feather in your cap.”

“It pays the bills.” You manage a smile when she lets out a huff of laughter, but the anxiety that’s been circling your brain descends to your stomach. You swallow, then ask, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” When you don’t respond right away, her voice softens. “I’m fine. A little banged up, but nothing that won’t heal. I wasn’t there when the explosion went off.”

“Okay,” you murmur. You let out a shaky breath, then mentally kick yourself to stop acting like a worried girlfriend, dammit. “Well, if something doesn’t heal, you know where to find me.”

Lin grunts, then chuckles when you laugh. “Get some rest, kid.”

“Already am. You should do the same.” You roll your eyes when she starts grumbling again --about overtime and press conferences and departmental cooperation with the city’s fire brigade--then say, “Call me when you want to keep me up all night again,” and hang up before she can react.

It’s easy to picture her reaction. Open-mouthed, wide-eyed, with that hint of a grin that she hides by smirking.

You bite your lower lip; something warm and smooth settles in your lower gut. You laugh quietly to yourself, then turn and head back for the sofa. Alright, leftovers. It’s just you and me.

***

You’re in the midst of changing the sheets on your massage table when there’s a knock on the door. “Come in.”

The latch clicks, the door swings open, and the receptionist for the Northern Moon Physical Therapy Facility pokes her head into your “office” (which is really just the room you work out of, but it’s yours, and that’s what counts). “A call came in for you.”

You straighten, frowning. “Me?”

She nods. “A request for on-site treatment.” She looks down at the slip of paper in her hand and recites the information from the call. “Republic City Police Department, at one this afternoon. Long session booking. A woman named Ryu called it in.”

Your heart sinks into your shoes. Fucking dammit. “And my other appointments…”

“We’re redistributing them to the other therapists. It was an urgent request.”

Shit.

You sigh, then nod and grab your carry bag off a nearby office chair. “Let me pack up, and I’ll catch one of the trams.”

“They’re sending a car for you.” The receptionist smiles politely, then steps back and starts making her way back down the hall. “It’ll be here in fifteen minutes!”

You run your tongue over your teeth and do what you can to tamp down the aggravation simmering in your stomach. Well, on the bright side, I don’t have to carry the table the entire way.

***

Ryu meets you in the parking garage attached to the police department. She’s sleek, dressed in an impeccably pressed navy blue suit, and there’s not a hair out of place on her head.

In your loose slacks, pale periwinkle blouse, and slapdash braid, you can’t help but feel a bit… frumpy.

She shakes your hand --she’s got a strong, professional handshake--then escorts you through the garage. “Thank you for coming.” She opens a heavy metal door stamped with the police department’s emblem for you. “I’ll take you up to Chief Beifong’s office.”

Your jaw flexes as you follow her down a hall with an immaculately polished slate tile floor. “How’s she been? What kind of pain has she been in?”

Ryu looks at you over her shoulder for a long moment. Her eyes narrow contemplatively, but she turns back around before you can make anything of her expression. “I’ve been asked to let Chief Beifong explain things to you directly.”

Yeah, that tracks. You shift the strap of your carry bag onto your shoulder, then watch the floor counter as the elevator slowly rattles upwards.

[thrndlngs]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷     this is how you fall in love, e. kirishima.

previously on, TIHYFIL.           next on, TIHYFIL.

      ii.      ❝     THE MORNING AFTER.

author’s warning: this is how i managed the two of you to be cuddling. :p some cursing + your friends think you hooked up but you didn’t. um???? if yn doesn’t get me with the mf PROGRAM lmao.

     THERE’S A SLIGHT PANIC THAT rises in the college students residing in your living room when they realize that neither you or kirishima are anywhere in sight. sero offers to make a bet that the two of you have finally stopped being oblivious and finally hit it off but mina thinks otherwise. she might have been tipsy but she wasn’t that tipsy to have imagined you playing with kirishima’s fingers during the game. or when he would tilt his head back to look at you while you were talking.

   “maybe we should give them some space.” deku added and bakugou sucks in his teeth, arms folded across his chest. not only does he have a massive headache but now you managed to sneak off with one of his closest friends - did deku really think he was going to let this go without being investigated?

  “tch. we’re going to find those damn extras. even if it takes all morning.” 

  “don’t you have to go to work at 12?” 

  “your fucking point?” bakugou asked sero, who raises his hands in his defense, eyes immediately moving to mina who wants nothing to do with with bakugou’s attitude. 

   “well, i’ll get breakfast started, kaminari want to give me a hand?” uraraka asked and of course, he was also nowhere in sight. which only pisses bakugou off even more (if that’s even possible)

   “alright.. does anyone want to help me get breakfast started?” 

   “yup, i am right behind you, literally, right behind you, please move quicker.” sero whined quietly, deku and mina following close behind. which leaves bakugou to play ‘clean up’ (not that he minded, he knows his friends are terrible at cleaning and the more time passes, the more it dawns on him what the two of you could be doing: so for lack of better words, he’s stalling.)

   kirishima wakes up before you, he doesn’t have the heart to wake you up as well, so he lays idle as you continue to drool on his shirt. not that he minds - is he panicking? yes. is he scared of what your reaction will be when you realize how close you guys are? double yes. this isn’t the first time you guys have been in a ‘position’ like this - but now it’s just the two of you. there’s no mina throwing her leg over you or sero having his arm outstretched in kirishima’s face, it’s just you two, in your bed. 

  he’s drumming his fingers against your back - impatiently almost, he’s bored and his arm is asleep but it isn’t like he’ll move to get himself comfortable. yeah, he’s got it that bad. it seemed like the only solution to the current situation at hand was to just go back to sleep - so that’s what he does.  

   "oi, oi, wake the fuck up shitty hair.” bakugou would start screaming but he has some respect (in the sense that he doesn’t want to wake you up not because he thinks he needs to wake kirishima up gently). “unless you want them to start barging in here and asking you questions i suggest you get up in the next twenty seconds.” 

   the redheaded male almost tells bakugou to lock the door behind him but, he’s thankful for the warning nonetheless and knows that you’d probably want him to try to make sure the two stir as little rumors as possible. 

   “just keep ‘em busy for a while alright? i have to figure out how to not wake her up.”

   “yeah, yeah i don’t really care. just make it quick - i want to go home and brush my fucking teeth.” 

   “okay bakugou you can go now.” 

   “don’t say i didn’t do anything for you shitty hair.”

   kirishima let’s out an audible sigh, looking down to see that the two of you were still in the same position as earlier and the realization of it makes him sweat.

   “mornin’ kiri.” you mumbled, pulling away to stretch and offer him a soft smile. maybe it’s the way the sun’s hitting your eyes or maybe he really hasn’t gotten over the highschool crush he had on you but he feels the warmth rise to his cheeks. “—sorry for being in your personal space. won’t happen next time.”

   next time?

   “no biggie, mornin’ to you too [your nickname].” play it cool, play it cool, play it cool.

    “is anyone else awake?” you asked, half tempted to go back to sleep. thankfully - you didn’t have to go to work with a hangover.

   “yeah. everyone actually. i think mina’s burning your kitchen down as we speak.” he’s joking but the slight panic that rises in your eyes makes him laugh and it earns him a slap to his shoulder. 

   “do you know how many times i’ve set that fire alarm off? you can’t joke like that!”

   “okay, okay, i’m sorry.” 

   “do you work today?” you asked, sitting up as kirishima did the same, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes.

   “no. i have friday’s and saturday’s off now.”

   “oh great! i mean - unless you have plans i was wondering if you wanted to go down to restock on snacks with me?”

   “no that’s great — i need to grab some stuff for my room anyways. uh, i’m going to start heading out to go shower and stuff y’know - uh, want to meet here or — ”

   “ — we can meet there if you want? that way you don’t have to take so many trips.” 

   you don’t give him much room to protest as you lift yourself from the bed, stretching one last time before you head to the door. 

   “i don’t want to give everyone the wrong idea so i’ll leave first and i’ll give you some time to uh, grab your stuff and, you know.” 

   wrong idea, wrong idea, of course.

   “yeah - yeah, uh, good idea. i’ll meet you out there.” 

   you offered him a smile before putting a brave face on. you weren’t sure if you had the strength to deal with the disaster that awaited you in the front end of your apartment or the general commotion your friends were causing. 

   but surprisingly, there wasn’t much - which makes you think that everyone must really be hungover. “uh, good morning?” you greeted with uncertainty, looking over to your friends who just squint back. 

   kirishima had counted to thirty before he exited your bedroom - hand rubbing at the nape of his neck awkwardly (in hindsight this only seemed to confirm your friends suspicions) and he too rushed out a quick, “good morning,” before moving around you. 

   “i have to go, i’ll catch you guys later. uh, your name, i’ll text you when i’m there okay?” he called out as he headed for the door as you still stood in the same spot, blinking. from an outsider’s perspective it seemed like you were finally seeing the situation from your friends point of view - and you almost shriek. keyword: almost. 

   “uh - yeah! see you then kiri.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ⋆☾

TAG LIST,  

@asahisimpnation​ ♡ @the-fandoms-georgie​ ♡ @willowtree42095​

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 10:

Gif credit: @dudeitiskarev

A/N: Shorter chapter, an almost outtake before things really kick off. Emily ships it.

———

“Though soulmates aren't looking for you, they will find you.” - Kevin Ansbro

———

Hotch balances his phone against his shoulder and hops around on a single leg trying to pull his sock over his other foot. His words are strained when he speaks, “You’re gonna have to give me an extra twenty minutes, Ben I’m running a little late.” 

“Yeah, that’s fine - wait what are you doing? Why do you sound like that?” McCall asks.

He’s dangerously close to losing his balance, and decides against breaking his tailbone just because he might be late to work. “Nothing. I’ll see you in 20,” He grunts into the phone. 

Downstairs, Haley buzzes around the kitchen, moving from countertop to countertop, disinfecting the worktops as breakfast sizzles in the pan. She’s working on aggressively scrubbing a particular spot of grout on the worktop when Hotch makes his way downstairs.

She’s been so high-strung the last few days. Maybe even more than normal and he can’t quite figure out why. She’s being attentive and showering him with affection and has a ton of energy - teetering dangerously close to smothering him, he thinks.

She surprisingly didn’t have a lot to say when he came home after spending the night at your apartment a few days ago. It’s refreshing, sure, but he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Notwithstanding her almost overnight transformation, she’s also tossing and turning through the night, enough for Hotch’s own sleep to become disturbed, her eyes are always wide, darting around, almost paranoid and her nails are bitten to the quick. 

She’s been waking up at dawn for the last two days to clean and scrub every inch of the house now and Hotch swears he could probably eat off the kitchen floor the way she’s disinfected every possible surface of the house. 

“Hey!” She whips around when he enters the kitchen. There it is again. The squeaky, high voice. The disconcerting smile. 

He frowns, watching her carefully as she throws her arms around him. He doesn’t have a chance to respond before she turns back around to fix him a plate. 

“You okay?” He mutters, eyes following her movements. 

“Yeah! I feel really good! You?” It’s like she’s forgotten how to blink. 

He nods slowly, offering a tight smile in response. He’s lost for words and actions right now, takes everything in him not to profile her. 

That’s got to be unethical, right?

But he can’t help but notice the way she diverts his questions, her paranoid body language, her overcompensating. 

She’s hiding something. 

Hotch follows behind her and motions for Haley to sit at the table, he’ll bring them both breakfast at the table, he tells her. She hesitates moving but he gently nudges her over with a hand on her back and she takes a seat, chewing her lip. Even at the table, she’s not really sitting properly, it’s like she’s almost squatting, bottom barely touching the seat, on her tiptoes, back straight. 

Hotch walks over with two plates of food and she offers him a tight smile as he does. He’s about to walk back towards the fridge for juice when the house phone rings, Haley immediately shooting up from her chair.

Hotch taps her on the shoulder. “It’s okay, I got it.” He assures her but she trails behind him, anyway. He picks up the receiver from the stand and offhandedly speaks into the phone, spotting Haley a few feet from him. 

“Hello?” 

Nothing. 

Haley’s arms are crossed, her right thumbnail between her teeth. 

“Hello?” He presses.

He says it one more time and hangs up when there’s no answer, shrugging. “Must’ve been a wrong number.” 

Haley’s shoulders relax momentarily but there’s another ringing noise, this time from her purse, not even seconds later. Both of their gazes fall to her purse, her eyes widening and mouth dropping slightly. 

The colour drains from her face. 

He looks back at Haley with wide eyes who’s all but speed-walking towards her phone, the ringing persistent. 

She flips it open, “Hello?”

He watches her carefully.

“Oh, hey Mom!” She squeaks, her voice breaking. “Can I call you later? Aaron and I are about to have breakfast.” She pauses. “Okay, bye Mom!” 

She chuckles and points to her phone. “It’s uh- my Mom. She says hi.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” He nods and glances at his watch, careful to keep his eyes on Haley. “Actually, y’know what I gotta go, I’m already late. I’ll grab something on the way.” He explains.

Her face drops but she nods, grabbing his keys and briefcase for him. He bids her an almost cold goodbye, jogging to his car. A thought occurs to him suddenly that steels him, he glances at his watch once more, frowning. 

“It’s 6am in Seattle.” 

———

“So do you guys have plans today?” McCall asks, taking a sip of his coffee. 

You take a bite of your toast, telling him that you’re going visit your father today. You still hadn’t told him about what happened at the restaurant a few days ago, and the more time that went on, the more you think you’d like to keep it that way. 

You weren’t sure how he would take it, he could fall sick again, like he had last year when the notes first started appearing and you didn’t want to risk that, not after you’d just got him back. Besides, he was the only person you had left besides Emily. 

And Hotch.

The butterflies start again. Try as you might, you couldn’t divert your attention away from Hotch and the time you’d spent together. Nothing happened, sure. You sat and talked all night, but something about that night, something about the way he’d made you feel so safe and secure, stuck with you. 

The air had shifted between you.  

But this was just a case, an assignment. After they caught this guy, he’d go back to his normal life, move on with his girlfriend and live his life. 

But you weren’t so sure what you’d do. 

Maybe it’d pass - but there’s a constant buzzing in the back of your head and in the pit of your stomach that maybe it won’t pass. 

Something about this, about him - feels different. Heavy. That occurrence settles dread in your stomach, you’d got attached before you’d even had a chance to talk yourself out of it, before you’d even realised what was happening. 

It’s just a crush, you tell yourself. 

The three of you turn your attention to the door when there’s a knock, Hotch’s voice calling out from the other side. 

“I’ll get it!” You throw your toast back onto your plate, shooting up from your chair. Emily scoffs watching you scramble from the table, her downturned head shaking. 

Hotch freezes when you open the door, expecting to see McCall, but he’s greeted by your bright eyes instead. He smiles and offers a quiet ‘Hi’, his face softening and you respond the same, both of you standing by the door, sharing a quiet moment with your friends just behind you. 

His eyes look glassy when they gaze back at you, his usual warmth is there but there’s something else, something different. You can find it in the way the tension in his shoulders dissipates , or the way his cheeks blush just slightly. 

Emily clears her throat pointedly, standing behind your couch, and it rips you both from your stupor. You chuckle and step aside to allow him to come in, his hand brushing yours as he enters. Your shiver doesn’t go unnoticed by Emily, who watches with narrow eyes from afar. 

“You want some breakfast? There’s more than enough,” you ask.

“Thank you, I’m fine.” He responds almost instinctually. McCall thanks you for breakfast and starts to make his way out but Hotch stops him, handing him the keys to the car and motions outside. 

“I’ll start the car.” McCall mutters.

Hotch turns back to you and straightens out his tie over his shirt. “Can we talk?” He asks, clearing his throat.

Emily slowly slinks away into your bedroom, and your eyes meet Hotch’s. The air changes suddenly so you turn your attention to the kitchen in an attempt to ease some of the tension, wrapping a doughnut in some parchment paper while he speaks. You figure he maybe sensed something the other night and this would be his attempt at letting you down easy. You swallow when there’s a long pause, the atmosphere thick. 

“I wanted you to hear it from me, but Emily told me about your ex. Jordan?” Your head whips back around to face him, trying your best to hide the surprise in your face. 

“Oh?” You swallow. 

This is worse. 

“Yeah. It’s none of my business and I probably should’ve told you the other night, but I just wanted you to know that we’re on our way to see him now. We need to question him. It’s a standard thing, just to see if he’s seen or heard anything.” He’s apparently hyper-focused on a spot on his shoe suddenly because he refuses to meet your eyeline. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “Oh. Okay. Well thanks for letting me know.” This is embarrassing. Jordan was a mistake you’d made, a sleazy, gross mistake. 

Shit.

You turn back around to pour some coffee into a mug, your cheeks burning. What would they even have to talk about? Jordan’s going to open his big mouth about how the two of you hooked up again, you think. It wouldn’t take long for Hotch to realise that it happened right after he’d begged you to let him in after you’d visited Quantico. 

But why do you care? 

It’s none of his business, he’s right. 

Still. 

The people you surround yourself with and all of that, you wouldn’t want him to think less of you. 

And you don’t want him to think you’re not available. 

He’s not available, you idiot. 

He waits for you to look back at him but when he sees you engrossed with whatever it is you’re doing, he takes that as his answer and decides to quietly exit. He’s almost out of the door when you turn back around, to see him dragging his feet. 

“Wait. Here.” You hand him the coffee and doughnut with a smile, your fingers brushing again. 

“Hey, for the record. Jordan can be,” you pause. You didn’t want to disparage anybody but you needed him to know. “Difficult? Intense? Look, all you need to know is that he was a mistake I made and - I just.” You sigh. “I don’t want you to think any less of me.” You shrug. 

He meets your eyeline this time. “What? Why would I think any less of you? I would never.” He says firmly. 

He’s right. He could never. 

“I know, still.” You can barely stop the words before they come up. “Your opinion means a lot to me.” 

He softens. No - melts, at this, a smile making its way onto his face. He wants to reach out and cup your face, wants to feel your embrace again. 

“Me too.” He whispers. 

McCall sounds the horn from below, both of you flinching at the noise and dissolving into awkward laughter. He holds up the doughnut and thanks you for breakfast.

Emily emerges smugly from your room almost as soon as Hotch leaves, her arms crossed. She wears another shit-eating grin on her face, half teasing and half questioning, finally concluding what she’d suspected from day one. She goes to open her mouth but you stop her, holding up your finger. 

“Not a word.” You warn her. 

———

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[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

Ch. 8 Creepypastas x Fem! reader

Sorry I've been gone for so long. My grandfather died a month ago and I wasn't in the right mindset to write. But I'm back and ill do my best. Thank you all for your patients. Anyway, enjoy<3

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As the week progressed, the girl found that it was the slightest bit easier to read through Masky's facade. Though that did not mean that she could thoroughly read him quite yet, she made it a challenge that eventually she would. Masky himself became lenient at first as to mind her injuries. But the moment she started to heal, it was all back to the ruthless nature of his work. Finally, when the week ended, she got informed that someone else was going to teach her. That person turned out to be Ben, the blond-headed boy that seemed too eager to meet her.

An early sensation lurked in the air the moment she woke up, groggily walking to the bathroom and taking a well-deserved shower. The feeling of all of the previous days' dirt and grime washing off her punctured flesh was refreshing. Her mind was finally clear, able to freely think and dwell on her current predicament without any outside interference. The hot water trickled down her naked body, soothing her as she thought of any way she could escape. But no matter how hard she thought, deep down she knew that the only way she could truly leave was to stay a little longer to devise a plausible plan.

Sadness overtook her body, hot tears streaming down her already wet face intertwining with the water droplets from the showerhead. She'd been able to withhold her tears for a while now, not wanting to give those bastards the satisfaction. But as her current position set in her mind once more, she couldn't hold it in. It was like a never-ending loop. After being rudely introduced and forced to spend a week being trained to the bone by two different killers, she had to repeat the process with another. It felt like her own personal hell.

Feeling the scalding hot water turn cold was an indicator that it was time to get ready. Not giving a damn if she was late. Stepping out of the shower with a huff, she looked at herself in the full-body mirror. Steam covered its surface from head to toe. Though, no matter how blurry, the rough outline of all the large scars, cuts and a few red bruises that littered her body were still very much visible. The feeling and texture of her once somewhat clear skin was now a distant memory in her mind. Slowly tracing all of the scars with the tip of the rugged fingers she winced when she made contact with a few of the most recent injuries.

Getting dressed in the same greyish jump-suit she has been washing and wearing for the last few days, she went to eat breakfast. But before leaving her bedroom she looked at the nightstand, there laid the old pocket watch he gave her. For some reason, he didn't want to take it when she offered it back. Shrugging her shoulders she put it in her right pocket and headed downstairs. Reaching the kitchen, noticing that Masky must have left early. Not paying any mind to his disappearance she carried on with her day. Eating the meal she prepared for herself. Sitting there on the dining table, in total silence, patiently staring at the clock. Ben still hadn't arrived. He was already ten minutes late, to begin with, which was a significant tonal shift from Masky, who was extremely punctual and despised tardiness. After what felt like hours, a loud crash was heard that made the girl's ears perk up as she ran to the living room. Their laying spread eagle, on the front of the old television, was none other than Ben.

" What happened, how did you get in here?" The girl quickly said while helping him up. " Dammit, forgot how small the damn television was." He said under his breath, ignoring her previous question. Getting on his feet he brushed himself off giving the girl a better look. Unlike the other two men, he was significantly shorter, 162 to 165 cm or 5'4-5'5 feet tall. Medium length golden hair under a long green hat and sharp pointy elf-like ears. His pale white skin looked ceramic, almost like a doll's and thin lips with a button nose. He seemed considerably young, but she assumed that he most likely was about eighteen years of age. Though, what caught her attention were his round black eyes that had a speck of red in them that acted as pupils. He was dressed as an elf, with his bright green tunic, forest green pants and leather belt neatly tied around his waist that held a small satchel type bag.

Looking in her direction he flashed her a creepy smile that showed off his white teeth. The girl didn't know how to react to his sudden action, as she felt discomfort all around her body, shifting her weight awkwardly she chose to ask him again. " How the hell did you manage to get in here without me hearing you?" " Well, I did the same thing I'm gonna' be teaching you today. Sorcery or magic. Whatever word floats your boat." " Magic? As in witchcraft, like spells and potions?" " Yup. I mean I know Jack already told you this so I don't know why you're so shocked." He snickered, it sounded distorted. " Yeah, I remember but I didn't actually expect-not that I didn't think that it would be magic-it is just that this is all so strange, I can't believe it." " Believe it, cuz I'm gonna' be teaching ya some spells. Follow me now out the back door." He spoke loudly, shaking his hands in a flamboyant manner.

Walking swiftly to the kitchen towards the back door. The girl was visibly confused as she followed suit. Why did they have to go through the back door, it was all quite strange. Stepping out, she noticed the rather large, wooden table a few meters in front of them. Its surface is covered in all kinds of trinkets, herbs and plants. " What's all of this for?" She said, approaching the table. "I got Masky to set it up before he left, we're gonna be needing some of this stuff so I can show you the ropes and basically help you understand the basics of making potions. A skill you'd need for survival." He answered while picking up a bunch of the items off the table and stuffing them in the bag. " Oh, what do we have here?" He said excitedly under his breath " Is it Raskovnik? My god it is. I know what i'll be teaching you first now, don't I. '' He started with a laugh as he made his way towards the trees. " Where are we going now?" " To the brewery. Do you really think you will be making risky positions in front of the cabin? You humans are actually the dumbest creatures."

The girl's face scrunched up in annoyance but still kept her mouth shut. She knew better than to try and argue with these people. Biting down on her tongue she got drawn in by the scenery like most times she was out in the forest. Autom was soon approaching so the wind had started to pick up the past few days, it made the multicoloured leaves on the trees dance as it passed. It calmed her as it passed through her body. Taking in a large breath she smiled and carried on behind Ben. Dogging trees and branches as there was no pathway in this part of the forest.

" Did you get the plant?" Ben spoke up after a while, cutting the calm silence. " Sorry, what?" " Were you the one that got the Raskovnik?" He repeated the question louder. " Oh, well yeah. I got it a while back as a part of my training with Masky." She replied quickly walking to his side. " Figures. Maskys is the type to make others do his dirty work." He muttered bitterly. But the girl was still able to hear it. " So you have a bad relationship with him?" " You could say that. Most of us do. The scumbag." The air started to tense. " I guess you could call him that. But he's not always that bad, he has his moments I guess." " Not that bad? Tell me, how did you manage to get that big ass gash on your neck." He harshly replied, pointing his leather-gloved hand to her neck. She quickly covered it and looked to the side. Not responding. " As I said, he's an absolute scumbag." " Well if it isn't stepping over a boundary, mind telling me why he's so bad." " Well, to begin with, he's a sadistic prick that only cares for himself. He broke into my house and stole some of the VERY rear herbs that took me YEARS to collect. And worst of all, he's the dog of The Operator." His face darkened when he mentioned The Operator's name. " The Operator? Whos that?" The girl quickly asked, lowering her hand and looking at him with a confused look on her face. " He's one of the most powerful beings to even exist. The embodiment of evil." " So like the devil?" " No, he's not the devil, the devil is a different being, but he's still terrifying." " Why do they call him The Operator then?" " Well, like. I don't really know how to explain this to you but, imagine this forest being a very large city. Y’know how every city has a mayor or someone in charge that leads it. Well, that's what The Operator really is. The Operator isn't his real name but a nickname given to him."

With that they finally stepped into a small grass filled clearing where in the middle, was a very small cottage covered in vines, plants and flowers. The old wood that it was made of was held up the multitude of plants, securing it firmly. The half-rounded door was nicely placed in the front, a yellow brick pathway leading to it, with a square window to the side. They quickly approached the door, the girl's breath taken by the beauty. The inside itself was small, shelves were on every side of the walks, each holding a plethora of books, trinkets, herbs and plants. It was relatively messy but still easy to walk in. A cauldron was in the middle of the room with a desk stacked with papers, pens, and scrolls.

Placing the Rascovnik and emptying his bag on the desk, Ben looked at the girl. " So let's begin I guess." He said walking to the medium-sized cauldron. " What are we going to do exactly?" She quickly asked as her eyes followed him, as he walked around the cottage collecting different ingredients and placing them on the desk. " Well, you're not going to be doing anything, just taking notes." Tossing a notepad at her. " While I prepare something and explain the different things you'll need to know." " Yeah that's great but am I going to be quizzed the same way Masky quizzed me because I need to know what I should expect." She said frantically, firmly grasping the notepad to her chest. " Nah, you're not. I don't do quizzes or tests, I like doing things spontaneously y'know. And plus taking notes will help you understand things more, so just write down herb and spell names, important details and whatever else will help ya remember. K?" " Ok, I guess." Anxiety began to dwell in her mind, as she looked around. " Readdy?" He said walking in front of the cauldron, giving her a slightly crooked reassuring smile.

[writings-of-bored-gal]

New Jersey Dog Sanctuary

Summary: Meet cute! Bucky is told he needs to get a dog and so goes with Sam to the shelter where he meets someone he wasn’t expecting. (It’s not overly romantic, mostly just wholesome Bucky but if I write a part 2 things will heat up a little!)

Words: 1704

Author’s Note: Hi guys! I’m so sorry I’ve been MIA for so long, but hopefully this will be the beginning of me posting more regularly again! I’ve actually really missed writing fanfic but I’ve been taking the time to work on some original bits too so maybe they’ll make their appearance on here some time in the future. For now, enjoy some soft Bucky fluff and make sure to keep sending me any requests (particularly Marvel stuff because I am riding a WandaVision marvel high at the moment!) Sending all the love- Abby x 

Masterlist 

_________

“C’mon Sam you know that this is more hassle than we need right now.” Bucky sighed. The sign above them read ‘New Jersey Dog Sanctuary’ in large green letters, punctuated with a paw print on either side. The glass door opened up to a lobby lined with sofas covered in dog hair. On one sat a kid, clutching a small scruffy terrier to his chest like his life depended on it. Bucky shook his head. 

“Look, Buck the therapist said you needed a dog, so we’re getting you a dog,” Sam gave him a sharp look, staring at him. Bucky met his gaze. A staring contest. He knew the stakes without having to say a word. If he won, he wouldn’t have to  go in, but if he blinked he’d be stuck with some dog he’d be forced to take with him on missions, getting in the way and making him trip up. Sam’s eyes did not move, but his hands clapped, making Bucky flinch, and worse, blink. 

“Cheater.”

“That’s just another word for winner, Barnes,” Sam winked, gesturing to the door. “After you.”

The sound of barking and the smell of fur hit the moment they walked into the place. There was a girl sitting behind the counter, her hair pulled back but strands still falling on her face as she frantically answered the phone and tried to pull something up on her laptop. She smiled at Sam and Bucky and held up a finger, pleading with her eyes. 

“What do you think of that one?” Sam said, pulling Bucky’s attention and pointing to a spaniel in the corner on a pink leash. Bucky shook his head and pulled a face. “Okay, something bigger?” Bucky sighed again, and nodded. “What about that one?” Sam pointed to a dalmatian who was jumping up at one of the workers. One he looked past the dog, Bucky realised that the girl was kinda pretty, smiling at the dog and letting it lick her face affectionately, half-laughing at something one of her co-workers had said to her. 

When Bucky once again shook his head, Sam gave up. The receptionist gave a cough behind them. 

“Did y’all make an appointment?” She asked, her fingers poised and ready to type. 

“It’ll be under Barnes,” Sam answered for Bucky. “We’re looking for a big dog and I looked on the website and-”

“Alright,” the receptionist interrupted, “if you take a seat on the couch over that way I’ll have someone be over with you soon.”

“You looked on the website?” Bucky asked as they turned away and made their way over to the couch. “Is this dog for you or for me?” 

Sam punched his good arm and Bucky rolled his eyes, scanning the couch to find a surface not covered with hair to sit on, unsuccessfully. The whole thing was covered with different coloured fur, creating a strange montage of white, black and brown shades on the bright green of the couch. Sam slumped down in the chair and Bucky took his chance to take a glance back at where the girl with the Dalmatian had been a minute earlier, but she was gone. 

“Hi there!” Bucky turned to see her standing there. The Dalmatian was gone from her side, but she was still brushing her front to try and rid herself of the lingering fur. She smiled brightly, her eyes crinkling as she looked between Bucky and Sam. “Take a seat. My name is Y/N and I’ll be helping you out with finding a dog here today.” She took a seat and pulled a notepad onto her lap. Bucky sat down, feeling Sam’s smug eyes on him but desperately trying to ignore him. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Sam and we’re here to look for a dog for grandpa Buck over here.” Sam smirked as Bucky shot him a death glare. She turned her attention to Bucky, kindness in her eyes as she looked him up and down. 

“I’m guessing a big dog, right?” She asked. 

“I guess, yeah,” Bucky said, folding his arms over his chest. “And not too young, we don’t really have time to train it properly.”

“Okay no problem,” she nodded, jotting some notes down, “any other preferences?”

“It’s a therapy dog,” Sam said, “so-”

“Sam!”

“No it’s okay,” the girl said, stopping the argument before it could begin, “we actually don’t have any licensed dogs here on site but if it’s just for companionship and comfort then there shouldn’t be any issues.” 

Bucky nodded solemnly. It had been a kick in the teeth when the therapist Sam had forced him to go to had told him that he would need an animal. He’d survived for so long on his own, it felt almost strange to even be with Sam so often. Having to rely on an animal felt like he was losing independence. When he’d told his therapist that she had tried to convince him that having a dog would actually help with his independence, but he wasn’t buying it. 

“Okay,” the girl said, interrupting Bucky’s train of thought, “I’m gonna go and take this list and see if there’s anyone who I think would be a good match for you.” She hesitated for a second, clearly wanting to say something more before deciding against it and turning to go back to her office. 

There was a beat of silence after she left before Sam pounced. 

“She’s...nice.”

“I guess.”

“You like her.” Sam said, unable to stop himself. “She’s cute Barnes, give her your number.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” he shook his head. She was too normal, too sweet. He was screwed in the head and she wouldn’t be able to handle it. It was pointless. It was dumb. She probably wasn’t interested. 

“She thought you were cute too, y’know.” Sam sighed, picking up a brochure and beginning to browse, one eye remaining on Bucky as he raised his eyebrow, considering before shaking his head. 

The girl rounded the corner once again, a file in hand and a nervous smile playing on her lips. Bucky tried to match her smile, feign some excitement for her sake at least, but it came out more like a grimace and he decided it best just not to make eye contact and let Sam do the talking. 

“Alright, I have a dog that might be good for you,” she started gently, “he’s a two year old Husky named Loki and he’s honestly such a sweetheart.”

“Loki?” Bucky asked, his brows furrowing. 

“I know, I know, but you can rename him in time and he’s not at all mischievous.” She handed over the file to Bucky. The photo of Loki, all grey and white fur, stared up at him with icy blue eyes. It was a nice looking dog. His previous owners had moved to Europe and couldn’t take him with them so they’d bought him into the shelter just a couple of weeks before. 

He could feel her watching him, leaning forward and trying to hide the way she was nervously picking at her fingers as he examined the sheet. Sam’s eyes were on him too, but he didn’t care much what he thought. 

“Okay,” he huffed, noting the glint in her eyes as she leaned in towards him, “let’s meet him and see what the deal is.” 

She suppressed a squeal and told Bucky and Sam to head down the path towards the meeting area, a closed off space behind the park-like yard that had toys and treats already waiting for them. They stood and waited, the crisp fall sunshine keeping them from getting too cold. 

She knocked before leading Loki into meet them. The dog locked eyes with Bucky, almost pulling her over as he tried to go and meet him. 

“He likes people!” She chuckled, closing the door and letting him off the leash so he could bound over. 

Immediately, the dog nuzzled his head into Bucky’s lap, nudging his head under his metal arm to be pet. Bucky obliged, feeling the dog’s soft fur run through his fingers, privately annoyed at how he knew straight away that his therapist had been right. He looked over to Sam who nodded approvingly, before meeting her eyes. They shone with unshed tears as she smiled at the pair of them. 

“I’ll go out and let you guys get acquainted-”

“No!” Bucky interrupted her, “I mean, he’s obviously comfortable with you here so you really don’t need to. And, y’know,” he cleared his throat, “I, uh… I’m more comfortable with you sticking around for a little bit.” 

A slow grin spread over her face as she joined Bucky and Loki on the floor. Sam stood back, sneakily taking a photo on his phone which he threatened to send to Fury. A long forgotten feeling washed over him. It wasn’t quite happiness, but there was a kind of joy in it, in knowing that there was going to be someone there who needed him that wasn’t an annoying bird-man. Contentment. He was content in this moment, this small world. A pretty girl smiling at him, a dog on his lap. The life he could have had if he hadn’t been drafted. 

“So… what do you think?” She asked him. Loki was lying at his feet, a ball between his paws. She sat beside him, close enough that he could smell the faint traces of her perfume. 

“You said he’d be okay to come on a mission, right?” Bucky asked.

“I’d avoid anything with too many loud noises… but if he was kept somewhere safe he’d be okay to travel.” She shrugged. She leaned forward to put Loki’s leash back on, but her hand brushed his and Bucky felt a shower of goosebumps cover his skin. He turned away, feeling his face flush, only to see Sam’s smug face. 

ASK HER OUT he mouthed. Bucky shook his head. IF YOU DON’T I WILL. Bucky glared at him before turning back to her. 

“If you wanna talk, by the way,” she pulled out Loki’s file and scribbled something down, “here’s my number.” She didn’t meet his gaze, but smiled a little, her fingers messing with Loki’s fur. “Y’know, about dog stuff.”

“I’ll call you,” Bucky replied a little too quickly, “about… dog stuff.” 

“I’ll make sure of it,” Sam nudged him. She blushed a little and nodded, handing Loki’s leash over to Bucky, letting his hand linger before leading them back. 

Bucky looked up at the sky over the dog park, feeling hope fill his chest for the first time in a long time.

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

Check Ignition: Part VI

The Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts AU that one person asked for and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

Requests are open, and I live for your comments

Telling Noor was out of the question. Robbe was in far too deep to admit to something like that. And here, he dangled on the precipice of making his relationship with Sander the truth. She could wait. She could never know. Whatever.

Robbe needed to marinate in this feeling as long as it would last.

He stayed up all night, reliving the moment until he could no longer form coherent thoughts. It was so vivid: Sander slid his hands under Robbe’s shirt and kissed the side of his mouth. He sucked gentle bruises into the bridge of Robbe’s collarbone and lower, and lower…When Robbe fell asleep, around eight in the morning, he dreamed of warm kisses in the crook of his neck. Did it really happen? Could it have really happened? Robbe couldn’t believe how different a kiss could be when he knew it wasn’t for anyone else’s benefit.

Of course, it could have been for someone else’s benefit. He didn’t know for sure what it meant. He had to talk to Sander.

Everything about this was disclaimers, every day. How annoying.

He pushed himself out of bed at ten with a mere two hours of sleep under his belt. Breakfast waited for no man. The thought of Sander was enough to rouse him to action. Moyo and Aaron were both in the bathroom already, hogging the mirror. Moyo must have stayed after some hangout last night. They talked in animated whispers.

Moyo’s mouth leaked toothpaste to the sink as he spoke. “—so then I told him that you can’t expect a Patronus if getting head is the happiest you’ve ever been—”

“What’s your memory?” Aaron countered. The bristles on his toothbrush were flattened.

“My memory doesn’t matter, because I’m not thinking—”

“No, I want to know. Since you think you’re so much better.”

“It’s not sex, if that’s what you—”

When they spotted Robbe, they froze.

“Fucking hell,” said Moyo, after a beat. “What happened to you last night?”

Robbe rubbed his neck. He couldn’t see what he looked like with his friends blocking the mirror, but he could make an educated guess. There were one or two hickeys his t-shirt collar may or may not cover. Tingling dry skin around the side of his lip spoke to hours of kissing someone who had the first prickles of facial hair. Aaron and Moyo made a big show of focusing on brushing their teeth.

“Promise you won’t tell?” said Robbe. He never saw the boys uncomfortable. It could be fun to play with them a little more. Logically, Aaron saw him leave with Sander yesterday. It still left Robbe with hours of free time unaccounted for, time to switch companions, but not a lot, if Aaron remembered.

“We promise,” Aaron said. He wouldn’t meet Robbe’s eyes.

Robbe steeled himself. “I met someone.”

Moyo’s toothbrush clattered to the ground. Moyo hurried to pick it up. “What?”

Aaron, less shocked but just as surprised, spit a glob of minty foam into the sink. Robbe treasured their expressions. And also didn’t. He vaguely remembered them plotting with Jens about something the other night, something about him and Sander, but how would they react when the real thing came out? Positive. Probably positive. They seemed supportive when they pushed him out the door to Sander before.

“I met someone,” Robbe repeated. He decided he would leave it at that. Let them stew in it. There would be more to say after he talked to Sander, and told Jens.

Moyo had other ideas. “Not a serious someone, right?”

Robbe shrugged. “Might be.”

“But what about your arrangement?”

“It’ll end, I guess.”

Now Aaron showed signs of distress, too. They weren’t understanding what he meant. “It can’t end! What about Sa—” Moyo smacked him in the side, not subtly. “What about Noor? Won’t she bother you again?”

As love lives went, Robbe’s had never been the most interesting. Seeing the boys so invested in something that involved him made Robbe irrationally happy. Or maybe it was the residual thrill of Sander. Who cared? He dragged it out. “No, she won’t. I don’t think things around her will change that much at all.” There was enough there for Moyo and Aaron to catch his drift, if they were going to, and enough to keep deniability if it did not work out.

Robbe didn’t want to think about it not working out. Even though that was a large possibility.

Moyo breathed in deep. “We’re happy for you, Robbe,” he said. “Just—don’t lead Sander on if it’s over.”

“How am I leading Sander on?” Fuck, this was almost funny.

“You’re not, you’re not,” Moyo backtracked. “But if you were, I mean, I would ask…”

“Forget he said anything,” said Aaron. “Go be happy. Have fun. Sorry, we were—” He pushed Robbe back a step with the palm of his hand and closed the bathroom door between them. What followed was a buzzing in Robbe’s ears, indicative of the Muffliato charm for silencing purposes. Aaron had some skill after all.

Back in the main room, Jens rolled over in his bunk and glared at Robbe. “All that… You’re in love with Sander, aren’t you? Motherfucker.” He pressed a hand to his forehead, warding off the oncoming headache. “Gay rights.”

Robbe didn’t know what to say to that, so he set off to the Great Hall. Truthfully, he didn’t know if he was gay. He knew he liked Sander. The rest was another crisis for another day.

***

Breakfast that morning featured mounds of French toast, three different variations of eggs, and enough pumpkin juice to put the castle underwater. The Hufflepuff table was nearly empty, no more than a few first years fussing over their notes for upcoming exams. Robbe sat a reasonable distance away to eat. Close to the doors. He couldn’t stop smiling.

Across the way, at the Ravenclaw table, Zoë, Milan, and Senne pored over their Potions books. This week, Robbe thought, he could return to his regularly scheduled Potions class. Britt told him he was the winner. He didn’t have to be afraid of her.

Milan caught Robbe’s eye and winked. Zoë gave him a wave and a double thumbs-up.

No one occupied the Slytherin table. The only people who’d be up this early were their Quidditch players, and yesterday’s game had been rescheduled for tonight. They were likely on the pitch already, practicing. No sign of Sander.

He served himself another heaping helping of egg, despite not having finished the first. Whatever spices were in the scramble, it tasted better than anything in his father’s recipe cards from home.

The hourglasses at the front of the Great Hall shined as points drained from Slytherin’s side. Gryffindor was on track to win the House Cup. Those fuckers.

Okay, so here was the plan: he’d finish up eating here. He would go back to the dormitory to shower and change and all that jazz. Sander usually met him at the Hufflepuff table for lunch. When that happened, maybe Robbe would suggest they visit the astronomy tower instead, and maybe they’d have their deep conversation. Jens had a Quidditch practice scheduled at two.

If Sander didn’t show up to lunch, chances were he’d be at the Quidditch came this evening. Jens had it double-underlined in the plan, after all. Robbe would intercept him afterward and kiss him until they both forgot how to breathe.

Solid. Good plan. Robbe rewarded himself with another scoop of eggs.

A few Slytherins walked into the Hall in full Quidditch regalia. Robbe’s earlier assumption had been correct. He stood up on reflex; he could ask them where Sander was, or something like that, and then he could clarify what their thing was right away. Fuck the plan.

It was a real relationship. You don’t kiss people you don’t want a real relationship with.

Or, good people don’t.

Or, maybe that line of thinking didn’t make any sense. He was losing his mind here. He’d never been this happy. The Slytherin group was engaged in an intense conversation, their circle closed, their voices easy to hear. Robbe gave them a respectable distance while he waited for them to finish speaking. Then he could ask his question.

“Britt said to leave him be for a while, y’know?” the Slytherin captain said. “She said someone would come.”

“You’re gonna leave him?” asked one of the others. Might have been the Seeker.

“Can’t do much else. I can’t get him up.”

“Shit.”

Another interjected, “Does Madame Pomfrey know?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell her. He could be tired, I guess, but it’s weird. Anyway, Britt said someone would come for him.”

“Sander’s weird as hell. He was probably just up all night with what’s-his-face.”

Wait, what? Robbe backed away. They hadn’t noticed him waiting behind them yet. He could make it back to his own table if he moved fast, except, he wouldn’t hear the rest of what they had to say.

“You always get the worst roommates, Willem.”

The Slytherin captain huffed. “He’s not bad, he’s just asleep. Overdramatic. Oh hey, eat your eggs. Energy is the name of the game today.”

The group moved on to other topics. Like the weather.

“Sorry, do you know where Sander is?” Robbe surprised himself by speaking up. He wanted to disappear when the whole group turned to him. The captain, Willem, looked him up and down with a gaze like a barcode scanner. He paused for a minute at Robbe’s shoulder level.

“He’s asleep,” he said, simply. “Tired as fuck. Sorry.” He gestured to Robbe’s neck. “I guess we know why.”

Shit, Robbe had forgotten he was covered in hickeys. He should have put on his robes before coming to breakfast, but Moyo and Aaron were in the bathroom, and he couldn’t change in the front room!

Back to the plan, back to the plan. Sander would be there for lunch, or if not, he’d be there for the match. Moyo must be out of the bathroom by now.

“Thanks,” he said. He could go sit with Zoë, Senne, and Milan in the meantime, so he didn’t look like a loser.

“Hey,” said Willem as Robbe made to leave. He got up from the table to do so, while the others continued their conversation as if he were not there. “Hang on a second.”

Robbe stopped, even as everything in his body screamed at him to move. He was a shy, uninteresting person; it was a cornerstone of his personality. He didn’t mean to keep challenging the persona, as he had for these two weeks, as he always would for Sander.

“Do you know who’s coming?”

“Coming for what?”

Willem shrugged. “Britt said someone’s gonna get him. I don’t mind, really. It’d be—I don’t know—cool to know who’s gonna be wading through my belongings.”

Robbe answered honestly. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Fair. I suppose the ex would know more than the current.” He said it so passively, Robbe kind of wanted to punch him. “Whatever.” Willem shoved his hands into his pockets.

For a second, they both stared at the floor in silence. There was something more, dangling on the tip of Willem’s tongue. Robbe could feel it. He waited patiently for whatever it may be. The Slytherin team chattered in the background about the eggs this morning and the assurance that they would win against Hufflepuff at the Quidditch match.

“You can see him, if you want,” said Willem, finally. “The password’s written on the frame of the closest painting. Regulus will help you.” He paused. “Regulus is the painting. If that wasn’t clear.” Robbe blinked. He wasn’t expecting help. Willem extended his hand to Robbe’s and shook it, although Robbe’s hand was kind of a limp fish in his grip. “I’ll see you on the pitch, then. Good luck.” He returned to his friends and their meal.

Alright. This was a blessing. Sander was asleep, as he should be at this hour. It was totally reasonable. Robbe thought it over for less than a minute before deciding he needed to let Sander sleep in today. It would come across as clingy to go visit and wake him up, and Robbe couldn’t give off that vibe so close to the beginning of their relationship.

There was a new list of rules in his head, alongside all his other archived lists. How to handle being a boyfriend.

If Sander wanted him as a boyfriend.

Robbe went back to his plate, where it remained on the Hufflepuff table. He took a few more bites of the eggs. At home, they had a red ceramic frying pan and an electric tea kettle, and these instruments were the sole caretakers of breakfast. Robbe’s mother swallowed her pills with a teacup. Robbe wanted to know those things about Sander, he realized. He wanted to know Sander’s hands by the freckles on his knuckles, he wanted to know Sander’s presence by his step on the staircase. He wanted to know what Sander ate for breakfast at home.

Simple things, you know. He hadn’t felt this way for anybody else, ever.

Milan jarred Robbe from his reverie. He, Zoë, and Senne were leaving for their daily activities. “Might want to invest in some concealer, buddy.” He tapped one of the pinkish blotches on Robbe’s neck and winked. Robbe tugged the hem of his shirt to cover it.

***

Quidditch practice passed without pain. Before Robbe knew it, he was in his official robes and hovering far above the grass once more. From this vantage point, even the Great Lake looked small as it reflected oncoming storm clouds. No hail tonight, according to Professor Trelawney, although Robbe didn’t know how she could predict something like that with such assurance. He never bothered with Divination classes. Jens slicked all his hair back with the first spat of rain. He and Macs leaned forward on their brooms, anxious for the match to begin.

Yasmina gave the pep talk today. “Play good. Win.” Everyone enthusiastically agreed.

Robbe didn’t have to worry about any talk of strategy. He spent the final six minutes before the Quaffle’s release examining the stands for Sander’s bleached hair. The rain made this a difficult task; not only did it blur the image ahead of him, but many people wore ponchos that covered their hair colors and sometimes most of their faces. Robbe couldn’t even make out Moyo, and he knew for a fact that his friend would be sitting in the first row.

The captains, Jens and Willem, met in the middle of the pitch to shake hands. As soon as they were finished, the Quaffle was thrown and the game began. Jens and Macs took turns with the ball as they rocketed down the pitch. First points came seconds after. The Hufflepuff stands screamed.

In sharp contrast to the game versus Ravenclaw, Robbe found himself trailing Slytherin’s seeker in the search for the snitch.

The rain picked up. What was once light drops became a downpour so torrential that Robbe couldn’t see more than five feet in front of his outstretched hand. He knew Hufflepuff and Slytherin scored some points, because the bell chimed when they did so, and also because Luca practically screamed it every time it happened.

“I think that went through the hoop. One for Macarthy, his third today. If he wants to contact me, I might be free Monday night—”

Slytherin’s seeker ran into Robbe’s side. Robbe gave him the benefit of the doubt, especially because he put his arms out in front and had the good sense to fall off his broom. Robbe didn’t falter.

“Has anyone seen the snitch yet?” Luca wondered.

They had not.

The score stood at thirty to twenty in Hufflepuff’s favor after a whole forty-five minutes of play. Robbe was beginning to doubt that the snitch had been released from its container at all. Wouldn’t that be just his luck?

Macs zipped by with the Quaffle. The wind strengthened, a storm heating above them. The air buzzed with electricity. Robbe needed to go lower—the perspective he’d craved was clearly not working out here. The clouds must be less thick closer to the ground, and maybe the snitch would be there.

He aimed in the direction of Hufflepuff tower, or what he thought was Hufflepuff tower, and angled his broom downward.

“Looks like Robbe sees something. About time. I’m cold.”

Nope, still hadn’t seen it.

The stands materialized in front of him. Dozens of people in black raingear crowded together. Some had flags, or at least sticks; it was hard to tell with the rainwater pounding the fabric against the students. Robbe flew just above their heads, as he had last game. He thought he saw Moyo in the front.

No Sander. Sander had very distinctive eyebrows. Robbe would have seen him.

Sander didn’t have to go anywhere. It would be okay if he skipped this match.

“Jens with the Quaffle again,” Luca’s voice boomed. “Willem comes from behind—aw, that’s shit luck. Bad luck. Sorry. Willem takes the Quaffle.” She sounded close. This was the Hufflepuff stands. Robbe made a second pass, hoping some students would find it in themselves to take off their hoods and get soaked in the rain.

No sign of Sander. He could get a little bit closer, or even land, but what good would that do? Robbe bolted off in the opposite direction. Sander didn’t come.

Why would he come? What was the point in coming?

He was probably ignoring Robbe. Avoiding him.

Robbe tried to stop his thoughts from pendulum-swinging back and forth. Thunder cracked, then lightning. No hail.

One hour elapsed without sign of the snitch when the rain subsided. One whole fucking hour. The Hufflepuff chasers and beaters had taken to holding the Quaffle and loitering in the air to conserve energy. Willem and his team resorted to batting the Hufflepuffs around and praying they’d drop the ball. All the while, the two seekers were locked on equal ground.

“This is the fucking longest game I’ve ever attended,” said Luca into the microphone. For once, no one could debate her use of profanity. Everyone wanted to leave.

Fuck it. Sander should have been here. Robbe u-turned and passed so low over Hufflepuff’s stands that he could see the eye colors of everyone in the back row. Nothing.

Robbe couldn’t even be mad when Slytherin’s seeker caught the snitch somewhere high above him. Hufflepuff’s lead gave them the lenience to scoot by with a win, barely.

Sander didn’t come. They had the most wonderful night last night. The best in Robbe’s life. Robbe wanted to sit down with Sander and hold him for the rest of forever, and Sander didn’t come to a Quidditch match that he said he’d attend. Not even that—he hadn’t seen Robbe all day. The anger stirred rapid and sour in Robbe’s stomach. No, not anger. Disappointment. He almost laughed at the thought of saying that to Sander—I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.

Robbe landed a little too heavy on the pitch. He was soaking wet, used up, stood up. He wanted to go to sleep.

“Great game we played tonight,” said Jens. Yasmina, Macs, and Aaron, who walked with them back to the castle, knew this sarcasm wasn’t for them. It was a little daunting to hear something icy from Jens, Robbe’s protector.

“We won,” said Aaron.

Something bubbled inside of Robbe. He didn’t like it. He wanted to go back to the workshop with the origami butterflies. Sander must have reasons for not coming. He had to have a reason why he didn’t come. Robbe had the password to the Slytherin common room.

Sander could have been tired. Sander could have wanted to avoid the implications of cheering against Slytherin when his roommate was the Slytherin captain. Sander could have—

It didn’t do any good. Sander said he’d be here and he wasn’t. They kissed last night for hours and Sander hadn’t said a thing today.

“Yes, you all did great.” Jens bumped Robbe with his shoulder. Robbe wanted to scream.

He was being overdramatic.

“Robbe did his best,” Yasmina said. “Leave him alone. The rain was bad.”

“His focus was bad,” said Jens, but he stopped talking after that. Unlike Robbe, he could shrug off a minor sin without a second thought.

***

New plan, new plan. Clearly the old one hadn’t worked. New plan. Robbe would visit the Slytherin common room and he’d yell to anyone that would listen that he was in love with Sander.

Too grand. He’d yell it at Sander. Wherever Sander was. He would just say it, and then he’d go to Noor and tell her everything. New plan, he wasn’t going to be ignored on the day after the greatest day of his life. He just wasn’t.

Robbe had made up his mind by the time they breached the doorway to the castle.

“You guys go on ahead,” he told them. “I have to see something.” They waved without protest.

Robbe took the stairs that were closest to the entryway. He took them three at a time, not unlike Britt left the astronomy tower on Thursday. Something was wrong, he could feel it. It boiled in his bones. At the bottom of the staircase, a painting hung over a thick wooden door. Intricate drawings of serpents in green, silver, and gold wound their way through the woodgrain, snakes devouring each other’s tails, ouroboros, the chain of a locket dangling into a pool of water. The painting depicted a young man with black wavy hair and a similar locket looped about his neck.

“Password?” he asked.

“Willem said you’d help me,” said Robbe.

“Incorrect.” The painting clicked its tongue. “Try again.”

Willem said something about an inscription on the side of the frame. Robbe checked, but all he could see was a little plaque detailing the exploits of one Regulus Arcturus Black. Nothing remotely helpful.

“Black,” Robbe tried.

“Do you think we’re stupid enough to make the password my last name?”

“No.”

“Try again.”

“Willem?”

“I hate that rat bastard,” said the painting. “Might as well sit down if you’re going to keep guessing.”

Robbe sat down. “Sherbet lemon.”

“Wrong. Who do you need to see?”

“Ouroboros.”

“Nope. Why do you need to get in?”

“Locket,” Robbe guessed. He had a good feeling about that one.

“Stopping guessing,” said Regulus. “It’s embarrassing. Tell me why you’re here.”

“To see my boyfriend.” It was a little forward, he supposed, but he could always say it was for the sake of their fake-dating thing if it backfired. Shit, he’d almost forgotten about the fake-dating thing. “Basalisk.”

“Why the fuck would someone make that the password?” Regulus shook his head in disgust. “Do you really think so little of us—”

“I need to see my boyfriend,” Robbe insisted. “Regulus Black.”

“You said that already.” Regulus relaxed back into his painting. In it, he sat in a deep velvet armchair. He wore a similar velvet suit, with green cufflinks that matched his eyes. “I was in love, once.”

“Regulus Arcturus Black.”

“It is not a variation of my name.” The painting continued his story. “I know power corrupts everything, but I didn’t think it would do that to us. I thought we had something. But then, what could you expect? I was eighteen. Am eighteen, I suppose. And everyone under the age of twenty is a certified idiot. Should’ve listened to Sirius.”

Robbe was a little curious. Maybe the password was hidden somewhere in this story, maybe that’s what Willem meant. “What happened to you?”

Regulus laughed. “I drowned in a lake within a cave. You still want to see your boyfriend?”

“What lake?” Robbe prompted.

“You know, I’m not really sure. It was in a cave.”

“Cave.”

“That isn’t the password.”

“Drowned in a cave.”

“Mm, too much of a mouthful. I’ll save that for the next time they change it.”

The knot tied in Robbe’s stomach slowly began to unwind. Disappointment ran off into the excitement of this little game. He thought over the brief summary of Regulus’s life again for any more clues. “Cave Lake.”

“No,” Regulus said. He paused, considered Robbe. “Why do you need to see him so badly?”

There was no harm in an honest answer. “I’m in love with him. He needs to hear it so he can decide what we’re going to be.”

Regulus nodded, as if he understood. “Animagi. I see.”

“I didn’t say anything about animagi.”

“What are you going to be?”

“I don’t know, boyfriends or something?” Robbe had yet to give that aspect as much thought as he’d given this kissing escapades. He knew they would be people who kissed each other. The label would be icing on the cake. They would be people who went to each other’s Quidditch games. Something was still wrong, because Sander should have been there, because—“Sirius Black.”

“You said he was your boyfriend already,” said Regulus. And then, “Sirius was a Gryffindor. We would never make him the password.” He considered the situation. “You’re about to have the what are we? talk, then?”

“Yes.” Robbe rubbed his eyes. He felt a headache coming on.

“I see. So you’re being a bitch because you’re worried, I take it?”

Bullseye. “He hasn’t seen me all day.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

Robbe shot back, “Are you going to help me or not?”

Regulus stroked his chin. “That depends. I don’t see how helping you would aid the relationship, if you don’t trust him enough to spend one day apart.” He adjusted a flower pinned to his lapel, a bright white lily. Robbe recognized it from the plaque at the front of the Great Hall—many who fell in one of the earlier Wars had them on their portraits.

“I can trust him,” Robbe said. “It’s just—”

“It sounds like you’re about to make an excuse.”

“I didn’t come here to chat with a painting.”

“And I wasn’t painted to be a relationship counselor,” said Regulus. “But here we are. If I’m going to let in a non-Slytherin, it needs to be worth my while.”

So Robbe leaned back against the stone. He pictured himself in the astronomy tower. And he thought. Sander spent quite a bit of time kissing him last night. They were together for hours. This morning, Willem mentioned that he couldn’t wake Sander up. He must have been exhausted after such a long period of strenuous physical activity. And then, he could have assumed that the arrangement was over, that they were something real. Such an assumption would invalidate Jens’ plans for their fake relationship, and Sander would not have to go to the Quidditch match if he was too tired to do so.

Yeah, that made sense. He could run with it. Whatever Sander’s absence had inspired earlier, it was stupid. Hell, it was almost hilarious.

“You’re going to be a clingy boyfriend,” noted Regulus, without a note of humor. “I pity this boy.”

I’m going to be a clingy boyfriend, thought Robbe. If one missed Quidditch match would do so much to him, who’s to say what could happen if Sander was late for a date? He needed to chill out. What they had wasn’t that serious, anyway. It wasn’t.

Some clarity would be appreciated, of course. He had a right to demand some clarity.

“You know what, go ahead. The password’s Lover Boy, if you have to see him so badly. Go on, go.”

Robbe had made a fool of himself during that Quidditch match, focusing on Sander instead of the snitch. He was an idiot for coming here. At least Willem hadn’t lied about Regulus’s help.

“Never mind,” he said. “I overacted.” This would be his first exercise in trust. Go a whole day without seeing Sander, the first since they’d been fake-dating. Go a whole day without kissing him, without tasting the spearmint of his toothpaste on his tongue…

“About time you realized that,” said Regulus. “Get out of here. I’m going to my other portrait.”

Robbe went up the stairs. He walked through the hallways. It was dark. Jana should be with him if he was out. He could lose house points for being seen here.

It was for the best that Sander didn’t come to the match. It could even be good. He’d wanted to tell Jens about how he felt before Sander anyway, even if Jens had inferred it from his behavior. And after taunting the boys with it this morning, it wouldn’t be much fun to end the suspense and bring Sander in as an official boyfriend right away. It could be good. It would be good.

He trusted Sander enough.

He turned the corner to get back to Hufflepuff’s common room. The scene went by in stop-motion animation.

There they were.

Sander and Britt.

In the hallway.

Britt was holding Sander. Hugging him close. He could make out that much. Sander’s hair basically glowed in the dark.

This wasn’t happening.

Robbe couldn’t breathe. He fell back against the wall and mumbled a cloaking charm under his breath. They couldn’t have seen him. It was too dark. He trusted Sander, he trusted Sander, he trusted Sander…

“What are you going to do?” Britt whispered. “What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know,” said Sander.

“You’ll have to tell him something.” Britt threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “Fuck, Sander. You can’t keep pulling shit like this. It’s not okay.”

“I know.”

He shouldn’t be listening in. How was it, in the span of two weeks, all of his important information came from eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. He hated it. He couldn’t keep himself away.

“I’m not in love with him,” said Sander. The conviction in his voice was surprising; whatever disappointment had dulled in Robbe’s soul earlier returned with a surge fierce enough to take Robbe to his knees. But not really.

He just stood there. Everyone under the age of twenty was a certified idiot. He was a certified idiot. It didn’t mean anything. Nothing ever meant anything.

Okay.

“Well then,” Britt said, her arms wrapped tight around Sander’s neck, “there’s nothing more to it than that.”

Robbe couldn’t bear to hear the rest. His legs carried him back into the Hufflepuff common room without another word.

[crash-cinematic-universe]

a sickly satisfaction (ch.1)

pairing: jason dean/reader

summary: high school sucks. jason dean makes it a little better.

warnings: uuhhhh murder, language, suicide discussion

notes: i have every chapter of this written out already, so every wednesday I’ll release a new one <3 in total the story is 7,800 words! but there are some parts that are kind of short, forgive me for those.

            Eyes down. Walk fast. Stay out of their way. Three simple steps to get through the day. They had an iron grip on the school, their perfectly manicured nails digging into the oily skin of the entire student body. High School was a bloody battlefield in the war that is life. However, the epitome of cruelty, the ultimate teenage angst inducing, self-esteem crushing, happiness shattering war machine came in the form of three girls and their weak-willed sidekick. That’s right; my biggest threat in high school is Heather Chandler, Heather McNamara, Heather Duke, and Veronica Sawyer. Veronica at least has some semblance of regret and empathy-- she’s just doing what she needs to survive. Unfortunately, that means the rest of us have to struggle to keep our heads above water. 

            Thankfully, I have a sanctuary. A refrigerator heaven filled with endless isles of roadtrip snacks and hangover remedies. Of course, this junk food Garden of Eden also happens to contain my best friend, Tommy Geller. Tommy is 18, emo, and gay, so naturally we got along pretty well. He sits behind the register and lets me hang around until closing. It’s actually pretty nice-- sometimes he lets me do busywork around the store. Sure, it’s sort of pathetic that Snappy Snack Shack is my main source of serotonin, but you know what? There are worse places to be. 

            “Pop open a bottle of champagne, Tommy, because today is a special day!” I cry, pushing open the small class doors. To my delight, the store is empty. There are no irritating customers there to make me keep my voice down.

            “Oh? And why is that?” Tommy inquires, his jet black hair falling in front of his eyes. He’s tired-- and bored-- and I’m the perfect remedy for that. 

            “Today marks exactly six months since I first stepped foot in this town,” I grin. Tommy’s eyebrows perk up.

            “Really? Congrats, kid,” He’s humoring me a bit, but there is a genuine reaction beneath his sarcastic remarks. 

            “Thanks, Tommy. Y’know, that’s twice as long as my time in New Jersey and three times as long as my run in Nebraska. I have a feeling dear old aunt Maria might actually stay here for good,” I hop over the counter before grabbing a can of Coke out of the fridge. I prop me feet up on the counter, but Tommy knocks them down.

            “You know the rules, kid, no stompy boots on the counter.” I roll my eyes. He wipes off the place where my shoes were before organizing the lotto tickets. “Anything interesting happen at school today?”

            “Eh, same old same old. The Heathers were bitches, Veronica was desperately trying to keep up, and I got tripped in the hallway,” Tommy frowns.

            “God, those girls really need to get humbled,” He spits. 

            “You don’t need to tell me. They constantly act so… self-superior, as if their power doesn’t depend solely on whether or not everyone else hates themselves to believe they’re inferior to three teenage girls who are the definition of ‘peaked in high school’,” I squeeze the soda can in my hand, the metal crunching under the pressure. “They need to be more than humbled. The Heathers deserve to be dealt as much pain as they served,”

            “Watch it, kid, you’re sounding a bit homicidal,” Tommy jokes. If only he knew. 

            “It wouldn’t matter anyway. I don’t think they can die-- they’re like a Hydra. If you kill one of the Heathers, three more will grow in her place,” I sigh. Tommy looks concerned.

            “Y/n, you don’t actually want to kill them, right?” I hesitate. The silence makes Tommy worry.

            “I wouldn’t exactly lose sleep if one of them did die,” I reply nonchalantly. “It would be like a public service. Similar to killing the black mold that grows in the girl’s showers,” Tommy looks at me for a second, his expression unreadable, before turning back to his counter. 

            “That’s morbid,” he says. “You know that? You sound like a killer in the making.”

            “Sometimes bad people deserve bad things.”

            “You’re absolutely not helping your case,” Tommy laughs. I can feel someone watching me. It’s an odd feeling, but I brush it off.

            “New topic?” I ask. Tommy nods.

            A mischievous grin grows on his face. “You got a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Partner? All of the above?” he asks hopefully.

            “No, Tommy, and don’t get your hopes up,” I chuckle, before standing up and admiring the neon sign outside.

            “Oh come on, there has to be someone. You can’t possibly go to that hellhole every day and not see at least one hot person!” Tommy groans.

            “Everyone at Westerburg is either evil or boring. No one interests me and I’m not interesting to anyone. Plus, my attention is mainly focused on getting through the day in one piece, not getting laid.” I neglect to mention the stranger I saw in the Cafe yesterday. He was pretty hot, and didn’t seem to be a douchebag-- in fact, he shot two of the douchiest douchebags with blank bullets. A real rarity at Westerburg.

            “God, you need to get out more. I see some pretty people pass through here occasionally, I’m going to start pawning you off,” he jokes.

            “Oh, god, no,” I joined in on his laughter.

            “Yup, I’m going to give every hot person your photo and your address until you finally score yourself some arm candy,” Tommy can barely form sentences through his laughter.

            “I’m gonna to get murdered if you do that, Tom,” I giggle. 

“             And that would be damn shame,” A voice calls from across the counter. I look up to see the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It’s the same guy from the Cafe-- although in the bright convenience store lighting he looks more like a ghost than a man. His jawline looked sharp enough to slice me in half, his cheekbones high and defined. His hair was gorgeous and his teeth were really, really nice. 

            “Uh, yeah, that would totally s-suck,” I choked. Tommy shot me the most horrified look I’ve ever seen. “I’ve, uh, seen you around. That stunt you pulled in the Cafe was wicked, man, seriously.”

            “Hey, it was a public service,” He smirked. Tommy gave me a ‘holy-shit-I’ll-leave-you-two-alone’ look before disappearing in the isles across the room. I could see him peeking through the cereal boxes. “I’m Jason Dean, but most people call me JD.” He offers his hand for me to shake.

             “Y/n, Y/n Ln,” I grip his hand firmly and try not to have a breakdown over the contact. “Y’know, there are much less extreme ways to get people to fuck off than, well, shooting them.”

              “The extreme always seems to make an impression, though, doesn’t it?” His voice was a little bit lower and he leaned in a little bit closer. Tommy was freaking out across the aisle, his eyes wide as his hand raked through his greasy hair. 

            “That it does,” I grin. “There are quite a few people in that school that deserve certain... extremities,” 

            “I think you’re right,” Jason smirked once again. I kept my composure as best I could. “Speaking of extremities, I saw you and Kurt in the hallway last week,” My face is lit ablaze as I recall the incident. Kurt had been continuously pestering me the entire day, and eventually I reached my limit.

            “I guess they aren’t joking when they say the chin is the knockout button,” Jason seems impressed, although I can’t really tell because looking him in the eyes seems like a death sentence. “Landed me three days detention, though. That sucked. Although I guess it can’t compare to whatever they’re dealing you,” At this point, one of the regulars began approaching the front doors. Tommy sprinted out before they got in, seemingly explaining that my entire love life depends on whether or not I can play it cool.

            “Eh, what can I say. I sort of dug myself a grave there,” I spoke without thinking.

            “The only graves that should’ve been dug are Kurt and Ram’s. My one critique? Use real bullets next time,” I froze. Why the fuck would I say that? I mean, I’m not wrong but I doubt JD would stick around after--

            “I like the way you think,” JD laughs, his ears tinted pink. Jason looks at me, and for a moment, I look right back. There’s something behind his eyes, something festering and enticing. I wonder if my eyes communicate anything. “I’ll see you around, Y/n L/n,” 

            “And I’ll see you, Jason Dean,” With that he winked at me, spun on his heel, and walked out the front door. Tommy practically sprinted across the room as I released every muscle I’d been tensing. I slowly melted onto the floor. Laying on the tile with my eyes trained on the bright lights overhead.

            “Oh my god,” Tommy breathed. “Oh my fucking god that was-- oh my god.”

            “I know,”

             “Did you see him? He’s like a greek god,”

            “I know,”

            “And he was totally into you, like, totally,”

            “I should’ve given him my address. I wouldn’t mind getting murdered by him.” I say breathlessly. Tommy sits on the counter and looks down at me.

            “I think I need to teach you how to talk to boys,” Tommy sighs, shock still lingering on his face.

            “Pssh, I can talk to boys just fine,” I retort.

            “You almost collapsed when you saw him,” he says flatly.

            “That was--”

            “I thought you were going to pass out when he told you his name,”

            “But I--”

            “I genuinely believed you were going to vomit when he shook your hand,”

            “Alright! I give! I can’t talk to boys! You caught me! Lock me up and never let me embarrass myself like that again!” I surrendered, throwing my arms in the air before letting them collapse over my face. “He probably thinks I’m a freak,”

            “Are you joking? He was more smitten than you were!” This caught my attention, and I tore my arms away from my eyes. 

            “Huh? Elaborate!” I snapped.

            “You seriously didn’t notice? He’d been staring at you since you stepped foot in here, didn’t you see him? At first I thought it was weird, but then I realized he was smoking hot so I decided I’d let it slide,” “Comforting,” Sarcasm drips from my words. “Y’know serial killers and stalkers can be hot, too.” I rolled my eyes.

“             I seem to recall you saying something along the lines of ‘I wouldn’t mind getting mur--’,”

            “Alright, Tommy, we get it.” I cut him off in embarrassment. “Please continue.”

            “He comes in here a lot, so I knew he was alright. He was beet red the entire time you were talking. Didn’t you see the way he was in a perpetual state of stupid smiling? Dude, he was definitely into you and really bad at hiding it,” Tommy concluded.

            I smiled a big, dumb smile. I didn’t notice the fact that he was nervous, so he probably didn’t notice that I was dying, right? 

            “Tommy, I think we might have a keeper.”

            “Thank god, I don’t think I could stand to see you go to Prom alone. That would be too depressing, even for me,” Tommy enthused. I propped my feet against the edge of the counter, staring at the tips of my boots. For the first time in a long time, Tommy is silent. I can’t get his eyes out of my head. Then again, I don’t know if I want to. 

_________

[eideticmemory]

EVER SINCE NEW YORK II | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 2! Read Part 1 here.

Soundtrack:

Maps - Maroon 5.

Me & Ur Ghost - Blackbear.

Keep You Close - Frenship.

Word Count: 3,341.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, substance use, a bit of angst.

Fall, Sophomore Year.

Tisch School of the Arts,

New York University.

New York City. 

“Okay, you know what?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up in surrender. “I give up. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Claire laughed from behind you, “You alright over there?”

“No,” you grumbled. You pressed down on the black frame, using all your might to make the command strip stick to the wall. Yet, when you stepped back, it would pop off of the surface, and your ballet poster was lopsided. It’d been a vicious cycle for 10 minutes. “This goddamn command strip won’t stick. What the fuck?” 

“Okay, grumpy, step away from the poster,” Claire ordered, grabbing onto your shoulders and escorting you to the center of the room. “The room looks great, [y/n], why are you so stressed?” 

“I am not stressed. I am frustrated, and those damn command strips aren’t cheap. I’m pissed.” 

“Okay, staples queen, tell you what,” she sighed. “I will go buy you a pack of command strips and personally mount the poster myself, okay?” 

You looked up at Claire, giving her a soft smile. “Did I win the roommate lottery or what?”

“Yeah, but better not say stuff like that too much. People are gonna start thinking we’re a different type of roommates.”

You laughed, and shook your head at her. 

“[y/n], what’s up?” Claire asked. “You’ve been moody as fuck ever since we moved back in for the semester. Classes haven’t even started yet and you’re moping around. What’s going on?”

Well, Claire, you thought. I’m glad you asked. I’m glad you brought it up, because I’ve been dying to talk about it for a while. You see, I fucked my mortal enemy, and it was so good that I did it a second time. And no, I’m not talking about my cinematography professor, I’m talking about Matthew. Gubler. I fucked Matthew Gubler. Yes, I know. Hell has frozen over. Because I hated him. I hate him. I think he’s awful. Especially since he thinks it’s okay to fuck someone, ignore their existence, fuck them again, ignore their existence, and then leave them with a vague ass note? 505. 505! I’ve looked up every possible meaning of 505 that there is. The song, urban dictionary, numerology. And I can’t figure the shit out. And it doesn’t help that Matthew didn’t say a word to me over summer break. I’m just lost and confused and I know you would understand and you would know what to do. 

But it’s Matthew. 

And I can’t tell anyone. Especially you. 

“Last semester was a royal disaster,” you sighed. “I just don’t wanna overwhelm myself again. Y’know with class, and shows, and parties. I wanna do right this semester, but it’s a little stressful. So, I’m a little stressed.” 

Claire looked at you for a long time, eyebrows lowered and her eyes scanning your face. She had a gut feeling that you were lying, but didn’t wanna be a bitch. So she bit her tongue. 

“Let’s go get something to eat,” she smiled. 

Classes started that following Monday. Your first lecture was at 10 o’clock. And you woke up at 10:15. Having showered the night before, you brushed your teeth, put on your outfit and fixed your hair all in ten minutes and hiked it across campus in 4 minutes. You rushed up to the classroom door, and entered the lecture very calmly. People were scattered about in the auditorium, some towards the sides, a lot front and center. But only one person sitting in the very back row.

Matthew. 

Too occupied with explaining yourself to your professor, you didn’t notice Matthew until a few minutes after entering. You refused to make eye contact with him, nervously staring at your feet as you walked over to him. And took a seat at his side. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” 

Those were the only words spoken for an hour and fifteen minutes. However, within 10 minutes of seeing you again, Matthew began to rub your thigh. His fingers grazed the top of your leg, slowly but surely making their way to your inner thigh. You held your breath, staring up at the professor the whole time and pretending to take notes. 

When Matthew’s fingers pressed against your clit, you almost gasped. But you kept your mouth shut, stifling the sound. He smirked to himself, only glancing at you when you were too shaken up to notice. You propped up the screen of your laptop, hiding your face behind it so you could let out quiet moans. You were so sensitive, and very glad that you wore a skirt to class. 

Matthew’s fingers slid your panties to the side and made skin to skin contact with your clit, applying pressure as he rubbed you. You exhaled for a long time, swear words wanting to fly out of your mouth instead. The professor’s words drowned out a long time ago, and at this point you didn’t care. You just needed to come. 

Matthew remembered the way you liked to be touched, he had to. Because he was able to bring you to the edge so quickly, it was insane. You clenched your thighs around his wrist to signal your nearing release, and he grinned. 

You rested your head on the keyboard of your laptop, hiding from everyone as you came. Your jaw dropped, and you had to stop yourself from groaning too loudly. Matthew removed his hand from under your skirt. He sucked on the tips of his fingers, just to get the taste of you on his tongue. Then, with only 2 minutes left in class, he packed up his stuff and walked out.

You should’ve dropped the class. At the very least, sat somewhere else. But you didn’t. You stayed in that course. With Matthew. In the back row. And wore skirts every other day for a month. Some days he would repeat the action, and some days he wouldn’t. It was like he could tell how desperate you were each time. And if you were really desperate, he simply didn’t touch you. It sucked, but it kept you on your toes. 

He missed class one day, and to cope, you had a dream about him that night. You imagined him using his mouth on you, in an empty lecture hall, bending you over the desk, making you come. When you woke up, you were in a cold sweat. You couldn’t believe you were having thoughts like this about Matthew Gubler. But you were. 

You hopped out of bed, put on your slippers, and left the room to go to the vending machines. Holding a soda and some candy, you walked back to your dorm room silently. Alerted by the sound of footsteps, you turned your head down the hall to see Claire walking out of someone’s room. She noticed you and rushed up to you with a big smile. 

“Hey!” She beamed. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t sleep. Where you been?”

She sighed happily, “I’ve been doing adult things, [y/n], I cannot lie.” She wrapped her arm around your shoulder as you both walked to your room. “I’m in love, kid. It’s crazy.”

“You’re in love? With who?”

“Ah, that will soon be revealed, my dear [y/n].” 

That weekend, you two invited everyone to come hang out at your dorm. Someone was able to swipe some liquor, and it was a party. A handful of people, getting a little tipsy, music in the background. Claire insisted Matthew be invited, but you weren’t expecting him to show up. But of course, he did. Because he’s a nuisance. 

He laid down on Claire’s bed and she sat beside him, the two of them quickly joining the conversation at hand. You tried not to look like a kicked puppy, tried not to pout, to sulk, to watch. But inch by inch, second by second, Claire moved closer to Matthew, until by the end of the night, her head was on his chest. 

That Monday, you sat in the front of the class. 

And every class after that for the next month. 

Missing your daily release, you became cranky and nasty and moody. You didn’t mean to, but that’s how it happened. To help you get over the nagging feeling, you went out one Saturday night. A group of friends dragged you along to a dorm party in the next building over. You used it as an excuse to dress up, ignore your homework and get some fresh air. In a tight purple dress, you walked into the booming dorm. It was packed, smelled like booze and filled with heat. 

A cup of vodka in your hand, it wasn’t until about two hours in that you realized you didn’t want to party. You sat on the couch the whole time, fiddling with your hands and the hem of your dress. You’d drank an entire solo cup of alcohol by then, and you were starting to get tired. Your friends had gotten lost a long time ago, and you knew it was fruitless to look for them. So, you picked yourself up and started to head for the exit. 

“[y/n]!” 

You turned around to see a guy walking towards you. Jonathan. “Hey, John, what the hell is going on?” You asked, noticing him supporting another guy on his shoulder. His friend was a drunken, sloppy mess, and could barely stand.

“Our boy Steve here had a little too much to drink,” John replied. “I’m taking him back to his room. You going back to your place?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I am.”

“Okay, do you mind helping me with him? Please? I’ll give you a dollar.”

You laughed, shook your head and put your arm around Steve’s waist. “Ooh, a dollar! Sounds exciting.” 

It was cold, and you shivered on the way back to your dorm building. Steve only lived down the hall from you, so helping wasn’t too far out of the way for you. John used Steve’s key to let the three of you into Steve’s suite, guiding both of you to Steve’s room. 

You both worked together to lay Steve down on his mattress. You covered him with his blanket. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” John told you. “We both are actually.”

“Maybe we should start a business. We escort drunk people home for a small fee of $100.”

He laughed, “I’m in as long as you dress like that every time.”

You blushed, and ducked your head down to hide it. 

“What’s going on in here?” A voice called to you two. 

You looked up at the threshold to see Matthew standing there, looking sleepy, disheveled, shirtless, and beautiful. 

“Hey, Gube,” John greeted. “[y/n] and I were just dropping Steve off. Kid couldn’t  hold his liquor.” 

Matthew scoffed, “You could’ve left him there. Let him get dicks drawn on his face.”

“Well, aren’t you full of love?” John laughed. “No, seriously, I’ve gotta text Lindsey and let her know I’m staying in for tonight.” He padded at his pocket, followed by a loud groan, “Fuck, I left my phone at the party. Fuck me.” 

“That’s a higher power trying to tell you that you need to stay out longer,” Matthew said. 

John smirked at him, “You’re right. Wonderful insight, Gubler.”

John walked out of the door, heading for the exit, and you followed him, avoiding eye contact with Matthew. As the two of you approached the front door, you froze. John exited the suite, not noticing that he was leaving you behind. And you would’ve moved if you had the power. 

Hanging on the door of the suite was the room number: 505.

Your breath caught in your throat. 505. The room number. The room number of the suite you saw Claire leaving that day. 505.

“What took you so long?” Matthew asked, standing behind you. 

You released your breath, goosebumps crawling on your skin as you felt him get closer to you. Your heart raced, your body trembled. You had a physical response to being near this boy. It was intense. 

“I’m not doing this, Matthew,” you whispered. 

“Doing what? We’re just talking.”

You turned around to face him, suddenly very angry, “No! You know what I’m talking about! You know what I’m talking about! And it’s gone on for long enough, Matthew. I’m out!” You kept your voice quiet, but still aggressive. You turned to exit the dorm, but he grabbed onto your waist and pulled you into him. 

“Listen, Princess Peach,” he said.

“Fuck you—“

“Listen. I don’t know what your deal is, but I do know that I miss you—“

“You’re full of shit. You just wanna fuck.”

“That’s what I said. I miss you. I mean, for such a short person, your pussy packs a punch.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Face it,” he murmured. “You may hate me, but your pussy doesn’t.”

Your body melted into his at the sound of his voice. The feeling of his hands running down your body, landing on your thigh. “Just admit it. Or tell me to stop.” His fingers trailed under your dress, the tips grazing you through your panties. Your head rolled back at the gentle touch and he took that as an invitation to kiss your neck. 

“Cmon, shortcake, tell me to stop,” he mumbled. “Tell me to stop.” 

You responded by wrapping your hands around his throat, using all your strength to push him out the living room couch. He chuckled under his breath, stumbling back onto the cushion and pulling you into his lap. 

“Oh, you gonna choke me?” He asked, his voice coming out strained. “Okay, princess, you hate me so much? You can’t stand me?” He pushed his pants down to reveal his erection. “Fuck me like it then.” 

You crashed your lips onto his and pushed him back onto the couch, reaching down to grab his cock. You pulled your panties to the side and teased him against your core, moaning as his tip rubbed against your clit. You sank down onto his dick, feet pressed into the couch, hands holding his neck. 

He stared up at you as you fucked him — fast and careless. Swear words fell off of his lips uncontrollably, his hands pawing at your breast. Your boobs fit perfectly in his palm and he was obsessed. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to stay quiet, grunting into his mouth. 

“F-fuck,” he panted. “Wait, wait.” 

You leaned in and kissed him roughly, grinding your hips against his. You made sure to stay silent, giving no indication that you were experiencing so much pleasure. 

“H-hey — shit, fuck,” he groaned. “Wait.”

Matthew placed his hands on your ass, his eyes closed tight, his body tensing up as you rode him into the wall. “Oh, fuck!” He exclaimed, and lifted you off of his cock. Quickly, just in time for him to release all over his stomach. He panted, he quivered, he mumbled soft, dirty words. Whispered something about you. 

As pretty a sight as it was, you refused to sit there and stare. So, you stood up, pulled the hem of your dress down. And this time, you left. Not a word said. Nothing. 

Matthew followed you on instagram that night. You didn’t accept the request for a week, and when you did, you didn’t follow him back. He tried to add you on snapchat, but you declined it. You continued to sit far away from him in class, giving him no access. He brought you a drink at a party once and you asked for water instead. When he returned with the water, you had already left. 

He had met his match. You dominated him, successfully, fearlessly, and without even trying. He wanted more. But you liked to watch him so squirm, so you didn’t give in. 

Christmas break rolled around, and instead of focusing on the actual holiday, you and your friends planned your first spring break vacation. A group of you would head to South Beach for the week, and stay at a relative’s beach house. 

You sat on your bed, trying to map out the cost of the trip. “So it’s me, you, the four of them...Claire, are you listening to me?”

“Is this a good Christmas gift for Matthew?” 

You turned your head to her quickly, “Huh?” 

“This,” she held up the book - The Magic Encyclopedia. “You think Matthew will like it?”

“Claire,” you sighed. “What are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?”

“What are you doing simping over this boy? Buying him gifts? This isn’t you, Claire.”

“Leave me alone, [y/n], okay? We’re just friends. And he told me he bought me a gift so I got him one. Jeez, do you have to hate him so much?” She pouted, dropping the book into a gift bag. 

“Um, actually, yeah I do,” you nodded. “He’s a dick.”

A knock rang at the door, and as Claire hopped up, she pointed her finger at you, “That’s him. Do not pick a fight.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to planning. Matthew stepped into the room, carrying a bag in one hand. He used his other hand to cup Claire’s face and give her a small kiss on the cheek. “Santa Claus is here!” He exclaimed. 

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” Claire pleaded, reaching for the gift bag. 

“Wow, Claire, I’m hurt. You’re so materialistic.” He chuckled. 

“Oh, please, Gube,” she scoffed. “Give me my gift.”

“Okay,” he reached into the bag and pulled out a small box, wrapped into festive paper. “I got this for you, Claire,” he handed her the box. “And I even got something for your roommate here.”

You picked your head up, face ridden with confusion. Matthew licked his lips as he held the gift out to you, “I saw it and I couldn’t help myself. Merry Christmas, short stack.” 

“Aw, Gube!” Claire squealed. Matthew let her tuck herself under his arm and hug him. “You’re so sweet.”

You stared at the tiny box in your hands, feeling it’s weight. “Thanks...” you whispered.

“Here, open what I got you,” Claired ordered Matthew, stepping over to her bed and grabbing the gift bag. She handed it to him with a wide smile, and giggled as he reached inside. 

“Wow!” He cheered, holding the book in his hand. “Holy shit, Claire. This is incredible, thank you!”

“I knew how much you wanted that book so I remembered to get it,” she said. “So, I hope your gift for me is as impressive.”

“It is.”

As the two of them spoke, you opened up your own gift, quietly, hiding it behind your pillow. Claire unwrapped Matthew’s gift, and squealed. “Shut up! Where did you find this film?”

“Amazon!” he replied. “That fancy camera of yours only takes a certain type of film so I wanted you to be stocked.”

You pulled the item out of the box, focused on figuring out what it was. It was cold, metallic, and shone under the light as it was revealed. 

“Oh, Gube!” Claire pulled him into a hug. “This is incredible!”

It was an antique. A silver polished miniature  ballerina, perched on a pedestal. There was a knob on the side, and when turned, the ballerina twirled. It was precious. 

You looked over at Matthew and Claire, watching as they broke out of their hug and looked at each other. “I expect a bunch of pictures when I get back,” he told her, backing out of the room. 

“And I expect a professional magician,” she winked. Yuck. Claire turned her head to you after Matthew left, grinning, “What’d he get you?” 

You quickly pushed the ballerina back in the box, shaking your head. “Socks. Mismatched socks. Very funny.” You replied. 

She giggled, “But hey, a gift! That’s growth!”

��Yeah, whatever,” you grumbled. 

“Matthew’s great,” She said. “You’ll get to know him better soon, since he’s coming to the beach with us.”

“He’s what?”

[PART 3.]

[saxxxology]

Cosmo Says - Ch.5

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader WORD COUNT: 3,129 WARNINGS: smut, oral sex (male and female receiving), fingering NOTE: Do not save or repost my work without my consent. 

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You make it out of bed early, leaving Dean to slumber peacefully. Your clothes are bundled in his hamper, and you make do with fishing a  pair of boxers from his top drawer and cinching them with a rubber band. You’re in no mood to put on a shirt, so you amble down the hall and into the kitchen. Sam’s left a sticky note on the table, explaining that he’s gone out for an early run, and you settle for making coffee and pulling the evening newspaper from the day before towards you. 

Sam steps into the kitchen to find you leaning over the counter, tits out and a cup of coffee in one hand as you flip through the large pages. He looks surprised, but not as caught-off-guard as he would be if he hadn’t seen them already. 

“Hey.” You smile at him as he pulls his earbuds out and sets his phone on the counter. “Coffee’s hot.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and steps around you to grab a mug from the cupboard. “Where’s Dean?”

“Sleeping like a log.” You glance at him over your shoulder. “How was your run?”

“Wet.” He ruffles his hair, brushing away droplets of water out of his hair. “It was already drizzling, I barely got a half-mile out before I had to come back.”

“Aww.” You hop up to sit on the metal counter. “Wanna burn off the rest of the calories?”

Sam blushes, stirring a spoon of sugar into his coffee. “Later. Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

You shrug. “Didn’t feel like it. Basides, they look good this morning, figured I’d put ‘em on display.” Raising an eyebrow, you watch Sam lift his cup to his lips and take a long swallow. “Why? Do they make you uncomfortable?”

“What? No, no.” Sam shakes his head, still blushing like there’s no tomorrow. “I was, uh… just… they look good, that’s all.”

You grin, leaning back and tossing your hair over your shoulder. “Thanks.”

He sets his drink on the counter and steps close, leaning in to steal a kiss. “Did you and Dean…?”

“Not all the way,” you reply. “You made me sore, I need to recuperate.”

He winces, pressing an apologetic smooch to your cheek. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” You straighten up, parting your knees to allow him to step between them. “You’re just a big boy.”

Sam lets out a breathy chuckle and slides his hands up the curve of your back. “And you’re a pretty girl.”

“That’s sweet,” you coo, giggling when he nips under your jaw. “Your jacket’s all cold… mind taking it off?”

Sam smirks, pulling the zipper of his jacket down and rolling it off his shoulders. All he’s got on is a gray tee shirt that’s a size too small, and you snake your hands under its hem, feeling for warm, smooth skin. “Like that?” he asks.

“Exactly like that.” You tip your head back so he can nuzzle the crook of your neck. “I gotta find something in Cosmo for you.”

“I’m sure you can find something,” he mumbles, “you smell like peaches.”

“Bubble bath.”

“Ahh.” He takes another deep inhale. “I like it.”

You squirm when he bends lower to nibble on your collarbone. “What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doin’?” Sam trails a line of kisses up the side of your neck. “I missed you last night.”

“I was busy.” You giggle when he fills a palm with one breast. “Let me at Cosmo for a bit and I’ll come up with something to cross off the list.”

Sam lets out a little moan against your mouth, not even bothering to stop as Dean’s shuffling footsteps echo in the hallway. 

“Am I gonna walk in on you two swapping spit every time, or…?”

Sam grunts and straightens up. “No. You just have shit timing.”

Dean eyes your bare torso as he strides around to make himself a cup of coffee. “You stole my boxers.”

“Well, would you rather have me running around, ass out, too?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Yes.” Both men answer in unison. Sam frowns, clears his throat, and leans down to give you one more kiss. 

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, skimming a palm over your thigh. “Join me?”

You don’t miss Dean’s look and give Sam a small pout. “I think your brother has plans… I’ll make it up to you later though?”

He grumbles, but gives in. “Don’t pile up your rain checks.”

“Or what, you’ll spank me?” You reach out and swat Sam’s ass hard enough to earn a wince and a low chuckle from Dean. “Think again, go clean your sweaty ass off.”

Red-cheeked, Sam stalks off to the bathroom, coffee in hand, leaving you and Dean alone. Dean takes his brother’s place, watching you take a long sip of your own drink. 

“Not gonna lie, you look hot in these.” He twists the rubber band out of the waistband of your borrowed boxers. “But I thought you’d stay in bed.”

“Sorry.” You boop his lower lip as he tugs your hips closer to the edge of the counter. “I needed coffee.”

“Mmm, a likely story.” Dean leans in for a kiss that you gladly reciprocate. “I was gonna pay you back for last night.”

You moan when his fingers slide past the barrier of fabric to graze over the soft flesh of your hips. Dean’s eyes darken slightly as you run your fingers through his hair, tangling in the longer strands at the top. “Guess you’re just gonna have to do it right here, then.”

Dean lets you press his head down, bending to kiss the valley between your breasts as he makes his way south. You gasp when he lifts your hips up to tug his boxers down your thighs and sets you down on the chilly metal countertop, but when he steps back, lips and tongue continuing down your belly until he’s dotting your inner thighs with warm, wet kisses. 

“Lie back for me,” he directs softly, and as soon as you’re splayed out on the counter, he’s pressing his mouth between your thighs, tongue gliding slowly through your folds. Your fingers twist in his hair, directing him to where it feels best, and when his lips seal around your clit you don’t hold back a squeal of pleasure. 

“Oh my—” you bite down on your lower lip, white-knuckling the edge of the counter with one hand as you hold his face to your pussy. “That’s it, right there…”

Dean hums, dipping his fingers between your legs to press at your entrance. You give way to him, allowing him to ease inside. The ache dissolves as he begins to pump gently, in and out, measured with the almost-perfect licks of his tongue. Wet kissing and sucking sounds fill the kitchen, blending with your high-pitched moans. Dean has to hold you still, his other hand splaying out over your belly. 

He has you cumming in minutes, shuddering on the cold metal as spasms of pleasure rock your body. His fingers and tongue keep moving, pumping and licking until you’re pushing on the top of his head and begging him to stop. He backs off, licking you from his lips.

“Y’good?” he asks as you manage to sit up. 

“Yeah.” You grin lazily and reach out to stroke along the hard line of his cock through his own pair of boxers. “Want another handjob?”

His teeth dent his lower lip. “Definitely.”

After helping to clean around the bunker and making a mid-afternoon grocery run, you seclude yourself in the television room, flipping through Cosmopolitan to find something suitable for Sam. He pops in around dinnertime, bringing a plate of grilled cheese, and plops down on the small couch beside you, peering at the list of tips. 

“What’d ya find?” he asks, taking a bite out of a sandwich before offering it to you. “Anything good?”

You shrug, skimming a finger down a small article. “How do you feel about something in your ass?”

He grimaces, watching you pluck the food from his fingers. “No, thanks.”

“That’s what I thought.” You sigh and flip the page. “What about being totally quiet?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“True.” You nibble on a corner of the crust and scan over the new list of tips. Nothing’s sparking your interest, not now, at least. Giving up, you toss the magazine onto the small coffee table and slump down, exhaling a quick breath. 

Sam shifts when you lean over, resting your chin on his shoulder. “What?”

“I’m tired.” You snuggle against him, stuffing the sandwich into your mouth.

“Take a nap.” Sam slings an arm around your shoulders. “You still sore?”

You giggle when he pokes your cheek affectionately. “No.”

“Mm.” He presses his lips to your temple. “Wanna cuddle up and watch somethin’?”

You nod happily. “I don’t think I’ll be giving you your treat tonight.”

“”S fine.” Sam grabs one of the plush blankets and drags it over you, tucking it around your shoulders. “Come here.”

You snuggle closer, reaching for another sandwich as he sets the place on the couch next to him. “I’ll find something tomorrow,” you promise. 

“Y’know, I’d be down for just some good ol’ sex,” he replies, “don’t need anything kinky. That first time was pretty good.”

“Definitely.” You turn your head to gaze up at him. “I really like this, though.”

He smiles, gently tilting his head to the side to allow you to lean up into a kiss. “Whaddya say we use the TV in my room?”

You hum. “Totally.”

The next morning, the bunker is filled with the smell of waffles. Rubbing your eyes, you step into the kitchen to find Dean at the waffle iron while Sam slices strawberries on a cutting board. 

“What’s this?” You pluck a ripe piece of red fruit from a bowl and pop it between your lips.

“Breakfast.” Sam slides a full plate of berries, waffles, and eggs towards you. “It’s late.”

“I needed sleep,”  you reply, sticking your tongue out at him. “You two are wearing me out.”

Dean glances over his shoulder. “Did my massage help?”

Rolling your eyes, you reach for the syrup. “Yes, Dean, your massage helped.”

He grins and returns to making waffles. “Still don’t know why Sam got inside you before I did.”

Sam chews on his lower lip, evidently recalling the raunchy text you’d sent him about how big he’d feel inside you. “I just played my cards right,” he replies, “I can flirt, y’know.”

You spend the day compiling research, which is interesting, but tedious. By the end of it, you’re tired and eager to distract yourself with Sam. 

He’s in the bathroom, shower running, and you slip inside without alerting him. Clothes drop to the floor, a path from the door to the shower curtain, and he jumps when you shove it back, sputtering through the shampoo suds in his hair. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, eyes shut tight as he tips his head back to rinse his hair clean.

“Joining you.” You wait for him to move aside, blinking water from his eyes, before stepping under the warm spray. “You mind?”

Overcoming his surprise, he steps in, winding an arm around your waist. “I definitely don’t.”

“Good,” you turn to face him, stretching up on your toes. “I was thinking something simple for you tonight.” 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Reaching for the bar of soap, you roll it between your fingers, gazing up at him. “You use this yet?”

He nods.”Yeah.”

“Good.” You offer it to him. “Do me?”

He plucks the bar from your hand, turning you so that his chest is pressed to your back. Soapy palms slide up your waist, rubbing over water-warmed skin up to your breasts. You let out a sigh as he teases your nipples with his thumbs and tip your head back on his shoulder. It doesn’t take him long to turn you around, pressing you against the tile as he sinks to his knees. 

“What’re you doing?” you tease.

He responds by lifting a leg over his shoulder and cupping handfuls of your ass. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Your hands fly to press against the back of his head as he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking against your clit without hesitation. He grunts when your fingers thread through wet hair, tugging lightly to guide him exactly where you want. 

“Right there,” you murmur, “oh, fuck, yeah… that’s it.”

Sam hums, squeezing your ass firmly as he rolls his tongue between your legs. He’s intent on getting you to cum as fast as possible, and he gets exactly what he wants when he slides a finger inside and crooks it, pressing against your sweet spot until you’re shaking against the wall, rolling your hips in time with his ministrations. He’s hard when he stands, and you waste no time lathering your hands with the soap before slicking a hand down his shaft.

“Mmm, fuck.” Sam lets out a long sigh and tips his head back when you stroke him. “That feels real good, baby.”

“I can tell.” You tighten your grip a little, earning a throaty groan from Sam. “I was gonna give you what I gave Dean, but I found something even better for you.”

He opens his eyes, staring down at you with a look of pure lust. “Yeah?”

You step closer, moving your hand gently up and down. “Let’s finish up here, then my room. ‘Kay?”

Sam grunts and nips at your lower lip before letting you back off. You finish showering within minutes, and barely towel dry before slipping down the hall, still naked, and into your room.

“Okay.” Sam pulls you into his arms the second the door is closed. “What’re you thinkin’, baby?”

You giggle when he squeezes your sides. “Cosmo says that partners should figure out exactly what turns them on, so… if you got the perfect blowjob what would it be like?”

Sam chews on his lower lip, pink flushing his cheeks. “Um… I don’t know, really.”

“Why don’t you show me, then. Tell me what feels good.”

Sam lets out a slow breath against your lips. His fingers curl into your hair, and he pulls you a flush against him, his other hand sliding down the curve of your back. You moan when he squeezes your ass, pointedly grinding his heavy erection against your belly before breaking away. “Are you sure you can…”

You giggle when he trails off, unsure of exactly how to phrase his question. “I’ll make it work,” you reply, “you’re not the first big cock I’ve sucked off.”

A low rumble issues from Sam’s chest, and he stoops to pull you right into another kiss. He’s more possessive with this one, lips wet and sweet against yours as his fingers clutch a little tighter in your hair. 

“On your knees.” He presses down on the top of your head until your knees hit the carpet. Your eyes flicker back and forth, from the tip of his cock to his glowing eyes and flushed cheeks. “Touch me,” he murmurs. 

You wrap a hand around his shaft, other palm landing on his thigh for stability, and you let him press your head forward, opening your mouth to take him in. He shivers when the heat of your mouth surrounds him. You give him a teasing suck, moving your hand in steady strokes that have his nostrils flaring. 

“Suck a little harder,” he instructs, breath heavy in his throat when you obey him almost instantly. “Yeah… like that, fuck.” 

A giggle escapes your lips when he reaches back to brace his free hand against his dresser, and he stiffens at the sensation. Your nails lightly dig into his thigh, and he lets out another choked moan.

You pull back on his cock, a string of spit connecting your flushed lower lip with the glistening crown. He hisses when you exhale, a soft wash of cool air over sensitive skin. “That feel good?”

He hums, lips pressed together. “Yeah… weird, but good.”

“Cosmo tip, number eight.” You grin and scrape your nails down his thighs. The firm muscles tighten, and his knuckles turn pale on the edge of the dresser.

“Do that,” he murmurs, “keep doin’ that.”

You repeat the scratch up and down his thighs, leaving red lines on tanned skin. Holding your breath, you relax your jaw to take him deeper, and he lets out a groan when he bumps the back of your throat. His hips jerk, and one hand leaves the dresser to curl into your hair, and he draws his hips back, holding your head in place for him to thrust into your mouth. You have to brace your knees against the floor, and you run teasing fingers up the backs of his thighs until you’re cupping his ass, feeling the firm muscle tense under your fingers. 

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts. “Can you take it deeper?”

You nod your head slowly when he pauses long enough to let you, and he nudges a little closer, hissing air between his teeth when your nails bite into the flesh of his ass. He sinks just a bit deeper, until the head of his dick presses into the soft, wet flesh of your throat. You choke, and he pulls back to let you inhale a deep breath of air before thrusting in again. He lets out a growl when you swallow around him, and your hands press against his hips as he starts to pulse. 

“Can I cum on you?” His cheeks flush a wild scarlet as he stares down at where your lips are stretched around his shaft. You manage another small nod, and he gives you one last pump before pulling back and stroking himself firmly. He tugs your head back, exposing the column of your throat, and lets out a feral growl as he finally explodes, thighs bunching and trembling as warm bursts of white spatter over your skin, dripping down over and between your tits. 

“Goddamn,” you rasp when he finally settles, chest heaving as he steps back to lean against the dresser. “Why didn’t I blow you earlier?”

“I could ask the same question.” Sam helps you up off the floor and cups your face. “You okay?”

You smile as he bends low to press a kiss to your ruddy lips. “Yeah. You’re intense, I’ll give you that.”

He stares down at you, eyes still dark and lust-blown. “What can I say? I like it rough… can you handle it?”

“Yeah.” You trail an index finger over his lower lip. “I can handle it.”

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[honey-dewey]

(Hold me Closer) Tiny Dancer

Chapter 5

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Reader

Word Count: 2,093

Fic Warnings: Non-sexual age regression, split perspective, classification AU, canon-typical violence

Chapter Warnings: age regression, mild depressive episode.

Taglist: None for this fic. If you want to be added, just ask, but I know this is an odd topic and therefore will not tag anyone unless they ask

Jack’s not exactly the most stable human being on the planet, but when he tests as a Caregiver, all hell breaks loose as someone who was just his work partner suddenly becomes so much more.

Multi-chapter story. Chapter 5 of ? Read Chapter 1 Here

-Whiskey-

Two more weeks passed. Jack stumbled his way through single parenting during that time, until Ginger was finally able to get a refill pack of pills out. Mojito had been well-behaved, which was a small victory for Jack. As he watched Mojito take the pill with a small handful of jelly beans, he sighed. As much as he had complained about not knowing what he’d been doing, he was going to miss Mojito running down the hallways after him, happily shouting his name from behind their pacifier. He’d grown so used to the Little being around that he wasn’t sure what to expect when Mojito came out of it.

Deciding to enjoy what seemed to be his final night with Little Mojito, Jack carried them out onto the porch after dinner, settling in a rocking chair and laying Mojito across his lap. They instinctively curled to his chest, resting their head on his shoulder.

“Darlin’,” Jack said softly, rocking the chair a bit. “What'd you wanna do when we go home?”

Mojito shrugged. Over the two weeks, they had aged up a tiny bit, settling at three years old. They had remained pretty silent though, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

“That sounds nice,” Jack said softly, poking Mojito’s nose and watching them yawn. “Ginger wants us to go to England for a bit. Visit some old friends of mine. How’s that sound to you?”

Again, Mojito simply shrugged, burrowing deeper into Jack. “Co’d.”

Jack nodded. “It is cold, ain’t it.”

They went in eventually, once Mojito had begun to shiver. Jack carefully tucked them into bed and left the door open as he went to his own room right across the hall. He’d figured out that Mojito needed to be able to see him during the night, which had led to a week of Jack sleeping in their bed and a week of them sleeping with their doors open.

“Wi’key?”

“Yeah kiddo?” Jack poked his head back into Mojito’s room at their hesitant cry.

“Bed.”

Jack sighed. “Gimme a sec darlin’, I gotta brush my teeth.”

Mojito pouted, but allowed Jack to walk down the hall and get ready for bed. Once he was ready, he shut his bedroom door and headed into Mojito’s room.

“S’eepy,” Mojito grumbled, holding their hands out and waiting patiently for Jack to kill the lights before cuddling up to them in the bed.

“Just close your eyes kiddo,” Jack said softly, holding Mojito close, a sadness hitting his heart as he realized this was likely going to be the final time he was able to do this. “You’ll be out in no time.”

True to his words, Mojito fell asleep in minutes, their pacifier falling off their loose lips. Jack sighed, picking it up and carefully putting it back in Mojito’s mouth. The least he could do was make his baby comfortable before he lost them.

-Mojito-

You woke up warm.

Rolling over and rubbing your eyes, you wiggled upright as best you could, yawning and patting the pillow to your right in search of your phone.

“‘Jito,” Whiskey groaned, propping himself on an elbow and rubbing his eyes. “Kiddo, it’s too early. Go back to sleep, I’ll get breakfast soon.”

You simply rolled your eyes and stretched again, swinging your feet over the edge of the bed.

“What did I say?” Whiskey’s sleepily stern tone sent a bolt through you as he pulled you back under the covers and wrapped you securely in his arms.

“What the hell is up with you?” You asked, wiggling out of his grasp and jumping out of the bed.

Immediately, Whiskey was significantly more awake. He sat up and stared at you, brown eyes wide. “Mojito!”

“That’s me.”

Whiskey sighed, looking almost sad as he got out of the bed himself. “Want breakfast?”

You nodded slowly. “Why were you in my bed?”

“You got cold last night.”

You could tell Whiskey wasn’t lying to you. He always shuffled his feet a certain way when he outright lied. But the way his eyes kept darting around the room, as if there were something he wasn’t seeing but knew was there, it made you nervous. Whiskey was hiding something for sure.

“Why don’t you make breakfast,” you said, picking up the folded pile of your clothes off the dresser. “And I’m going to go shower. We can talk over breakfast, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds fine.”

The tone of Whiskey’s voice made you want to cry. He sounded lost, like a man who’d just had his future ripped from him.

You took extra long to shower, trying to recall the events of the past two weeks. The last thing you remembered was losing your pills and falling asleep in your bed, crying because Whiskey knew you were Little. Checking your phone, you had unopened emails and unread texts. But the most intriguing part was the short message on your glasses from Ginger, dated back about 24 hours.

Your new pills should be arriving today. Make sure you thank Whiskey, by the way. He’s done a lot for you.

Mulling over the message, you dried off and got dressed in a cozy constellation sweater and your normal jeans. Had Whiskey gotten attached to you while you were Little? Is that why he was so sad? Leaving your feet bare, you walked down the hall, already smelling breakfast.

Whiskey was waiting for you at the table, two plates already set up. A messy omelette greeted you as you sat down, gently tangling your feet with Whiskey’s under the table. “Hey cowboy.”

He just nodded, poking his omelette.

“Alright, what’s wrong?”

Whiskey shrugged, looking up at you. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”

You mirrored Whiskey’s shrug, although yours was much more relaxed. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you said calmly, taking a bite of omelette. “I was regressed for, what, two weeks? That couldn’t have been easy.”

Immediately, Whiskey jolted. “You’re not upset.”

“Of course I’m not upset!” You said, shocked he would even think that. “I’m grateful you even wanted to take care of me! I mean, I’d be terrified if I was a Neutral and suddenly my partner turned out to be Little.”

Whiskey chuckled, making you relieved he was back to his old self again. “I’m not Neutral. And I already knew you were a Little before this.”

“You aren’t Neutral?”

“Hell no!” Whiskey said, leaning forward. “Do you really think I’d have survived two weeks if I was Neutral? Speakin’ of which, we have a new mission when we get back.”

You groaned. “Already?”

Whiskey smiled. “I think you’ll like this one.”

Your mission in the mountains lasted another week, when Statesman finally brought you home after nothing interesting had happened. Once on the 13 hour flight, you approached Whiskey, your namesake drink in hand. “Want one?”

Whiskey shrugged. “Jack and Coke, if you can.”

You nodded, leaving your drink with him and quickly fixing a Jack and Coke. “Thought you’d take it straight.”

“Not today.”

Silently agreeing, you sat back with him, glad that Statesman had given you guys a plane. If not for the comfort, then you enjoyed it tremendously for the privacy it was about to provide. “Can we talk about something?”

Whiskey crossed his legs. “Shoot.”

“Do you miss taking care of me? Like, Little me.”

Poor Whiskey accidentally snorted out of surprise, inhaling his drink and coughing violently. You patted his back, worried you’d have to perform the heimlich if he kept coughing like that. But eventually, Whiskey calmed, his face still red and his eyes watering. “Shit,” he rasped. “Warn a guy next time, okay?”

Still worried, you nodded. “Sorry,” you said softly. “I was just wondering.”

Whiskey took a breath, abandoning his drink. “I thought you’d want to forget all about your accident, hm?”

You shrugged, swirling the muddled mint at the bottom of your glass. “I found this.” You pulled a white pacifier out of your pocket, showing it to Whiskey. “It was in my bed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “Oh. I was just, y’know, curious.”

Whiskey sighed, slumping in his chair. “I guess I miss it. Just felt right, y’know? I miss the little shit you were.”

“Hey!”

Whiskey laughed, shaking his head. “Meant that affectionately.”

You pouted anyway, checking your watch absently. “Ginger wants us to report to Champ about our next trip when we get back,” you muttered. “I don’t know if I’ll survive another plane ride.”

The pair of you continued in relative silence for three hours, during which you managed to exhaust yourself into a four hour nap in the plane’s bedroom. When you woke again, Whiskey was dead asleep in the bed beside you, the lights dimmed to a comfortable sleeping level.

Doing your best to let Whiskey sleep, you slipped out of bed and padded silently out into the common space. Settling in a chair, you cocooned yourself in a blanket and grabbed your book from the side table. Cracking it open, you began to read.

Whiskey woke from his nap a few hours later, when the overhead system chimed and told you there were only 2 hours left in the trip. He stumbled out of the bedroom, hair snarled and eyes still half closed, glasses tilted on his face. “Wa’s happening?”

“We’re landing in a couple hours,” you said plainly, not even looking up. “Go bathe. Or at least clean yourself up.”

Stumbling a bit, Whiskey did as asked, coming back out after a shower that left the bathroom full of steam. “Do you wanna shower too?” He asked, sitting in a chair opposite yours.

“Yeah.” You stood, stretching and tossing your book down. “Where’re we going after this?”

Whiskey shrugged. “Ginger and Champ are sendin’ us to England to spend some time with the Kingsman.”

You smiled, suddenly eager. You knew a lot about Kingsman, but had never had the pleasure of going to visit. “Cool.”

Your shower was just as long as Whiskey’s, and by the time you were out and drying off, the overhead was giving you a half hour warning.

Tugging the closet doors open, you examined the available clothes, eyes catching on a plain black onesie with a faded Jack Daniels logo on it. You pulled it out, realizing it was probably Ginger’s idea of a joke. Making up your mind, you unbuttoned the crotch of the onesie and wiggled into it.

Getting yourself plainly situated beyond that was difficult. However, you eventually found yourself examining your outfit in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the rough denim of your overalls. The front flap covered most of the logo, but the name of the brand still stuck out. Balancing your hat on your head, you decided against your boots and headed out to wait for landing with Whiskey.

He was lounged in the same chair you’d left him in, glancing up as you shut the bedroom door. “Well where’d that shirt come from?”

“I think it was Ginger’s idea of a joke,” you said, sitting back in your seat. “Figured I’d humor her.”

Landing was smooth, and in no time, you were entering a debrief for the mission. You told Champ everything you remembered, Whiskey filling in the blank bits.

“And, if I’m not incorrect,” Champ drawled when you two were done, looking over the mission files. “You two are headed out to England for a vacation with our British counterpart, correct?”

“Correct.” Whiskey uncrossed his legs. ‘When should we be expectin’ that flight?”

Champ shrugged. “Few hours. You’re flyin’ public, and we got your tickets all situated already. Ginger, do you wanna show Mojito the new training gear?”

Ginger nodded, gesturing you closer to her. “We got a new VR program for the recruits. You’re the only one who hasn’t tried it yet. Whiskey, you can come too.”

Whiskey followed behind you and Ginger as you two headed down to the training gym, Ginger opening up a door into a small room. “Hat off,” she said, taking your hat and replacing it with a plain white headset. As she adjusted it to fit you, she talked about the training program. “This will take you through the basics, and maybe put you through a level or two. It’s disorienting at first, but just power through. Now, here are your controllers. Have fun.” She pressed a button on the right side of your headset and slipped out of the room.

As the headset powered up, you took a deep breath. This was about to be very weird.

[thethousandyearwitch]

Eye for an Eye

A "Medical Experimentation"/Black Market Surgery KakuHida fic, because it came to me in a dream.

"Hidan wakes up after a wild night, only to find himself in an uncomfortable and yet enticing predicament featuring a good looking stranger and the miracle of Jashin. And maybe both parties can get something out of this situation..."

Rating: Explicit due to some gruesome talk

Ship: KakuHida

Words: 1702

AO3 Link

Nauseating Darkness. That was the first thing Hidan perceived when he woke up. The feeling of a room, that you’re not even seeing, spinning.

He should have known that this would happen, after the hot bartender kept pouring drinks on the house before he could even finish them. It wasn’t his intention to get drunk off his ass, but free alcohol and shallow compliments from some goth chick can change a night quite quickly.

Reflexively, the man tried to turn to his side to soothe his nausea, only to feel a firm resistance on his wrists. The restrictive movement called his attention toward how cold he felt overall, and how fucking uncomfortable whatever he was laying on was. At the same time, he could hear some movement close to him come to a halt.

“Hey, hey, I’m not in the mood for some BDSM games, I think I’m gonna hurl.” He slurred and tested the restrains again. A gurgle crept up from his abdomen, and the suffocating darkness still wasn’t giving way to any light.

“What the fuck.” A deep voice echoed, definitely not from the cute bartender that Hidan had hoped he took home with him. It wasn’t a question, more of a baffled statement. The young man wasn’t a stranger to taking men home with him, but this was definitely not planned, and the unclear discomfort from his abdomen that stretched all the way to his sternum was enough of a boner-killer that he just wanted to get a shower and a prairie oyster.

“Dude, just, uncuff me, get this fucking blindfold off, and I promise I’ll write you a 3page essay apology for the missed sex or whatever.”

“What- No, stop. Listen closely to me.” The deeper voice came steadily closer, and Hidan was sure he could feel the warmth of another body inching closer to his. “I am not about to fuck your sorry ass. You had some real bad luck, and drew the interest of one of my clients, who paid me to remove your eyes and a couple of organs.”

The spinning inside of his head only got worse, and Hidan let out a confused groan. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“There’s no blindfold, dumbass, your eyes are already sitting on my desk ready for pick-up. I don’t even know how or why you are alive; you’re probably banged up on some drug cocktail that cancelled mine out. But you’re going to bleed out any second. No hard feelings.”

Oh. He’s been tricked. Of course, free drinks are never truly free, but he’s never paid with organs before. First time for everything.

The pressure on his body became clearer to him now. He could feel the burning edges of an incision, reaching roughly from 1cm below his bellybutton up to the tip of his sternum, between the 6th and 7thrib. The foreign body that squirmed itself under his ribcage, wrapped itself with learned precision around his heart, that could only be a human hand.

“Can you not afford a bone saw like any other unlicensed doctor?” Hidan laughed and could feel the pressure on his lungs. Every muscle in his body slowly started to follow his command again, warming back up with steady relaxation and contraction.

“I don’t need to justify my expenses to a dead man talking. I don’t care about leaving a neatly chopped up body, and neither does my guy who’ll get rid of you after the job.” Something cold and sharp pressed against Hidans Aorta, a scalpel, he was sure. “Any last words?”

The pain from the incision gave way to a booming headache, itching and scratching the inside of his skull. Slowly, white spots came into his visions, like a night sky that revealed itself one star at a time. “Yeah, what’s your name, asshole?”

“…Kakuzu. Goodby-“Before he could finish his parting words, Hidan snapped his arms free of the leather straps that held him down, and he threw himself at the other man’s throat, toppling both of them to the ground. His eyes had fully reconstructed themselves, and away from under the surgery lighting, he could slowly take in his surroundings in dimmer light.

“This place is a fucking shithole.” The floor was dirty, the walls and even the ceiling were covered in dark stains, an oakwood desk near the wall was held together with layers of yellow-ed glue, next to it a beat-up office chair with scotch-tape adorned seating. His eyes wandered to the man he kept pinned below him, covered in Hidans spilled out lower intestine. “You’re not too bad though, damn.”

His hands were wrapped around the throat of a well-build man, probably a couple years older than him, with rich, sepia brown skin, black hair tied in a knot. He wore a surgical mask, but it couldn’t fully cover the ends of what was clearly a not yet fully healed Glasgow-smile. But what was most striking about Kakuzu were his eyes; His sclera was a dull red, and his Iris were a bright emerald green. “Why would anyone want my eyes when you’ve got the grand prize resting in your skull?”

Under Hidans firm grip, he could feel the strength Kakuzu had to use just to speak up. “What the fuck are you?”

“I’m my gods most favorite little bastard! Now, how about a little trade, ‘kuzu?” He shifted his weight off of the other man’s windpipe, just enough to let him breathe under a strain.

“What do you want?”

“My guts, ideally back where they belong. And in return- “He grabbed Kakazu’s hand, which until now had been busy digging his fingernails into the immortal’s arm, and guided it to Hidans restored eyes. “-I’m sure your client would go bonkers over two sets of eyes.”

There was a pointed silence between the two, Hidan grinning as his internal organs tried to work against the pull of gravity, tissue already trying to reconnect itself with a painful burning sensation. For a moment he thought that the incision would close over his exposed organs before he’d get a response.

“Get on the table. I’m not going to waste anymore anaesthetics on you though, or else I won’t turn enough of a profit.”

Hidan climbed back on the operation table, arms rested behind his head, legs crossed leisurely. “Money greed is a sin, y’know?”

“That’s fine by me, I’ll buy myself a VIP seat when I get there.” Kakuzu readied a medical sewing kit, and unceremoniously crammed Hidans intestines back into his abdominal cave, to which he squirmed in response, but snickered as well.

“It’s not too late to repent! Jashin takes every poor soul that knocks on his door with the correct offerings, and I have a feeling you’ve got what it takes. And I’m living, breathing proof of his miracles. Or else how will you explain all of…this?” He waved his hand around in the general direction of his eyes and his open wound, and Kakuzu swatted his hand away.

“I don’t know, I don’t care. Maybe you’re the result of a radioactive freakshow. Maybe I’m finally succumbing to asbestos poisoning. Now hold still or I will have to tie you back down again.”

“Kinky! Say, after you’re done stealing my eyes again, wanna grab some drinks?”

“Drinks is how you got into this situation in the first place.”

“I’m not regretting it~”

This earned him an eye roll, though more importantly, he realized Kakuzu didn’t say ‘No’ to his proposition. The surgeon finished the final stitches and gave his work a satisfied nod. He placed a glass jar, filled with some strange liquid, on a smaller table next to the operation table, and leaned in closer to Hidans head. “Now for the money-makers.”

“Wait-wait-wait, how are you gonna take ‘em out? You’re not just gonna snatch them out with your fingers, right?” Hidan fidgeted, though his manic grin didn’t falter. His chest was rising and falling heavily with rapid breathing, pulling at the fresh stitches.

“You really are an idiot. The eyes are too delicate and firm to be taken out like that. I’ll be using a tool that looks like a spoon, but has the sharpness of a scalpel, to basically scoop them out. Getting scared?”

“Are you kidding? I’m really getting excited now…”

Kakuzu huffed and placed one hand on the right side of Hidans face, using his thumb to pull the skin under his eye down. “No squirming, or I’ll take your teeth as collateral.”

“Don’t entice me, ‘kuzu.”

The sharp, cold tool slid smoothly between eyelids and eyeball, and without much resistance it curved into the eye socket and severed the optical nerves. In just a second, Hidans vision on his right side went black, and his heart beat violently against his chest. The pain was overpowering, searing, and exciting.

The surgeon dropped the disconnected eyeball into the formaldehyde jar, and switched hands to get a better grip on the left side of Hidans face. “Halfway done. Need a break?”

“Stop being a fucking tease…” Hidan breathed out, face flushed with excitement, fingernails helplessly scratching at the side of the solid table.

And without any further warning, the tool slid behind the second eyeball, severed nerves, and discarded it into the jar.

Back to nauseating darkness. All of Hidans other senses felt enhanced, he could smell the preserving chemical mixed with his fresh blood, he could hear the buzzing of the lamp above him, he licked his lips and tasted only his sweat, and most of all, he could feel the lingering warmth of Kakuzus hand still on his face, his thumb brushing over Hidans cheekbone.

“You’re a walking organ bank.” The younger man didn’t reply, too busy with catching his breath. “I could save money on anaesthetics and trying to lure idiots to operate on. I’d have any organ anyone could want – on demand.”

“I’m not gonna let you cut me open every day for free, yknow?”

And suddenly Hidan could feel hot breath ghosting over his ear, so close that cold shivers ran down his spine.

“Maybe I do have some free time for a couple drinks, and a little business talk.”

[cherryyharryy]

The First Five

Pairing: Harry and Reader

WC: 3K

Warnings: Pregnancy/Birth 

 The first five minutes after you tell him you’re ready for a baby are chaotic, but the good kind. He’d been ready since you both said I do, but you wanted time, time with just him. 

He bit his tongue more times than he can count, not wanting to pressure you, knowing you’d come to him when you were ready to turn your house of two into three...or four; he kept his fingers crossed. Maybe even five...

He’d seen your wandering eyes linger on a mother and her child while you were out to lunch. You passed through the baby aisle at the store, not grabbing a thing. And when his friends stopped by with their three month old boy, you didn’t want to put him down. But still, he keeps silent. He sees the gears in your head working overtime, and he knows it’s coming. 

It’s a humid day, right in the middle of summer, when you approach him. Harry has flashbacks of the first date you two shared, your bashful smile and nervous hands. 

“I’m ready, Harry,” you whisper, rolling your lips in. “I want a baby.”

He can’t pinpoint exactly what emotions swarm him, they must be new. All he truly recalls is snatching you from the lounge chair you were stretched out on, and pulling you in for a hug that put all other hugs to shame. 

He showers you with kisses, every pet name he can think of tumbles past his lips as he suggests you two get to work right away, tugging you back into the house and up the stairs. 

He spends a lot of these five minutes running his eyes over you, glancing down at your stomach once you’re both bare, with just the thought of his baby, your baby, growing inside his love. 

And he presses a hard, passionate kiss right on your lips, running his thumb over your cheek and declaring his love for you. 

“You’re my world, y’know? My angel. Gonna make another one, yeah? Another darling I can cherish. Give you both anything, and all my love, you’ll have all my love.”

*** 

The first five minutes after you tell him you’re pregnant is silent. You’ve searched the internet for a cute way to present the news, a meaningful way to announce the creation of your love for each other. 

It’d been months since you first started trying, and needless to say, you were both sinking into disappointment every time a test didn’t yield the results you were after. But having bought yet another box while Harry was at work, you decided to try once more. 

And now with Christmas right around the corner, it’d be crazy for you not to make this a gift for him. 

You’re both surrounded by wrapping paper, still in your pajamas with forgotten mugs of coffee abandoned in the kitchen while you tell Harry he still had one gift left. 

It is a small, square box with a red ribbon adorning the green paper that you pull out from the tree itself. Harry chuckles at the hiding place and offers a kiss when you join him back on the floor. 

You’re fidgeting, positively squirming as he gently pulls the ribbon apart and pops off the lid. His brows furrow at the first recognition of a tiny t-shirt—a gag gift perhaps? It would explain your restlessness. 

But when he pulls the shirt out and unfolds it across his lap, he’s sure his heart stops for a moment. He can’t move, staring at the infant sized clothing with ‘Daddy said I’m a Packers Fan’ written across the front. 

His jaw wavers, and he swallows a dry, hollow, gulp. The only thing he wants to look at right now, is you. He needs the nod—the one he’s seen in movies and read about in books, the one where you’ll shyly smile and roll your lips in while your head silently says yes, this is really happening. So he darts his eyes up from the tiny shirt in his shaky hands to your face. You nod. 

He has a million things to say but they all come out in breathless huffs and dizzy laughs. He scrambles over to you and pulls you in, surely giving you the tightest, warmest hug you’ve ever received. 

“You’re...I…” He pulls back and searches your eyes. He must be dreaming. “This is...we’re really…”

You giggle and nod. “Yeah.”

“I can’t believe…” His lips finally tug into a smile. He shakes his head and flickers his eyes between your face and your stomach. They’re in there, tiny, microscopic, but they’re there.

“I couldn’t wait to tell you. Almost slipped up a few times.”

“I—I’m speechless.”

A soft laugh bubbles out of your mouth. “I can tell.”

You lean over the few inches he’s allowed between the two of you and press a soft, sweet, we’ve made a baby kiss to his lips. (As best you can, he can’t stop smiling).

 ***

The first five minutes before you endure the joys of pregnancy are much more agonizing than the five after. And Harry knew he’d be that husband—watching every move you make—but he had no idea how well he’d slip into the role. 

Needless to say, when you wake up feeling like you swallowed a model rocket ready for lift off, complete with a watery mouth and sore back, he panics. Your body’s in a state he doesn’t truly know how to take care of—sure he’s obsessed over the idea of being a dad, of you being pregnant. He’s a godfather and has a breeding kink that he won’t admit to. But the actual changes, the actual pain and metamorphosis that you’ve been going through and will continue to go through for the next six months, scares him to pieces. 

So for that first five minutes he’s pacing. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as you wait patiently on the cold tile floor, already hunched over the toilet. 

“You okay?”

“Mhmm.”

You really need him to shut up. You’re fine, you’re throwing up. It’s what pregnant women do. But when he’s nervous—as he gets if you so much as put a hand to your forehead and sigh—it sparks the own nervous energy in you to take over. Because things could go wrong, you’re not out of the woods for nine months. And yeah, you’re probably inching closer to the bowl because of the hot sauce you added to your chicken the night before, (add spicy food to the list of things you can’t eat), but when he asks you again…

“You alright?”

...you burst. 

“Harry for fucks sake would you shut up!”

He’s silent after that. The remainder of the five minutes he obeys and keeps his mouth quiet. He doesn’t leave, stays leant against the counter, but he doesn’t talk. 

When you’re brushing your teeth you look over at him. He’s pale and fidgety, like a child who received forgiveness but knows their parent is still mad. 

“I’m sorry.” You spit out your toothpaste, and repeat the words so he can understand them this time. 

“I hate seeing you like that. I can’t do anything, I can’t fix it, I can’t make you feel better. You’re going through things I’ll never understand and you have to do it all alone. I just…” he sighs, loosening the tension in his shoulders with a roll of his back. “I worry, y’know? You’re my everything. If something happens to you…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, the last few words are lucky they made it out, as wobbly and frail as they were. 

“Hey, look at me.” You’re stern as you approach him. “I'm never alone, okay? I have you.”

“But—”

“Nuh uh. Yeah, I’m the one that’s pregnant, but that’s just a small portion of everything that’s ahead. Nine months. Nine months and then you’ll be put to work.” You smile once he cracks a smirk. “And in the meantime, you've been the best support I could ask for. I never feel alone in all of this.”

His smirk grows from bashful to sly. “Because I never leave you alone.”

You laugh around your words. “Yeah that’s part of it.” Your hands gently slide up his arms to rest on his shoulders. “And I’ll be fine. Doctor says everything’s good. Nothing to worry about.”

“But what if—”

“If...if something happens, we’ll handle it. Worrying about whether something may or may not happen doesn’t prepare us, and it certainly doesn’t make things easier.”

He stares down at you, eyes twinkling with a confident look you haven’t seen in a while. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

The first five minutes after you step out of the shower, the morning Harry is supposed to be home after nearly a month, are bliss. 

He pulls his clothes off tiredly in the bedroom, willing himself to stay awake until he can greet you with a proper kiss once you’re out. He avoids the bed, knowing if he even sits on the edge he’ll pass out. 

He pours a cold glass of water and is on his way back up the stairs when he hears the rush of the shower come to a halt. He speeds up, stepping into the steam-filled room just as you’re unfolding your towel to wrap around your body. 

“You—” He’s pointing at you, frozen in the doorway, and you break into a stifling panic because the last time his words got caught in his throat with a pointed finger, there was a spider the size of your hand behind you. 

“What? What!?”

“You’ve got a bump!”

Your lips tweak into a smile, and for the first time in a long time, you feel truly shy around him. “Noticed it the other day, when I put on my orange dress.”

You hadn’t time to wrap the towel around you before he was wrapped around you; his arms pulling you in flush against his chest, but only for a moment as he steps back to admire the swell of your belly. 

It’s not that noticeable—you’d have to be especially attentive to that part of your body to see the difference compared to a couple of weeks ago. There’s no need to rush out and stock up on maternity wear, and you don’t have to worry about the friends and family you haven’t told yet finding out. 

But it is exciting. It’s your baby, yours and Harry’s baby. And it’s healthy and growing and now you’re showing...Harry’s enthralled. 

He flicks his eyes up and waits for your nod before smoothing his hand over your belly button. His hand is big and warm. His rings are absent which you’re thankful for, not needing the cold on your skin right after a shower. 

“I love our baby,” he muses against your hair. “And I love you.”

“Welcome home.”

*** 

The first five minutes in the baby store are ridiculous. Harry—is ridiculous. He’s got an entire cart overflowing, and he’s really in his own little world. 

“Look at these, love.” He holds up the smallest pair of mittens you’ve ever seen, with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. “Look how tiny.”

“Everything’s tiny, Harry.”

He tosses them in the cart. 

You’re not complaining; his enthusiasm is contagious. You’re excited yourself, but having someone to share it with, someone who’s over the moon at every piece of clothing and accessory added to the pile, is the cherry on top. 

You’re running your eyes over the rows and rows of socks, all a different color, all incredibly small. 

“What color?” He asks, tugging you back to rest against his chest. 

“Would you care if I said one of each?”

“I’ll go get another cart.”

***

The first five minutes into your baby shower are kind of ridiculous. It was Gemma’s job to throw the celebration together, but your lovely husband weaseled his way into the planning, and now you’re sitting amongst friends and family while Harry reads off a list of games the guests are to play. 

“Sorry,” Gemma nudges you on the couch. “I tried. Honest.”

“I guess it was stupid of me to expect him to sit back and do nothing.”

“No, not stupid...just…” she eyes you, holding back a smile. “Okay yeah, maybe it was.”

“Excuse me,” Harry scolds the two of you. He’s standing in front of the fireplace, waiting on each audience member to give him their full attention, his own wife included. “Are you two done?”

Gemma rolls her eyes. “Just get on with it, would you?”

“As I was saying,” Harry asserts, “the first game is a bottle chugging challenge.”

***

The first five minutes after your first contraction are scary. It’s definitely a contraction. You’ve endured a bout of Braxton Hicks, but what you’re feeling now are the major leagues. 

It’s the moment of no return. You’ve been in this state for quite a while, but it’s successfully and overwhelmingly dawning on you: you’re going into labor. 

It’s not about the past nine months, and it’s not about the baby a week from now, it’s about this very moment, and the hours to follow that have you second guessing this entire decision. You were ready to be pregnant and ready to teach your six year old how to ride a bike. You are not ready to give birth. 

Harry settles down on the floor beside the tub and cups your cheek in his palm. He holds up his phone with the timer at zero on the screen. “Tell me when,” he whispers. 

You nod and rest your head back against the linoleum, shutting out the light with your eyes and focusing on your body. Your body that is designed to perform this miracle, your body that has gone through nine months of rapid changes, your body that’s been through so much already. 

“Ah.”

“Breathe in.” He watches you relax in the water, making a mental note of your habit of holding your breath. “Good. I love you, you’re doing so good. Have been, always.” 

His thumb strokes over your cheek, and he asks if that’s okay. You nod and peak your eyes open, watching the timer on his phone tick by. It’s going too slow. Five minutes, the doctor had told you. Five minutes and it’s time to leave for the hospital. You’re not ready, please don’t stop at five. 

“The bags are in the car. And I’ve called your mum. Mine too.” He sets the phone down and dips his hand in the water, not letting go of you. “S’this warm enough?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is shakier than you were expecting. You peer up at him, and just by the look on his face, you know he knows. 

“You can do this. You’ve done so much already, and this is the last step.”

“It’s the hardest step though.”

“And you can do it”

You open your mouth, but it takes a couple swallows before you can speak. “I’m so scared. I didn’t think I would be, but I am.”

“Tell me what you’re scared about.”

You flicker your eyes up from the timer to his face, brows pulling in to say take a fucking guess. Instead you shrug. “I—just everything. The pain. The stitches. Something going wrong. Me dying, our baby dying. Something being wrong with them. Everything.”

Harry doesn’t blink. He has no right to tell you not to be scared. No right to try and de-rationalize your fears. You’re the one who’s body is preparing for something terrifying at this very moment, something you can’t truly prepare for no matter how many women you’ve asked ...so how bad does it really hurt? You’re the one giving birth, not him. 

“Are you not scared?” He catches the hint behind your words. You’re almost asking for the secret he seems to hold, because ever since you woke up from your nap with a buzzsaw in your gut, he’s been calm and collected. 

“F’course I am. Not gonna lie to you. You’re having a baby...that’ll never not be scary. If we have ten kids I’ll still be scared on our tenth trip to the hospital.” He pauses for a breath. “But I also know that you can do this. I know that you’re incredibly strong, stronger than I’ll ever dream of being. You’re healthy and the baby’s healthy. You’ve got a fight in you that I fell in love with. You don’t give up on anything, you don’t back down. You power through and show me time and time again how un-fucking-believable you are.”

He’s wiping the tears that have started to trickle down your cheeks, and for a second he worries he’s said something wrong. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is still brittle, but when you look up at him, the light in your eyes has changed. 

“Thank you,” he smothers a kiss onto your lips, “thank you, thank you, thank you for everything.”

***

The first five minutes after you’ve brought your child into the world are heavenly. Your body is more than exhausted, numb, yet you feel everything. You’re not even sure if what you’re feeling is your body. There’s a lot of noise, a lot of chaos, as you lay there. 

The voices are all in a tunnel. The only one you really tune in to is the high pitched scream, a decibel breaking siren that is somehow coming from the tiny human being placed on your chest. 

Then it’s your own voice. You’re crying; not sad, just relieved, overworked, and so fucking happy. Despite the excruciating wringer you’ve just been yanked through, you’d do it again in a heartbeat...maybe Harry will actually convince you to have three. 

“Hey little one.” You softly stroke your finger down your newborn’s cheek, the wailing yet to cease. “I’m so happy you’re finally here.”

The room starts to slow down, and soon you’re taking everything in again. Harry’s by your side. He never left, although he’s back in focus now. 

“I’m so, so proud of you.” He’s holding his baby, cradling their head just like he practiced a million times. And he’s looking at you, in you, if that’s possible, into the very depths of whatever harbors the strength you showed today. And of course the tears are dripping down his cheeks. He’s so fucking happy too. “I love you. I love you so—I just love you.” He shakes his head. There aren’t really words, are there?

“And I love you.” He smiles at his child, running his eyes over the features he can’t get enough of. It really is the two of you, all wrapped up in this small bundle blinking up at him. “We’re gonna let muma rest now, aren’t we?”

He bends down to place a kiss on your forehead. You feel a tear beside his lips. “I love you, my darling. Close your eyes, you’ll be fast asleep in five minutes.”