#And my friend was like. Do I need to loan you a book or something??

[fantasy-costco]

What if I wrote doctor who fanfiction for the first time in my life. Well, second, but the first time was a Crack-taken-seriously sort of situation. So I'd count it as the first actual attempt.

[luveline]

Ahh I’m so obsessed with stripper!reader and Spencer!! Do you have any more thoughts about them you’d be willing to share, maybe just a snippet of their life together? So so in love with them and your writing in general

i got a different request for them that I lost about reader struggling to afford essentials and so I thought I’d combine them, I hope that’s ok!! <;3 fem, 1.1k

cw food insecurity/ poverty 

You attempt to save money, but the ten dollars you don't spend on shampoo and conditioner gets used on painkillers. You hide fifty dollars in a book and try to forget about it, but your shoes split open on the walk to work, and it takes all afternoon to find it again. You try so hard to stretch your paycheck and something new makes it impossible. 

So it's a cold night in late December and you spent all your money for food on the gas bill. Your stomach hurts, but at least your nose isn't that horrible stiff cold that distracts. 

It's not just that your stomach hurts, though. You feel miserable about everything, and you know you need to ask someone for help. You've thought about selling something, but you already pawned your watch, and everything else is inconsequential. 

I could sell my phone… but how would I talk to Spencer? 

It's the stupidest thought you could've had. More importantly, how would you communicate with work? How would you call your electric and gas company, or talk to your landlord? 

Spencer would be so sad if he knew you’d sold your phone to pay for food. He’d probably be upset knowing you considered it. And you won’t get paid for another three days, so unless you can somehow live off of olives and cherries from the club bar, you have to ask Spencer for money or get a loan. With your credit score, one situation is more likely than the other. 

You bring your phone across the pillow and sigh before clicking on his contact. He’s practically the only number you call. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

“Hi, Y/N.” 

“Hello, handsome,” you murmur, staging an affect of someone who couldn’t be more unbothered by the world. 

“Yeah, hi. You okay?” 

You don’t want to butter him up. It feels dishonest. You should be straight forward. “Spencer. You know I hate asking you for things.” 

“Yes, it’s the only bad thing about you.” He sounds like he’s smiling. You can imagine him on his couch reading something obscure, or watching one of his sci-fi shows, curls in his eyes, grey pyjamas too short for him riding up his calves as they tend to do.

“But I need– um. I don’t have any money?” You don’t mean to phrase it like a question. “Like. Okay, so, I promise you I am not an irresponsible person, just, my gas bill went up and I didn’t know, but it’s so cold I paid it anyways, and now I have three dollars. Um. Total. And I haven’t eaten all day and I’m sorry I’m asking, but I just need like twenty dollars until I get paid on Tuesday. Could you let me borrow twenty dollars, please?” 

“Do you want to get takeout?” 

You cringe. “No, like, twenty dollars for groceries, Spence.” 

“No, I understood. That’s fine, I’ll happily give you twenty dollars. But you said you haven’t eaten today? And I miss you, so it’s an excuse?” Now he’s the one making questions out of statements. “I can get us Thai food.” 

Your stomach pangs at the thought. No matter how much you hate this, you know he loves you enough to want to bring you dinner, and you really will pay him back, so he might as well. “Yeah, please. I’d love to see you, Dr. Reid.”

“I’ll be quick,” he promises. 

He isn’t. You wonder if he’s forgotten you and your rumbling stomach, curled into a c-shape under the sheets. It’s warm, at least, nearly too warm, the blade of your hunger threatening to drive you mad. It’s not a nice feeling, depending on the kindness of a friend to see you through, nor is it very pleasant to be this hungry. You’ve gone hungry a hundred times, and this is the only time you’ve ever had someone you trusted enough to turn to during that time to ask for help. What if Spencer’s decided he isn’t comfortable with your lending after all and he doesn’t come over tonight? 

You’d been looking forward to seeing him again. It’s almost worse than the hunger. 

Just as you’re thinking he’s decided he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore, he lets himself in. 

Your apartment is small, consisting of three rooms. The bedroom, the bathroom, and the living room kitchen combination. He lets himself into the living room with a cacophony of rustling and a called, “Hello!” followed soon by a muttered swear. 

You laugh under your breath.

“Are you coming out here, or do you want to eat dinner in bed?” he asks. 

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

It’s quiet enough besides his arrival that you’ve no need to shout.

“Well, stay there if you want. Have you been drinking anything? I brought iced tea and some stuff for you to have breakfast tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” You force yourself to sit up. One moment you’re looking at the closed door and the next you’re squinting against the light of the kitchen, Spencer in the doorway like a silhouette against it. “Hey, Spence. You’re taller than last time.” 

“I’m the same size as always.”

“You’re still wearing your shoes. That must be it.” 

Spencer takes off his shoes and crosses the short distance to you. “Hi,” he says, taking your hand as he sits down. His fingers are freezing. “Sorry I took a while.”

“Sorry for asking you for money.” 

“It’s okay. It’s not something to worry about. Everyone has to ask a favour sometime.” 

His hair is wind blown, his eyes watery. The cold weather has nipped his pert nose a rosy pink and he’s smiling at you with chapped lips, unaware of or uncaring about his own circumstances in the face of yours. “You okay?” he asks, his pretty brown eyes narrowing, eyebrows pinching together at the starts. “You can’t just not eat all day and not tell me.”

You nod tightly. It’s humiliating to be in this position. 

He softens. “Did they tell you the rate was rising? It’s illegal in Virginia–”

You take your hand from his. “They sent me a letter I didn’t open. I knew it would be bad news.” 

Spencer looks down at your knees. “I know that you’re used to doing things by yourself, but you don’t have to anymore.”

“‘Cos you look after me,” you say quietly. 

“I’m trying to.” 

You laugh and jog your joined hands to make him look up. “Okay. Look after me some more then and give me a hug. I’m too warm, and you’re freezing.” 

He hugs you tightly, quick to rub your shoulder blade with his thumb. “Stay here, okay? I’ll bring you a plate.” 

You cling to him for a few seconds, until hunger wins, and you send him off into the kitchen again. 

[heavenlyraindrops]

Can I request a bit of lucifer x reader where reader is a new resident at the hotel but also extremely powerful like could almost be an overlord if they wanted but are shy/hate people so they try to just keep to themselves and be as quiet as possible but end up in a forced proximity situation with the king of hell himself (who they have a horrible crush on) and something pushes them over the edge we get some fluffy confessions but also a bit of dry humping (I liked your pervious story with it) and afterwards they realize being tangled up with Lucifer himself probably isn't going to keep them out of the spotlight but oh well? (I hope this isn't too much you said the more specifics the better and works got me to burned out to write it myself )

ʟᴜᴄɪꜰᴇʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ- “ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ” ——> word count: 3.5k

Warnings: drinking, tiny mention of blood/violence, sexual content, dry humping, forced proximity

hiii anon tysm for the ask I love it, it’s perfectly specific and I had sm fun writing this ! I’m not too good with fluff but I tried my best, I hope you like it!

You didn’t want to be an overlord.

Despite your monumental power- it was just too much. The other overlords scared you, and you despised the attention. 

Instead of choosing any overlord-ish career endeavours, you’d opted to help Charlie, your friend, with her hotel. It was better, it was easier, especially much more than having to mingle with power-hungry demons. And Charlie herself was charming enough to make working with her seem attractive enough. 

“[name], I’m so happy you’ve decided to help me,” she beamed, clutching your hands, eyes sparkling. And as she hugged you fiercely you realized with a rush of warmth that it was worth it.

Vaggie nodded behind her, yet her eyes held apprehension as she swept her gaze up and down you. “We need all the help we can get,” she said tersely. You nodded wordlessly. Charlie turned to look at her. 

“Believe me, Vaggie, she’ll be a great addition.” She hugged you again, sideways. “[name] here just happens to be super powerful! It’ll be really useful to have them around.” You flushed bashfully at the praise. 

Vaggie nodded and smiled stiffly.  

Over time you’d made it your mission to get Vaggie to like you. Need help moving these boxes? Telekinesis. Loan sharks bothering the hotel? Incinerated. Angelic warfare? You were more than willing to paint the streets gold. And you did it, too, terrifyingly easily, without a single word spoken. You were never one to talk more than you needed to. Normally you wouldn’t, but you did it discreetly so that word wouldn’t leak that it was you, and plus, you could use Vaggie’s trust.

You sighed, placing down a box Vaggie had asked you to move as everyone crowded together in the lounge, colouring pencils and markers spilled across the floor. Charlie’s soft murmurs had ceased as she put down the phone. 

You cleared your throat, to catch her attention and focus it on your quiet voice. “Hey Vaggie. What’s in this?”

Vaggie looked up. “Books, for the library. It’s too he-“

It lifted up into the air behind you, and you stared at her blankly. She cleared her throat. 

“Right, you can do that. They belong in the library.”

You set for the door, the box trailing behind you in the air. Charlie sat up properly. “Won’t you join us, [name]?”

You nodded quickly. “I’ll just drop these off first,” you mumbled, before giving a tinkly little wave before slipping in through the door.

Sighing, you quietly made your way down the hallway towards the library. Grappling with the lock before swinging the door open, wincing as it creaked, you switched on the lights. Dust billowed up where you moved and even more as you set the box down with a thud.

“God, this storage unit so fucking tiny,” you muttered to yourself. The door fell shut.

You tried to open it but it wouldn’t budge. It was jammed. You slammed the base of your palm against the door. It took you a good few seconds of pulling and twisting until it clicked back open. 

You sighed, running your hand through your hair before going back to join the others. 

You smiled wearily in greeting, your hand throbbing as you sat down and picked up a piece of paper. It rustled in your hands. You looked around, an unspoken question.

“Mindful colouring,” Charlie replied, the tip of her tongue sticking out in concentration as she carefully coloured within the lines. Vaggie smiled softly. Your eyebrows shot up as Niffty took in a deep sniff of a Sharpie and suddenly began to shake- not that anyone paid her any mind.

“Cool,” you said, not really knowing what else to say before picking up a pen. Angel Dust shifted behind you, his paper catching your eye. 

“Angel, you can’t just draw dicks all over your sheet,” Vaggie chided.

“Sure I can, toots,” he said, scribbling down another one in bright pink marker. You sighed and scratched a few lines into your own sheet. 

“By the way,” Charlie said. “My dad’s coming tomorrow.”

Your heart seized. 

No-one noticed the look on your face as the room fell into casual conversation. Only you could feel the thrumming of your heart in the back of your throat. Heat crept up your face. 

A hand landed on your shoulder. Charlie’s concerned face appeared in your vision. “You okay, [name]?”

You struggled to dredge up words to assure her that you were, eventually stuttering out a single word.

“Y-yeah.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. You gave her a wobbly smile. The conversation resumed without you. 

Eventually night fell and the group had dispersed, aside from you, Angel and Alastor at the bar while Husk rubbed down a glass. You glanced sideways nervously at the overlord, who lifted a gloved finger. 

“Whiskey,” he ordered nonchalantly, leaning on his elbow as he flicked his hand at Husk- who rolled his eyes and grumbled. You hunched over your hands as you quietly requested a drink, before Angel made his own order.

“So, dear.” Alastor’s glass clinked as he set it down on the counter, smile widening as his eyes fixed onto you. “You’re quite powerful, [name].”

You shrugged, taking a gulp of your drink, figuring you’d need it to get through the conversation anyways. It burned the back of your throat, bitter and woozy. “I guess so.” Alcohol had always managed to loosen your tongue. Angel and Husk fell into conversation on the other end of the bar. Alastor leaned closer.

“Then why don’t you become an overlord, darling? You could seize half of the Pride ring with that power. We’d work wonderfully together.” His eyes sparked with excitement. You pulled away.

“Don’t wanna,” you said bluntly, turning back to your drink. You heard him huff lightly, yet the smile never left. 

“Why not?” Radio static buzzed in your ears.

“I can’t. I just can’t. Being well-known…dealing with other overlords and sinners and even royalty…” you threw your hands into the air. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Al, but I’m not exactly a people person.” You threw back your head and took another gulp. “I’d rather live without the attention on me.”

He gave a low chuckle, tracing the rim of his glass. “Oh, but there already is. Despite keeping to yourself, and hiding who exactly you are, you haven’t exactly made an effort to hide your abilities. Not from us, anyways.”

“And I have no obligation to,” you slurred. “I’m content with what I have.”

He seemed to be thoughtful for a moment, finger still tracing patterns against his glass. Then he sighed. “Fair enough, dear.” You blinked, surprised as he patted your shoulder. “If you ever change your mind, you may consider me and Rosie allies.” 

With that offer he stood up, dusting down his coat and emptying his glass. He nodded curtly. “Farewell.”

And then he left. 

Angel Dust’s arms were around you within moments, his chest floof pressed against your back. You giggled a little, ticklish. 

“Hey, toots. What was Smiles talkin’ about?” He released you, spinning your stool around so that you faced him. Husk had moved towards you two as well. 

“Just asked me why I wasn’t an overlord,” you mumbled. They both looked at you expectantly. “No, I’m not explaining. I’m sick of it. I just don’t wanna.” You sighed and slumped onto the bar counter, almost knocking your drink over before Husk steadied it.

“That’s fair,” he said gruffly. Angel Dust shifted behind you.

“If you’re not drinking that, then I will.” His hand reached for your glass.

“Take it,” you mumbled. He did.

Husk had disappeared to mind his own business, leaving you and Angel to talk. You could feel his smirk burn into your back, and turned to look at him. “What?”

“So, I’ve been noticin’ something…” he leaned his elbows on the counter, placing another hand on his hip, as his smirk widened.

“Uh huh,” you said, not sure where this was going. 

“And whenever someone mentions him, or he shows up…Don’t think I didn’t notice the look on your face during Charlie’s little bonding thing.”

You swallowed, throat dry. “Who’s he?”

Angel waved his hands around animatedly. “Devil Daddy. Short King. Ya know.”

“Did you just call him ‘Devil Daddy?’”

“Yeah, I did,” he said proudly, giving you a bold stare. You sighed and ran your hands through your hair, and with your growing silence his smirk split into a grin.

“You’re not denyin’ it.”

“Denying what?” You spread your hands in front of you, exasperated. He rolled your eyes.

“You got a crush, toots.”

You pressed your lips together.

He jabbed a finger at your chest. “See? Y’ain’t denyin’ it!”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” Your words seared through your throat and tore from your lips, face burning with embarrassment. “What’s it to you?” 

He snorted. “Can’t wait to see him tomorrow, huh?”

“No,” you squeaked. He chuckled with triumph, ruffling your air.

“Good luck, toots.”

“Thanks,” you muttered.

-

You groaned, stirring in your sheets as the red light peeked in through the curtains. Niffty was jumping on you, knocking the breath out of you as she landed on your chest. She pulled away, face inches from yours, hair tickling your cheeks. 

The words came out in a jumbled, hysterical mess. “Wake up! The bad boy’s here and he’s been here for an hour and you’ve just been sleeping!” 

You tore Niffty and the bedsheets off of you before scrambling to get yourself ready as she scurried out. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” you muttered under your breath as you tried to fix your hair and stripped yourself of your clothes, stepping into the shower. You tugged a comb through your wet hair and quickly rummaged around for clothes- and all the while your heart thrashed against your ribcage at the thought of seeing Lucifer. 

A few minutes later and you’d managed to make yourself presentable. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands down over your stomach to fix your clothes, and then stalked down the stairs. 

Charlie looked up, blonde hair falling over her shoulders. You tried not to look at the man sitting next to her. 

“Hey, [name]!” She waved and then gestured to Lucifer. “My dad’s here!”

Your eyes shifted to him and immediately burned again- his sleeves were up, coat and hat off. His blond hair was slightly tousled in that perfectly messy way- you tore your eyes away from him after giving him a small smile and back to Charlie. 

“Sorry I slept in. I must have had too much to drink last night.” 

Charlie smiled, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.” 

You smiled nervously, feeling Lucifer’s gaze burning through you. Charlie waved you over next to her. You sat down awkwardly, knotting your fingers together in your lap. 

“I’ll just go get a drink of water,” she said quickly, shuffling off. “I’ll be right back.” You and Lucifer both nodded. He turned to you.

“So,” he said. The air burned with awkwardness. “You look- you look nice today.”

Heat flooded your entire body. “Really? Thanks.” You looked away, unable to find the courage to compliment him back. “I mean, I only woke up less than ten minutes ago,” you chuckled nervously. He laughed.

“You seem to have a talent for looking effortlessly beautiful, then.”

Was he flirting with you?

Before you could answer with an absolute stuttering mess of word vomit, Charlie tottered back. “So anyways,” she said, turning back to her father and continuing their previous conversation. “We’re making a library. [name]’s helping with it.”

“Really?” He balanced his elbow on the side of the seat, his eyes fixing onto you. Your face burned. 

“I- yeah, I am.”

He chuckled at your answer, then his eyes flicked between you, Charlie, then you again. Charlie piped up. “How about you show him, [name]?” She grabbed you both my the arm and ushered you to the door.

“Oh, it’s not really- it’s not really ready-

“It’s fine!” She waved you away. You and Lucifer stared at each other. You could see him swallow, then grin and flick his head at the door.

“Go on, then. Show me.”

You briskly walked down the hallway, feeling his presence behind you as you began rambling. “Well. The bigger room is where we’ll eventually have the library but we’re keeping all the stuff in this smaller room right now, well actually the stuff was already there except we’re just moving it now so-“

“You can show me both,” he murmured as you stopped outside a door, breath hot on your nape. You flinched at his closeness and opened the door. 

He glanced inside. “It’s quite…empty.”

“Like I said.”

“I guess so. Other room, then?”

“Sure.” You turned. “It’s just a storage unit, though. There’s books, bookshelves, lights and decorations and stuff.” 

He hummed as you opened the door.

“Wow,” he said, stepping into the dark room after you. “How do you even move around in here?” Something clinked and the clutter shifted, before he almost tripped over a box and into you. 

“I don’t know,” you said, with a light huff of laughter as he grabbed your arms to steady himself. The places where his fingertips pressed into your arm burned. The door swung shut.

The room flooded in darkness. You flinched, Lucifer’s yellow eyes glowing at you, cutting through the shadows and you laughed nervously, shuffling around the mess to reach for the door handle. Your hand closed around cool metal, and you tugged. 

It wouldn’t budge.

You tugged again, and it took a few moments of you grappling with the handle for Lucifer to come over and try it himself. He stood behind you, reaching past your arm to-

CRASH!

You let out a small yelp as you were immediately pressed against the door, Lucifer being thrust up against you. Your forehead knocked against the wall and your head spun. 

“Fuck,” he cursed behind you, breath skimming across your shoulder. You shuddered. “Something fell and I-“ he squirmed, “I can’t move.” Your eyes fell to his palm, splayed out on the wall above you to steady himself. 

You parted your lips but no sound came out for a few moments, until you forced yourself to speak. “It’s okay. Do you have a phone?”

Silence. Then: “No. I left it in the other-“

“Yeah. Me too.”

You both fell silent, and it began to gnaw at you so you scrabbled at the wall, looking for the light. You searched for at least five minutes but couldn’t find it. Your hand fell back to your side.

“Can you turn around?” Lucifer muttered. “This feels…this is kind of weird-“

“Yeah, yeah,” you said hastily, voice breathless as you shimmied to the side so you could turn around, your back to the wall instead. You bit your lip as you looked at him, a blond lock of hair falling in front of his eyes. His breath was warm on your lips. 

“I feel like this isn’t much better.” 

“I guess not,” you laughed nervously. He started to look anxious so you awkwardly patted his shoulder.

“They’ll find us,” you reassured him. “They’ll realize we’re gone and they’ll come looking.”

His lips twisted into a wry grin. “I hope so.” 

You could feel his heartbeat thrumming against your chest. You tried to look everywhere except him, but the closeness wasn’t exactly helping- his eyes searched your face, expression dropping. 

“Hey, [name], I- I know that this isn’t the ideal position to be in, and that you’d rather be anywhere else than stuck with me right now, but-“

“That’s not true,” you said quickly, then pressed your lips shut as he looked at you in surprise. “You’re… you’re nice.”

“I- really?” He chuckled nervously. “I mean- I always thought you hated me.”

You blanched. “What? No, that’s-“ your face grew hot at the look on his face, and your gaze dropped downwards. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, you don’t really talk to me that much is all.” He licked his lips nervously. “I mean, you don’t talk much but- me, it’s like you’re specifically avoiding me. So I just assumed.” 

You stared at him for a moment. “That’s far from the truth.”

He gave a low, quiet laugh, nerves eased. “What’s that meant to mean?” 

“I like you,” you blurted out. The stunned look on his face seemed to slow down time. You swallowed and then turned away, not that it would get you anywhere away from him- he seemed to have pressed even closer to you- flush up against your body. Or it could have just been your imagination. 

“Well, I’m glad,” came the relieved reply.

“N-no, I mean, I like like you. Romantically.”

Silence.

Fuck. You should have just not said anything and-

“I’m still glad.”

Your eyes flicked to him. “Huh?”

“I like you to, [name].” He grinned. “I like like you. Romantically.” 

The air around the two of you felt like it was burning, oxygen sucking out of your lungs as your knees buckled. This had to be some sort of fever dream. “Really?” Your voice sounded weak to your own ears. He drew closer, humming. 

His lips met yours. 

Heat pooled under your stomach as he pushed you roughly against the door, lips moving in time with his as you snaked your hands around his shoulders and dug your fingers into his hair. He pulled away, face flushed. 

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I should have asked.”

“It’s fine.” A smile danced along your lips. “I liked it.” His hands fell down to your waist, then hips, pulling you closer. Your core brushed against his, and you flinched, but he didn’t notice as he buried his head into your shoulder in an embrace. 

“This is nice,” he muttered, and you hummed. “I’m glad- this sounds selfish, but I’m glad that we got stuck in here.” He laughed, a beautiful sound. 

“Really? Exactly how long have you had eyes for me, my king?” You teased, newfound confidence born from how comfortable the vibe had gotten. He shivered at the title you’d called him by. 

“Since I saw you help Charlie with those loan sharks.”

“So…when I commit an act of violence?”

“Hush. Don’t question it.”

You squirmed a little, trying to get into a comfortable position, and he stiffened. “Don’t do that,” he muttered. You did it again and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Don’t do what?”

He didn’t say anything, instead opting to hide his face from you. “Lucifer?”

You felt something press up against your abdomen. 

You flushed heavily, then chewed on your lip, wondering if you should drop it or toy with him. Your own desire flooded you at the thought. You tapped his shoulder. “Kiss me again?” You mumbled. He glanced at you, not knowing whether you’d noticed or not. 

“Anything you ask of me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your lip before pressing his lips to yours.

You ran your hands through his hair again, and just as he was about to pull away you sharply tugged him back in, pressing your crotch against his. You could feel his breath hitch. “[name], what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently, grinding slowly. His face flushed as you felt him harden, and suddenly you were burning too. “What do you think I’m doing?”

He didn’t answer, instead immediately diving in for another kiss and catching you off guard. His tongue swiped across your lips, which didn’t part, until his hand snaked its way up to your collarbone, wrapping around your neck and pressing gently at the base of your throat. You gasped, and his tongue slipped in, making you shudder. 

“Lucifer,” you gasped as he pulled away, hips rolling into his, desperate for friction against your cunt, which was already drenched. He peppered kisses down your jaw and collarbone, hands falling back to your hips and pushing you back up against him.

“Fuck,” he grunted, a languid grind of his hips against yours making you throb. He latched his lips back to your neck, leaving a hickey. You whimpered as his hands smoothed up your sides, thumbs worming their way under the hem of your shirt and holding you steady by the waist as he continued his desperate humping against you. Your core pulsed, drawing closer to the edge-

Suddenly he pulled away, running his hands through his already mussed hair. “What?” You asked breathlessly, anxiety spooling in your stomach. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head, then bit his lip and grinned. “The opposite, actually.” He reached behind you. The handle clicked, air buzzing with magic. You stared at him, finding it even harder to ignore the throbbing in between your legs.

“You could do that this whole time, couldn’t you?”  You accused. He arched a brow and you flushed. 

“Don’t act like you couldn’t either,” he winked before kicking the door open. His hand closed around your wrist. 

You huffed, face burning as you realized- getting tangled up with him wasn’t the best idea if you wanted to avoid attention like you’d told Alastor. But the pleasure you were feeling told you that you didn’t care. 

He turned to you. You flushed. 

“Now. Where’s your room?”

[show-your-fangs]

Swimming Pool ✿ Aaron Hotchner

We Shouldn't (And Yet We Do) - Part One

Pairing: DBF!Hotch x f!Reader

Words: 12.6k

CW: 18+, NSFW, mdni, smut, a little angst and so much fluff.

Summary: You return home for the summer because of your parents’ drama but luckily for you, your father’s friend, Mr. Hotchner, is there to bring you some much needed comfort. 

Tags/warnings: shitty family life, age gap relationship (reader is 20, Hotch is 40), teasing, groping, perv!hotch, inappropriate thoughts and behavior, grinding, daddy kink bc fuck you, fingering (f receiving), protected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!).

a/n: Thank you so much to @canuck-eh for writing Loose Morals and reigniting my passion to write this series, and to @xladyxdreamer for putting up with my Moments angst to the point where this series is now my penance for it. Finally, to whoever started the DBF!Hotch train, you are a god and I love you.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Coming back home in the middle of summer was…a lot. You’d just finished your second year away at college and you weren’t supposed to come back home until Christmas six months later, a compromise you’d agreed to only for your mother. But then she’d called out of the blue, sobbing, hysterical, and you had booked a flight back home to Virginia before she’d even hung up. 

When you did finally arrive the morning after, she was much calmer, but the edge in her voice remained and you knew something was wrong. The only problem was that she refused to tell you what it was. It wasn’t until your high school friend took you out to lunch later that she finally clued you in as to what was going on. 

Your father had apparently been caught getting busy with another one of the professors at the college he taught at. Someone had taken a…suggestive picture and now everything was in shambles. Well, not everything, mostly just his own marriage. From the little bits of information you were able to string together from your mother, it was clear that he was gaslighting her into believing that the picture was taken out of context and he wasn’t actually having an affair.  

It had all blown up in your face about twenty minutes ago. Your house was packed with people, mostly your father’s close friends, colleagues, and their wives. He had decided to host an end of term/start of summer cocktail party to quell whatever doubts lingered amongst his social circles that whatever had or had not been taken didn’t mean anything and his marriage was still going strong. What he hadn’t accounted for, however, was you coming back to make sure your mother was alright. 

You’d been holding onto the anger all afternoon as you followed your mother around, yelling and complaining and just desperately trying to reason with her. You’d never been a huge fan of your father. Sure, he’d done the bare minimum to give you life and was now paying for the part of your tuition that wasn’t covered by all the scholarships you’d gotten so that you didn’t have to graduate with massive loans. But aside from the small kindnesses he awarded you every so often, your relationship was nonexistent.

It was almost as if he’d predicted your mood because he didn’t arrive at the house until the party was minutes from starting. You had thought about leaving, about going out and getting wasted with your high school friends, but before you could even tell your mother you were going out, you found her crying in the master bedroom. And just like that you were back to seeing red. 

The door swung open and you practically stormed towards it like a woman possessed. 

“We need to talk,” you started. “No, let me rephrase, I need to scream at you and you’re going to listen—”

“Honey,” your father said sternly, opening the door fully. “Do not be rude to Aaron, say hello.”

Shame hit you like a bus as Mr. Hotchner came into focus behind your father. Fuck, he was good. It was eerie how clever your father could be when he didn’t want to be told off, when he knew that he’d done something wrong and instead of owning up to it he’d do everything in his power to avoid talking about it. 

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner,” you managed through gritted teeth as your father walked past you and into the kitchen. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he replied, an amused smile on his lips. “I didn’t know you were coming back for summer break.”

“I’m not,” you tried to keep your voice steady. He must’ve known why you were angry, why the sudden outburst, but he didn’t reply, he simply nodded, lips in a thin line, trying to look anywhere but you. 

“Well,” he broke the short silence. “I better put this on ice.”

He held out a bottle of Scotch he’d presumably brought over from his own house next door and walked after your father. You stood alone at the open door, the freedom of the night away from the exhaustion of fighting against your parents alluring. And yet you couldn’t seem to walk out, couldn’t seem to will your legs to move you in the direction of the rational choice. 

Your heart was beating unbearably fast, and it wasn’t because of whatever was happening between your parents. No, it had everything to do with the FBI agent that had just walked into your home and the way he had clearly glanced down at your exposed cleavage before he had to immediately shift his gaze to anything else. 

Aaron didn’t want to leave you there but he truly didn’t have a choice. You were wearing a tight black dress, so tight in fact that he could’ve sworn he saw every curve of your body. What had made it even worse was the way your breasts were practically spilling out of the garment, the trim of your lacy bra peeking around the edges. He’d felt like a teenager all over again, his crotch tightening uncomfortably as he tried his hardest to listen to the words coming out of your mouth to make sure that he responded eloquently. 

Your mother had already put out ice buckets and he practically slammed the bottle into an empty one. Was it stupid to chill Scotch? He honestly couldn’t even remember anymore as he desperately wished he could’ve dunk his already hardening erection on the ice as well. He needed to get a grip, needed to calm down, needed to pretend like he hadn’t already seen your body in the many pictures you had posted online in the two years that you’d been gone.  

He served himself a double, watching as you left the door wide open and retreated back upstairs. He lingered by the table for a moment, finishing his drink and calming himself down. He’d known you for a little over two years, at least on a first name, dinner at your house every month, type of way. You had just graduated high school when he started teaching part time at the college where your father also taught. The two of them had become fast friends and in the months that followed while you waited out the summer to start classes you had babysat Jack while Aaron was away on cases.

It was wrong and he definitely knew it. But there was something so captivating about you, about your kindness and curiosity and interest in not only his work but in him as a person. You loved getting to know people, getting to share secrets and discuss the root of existence and emotion and life. It was easy to forget that you were this young, your eloquence far higher than most of the adults that had just started shuffling into your home. 

He’d filled his glass up once more as your father’s friends and his colleagues arrived. He plastered on a polite smile and greeted everyone as they made their way through the house. The repetitive nature of small talk for the next twenty minutes allowed him to forget about you, calm his body down enough to appear normal, collected.

He had migrated to the backyard with the rest of his colleagues after a while, the men around him engaged in mindless conversation about the break ahead, their vacation plans, and anything that wasn’t about the elephant in the room, because he knew, they all knew, that your father had clearly been caught redhanded and if they didn’t get their wives to agree that he was nothing more than a victim, they could be taken down next. 

You waited until the backyard was packed with people before you emerged from your room. If your father didn’t want his friends gossiping about his affair tonight then you’d give them something else to talk about. And what better thing to gossip about than your father’s college age daughter practically displaying her body for all of his married friends and their wives. 

Wearing that skimpy thing that did nothing to cover you up could only mean one thing – you were trying to get back at your father. Aaron couldn’t help but almost choke on his drink as he watched you saunter back out of the house. His ears began ringing loudly as you swayed your hips, clearly asking for attention. You walked right up to the edge of the pool and dove in without so much as a single word, the stark contrast between the cocktail party and your rebellious, summer blowout attitude jarring. 

He couldn’t help but notice your father’s absence back out in the courtyard, your mother also conveniently nowhere to be seen. He could only assume that she was either consoling his poor, broken ego or sucking him off inside. Either outcome made him feel incredibly bad for you, bad that you had to come back home to rumors of your father’s infidelity and your mother’s complete denial of it. 

While she was working overtime trying to fix a one sided relationship, you were determined to lash out against it in the most childish way you could possibly think of, and that unfortunately meant parading around your backyard filled with middle aged men in practically nothing.

Well, fortunate for him because he got to see the way your nipples hardened against the sheer fabric the second you stepped out into the cold night air, got to marvel at way your waist dipped into your full hips, the plush muscle begging to be squeezed tightly, got to catch the faintest glance at the outline of your pussy against the red material. It was unfortunate because he knew he wasn’t the only one staring at you and he had to bite his tongue as he began to hear the men around him murmur about your body.

He wanted to step up and use his own frame to shield you from them, to hide you away from their practically salivating stares. But instead he simply took a sip of his drink and allowed himself to watch you like a hawk, to silently guard, determined to step in if any of them actually decided to turn their thoughts into action. Because even then he couldn’t help but feel protective of you.    

Your father came barrelling out of the house mere minutes later, your mother practically running to catch up and stop him. He was about to blow up, about to make a scene, one that you were eagerly waiting for when her hand landed on his chest and he seemingly remembered where he was and who he was surrounded by. He instantly relaxed his face and Aaron couldn’t help but take a step forward, tense and ready to fight him. 

“Honey,” your mother spoke instead, layering the guilt on thick. “Please get out of the pool, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Aaron set his glass down and walked over to the little hamper by the grill, expertly fishing out a large towel. He could feel everyone else start to notice that he’d moved, that he was inserting himself into something that clearly had nothing to do with him. But it didn’t matter the second that your round, hurt, expressive eyes met his. His gaze softened, just for you, to let you know that you didn’t want to make this any worse than it already was. And for the first time ever, you listened to him. 

Your mother thanked him as he walked around them, towel extended in his hands for you to simply curl yourself into it. He could tell your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and when he draped the fabric over your shivering body, he could smell the faint, lingering scent of alcohol on your breath. He sighed deeply, just for himself and you followed suit, taking the moment to compose yourself. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, delicate fingers taking the towel from him and wrapping it around yourself, terrified of what your reaction would be if you’d let him do it for you. You were back inside the house in seconds, the party resuming quickly as your parents started their rounds of greetings and small talk. He lingered by the pool for a few minutes, not wanting to be incredibly obvious about following you inside. 

He told himself that he only wanted to make sure you were alright, that there was nothing wrong with being concerned for you after what had just happened. And so when the waiters began to pass out hors d'oeuvres, he took advantage of the distraction and slipped back into the house.

“Sweetheart?” he whispered loudly as he willed the wood beneath his feet not to creak loudly against the final step of the staircase. “Are you alright?”

The second floor was deserted, terrifyingly quiet and dark. He noticed the light was on in your bathroom across the hall from your room and he approached. The second his shadow landed over the wood, the door swung wide open, greedy hands grabbing a hold of his shirt and pulling him into the small room. 

“I need you,” you slurred, your hands sliding down towards his belt, trembling fingers struggling with the silver buckle. He couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from his throat, the sounds spurring you on.

He was so distracted by the thrill, the shock and surprise of your neediness, of your clear desire for him that his brain short circuited for a second, lost to the sensations he’d been craving from you for years. 

You’d never done anything like this before, never even flirted with each other as far as he was concerned since he made sure to watch his words around you, only allowing himself one thing, to call you sweetheart. Which could only indicate that your sudden boldness meant that you’d thought about this just as much as he had, that you’d caught him staring at you with hunger in his eyes just like he’d caught you staring at him with danger in yours. 

“Sweetheart,” he said bluntly, trying to use his words before he was forced to use his hands to stop you. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” you scoffed. “You’re upset,” your hand squeezed over the outline of his cock and it took everything in him to not let out a single sound. That seemed to do the trick as your confident demeanor slipped away and the terrified girl desperately trying to hide resurfaced. 

Tears laced your eyes, your chest began to shake, your hands trembled, slowly slipping away from his body. He scooped them both up in his warm, large palms, bending your arms over your chest before pressing you tightly to his. You began to sob then and it broke Aaron’s heart. Your face landed over his frantically beating heart. If you noticed through your tears you made no effort to comment on it. He held you like that for a while, not caring at all that his clothes were definitely wet now. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, arms crossing over your chest in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up now that you were clearly not going to get what you’d wanted only seconds before. He crouched down and picked up the towel off the floor, this time making it a point to drape it over you and wrap you tightly in it. You felt like a child, a dumb, stupid child that had just thrown a tantrum and had been scolded. It was humiliating. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he assured you, allowing himself to talk down to you just a little. His heart was still racing, his mind even more so now as he realized that the barrier that he’d put up between the two of you all those years ago had just been shattered into a million pieces. “Why don’t you take a shower and get some sleep?”

You nodded, refusing to look him in the eyes. But he would not have it. He hooked a finger under your chin, gently yet forcefully, pulling your gaze up to meet his. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly without him doing anything to you. 

“Good girl,” he hummed and you practically whimpered, your thighs pressing together. The side of his mouth curled into the tiniest of smirks before he removed his hand from your body completely and walked out the door, leaving you alone in your bathroom with a fire burning in your chest. 

You were unsure when the decision had been made, but you’d awoken the next day to a letter from your mother on the kitchen counter, the house spotless as the cleaning crew she’d hired probably went through it the night before. Your parents were gone for the rest of the summer, apparently one of your father’s friends had a timeshare at some resort in Italy and they were able to squeeze your parents into their trip last minute. 

You released a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The memories of the events of the night before had been washing over you in powerful, drowning waves ever since you opened your eyes fifteen minutes ago. You regretted at least ninety percent of your actions, having been so wrapped up in getting back at your father that you had completely forgotten that your actions would also affect your mother. The look of disappointment, of complete and utter shame and embarrassment that had taken over her face as she spoke to you haunting, especially now in the brightness of the day. 

And then there was Mr. Hotchner. Fuck, you cringed every time you remembered what you’d done, how you’d come onto him so pathetically. You couldn’t deny the rejection didn’t hurt but he had been right. You were upset, unbelievably so, and it would’ve stung even more to think of your first time with him to have been because you were trying to make your father angry, not because you actually wanted to sleep with him. 

And oh boy did you want to.

As much as Freud was an idiot, you were very aware after two years of your psychology degree that your attraction to older men had everything to do with your need to seek the approval your father denied you from your romantic partners. 

You’d had a very childish crush on Mr. Hotchner for years. It was silly, something that kept your pussy wet at night and made your friends giggle whenever you told them about the hot neighbor that you used to babysit for. But you knew he was unattainable. You could never have him, and sadly, that only made you want him even more. 

In an act of defiance you hadn’t done what he’d told you to do the night before. Instead you took off the remaining pieces of clothing you still had on and tossed them into your shower before you walked across the hall to your room, pulled out the shitty bullet vibrator you’d left behind two years ago, and desperately tried to get yourself off. To say you’d been unsuccessful, your fingers and the weak device never even coming close to what you truly desired, what you needed. 

That had only made you angrier, angrier at yourself, angrier at him. By the time you had drank your first cup of coffee all of your embarrassment had washed away into cold, seething irritation. He clearly wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You definitely hadn’t imagined the way he responded to your touch, the way he’d groaned in response. And that was the problem. He’d been holding himself back, whatever friendly relationship the two of you had built, one that you regarded as honest and sincere nothing more than a facade he’d concocted to keep you at arm’s length. 

You grabbed a pair of sunglasses that your mother must’ve left on the kitchen counter and placed them over your eyes before walking back out to your backward. You were aware that there was a specific spot in front of the sliding doors that he could see from his house next door. You’d noticed it when you were babysitting one time, the thrill that he could’ve seen you in your bikini at some point that summer driving you insane. 

You didn’t want to be at arm’s length anymore. You refused to let whatever fears you were holding onto because of his relationship with your father to stop you from going after what you’d wanted for so long. 

You dragged a lounge chair over to that exact spot, the blaring sun perfectly over it as the excuse you needed in case he brought up your pathetic ploy. Once you were satisfied with your placement you shrugged off the robe you’d been wearing, the fabric falling off your shoulders and pooling around your feet in an instant to reveal absolutely nothing covering your body. 

You’d fallen asleep at some point, completely naked and aggravated. You made sure to take your time getting into a comfortable position over the chair, chest out, legs curled suggestively, putting all of your assets on display. With the bait set, it was now a matter of waiting for him to bite.  

You heard him yell your name across your house about ten minutes later. It didn’t surprise you that he had his own set of keys, your stomach already twisting in anticipation and excitement at just how easy it had been to get him exactly where you wanted him.

“Are you decent?” he asked with a smirk in his voice. He knew you weren’t. “Jack is here with me.”

You practically leapt off the chair, frantically picking up the robe and putting it on as the two of them walked out onto the backyard. Jack said your name then, chipper and excited, immediately melting away any ice left behind. You turned around just in time for the boy to wrap himself around your legs, squeezing you into a tight hug which you reciprocated, pulling him up to sit on your hip. 

“Hi, angel,” you greeted the boy. “How’s summer treating you?”

“Hot,” he replied, trying to push himself away from you. You couldn’t help but laugh, setting him back down in the shade. “Can we swim in your pool?”

“Of course you can!” you replied. “Do you mind if I join you?”

The boy’s eyes practically widened out of his head in joy, turning back to his dad with just an unbelievable amount of energy. 

“Not at all,” Mr. Hotchner replied for him and you shot him a smile before you excused yourself to go change into something kid appropriate. 

To say that he’d seen your little display was an understatement. He’d been sitting on his desk in his home office, finalizing his weekly schedule with Jessica when he saw you step out. He knew, after much trial and error, that you couldn’t see him from this angle, and so he made no effort to move to get a better look. 

And then you took off your robe and he was abruptly presented with your naked body. His mouth went dry in an instant, his pupils dilated, his heart pounded against his chest. It took him a full minute to realize that Jessica was trying to get his attention before his brain reconnected with his body and he asked her to repeat herself. 

Five minutes later he was hanging up the call and rushing down the hall to ask Jack if he wanted to go swimming. The boy practically leapt to his feet, running across his room to get himself ready. They didn’t have a pool at their house, so your mother had generously let them use theirs after you went away for college. She’d even gotten them key to the house and sent him the alarm code every time they changed it just in case. 

Aaron changed into his swimsuit in record time, practically tripping as he ran back and forth, all over the house, looking for the many, many toys that Jack definitely needed to stay distracted for the next few hours. As much as he wanted to walk over alone, find you naked and eager for him, fuck you on the lounge chair and then probably inside the pool to cool off, he couldn’t leave Jack behind, he wouldn’t leave Jack behind because he didn’t want you to know just how much you had affected him. 

This was a power move, one that he had fallen for instantly. What he needed to do was not give in, not give you what you wanted, continue to frustrate you, to tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, all because he wanted to remind you that he held all the cards, that he was the one calling the shots, that he would be the one on top while you writhed in pleasure beneath him.

You returned a few minutes later in a plain black one piece. To say he was disappointed was an understatement, but he admired your decorum while you were around Jack. It was like a flip had switched, eyes clouded with lust and desire clearing away to joy and excitement to spend your day with a hyperactive kid instead of lazily sunbathing your troubles away. 

You handed Mr. Hotchner a bottle of sunscreen, having specifically chosen the cream kind instead of the spray so that he’d be forced to touch you when you asked, “Would you mind getting my back?”

He looked up at you with the same eyes from last night and you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle. He looked at Jack then to make sure the boy was adequately engrossed in his toys, clearly deciding which ones he was going to play with first, before he opened the bottle and squirted some of the cream into his palm.

“On my lap,” he ordered, low and just for you to hear. Your eyes immediately darkened and he smirked knowingly. You rolled your eyes then, reminding yourself that today was just playful after all. 

You stepped forward towards his opened legs and prettily sat yourself down on his thigh, your back to him. You’d already put your hair up so he went right in. His warm, sticky palms landed on the sides of your neck first, slowly sliding down your shoulders before they returned to the center and then slid down your exposed back. While you couldn’t wear the skimpy, barely there suit you wanted, you’d still chosen something that gave him a subtle peek of your body.

He continued his movements, unapologetically taking his time, dragging his touches, lingering over your neck and putting pressure around it. You shivered under his hands, your ass unconsciously grinding down on his leg. 

“Be a good girl and stay still,” he purred in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You stilled immediately, his fingers squeezing around your neck softly in reward. “All done.”

Your brain processed the words and yet you made no effort to stand up, and he made no effort to make you. His hands grazed down your arms, the backs of his fingers practically leaving feather light kisses on your skin until they landed on your hips. He gave your love handles a squeeze before he let his hands settle over your lap, leaning down to rest his chin on the crook of your neck.

The gesture itself had been so casual yet unbearably intimate that you didn’t notice you’d stopped breathing until your lungs started to burn. You inhaled sharply, your entire body shivering as you tried to keep the panting at bay. 

“You say the word and I’ll stop, sweetheart,” he whispered against your neck, gentle and kind, his tone meant to reassure you that you still had power. You nodded and he pressed a kiss below your ear, making you shudder once more. “So responsive for me.”

A whine escaped your lips, making Jack turn back to face the two of you. His hands were off you before you could even register, your own body reacting instinctively as you shot up to your feet. 

“Ready to get in the water?” you managed, flashing the boy a bright smile. He nodded enthusiastically, picking up a few of his diving toys in one hand before taking your outstretched hand with his other one. He diligently led you to the shallow end of the pool and Aaron watched as you both threw the little fishes into the deep end, giggling as Jack tried to toss them farther than you. 

He took a moment to compose himself, a moment to shift the material of his swim suit to try and hide the evidence of his arousal. He hated how easy it was for him to come undone around you, how you had him wrapped around your finger and could get him hard by simply existing. It made him feel young again, his libido higher than it’d been in years, and it was all because of you. 

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard you and Jack splash against the water. Jack resurfaced first, already panting as he worked overtime to keep himself above water. You appeared then, like a beautiful mermaid coming above water to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. And in that moment Aaron knew that he’d sink to the bottom of the ocean if it meant he could have even a taste of you. 

“Daddy!” Jack yelled, getting his attention. “Come into the pool!”

“Yeah, daddy,” you teased. “What are you waiting for?”

All the playfulness drained from his face in a second, making you choke on your own saliva in response before it reappeared as if nothing had happened. Your thighs rubbed together, the knowledge of the effect your words had had on him thrilling. 

“Coming buddy,” he replied to the boy, choosing to ignore you as he stood back up, kicking off his flip flops and cannonballing into the pool. 

Jack’s laughter brought you back down to reality as the waves his dad had created crashed over you, cooling your overheating face. You watched him resurface at the other end of the pool, one of the fishes you’d thrown under between his fingers.

“One to zero,” he announced playfully and Jack gasped, immediately diving down to gather as many fishes as he could, giving Aaron the perfect pocket of privacy to glance back at you. His face fell into a stern look of warning, daring you to call him that again to see what you could find out. 

You smirked back briefly before diving underwater, the mere mention of a challenge overshadowing whatever tension lingered between the two of you. 

You grabbed three fishes, swimming across the pool towards him underwater. You made sure Jack was above water before you made your move, fingers wrapping around Mr. Hotchner’s trunks to pull yourself out of the water as you practically climbed him. 

You felt him tense against your touch and that made your body flood with warmth once more. You made him feel like this, you made him react like this, you had the same effect on him that he had over you. 

Your head pierced the surface and he wasted no time pulling you further out of the water, his arm hooking around your waist again and pressing your hip against his painfully hard erection. 

You gasped loudly, nervously looking around and noticing that Jack had thankfully gone back underwater so at the very least he wouldn’t see the euphoric expression on your face. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. “Mr. Hotchner,” you whined and his grip tightened. 

For a second you forgot about where you were and the game you were still playing. Your eyes landed on his. They were hazy, glossed over and dangerously close to snapping. 

“Address me properly,” he ordered, lifting his knee to slide between your legs and press you further into him. You swallowed a moan, your breathing ragged, your skin unbearably tight over your body. 

You opened your mouth to speak but the word was screamed into existence by a voice that wasn’t yours. The two of you turned to face Jack who was eagerly swimming over to where the two of you were. You started to shift uncomfortably, trying to pull away from him, but he kept you in place as if you weren’t caught in a compromising position. 

“Did you get tired of swimming?” Jack asked you like this was the most normal thing in the world and you managed a nod. “That’s okay! I get tired sometimes and daddy has to hold me too.”

Your cheeks heated up once more and you thanked every deity out there that the sun was so hot on your skin that the kid didn’t notice a change. Jack reached out and grabbed a hold of his father’s shoulder to keep himself above water before pulling out his other hand from under the water, a fistfull of the colorful fishes in his palm. 

“I got six!” he told you and you finally snapped out of your daze, groaning dramatically as you showed him your own loot only being three. 

“I demand a rematch!” you told the boy before tossing your fishes back into the pool. He followed your lead and held your stare, the two of you seizing the other up before he got tired of waiting and dove back into the water, his giggles getting swallowed by the water. 

“Little cheater!” Aaron let you go then and you followed after the boy. You were so concerned with winning the silly game that you didn’t even notice the dopey smile across his face, one that he couldn’t hide from himself, one that almost made his heart burst with happiness.   

You played with the fishies a few more times until Jack was complaining that he was starting to get hungry and the three of you got out of the pool to dry off while Mr. Hotchner ordered lunch. 

You reapplied Jack’s sunscreen, placed a hat over his head and a towel over his body before you walked into the house to make a pitcher of lemonade and get some of the fruit your mother had bought a few days ago so that you could snack on it while you waited for the pizza to get there. 

You’d cut the lemons and had started squeezing them into the pitcher when his hands wrapped around your waist again, his front pressing against your back forcefully. You ground your ass back into him, never once stopping your task. 

“Hi,” he whispered in your ear. 

“Hello,” you replied, squeezing a half of a lemon with your hand, too lazy to get something else dirty. 

“Thank you for today,” he continued, his hands now slowly running up and down your sides, begging to elicit a reaction from you. “I know it’s not exactly what you planned but Jack is having a lot of fun.”

You hummed in agreement. “I’m having a lot of fun too.”

“Oh, yeah?” he stepped forward, locking you in place between the counter and his chest. “I’m having a lot of fun three.”

You snorted at the insinuation and the terrible joke, and he laughed in return, the two of you devolving into a fit of giggles like you’ve known each other intimately for years. And in a weird, almost strange way, you had. You’ve always had this rapport with him, this deep understanding of each other, mostly because you were both so into the other that you’d actually spent many nights asking questions, eager to know more. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked you once the laughter subsided and your heart started beating rapidly once more. 

You immediately twisted around in his grip, holding your hands up and away from him as the juices from the lemons ran down your arms. 

“Yes,” you heaved and he didn’t waste another second as he pressed his lips to yours. They were so soft and still warm from the sun still lingering over them, lulling you into a sense of safety. You opened your lips as his hands left your waist and cupped your jaw to press you further into him. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue entered, deepening the kiss into a hungry and desperate mess. 

He pulled back so you could breathe after a few more laps and your eyes blinked open, the light reflecting against them and making them shine almost ethereally. He smiled, his thumbs rubbing over your cheeks. You returned the smile, somehow already feeling warm and fuzzy from just a kiss. He leaned in again, his nose playfully tickling your own, making you giggle sweetly. He truly wanted nothing more than to make you laugh all the time. 

He was about to press his lips against yours again, already craving the feeling like a man that had been left to wander the desert for days, when his phone rang loudly, interrupting the tender moment. He sighed deeply, apologetically looking at you and you immediately shook your head, letting him know not to worry about it. He picked up the phone, determined to make the conversation quick so he could return to what he truly wanted to do. 

In the meantime you finished the lemonade, washed your hands with soap, and brought the pitcher, some glasses, and the bowl of cubed watermelon to the table outside. You checked in on Jack, the boy having fallen asleep, making you chuckle softly. You sat yourself at the table and waited for him to come back, already missing his lips. 

It was certainly an interesting turn of events, made even more interesting by how easy it was to fit into his life. Even with your parents you always felt like the odd one out, like they were their own thing and you just sort of existed around them. But with Mr. Hotchner and Jack…you felt like you just fit right in, like you’d always been a part of their family.

When he finally exited into the backyard he bore a very different expression on his face, one of remorse and stress. The playfulness from before had left his body and all that remained was the stoic FBI agent you’d sometimes get when he returned from cases or…got called into one. 

You sighed deeply, knowing that was exactly what had happened and he had to stop himself from melting at the thought that you just knew what he needed before he could even ask it. 

“Do you need me to look after Jack?” you asked as he sat down on the chair across from you. 

“Please,” he replied, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “Jessica can pick him up at school Wednesday afternoon and take him to her place.”

You nodded, returning the squeeze and trying to alleviate his guilt with an understanding smile. 

“When do you leave?” he asked you then, one of the many elephants in the room finally getting addressed. 

“Friday morning,” you replied and it was his turn to sigh, defeated. As much as you understood his work and just how much he needed it, he also understood your own, your life being far away from D.C., far away from him. He just wanted you all to himself, here with him all the time, and it pained him that he couldn’t have it. 

After allowing himself another moment of sitting in silence, of feeling his emotions and letting them tear his heart into pieces, he stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. He crushed his lips to yours and your hands finally tangled in his hair, his own greedily squeezing your hips. 

“Pizza should be here any minute,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“I got it, don’t worry,” you replied, pressing a closed kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Jack?”

He nodded, reluctantly letting you go as he knelt down beside the lounge chair and woke the boy up. You watched as they said their goodbyes, your fingers coming up to trace your lips where he’d just kissed you, all the conflicting things you were feeling crashing over you at once.

The first phone call came that same night. It was late, you were already asleep when your phone vibrated on the nightstand next to you. You were honestly surprised that you’d heard it, annoyed more so than surprised as your eyes blinked open painfully. 

“Hello?” your voice was deep, hoarse and clearly exhausted. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” his on the other hand was soft and awake. 

“Hi,” you replied, settling back on the soft pillow and closing your eyes. 

“Did I wake you?”

“Mhmm,” you whined and it broke his heart.

“I’m sorry,” to his credit, he did sound sorry. 

“It’s okay,” you mumbled. 

“I just wanted to say goodnight to Jack.” And to you. 

“He fell asleep immediately…” You tried to stay awake, desperately, but sleep was pulling you down, the heat from spending the entire day under the sun had seeped deep into your bones, making them heavy. The current had sinked your boat and you were peacefully sinking under the waves with it. You didn’t even register him calling your name, realizing that you were probably out of it, and finally telling you that he’d call you another time. 

You woke up bright and early the next morning, your senses overwhelmed by just how much his bed smelled like him. 

It was honestly a stupid thought, that the things that were his carried him with them, but it didn’t matter how many times you’d slept here in the past, there was something so all consuming about them now. 

Your three days with Jack went by quickly. You had forgotten how much of a perfect kid he was, how attentive and kind and easy it was to take care of him. Getting him ready for school was a breeze, breakfasts were filled with laughter and him rambling on about the dream he’d had the night before. Once you dropped him off at school, you found yourself missing him more than you ever had, and so you spent your days wandering aimlessly.

On Monday you cleaned the entire house, top to bottom. You put on one of Mr. Hotchner’s records on and drowned the house in music, your voice booming just as loudly as the singer’s, wanting nothing more than to distract yourself from the ache in your chest.

On Tuesday there was a lice outbreak and luckily, Jack was not affected. They still had to shut down the school for the day, so Jack had gotten a half day. You took him to the store to buy enough baking supplies to start your own bakery, and spent the rest of the afternoon making cookies and cupcakes. 

It was around six that your phone rang. You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the two of you. Saucepan forgotten, you immediately crossed the room, fingers fumbling to answer the phone. 

“Hey, give me one second,” you cut him off, putting him on speaker before you stepped out into the hall. “Jack! Your dad’s on the phone!”

“I don’t know if I should be touched or offended that you don’t want to speak with me,” he cracked and you couldn’t help but smile, making your way back to the device on his counter. 

“I always want to talk to you,” you hummed. “But I also know you’re busy and—”

“Dad!” Jack ran into the kitchen, swiping the phone away from you and running right back down the hall. You laughed to yourself, returning to the stove before you burnt something. 

You hadn’t been speaking, not really. Every so often you’d send him a picture of what you were up to and he’d do his best to reply, always short and sweet. He never sent any pictures of his own for obvious reasons, but it still made your heart constrict every time that you woke up the morning after to a missed call from him.

They were on the West Coast, in a small town somewhere in Oregon. At least that’s what you’d gathered from the messages here and there. By Wednesday you said goodbye to Jack at dropoff and told him you’d see him for Christmas. He was, understandably, very upset, since you’d just spent, what he kept calling, the best three days of his life with him. It broke your heart, shattered it into a million pieces, but you reminded him that you didn’t live there anymore and that you had other places to be. Obviously not cooler than spending time with him, but that it was still important. 

Jessica called you that afternoon to let you know that she had Jack and you chatted for a bit. She was always so easy to talk to, her openness to their strange family dynamic almost overwhelmingly supportive. She always remembered your birthday, always sent you a card (one that you knew she’d been making Mr. Hotchner and Jack to sign every year), and always made sure to ask if you were coming back home for any major break.

She liked having you around, liked the extra support you had given them while Jack was out on his own break, liked that the boy clearly loved you and felt safe around you. And after the three days you had spent with him then, it only made sense to start thinking about actually coming back home next summer to help them out, to have an excuse to see him as often as you could. 

You spent Wednesday and Thursday working on the tasks you'd been left with from your internship. They had graciously allowed you to go home after you informed them there was a family emergency, but you still had to meet the weekly quota, just like everyone else. Being in your house alone was...exhausting. It was too quiet, too empty, too devoid of Jack's infectious laugh and...and Mr. Hotchner's low and inviting voice. 

You hadn't spoken to him since you let him know Jessica had picked his son up. You knew he was busy, knew that he probably didn't want to speak to you while his mind was not in the right place, while he was using most of his energy to do his job. He didn't text and so neither did you. And as much as you understood why, the silence had only made your heart clench in pain, your brain already overthinking all the possibilities.

He was supposed to arrive in a few hours, having received the only text he'd sent to tell you that they were about to take off and that he should be back home in a few hours. 

You’d decided to get one last swim in before you returned to your concrete life that was Brooklyn. But if you were being honest with yourself, you just needed a distraction. 

You’d been drowning, quite literally, as the finality of the distance that you were about to put between yourself and Mr. Hotchner loomed closer and closer. Sure, he traveled a lot for work, he was away at least sixty percent of the time…but you had moved away two years ago with the intention of cutting yourself loose of all the ties keeping you in D.C. 

It had been easy to do so, the only one that truly hurt you every day being your mother. But now, after sitting with your overwhelming crush that has snowballed into catching actual feelings for him…was hell.

You needed to talk to him about it, needed to ask him to tell you that everything was going to be okay, that you could make this work, whatever this was. But you also didn’t want to pressure him, didn’t want to pressure yourself to get tied down to something that could very easily not work out.

You were floating on your back, simply allowing the water to gently rock you around the pool when you saw a pair of slacked legs walking towards the edge of the pool. 

“There you are, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I’ve been calling for a whole minute and you didn’t answer.”

You stood yourself up, shooting him an apologetic smile as you walked towards him. 

“'m sorry,” you murmured, the tightening on your heart only squeezing harder now that he was really here. He shot you a smile in response but he looked tired, defeated almost. You could only imagine what it must feel like to walk around with all of that weight, with the burden of the atrocious things they dealt with every day. 

He squatted down next to the edge and you propped yourself up on the space between his legs to pull yourself high enough for his lips to reach yours. The kiss was short and soft, domestic almost, as if you did this every time he came back home from a long case.

You slid back into the water, unable to hold yourself up any longer as an excuse to put some distance between the two of you. You were certain that if he stared at you for even a second longer, he would definitely know there was something wrong, that somehow he’d be able to see into your body and realize just how contorted your heart was.  

“Join me?” you asked, trying to change the subject before it was even brought up. 

He sighed, conflicted. “I don’t think we should, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whined. “I promise I’ll behave.”

He chuckled at that, knowing fully well that you most definitely would not, because he would most certainly not. But he found himself standing back up, quickly shrugging off his button down, the white wife pleaser underneath, his shoes, socks, and pants. You watched him in awe, mouth hanging slightly open as you began to salivate, your desire quickly making you forget all about your painful feelings.

He smirked at you as he sat down on the edge of the pool and slowly lowered himself into it. You hadn’t realized until he stretched his hand out to you that you’d drifted away to the other side of the pool. You took a small, steadying breath, trying to appear as normal as possible before you walked back to him. 

His hands wrapped around you instantly, bringing you into him tightly. It was almost as if he relaxed into you, his breathing deep and steady, a drastic contrast to your rapidly beating heart. You tried so hard to copy his rhythm, to blend into it in a feeble attempt to not raise suspicion, to show him that you were happy he was back.

And it worked...for almost a second. 

“Thank you for taking care of Jack,” he said. 

“It was my pleasure,” you replied almost too quickly. 

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he pulled back, his gaze desperately trying to meet yours. 

You hated him so much, hated how good he was at his job, hated how he could read you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, you were having to use all of your knowledge to just guess how he was feeling. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you lied, your fingers subconsciously fiddling with his hair. He sighed, shifting your core away from his as his hand snaked down to pull your swimsuit bottoms out of the way. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, finally snapping up to meet his but his attention was no longer on your face. 

Before you could question the sudden advance, he plunged his middle finger into you, making you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered, his finger curling upwards to hook against the spot that he somehow knew instinctively would make you come undone. 

You whined, holding onto him tighter. “I’m scared!”

“Of what?”

“This–” he curled his finger again, another moan erupting. “Us– fuck, I’m scared that I won’t be able to see you every day and it’ll mess up whatever this is,” you practically screamed. 

His movements stilled and you decided to foolishly allow yourself to meet his eyes. He was staring at you with what you could only describe as relief? 

You blinked, realizing that he was allowing you to read him like he could read you. You’d said exactly what he was thinking, what he was also holding in, what the heaviness that he carried had been about.

He pressed further into you. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “I want to be yours, all yours.”

“That’s good,” he groaned. “Because I want to be all yours too, sweetheart.”

You whined at his words, the tight grip fear had on your heart releasing just enough to let you breathe again. 

“I thought…” you trailed off, afraid that if you said what you’d thought aloud that he’d hate you. Instead he just waited patiently for you to muster the courage to say what you’d been holding in. “I thought you might only want to fuck me and nothing else.”

He shoved another finger into you at that, as if you say how dare you think that. You moaned again, your body tensing up, your walls pulsing around his fingers, practically keeping them hostage inside of you. 

“So tight,” he mumbled, clearly needing a moment to regain his composure before he spoke again. “I’ve wanted you– to be with you for a while, sweetheart. I was just…afraid of how it could destroy your relationship with your parents.”

The second elephant in the room reappeared and you couldn’t help but get another one of your fears off your chest. 

“Did you know he was…” you trail off before you can finish your sentence but Aaron knew exactly what you wanted to ask him. 

“No, I didn’t,” he shook his head, intensely observing your reaction. When you tensed under his touch he wasted no time to press a soft kiss to your temple. If you didn’t know but now you do then why are you still hanging around with him? That was the second part of your question, of your uneasiness, of your tensing body. 

“To see you,” he murmured against your skin and you pulled back from his touch, far enough to look him in the eyes. “I kept coming back to see you.”

The confession made your stomach flip. You didn’t know how to respond, how to tell him that you’d felt the same way in a way that didn’t make you come across as insane or clingy or immature. So instead you smiled softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his once more. His grip on your body tightened, his lips on yours opened, pulling you further into him. You may not have tomorrow, but you definitely had tonight. 

“I am more than happy and willing to take this slow, to just see where it goes,” he makes it crystal clear, no way to misinterpret his words, no way for you to twist them until you’ve convinced yourself that you’re crazy. Instead you just let your mind free. 

“Please fuck me,” you begged and a groan loudly erupted from his throat. His fingers resumed their fast pace but you whined in response, trying to stop him. “No, I need your cock in me, please.”

He shushed you then, kissing your temple gently as he only doubled down in his forcefulness.

“Let me make you cum first,” he replied. “I gotta stretch you out, you’re so tight.” 

You whimpered then, a symphony of breathy moans as you remembered just how big he’d felt through his pants. If he was telling you he needed to work you up before he could slide inside of you then you would obey. Fuck, the anticipation alone was going to be the death of you. 

The water began to splash over the edge, the constant crashing of waves somehow in perfect synchronicity to the pace he’d set. It quickly became overwhelming, as if your pleasure was so intense it was actually transcending your body and manipulating the world around you.

You moaned into his ear, your hands desperately digging into his back, trying to anchor yourself to him, afraid that you could slip away at any moment. He began peppering kisses along your jaw, each one lower and lower until he was physically unable to reach any more of your skin due to the water level. 

You were so close, so, so, close and he could feel it. Your body had tensed, your toes curled against his lower back, pulling him closer to you. And with one final thrust against the spot inside of you that made you see stars, the band snapped and you were screaming, not caring if the neighbors could hear you. 

He worked you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing down to a bearable pace as you rested your forehead against his chest. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, clearly concerned that you hadn’t said something for a couple of minutes. You nodded against his body, slowly pushing against his chest to face him. 

“Never better,” you replied and his eyebrows shot up in provocation. 

“Do you want to make them a little better?” he teased and you couldn’t help the smile that took over. 

“Yes.”

He pulled his hand out of you and you whined at the loss of contact. 

“Such a greedy girl,” he mocked. “You’re about to be stuffed with my cock and you’re whining about missing my fingers.”

You shivered, eyes darkening as he grabbed a hold of your hand and led you back to the shallow end of the pool. He helped you out of the water, his hands attentive, possessive, never once letting you take a step without being on you.

Once you were out of the water he pulled you into him swiftly, lips back on yours with abandon. You practically melted into his touch, into his embrace, into him. Every thought in your brain was about him, about how soft his lips were, about how he smelled like a warm fire in a forest, about how his rough hands felt on your body, about how desperate he was for you. 

You didn’t even register as he undid the knots of your bathing suit, only felt the cold air against your nipples, making them immediately perk up. The back of his hands accidentally brushed one as he shuffled to discard your top and you moaned into his mouth. The noise that reverberated from him in response was addictive. His eyes snapped open and he pulled back, your own lips chasing his in protest. 

But he didn’t give you a second to figure him out as he arched your back with his hands, his mouth latching onto the nipple he’d just touched. It was your turn to mewl, eyes glossy and hands hungry to dig into him. 

“Aaron,” you whimpered and he froze, ice cold, fully stopping his movements. His mouth softly unlatched from your breast, a thin string of saliva connecting him to you. Your face heated up immediately, the mere thought that you did something to upset him filled your eyes with tears.

“What did you say?” he asked, softly, as if he knew you were feeling like a small little animal and he needed to be careful not to spook you.

“A-Aaron?” you mumble, not even once fully comprehending what you had just done. 

“You’ve never called me Aaron before,” he explained, taking pity on how much your brain was clearly not working at the moment.

You blinked in confusion, a tear accidentally falling down your cheek. He immediately wiped it away, looking down at you with eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

“I’m sorry—” you started, unsure exactly what you’re apologizing for. And he shuts you up with a kiss immediately.

“Say it again,” he groaned against your lips.

“Aaron,” you repeated, his name finally feeling heavy and important on your tongue. 

He places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Again.”

“Aaron.”

Another kiss, this one on your neck. “Again.”

“Aaron,” he licked down to the base of your neck, his teeth greedily sinking into your soft skin as his lips suck. “Fuck, Aaron, please.”

You whined again, the sting of his mouth marking your body absolutely making you lose it. Whatever wits remained evaporated in an instant. When he pulled back, eyes practically raven, face flushed, lips plump and swollen, you couldn’t help the need to reward him. 

Your hands landed on the pronounced outline of his cock against his still wet, black boxers. He wasn’t quick enough to stop you as you wasted no time pulling the fabric off him. Your eyes widened, your breathing hitched in your throat, your hand trembled slightly as you abandoned your efforts to get his boxers down his thighs and instead tentatively returned your hand to hover over his length. 

He was so hard, the vein running along the underside practically pulsating. You tentatively traced it with your nail and he hissed. You smiled to yourself, your full palm replacing your finger as you wrapped your hand around him, slowly pumping him. 

His own hand curled around your wrist, demanding you to stop. Your eyes shot up to finally see him, to see just how clenched his jaw was, just how deep his breathing had become. 

“No, sweetheart,” he huffed. “I need you.”

As if you could both finally read each other’s minds, you untangled yourselves from each other, discarding the clothing that remained on your bodies and tossed it away before his eyes landed on you, on your naked frame, now right in front of him and not far away, separated from him by the haziness of glass. 

His eyes raked lower to your pussy and his brows knitted in surprise. 

“You have a tattoo,” the question blended into a statement as his hand gripped your hip, pulling you forward so that he could see it better. You bit your lip, amused by just how mesmerized he looked. 

“A friend of mine gave it to me first semester,” you explained, omitting the many health code violations, how you’d been high and couldn’t remember actually getting it, or the fact that you had been sleeping with your friend when he did. 

He traced his thumb over it, the placement was lower than your hip, easily hidden by your underwear and small enough that he’d never been able to make it out at a distance. His thumb dug into the center of the shitty heart then, anchoring his grip as he pulled you back to him. You moaned at the sting and it only spurred him on, the realization that you liked it when he hurt you igniting a fire in him. 

His other arm hooked under your ass, lifting you over his shoulder. You gasped loudly, your confusion quickly turning into a fit of giggles as he moved you both towards the lounge chair that you had rearranged earlier that week to face his house. 

He made sure to hook his foot around the pants he’d discarded earlier, kicking them forward with his foot, making sure that they landed right against the chair. He then unlatched the backrest and quickly set you down on it, your entire body over the comfortable foam cushion your mother had bought last year just for the Hotchners. 

He knelt between your legs, hands running down your body to pry them open for him. It didn’t take much as you opened yourself up to him eagerly. He grinned, the smile that graced you one that you’d never seen from him before, one that even he couldn’t remember when he’d smiled like that last.

Before he forgot, he reached over to where he’d thrown his pants, growing impatient as he struggled to pull out his wallet and procure a single silver wrapper from it. You’d been so consumed by the moment that you hadn’t even thought about protection. 

You thought about telling him not to, that you were on birth control and that as far as you were concerned you were clean. But you had no idea where he’d been, not that talking about his sexual partners bothered you, but bringing it up now did not seem like the right time.

“Someone was sure of himself,” you teased, watching him roll on the sheer latex over himself with more concentration than you’d ever seen from him before, and that was saying a lot. 

He retaliated by slamming his tip into you without warning. Your head fell back, a moan rocking through you and down to your core, the waves reverberating against him, causing him to take a sharp, steadying breath.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he panted, a little condescending and you swallowed the urge to fight back, to resume the game you’d started when you called him daddy. He didn’t know just how deep you were willing to go, how much fun the two of you would have. 

But tonight wasn’t the night for it. You needed him, craved him, desperately demanded that he fill the ache between your legs. You nodded, your hands gripping the cushion below you.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your need to anchor yourself, his ego boosted so high he had no idea how he was supposed to come back down. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, not when you were laid out in front of him like a buffet, what he’d been starving for the only thing on the menu now.

His left hand wrapped around your thigh, opening you further. You propped your other leg over the armrest, and he pushed forward. He had not been lying, fortunately for you. He stretched you painfully, practically stuffing you full. 

He made it halfway into you when you hissed, one of your hands shooting up to wrap around his bicep, urging him to stop. He stilled immediately, slowly rocking his hips back to slide out of you before slowly pushing himself back in. 

That’s when you fell, your arms giving out under you. An accomplished grin lit up his features. He sat himself back up on his heels to tower over you. Your hand sliding down to the one he’d wrapped around your leg, your fingers lacing with his, almost like a pinky promise as he continued his slow rhythm, never giving you too much, never forcing your body to take anything it wasn’t ready for. 

You could practically feel the wetness dripping out of you, coating him more and more with every thrust. He could clearly feel it too, the slick making it easier for him to slide in and out of you each time.

He took it as an indication to keep going. He thrust back into you, pushing himself just an inch further than before. You were a mess of whines and whimpers, your back arching in response, needing him fully in you. 

“Please, Aaron,” you slurred. “More.”

He pulled out of you completely, the desire to see himself slam back into you fully overwhelming. His hips pushed forward, easily sliding himself inside to the hilt, your ass slapping against his hips beautifully. He moaned then, his hands flying to your hips, locking you in place. You whimpered, your head craning up enough to see there was no space left between the two of you. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled, your walls clenching around him unconsciously. 

His eyes shut close in pleasure at your movement, jaw clenching, fingers digging into your skin deeper. You took him in, on the verge of coming undone, on the verge of cumming in seconds like a teenage boy that didn’t know how to stop himself. 

You giggled, your warm laughter bringing him back to you as he realized what you were laughing about. He scoffed, blush creeping over his cheeks in the most adorable way. You clenched around him again, deliberate and mean. He almost screamed then, the moan that left his lips guttural and raw. 

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he huffed. “I don’t want to cum yet, give me a second, alright?”

You sighed, feigning annoyance, but respected his request, unclenching your muscles to give him a moment of respite. Your hands began to draw circles over his own, nails slowly dragging up his arms and towards his chest, gentle, curious, exploring.

You took your time, diligently running your fingers over every ridge, every dip, every single one of the scars that littered his abdomen. They were smaller now and faded from what they had been when he was first attacked, but you knew they were there.

He hadn’t told you the full story, hadn’t really mentioned it aside from briefly alluding to it when he was forced to explain a comment Jack had made in passing one time, a comment about his mother. But you’d noticed them years ago, and as much as he could act like he was over it, like he was comfortable being shirtless around you, you needed him to know that he was safe, that he could trust you.

He didn’t flinch under your touch, instead he hummed, his own hands shifting their grip on you to show you how much he appreciated your touch.

“Did you catch the bad guy?” you asked suddenly. He turned to face you with a scolding expression, this is clearly not the time for this. It only made you laugh again, embarrassed. “What? Thinking about gross things helps!”

“I don’t want to ever think about that when I’m with you, got it?” he commanded.

“Yes, sir,” you replied and his eyes darkened once more, whatever fear of bursting immediately leaving his body as lustful greed flooded back in, emboldening him.

“What you called me the other day,” he started, somehow both confident in what he wanted to ask and yet boyishly shy about it. “Are you okay with that?”

“What did I call you?” you acted dumb, so dumb indeed that it got you another powerful, forceful jam of his cock. You squealed, his tip now uncomfortably pressing deeply into you. “No, daddy, ’s too much,” you whined, your voice hitching into a sweet, high pitch that made his cock twitch inside of you. “It hurts.”

“Too deep?” he asked in his normal voice, making sure to check in with you. You nodded, desperate for him to pull back, and he immediately returned to the comfortable pain. You let out a deep breath, air filling your lungs again. He was concerned, but more than anything he was turned on, the desire to ruin you too strong. “I’m going to start moving, alright?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mumbled and he groaned loudly, his cock practically taking on a life of its own and making him react in a way he’d never experienced before. 

Aaron understood what desire was, he knew what it felt like, knew what to do with it, but this? This wasn’t desire. This was debilitating, allconsuming, painful almost. His brain disconnected from his body, it was as though he was floating next to his body as well as feeling everything that was happening around him, to him, because of him. 

He wanted to consume you, wanted to lose himself to the perfect sounds coming out of you, wanted to feel your tightness around him all the time, wanted to drown and stay at the bottom of your waters forever. 

His moans danced with yours in a delicate choir ensemble, the slapping of your bodies coming together becoming the bass keeping the pace, the rattling of the lounge chair against the concrete floor the percussion, the scrapping of the mattress against the plastic the strings – it was all too much, too good, too perfect. 

“I’m close, sweetheart,” he whined. “Rub your clit for me.”

Whatever coherent thoughts were left in you forced your body to obey immediately, your shaky hand landing in between your bodies. Your fingers were met with a lewd amount of slick, your clit puffy and screaming out to be touched. You rolled your fingers over it and the sensitivity sent you into overdrive, a snap of electricity running all the way down to your opening. 

He moaned in response, your core starting to tighten with each thrust, with each touch. The pressure was tight, tighter, desperately trying to force your dam to burst. 

“Daddy,” you whimpered. “Daddy, please, please, please, please–”

“Cum, sweetheart, cum all over me,” he demanded and you let it break. Waves of pleasure crashed against you, your entire body shaking, thrashing, slamming against his. Your moans turned into whines, you dug into his forearms, your legs hooked around his waist, pulling him further into you, locking him in place. 

The second he felt you clench against him, the second he felt your core tighten, your slick warm his entirety, your nails digging into his arms so hard he wouldn’t be surprised you drew blood – he lost it. He managed to thrust into you two more times before he slammed himself as far as he could inside of you, not caring if it was uncomfortable for you. 

He came hot and hard into the condom, his own pleasure blurring his vision, making his own body shake against yours, making his heart feel like it had skipped a beat. He stopped breathing for a few seconds, the sensations too overwhelming for his body to remember that it needed to breathe to survive. 

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling as if you’d just ran a marathon. Your nails had stopped digging into his skin but he barely registered the lack of pain. It wasn’t until you ran your fingers over the indents in his arms that he opened his eyes, seeking yours immediately. 

You waited until his gaze met yours as if it was about time it did. You smiled lazily at him, completely spent, content, satisfied. He returned the smile, allowing himself to lower his body down over yours. His chest pressed against your own, softly caging you, holding you captive as his aching lips found yours. 

This kiss was unlike any of the ones you’d shared, unlike any of the ones you had shared with anyone before. It was definitive, possessive, claiming you as his, and yet it was unbearably gentle, playful, wholesome. 

He was the first to pull back for air, but he didn’t move away, instead he pressed his forehead to yours, his gaze unflinching, trying to communicate so much with no words at all. It was like he was making sure to savor every last drop, committing the sight and feeling of you to memory. 

Aaron took much of his life for granted, the routine of it all having numbed him to most things that other people would deem as exciting or fulfilling. The only area of his life where that wasn’t the case was his son. That little boy made everything worthwhile, every battle worth fighting, every day worth living. And now, looking at you, feeling how good he’d made you feel, he knew had found something else, someone else, that made him feel excited for what the next day could bring. That made him feel fulfilled in more ways than he could yet comprehend. 

Whatever doubts you’d had, whatever walls you had started to put up to protect yourself now laid crumbled all around you. He was right from the start, you were his, whatever that happened would happen, the best that you could do was ride the waves and see where they would lead you. All that did matter was that he was there and that you knew that he was also yours. 

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This chapter was a blast to write after all the angst that Moments has killed me with.

My requests are open! I have a few chapter ideas for Mr. Hotchner but I would love to hear what y’all would like to see. Even if it doesn’t make it into the actual series, I will try to write some cute lil blurbs.

And also, because I’m a writer that needs validation, please leave me comments or love letters if you’d like to remain anon. I need the praise and love, thank you 🩷

Ps. The next chapter is titled Guest Lecturer so you can imagine what kind of debauchery I’m about to write.

Pss. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[daytaker]

For What It's Worth

Mammon has questions, but he doesn't necessarily want answers.

Ship: Mammon x Reader...? Word Count: 603 Cross-Posted on AO3

Answer me honestly. Am I the same as my brothers to you?

I can’t figure that out.

I shouldn’t be. I should be special. I was the first one, ya know. First one you made a pact with, yeah, but also I was takin’ care of you and all that garbage even before that happened. Lucifer put me in charge of ya. So I’m the most special one. I want you to treat me like I’m the most special one. I really…want to be the most special one. I’m never anyone’s special anything.

I know that’s probably kind of a shock, seein’ how much I’m respected around here, but it’s true. My brothers never come to me when they need help. If they’re lookin’ for me, it’s almost always ‘cause they want me to pay them back some ancient debt I forgot about years ago. But you’re not my brother. You’re not even a demon. So… I mean, what do you think? I’m pretty awesome, ain’t I?

For what it’s worth, y’know… You’re the number one human in my book. And I ain’t just sayin’ that! You’re one of a kind, you know that? Maybe that’s why I want you to see me like that too. Like I’m worth somethin’. Like I’m worth keepin’ around.

Agh. I hate when I start talkin’ like this. I sound so mopey. And maybe I wouldn’t normally say this to you, but I really…I need you to like me. You don’t gotta be in love with me or any crap like that! I mean, I’m not sayin’ I’d have a problem with that, but just…like me. At least like me. I feel like if someone like you thinks I’m worth a damn, then everyone’ll see it. They all listen to what you’ve got to say. So if you happened to be in the middle of a conversation and you went out of your way a little and said, “Damn, you know, that Mammon is one reliable guy.” Somethin’ like that? If you did that, then people would realize I’m actually pretty awesome.

You believe that, right? That I’m reliable? I mean, I get it, I’m shit at payin’ back loans and all that, but have I ever left ya in the lurch? Never! I always go lookin’ for ya, no matter what stupid crap you get yourself into! Nobody ever mentions that. It’s always, “Mammon’s such a scumbag, he owes me 20,000 Grimm,” or “Mammon’s such a loser, he’s always borrowin’ something from somebody. It’s so pathetic!” One of the drawbacks of livin’ in hell. Folks seem to always get hung up on the negatives. But you, you’re no demon, so you probably see things different. You probably see me different! 

…I wanna know how you see me. I wish I could just ask. Why’s everything so damn difficult?

How do you see me? Am I a scumbag who’d do anything for a Grimm? Am I an idiot who sold his freedom for a credit card? Am I at least kinda funny to be around? I think I could be alright with that.

But am I more than that? Am I a friend ya can count on? Am I a friend you can trust with anything? Am I more than a friend?

…

That’s what I wanna ask. I wanna ask if I’m more than a friend. But I don’t know if I wanna know the answer.  So let’s just keep things how they are. You’re still a rock star. I’m still a dumbass. But, you know… for what it’s worth…

I’m your dumbass.

[nyasbae]

sleep deprived

pairings: gustavo fring x fem!reader

summary: your boss noticed you’re overworking yourself and decides to do something about it.

a/n: gus got that email rizz

warnings: really messy lol

masterlist

You couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t. Gus had you making ninety pounds worth of meth every week, and due to your partners’ sudden disappearance, you were stuck doing all the work by yourself. You sighed, thinking back to how you got into this position.

You were a just a broke college student, trying to pay off your loans when you you met Jesse. You knew each other back in high school, and now he was your dealer. The two of you became buddies and one day you walked in on him and Walt talking about somebody named Gustavo Fring, the owner of a fast food restaurant with an undercover drug business.

You needed money and you convinced them to let join in. Realizing that the “the more the merrier” shit you had pulled really was just that, shit. After they had taught you the recipe, you ended up doing everything, always.

Gus had put to lines under the deadlines, signifying that if you didn’t get this done in time — there’d be consequences. At the same time you had a lot of due college assignments, and skipping all your lectures. So you practically lived in the lab, sleeping and eating there, until you had no time for either of those things.

You were leaning against the counter with a hand on your jaw, steadying your face. Your eyes shut and light snores coming out of your mouth. As Gus inspected your face, he realized you’d never once look so peaceful as you did in that moment.

“I see you’re getting a lot of work done,” he commented, knowing it’d wake you. Gus needed to talk to you about this. He had cameras everywhere and had been paying very close attention to how much time you’d been spending at the lap. You had your laptop and school books there, a few snacks and amount less cups of coffee.

The sudden sound of his voice startled you as you woke up with a final snore. “Shit– I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t even notice I was, uh’falling asleep” your slurred, your words blurring together due to your grogginess. You looked up at him with lazy eyes.

Gus looked at you through his glasses, his expression as emotionless as usual. You thought you saw a glimpse of emotion in his eyes, though it was probably just your sleep deprivation making you see things. Gustavo Fring doesn’t care for anyone. Especially not some random meth cook who can’t even do her job right… right?

“You should get home and get some rest, ___. Your drowsiness is affecting your work performance.” Stated as a fact, though functioning more as an excuse.

“I can’t, sir! I’ve only made like, half of the meth I was supposed to and–“ you rambled on, but he interrupted you almost instantly. “Stop it, ___! You have done your part. Your partners’s neglect of their responsibilities is not your problem,” as he shushed you, his expression remained the same though his voice got notably more aggressive. “I’ll consider getting you new partners, you’ve mastered the arts of cooking now.” In that moment, you couldn’t be bothered by his comment on your friends; all you wanted to do was go back to sleep.

“Are you absolutely sure? I’ll get back to work as soon as I wake up, I promise!” You insisted, and he shook his head. “No, you’ll have the rest of the week off,” he said. “I value your effort but I cannot have your drowsiness affect my product.” Gus explained while putting a gentle yet firm hand on your shoulder. You eyed the hand and as did he, though he didn’t let go before he you reluctantly agreed.

“Alright, I guess,” you sighed. He smiled professionally as he took out his notebook, scribbling something something. “Fantastic! Write down your email and we can discuss your work ethic further.” He demanded suggested, handing you a note and a pen. You smiled as you messily wrote down your email address and gave it back to him.

When you went to sleep that night all you could think about was your interaction earlier, and how this might’ve been his stiff attempt at flirting with you. Although you figured this could’ve easily been your head playing tricks on you agin.

When you woke up the next morning you noticed a gmail notification. Written bellow a gusfr@gmail.com it read:

Hello, I hope you slept a worthwhile and woke up energetic and better. I suggest we meet up at my restaurant to further discuss our game plan.

Sincerely, Gustavo Fring.

Did Gustavo Fring just ask out out on a date?

[lookingglasswolf]

Charlie Dalton Head Cannon

So I watched Shaking the Tree (Duane Clark) recently, and I was thinking about how much Sully resembles Charlie.

(fair warning - this is kind of a long one and it's a little tragic, but it does have a good ending) My hc for Charlie is set years after Neil's death and Charlie having gotten expelled from Welton for punching Cameron. Charlie is devastated by having lost his best friend and goes on to continuously blame himself for not having talked with Neil head on when he had seen even the smallest of signs - for not having done something, anything to prevent it. Without Mr. Keating's guidance and Neil being around to help ground him, Charlie does not bother with getting back into school. He is still the "rich-boy" of his parents who are emotionally unavailable to him when he needs it the most. They are disappointed in him and his "antics" that robbed him of opportunities he may have had at Welton, and they ground him and give him the cold shoulder. Everything that happened causes his relationship with them to continue to falter and he decides to 'take out' (or rather steal) a loan from them in order to move to New York and get away from everything. Charlie stays in touch with the other dead poets like Knox and Todd when he can, but rather than settling into a downward spiral, they have been inspired by Neil's legacy and most of them have gone on to college so they can study in order to become positive influencers of their own (teachers, writers, lawyers, etc.). Charlie feels as if he is the only one who is still grappling with what he wants to do with his life. He doesn't say it outright but he's envious that the other poets are doing well out there. What he'd said in the cave years ago during one of the DPS meetings still rings true (pulled from the book):

Fastforward 10 years later and Charlie is still just as much of a free spirit as ever, but lately it's gotten more out of hand. He's gotten in with a bad crowd and developed a gambling addiction (it feels good to take risks!) and a drinking problem as an attempt to numb his ongoing pain. He usually drinks when there is no feasible distraction or cheap thrill to keep his mind occupied. One night he goes too far after a few drinks and has a meltdown late at night in front of his new friends. He can't get Neil's death out of his head; it has haunted him ever since and he can almost feel his ghost in the room. He gets ahold of a gun and has to be talked down by his new friends, which proves to be a difficult feat since they are not on the same level of friendship as the dead poets. "You know what is funny? Or maybe pathetic is a better word...Look at me. I'm 27 years old. I still don't have a clue what I'm doin' with my life. I don't know...I don't know! I don't know what I'm doin'...I don't even know what I wanna do! I hate my life! There's a pain inside of me...and it's just gettin' worse..." -Sully aka Charlie (Shaking the Tree - Duane Clark) Pics below: (these are taken from Shaking the Tree and Dead Poets Society but just look how similar the setting is compared to Mr. Perry's study - thought that was kind of eerie)

Charlie has a close call in which the gun goes off, but merely grazes and stuns him while his friends hold him and console him. He gets through the night alive and apologizes once he has sobered up - this is a side to him that he doesn't want anyone to see. The experience jars him enough that he decides to reach out to Knox and the rest of the dead poets, and initiate a meeting after all this time. Although he had very nearly met a similar end to Neil, he is now desperate to keep going in his honor. He knows in his heart that Neil would have wanted that for him.

⁽⁽ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᶦᵗ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᶠᵃʳ ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᵗʳᵘˡʸ ᵍʳᵃᵗᵉᶠᵘˡ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗᶦᶜᵏᶦⁿᵍ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᶦᵏᵉᵈ ᵐʸ ʰᶜ ᵇᶜ ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉⁿ'ᵗ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ˢᵃᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈᵒⁿᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ⁾⁾

[moni-logues]

shit i think i send it wrong... hehe. it was Namjoon plus color pink plus strangers to lovers plus library (i just had to, i have a thing for smart bookworm Nam)

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (gn)

Genre: strangers-to-lovers, sfw

Summary: The handsome stranger who's started coming to the library where you work might just one day work up the courage to ask you out.

Content: nothing to be warned for

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: I actually ummed and ahhed about posting this as a response to this request because, whilst it was prompted by it, I kind of want to keep the request on the backburner and do something a little more with it one day, maybe? BUT also like, when will I have the time when I have 5000 other things I want to write too 😅😅 so for the time being, have what amounts to little more than a post-meet-cute situation lol. I hope you enjoy it anyway, anon! Thank you for requesting!

Murakami

A book hit the desk to your left and you turned from your computer to look up. 

Fuck. 

It was him again.  

You glanced at the book. Murakami again.  

“Big fan?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual as you slid his library card towards yourself across the desk to scan. “That’s your third Murakami in a row!” 

The man blinked behind his glasses and paused with his mouth slightly open for a second, surprised. You immediately regretted saying anything and appearing like some kind of stalker in reverse; he showed up at your workplace but you were the one keeping tabs on him. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean-, I’m not- it's here.” You gestured vaguely to your computer where his loan history was listed. “It shows all the things you’ve taken out; I'm not-. I don’t... I don’t remember everyone’s loans...” 

That was true, for the most part, but not for him.  

He had moved recently and your library (well, it wasn’t yours, but it was where you worked) was now his local. He came in frequently; he ordered many books through the inter-library loan system; he reserved books that were unavailable; he picked new things from the displays. He seemed to have an interest in everything. At the moment, that interest was mostly all the novels of Haruki Murakami. 

“This one’s my favourite,” you told him as you picked it up to scan.  

“Oh really?” 

“Yup.” 

“What others have you read?” 

You looked at him as you slid the book back to him with his library card. 

“All of them.” 

His eyes widened. 

“Really? All?” 

You nodded back and he had the decency to look a little impressed. 

“Then I look forward to reading your favourite. I’ll let you know what I think.” 

“Absolutely, but only if you like it.” 

He laughed and you smiled, trying not to look like you were about to lose your mind because this was the longest conversation you’d had with this handsome stranger since he first came to the library and your heart fell at his feet. You could feel your shirt start to stick to your back as sticky, nervous sweat pricked on your skin; your face was aflame and you prayed he wouldn’t notice; your heart was beating so fast and so loud, you could hear the blood roaring in your ears like a jet engine. 

Let’s be clear, you weren’t usually like this. No one turned your head like this. Ever. You were notorious amongst your friends for being cool – cool to the point of being cold. You were hard to win over; you were a stalwart friend-to-lover. You needed that base, that foundation; the safety of familiarity, the uncovering of a person before you were in too deep, that was what you needed from a new romantic connection. 

Until a man named Kim Namjoon walked up to the library counter one Thursday morning and you lost your mind completely.  

There wasn't much remarkable about him, not really. He was good-looking enough: a little above average height; a little slimmer than average build, maybe; a deep voice which he used to be friendly and polite, a little hushed in the quiet of your workplace; he was just a guy. Just A Guy. With soft, shiny black hair and thick-rimmed glasses that he didn’t always wear. A guy who read anything and everything you recommended to him and- 

Was that why he was reading Murakami? You suddenly remembered a portion of his first visit that had been, until now, lurking deep in the darkness of your embarrassment. You had been so flustered by your immediate, intense reaction to him that most of that conversation had been erased from your memory through some kind of automated self-preservation. But out of the gloam, it came. You told him Murakami was one of your favourite authors. You laughed when Namjoon trotted out the usual criticisms of his work—criticisms you didn’t necessarily disagree with but which, nonetheless, didn’t ruin the enjoyment you got from his books. You responded archly, you now remembered, a little curt, a little too strongly. Namjoon caught your tone and changed tack; he promised that he would read Murakami for himself and see.  

Your heart raced even faster and you thought it would work itself to arrest if you didn’t find a way to calm the fuck down very, very soon.  

Was Namjoon reading Murakami because you said you liked him? If he was, what did that mean? Nothing? Everything? 

* 

You spent a week obsessing over it. You hadn’t told a single one of your friends about Namjoon because you knew you wouldn’t be able to stand the ridicule, the teasing, the questions. They noticed you were distracted, tense, a little tetchy, a little weirder than you usually were. You told them it was nothing, you were fine.

You decided you had to take matters into your own hands. You had to ask him. You had to ask him something anyway, get something out of him. You had assumed this was a silly workplace crush; you had assumed, firstly, that you would get over it and, secondly, that it would never be reciprocated.  

You’d been wrong before.  

* 

“What did you think?” you asked when Namjoon walked up to the desk and handed over the book he had taken last week. “Think you’ve given Murakami a fair shot? Care to make a judgement?”  

He had been preparing this answer since before he took this book out last week. He hadn’t intended to read another Murakami, but, when he’d reached the library and looked over at you, with your ponytail and pink, fuzzy jumper that you clearly favoured and which he thought you looked so cute in, he knew he was going to bottle it. So he’d picked up one more book that said Murakami on the spine and bought himself another week’s reprieve.  

He had also forbidden himself for chickening out again. It had been too long now and he wasn’t usually this shy about this stuff. He had asked a person on a date before; it wasn’t rocket science and it wasn’t the end of the world if you said no. You just made him so nervous. 

“Y’know,” he began, tapping his finger against the book’s cover in a way that he hoped came across thoughtful rather than nervous. “I think I agree with you, actually.” 

You face broke into a victorious smile that he could see you try to stifle. 

“Naturally... I am always right.” 

“Always right in matters of opinion?” 

“I’m afraid so, yeah; you’d better get used to it.” 

He laughed; this was going better than he’d expected. He couldn’t be 100% certain, but he was fairly sure this could be counted as conversation that was almost bordering flirtation. It was, at least, the most casual and familiar you had been so far. That had to mean something. 

“So which one are you taking this time?” you asked him, pre-emptively pulling up the library catalogue to see which Murakamis you had on the shelves.  

“Actually, I think I’m going to read something different this week.” 

“Oh, you like Murakami so much you want to stop reading him?” 

His stomach flipped; you were teasing him. He was used to being teased by his friends but this made him flustered. You made him flustered. 

“Yeah, exactly.” He laughed. “No, I just have a new project I’m working on and I need some references, want to do some research, you know.” 

You sighed performatively. 

“I suppose I can allow that.” 

You looked up at him and he had to will the blood from his face; you looked expectant, just a little haughty, and then you raised an eyebrow in question and he was amazed he didn’t pop an entire boner right there in the library.  

“What are you looking for?” 

You.  

That was what Namjoon wanted to say. If he had been a different person, maybe he would have. And maybe it would have come out cool and cocky in a not-off-putting way. And maybe you’d have liked it.  

But it wasn’t what he said. What he said was that he had a list of books on the history of fine art that he needed and which you dutifully looked up and pointed him towards.  

As he walked away from the library a little while later, laden with books, he cursed himself. Next time. Next time he’d ask you out for sure.  

Or he’d pick up another Murakami. 

[laconicmoon]

🇵🇸low spoons, low income ways to support a free palestine🇵🇸

For many low-income and/or disabled activists, we can't always do the obvious things to support Palestine like donating money or going to protests. I'm compiling this list to remind myself what I *can* do, and I'm hoping it might help some other people too.

Disclaimer: you might not find all of these to be low spoons for you--maybe drawing is physically difficult, or phone calls are distressing. These are just ideas! Please ignore and adapt them to suit your needs and abilities <3

🍉Get creative with stickers, posters, zines, whatever!

Adhesive shipping labels from USPS ship to your house for free (if you live in the US). You can order up to 750 at a time! Draw a Palestinian flag or "Free Gaza" on there and stick them everywhere (it's actually quite easy to vandalize without getting caught).

If you want to go bigger, try a wheatpaste, and if you have access to a printer or copier, leave some zines around (tutorial, canva template). If you are housebound, you can give them to a friend to spread around for you.

You can also make signs and have someone else take them to a protest. If you're a sewist, make a puppet or wearable patches!

🍉Display a Palestinian flag or pro-Palestine sign in your window

If you live in an area where this isn't safe, or if you don't have your own space, assess the risk before you do this. You could also put up a more subtle symbol, such as a watermelon, if you are nervous about backlash.

🍉Contact your reps!

I know people say this all the time, but for my US-based friends, some pointers to make it take as few spoons as possible--

Democracy.io makes it super easy to email both your senators and your representative at the same time.

Faxzero.com allows you to send a fax straight to your reps' printers. Not all of their offices have this enabled, but I've heard faxes are more direct than emails.

If you don't know what to say, you can adapt this template (it's a bit outdated). Or just write "Free Palestine" or "Ceasefire Now." Something is better than nothing!

🍉Participate in phone zaps

Often times, organizations like USPCN or Jewish Voice for Peace will ask for people to call a person or organization to put pressure on them, such as demanding that a university drop charges against student protestors. Monitor those accounts and, if you're up for it, call or leave a message. Or, you could even text the group chat and conduct your own phone zap!

🍉Check out library books about Palestine

You also may be able to request that your library purchase certain titles, or request titles they don't have through interlibrary loan!

🍉Write a letter to the editor

You can write either to a local paper or a school paper, if you're a student or alum. This is a great way to break out of the echo chamber--local papers often have an intergenerational audience.

🍉Send in a public comment to a city council meeting

Many cities have the option to send in a public comment electronically! So if you can't make it to an in-person meeting, this is a good option, especially if your city is trying to pass a ceasefire resolution.

🍉Attend online Jewish Voice for Peace "Power Half-Hour for Gaza"

JVP's Power Half-Hours are a wonderful space to grieve, process, and build stamina for the fight to come. Monday through Friday, 3pm ET/ 12pm PT, 30 minutes of solidarity-building and reflection facilitated by Jewish leaders but open to all. You can pre-register to join on Zoom or stream on YouTube.

🍉Support friends who go to protests/actions

That can be as simple as texting them before and after and making sure they are safe, lending them a bandana or rain gear, or providing a place to decompress afterward! If you have an animal that does well in crowds, consider allowing a trusted friend to take them to a protest or encampment for a short time. Seeing dogs in keffiyehs always makes my day <3

---

🍉Other Considerations and Reminders 🍉

Focus on the long haul. It's more important to create a pace of activism that's sustainable for you than it is to do everything all the time.

"Ought" implies "can." If you are unable to do something, or if it would be very difficult for you to do so, you are in no way obligated to do that thing!

Block words on social media if you need to. In a similar vein, you do not need to force yourself to constantly watch graphic videos or read upsetting posts. Yes, Gaza has asked us to bear witness to the atrocities there--"All Eyes on Gaza Now" is a common chant for a reason. But that doesn't mean you, specifically, must doomscroll forever.

Please reblog with your own favorite ways to advocate for Palestine when you're broke and spoonless 🇵🇸 🇵🇸

[russenoire]

Getting to Know You Meme

tagged by @ygodmyy20! thankee kindly.

01) are you currently in a serious relationship? nope. can't say i miss it.

02) what was your dream growing up? i had a new one every month. the one that stuck around the longest was 'astronaut' until i learned that NASA's manned space program hasn't done much since skylab, outside of testing the limits of human endurance in low earth orbit. still cool! but i'll keep my unnaturally dense bones, thanks.

03) what talent do you wish you had? the talent to work any job i wanted without medication.

04) if someone bought you a drink what would it be? a cocktail of some sort. most likely a gin and tonic, a negroni or a mojito.

05) favorite vegetable? too many to count. easier for me to tell you what i don't like: green beans. if they're only palatable tempura-fried, i don't need them in my life.

06) what was the last book you read? currently working through your brain's not broken, by tamara rosier, ph.d.

07) what zodiac sign are you? virgo. and no, i don't wanna hear about how virgos are hyper-organized control freaks. i am neither of these things.

08) any tattoos and/or piercings? five in a single ear, one in the other. two make up an industrial piercing. i have no tattoos but want one of the kageyama brothers from mp100 someday.

09) worst habit? getting too hung up on the 'right time' to do things.

10) what is your favorite sport? to play? dodgeball. to watch? either figure skating or tennis.

11) do you have a pessimistic or optimistic attitude? recovering pessimist here. i'm optimistic about some things and nihilistic about others.

12) tell me one weird fact about you. i never learned to ride a bicycle.

13) do you have any pets? no. i love cats and regularly-washed dogs though.

14) do you think clowns are cute or scary? i don't have a strong opinion about clowns, tbh.

15) if you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be? nothing. anything i can change is changeable.

16) what color eyes do you have? brown.

17) ever been arrested? nope.

18) bottle or can soda? bottle. though i don't soda very often.

19) if you won $10,000 today, what would you do with it? pay off my student loans and save the rest.

20) what's your favorite place to hang out at? a vedanta temple in the foothills here, or a park on a hill with a historic frank lloyd-wright-designed home.

21) do you believe in ghosts? maybe. i know people who can see them.

22) favorite thing to do in your spare time? singing. or learning.

23) do you swear a lot? very much so.

24) biggest pet peeve? how long you got? we could be here all week.

25) in one word, how would you describe yourself? iconoclastic.

26) do you believe in/appreciate romance? *shrug* i believe in and appreciate love, wherever it comes from.

27) favourite and least favourite food? does anyone have a single favorite? anyone? i do not. least favorite food is canned vegetables, except for beets and corn.

28) do you believe in god? i believe in the divine, a Self that we are one with and all have access to. whatever you choose to call that is up to you.

29) what makes you happy: soft fluffy things, palpable texture in weaves and knits, sweet or creamy fruits, singing and/or listening to music, my friends, learning something new.

30) currently listening/the last thing you listened to: hiroko suzuki, 'bara wa utsukushiku chiru'.

31) favorite place to spend time: at home.

32) favorite lyric: 'love is like the scabs from sunburn' from the OP to kenda master ken.

33) recommend a film: at random? good morning, by yasujirō ōzu.

34) recommend a book: oranges are not the only fruit, by jeannette winterson; islands, the universe, home, by gretel ehrlich.

35) Recommend a band, a song, or album: uchikubi gokumon doukoukai, 'shufu no michi' (way of the house-husband)

36) recommend a TV show: rose of versailles. soapy as hell, but great if you love historical dramas and anime. it's fairly well-researched too.

37) where are you from, and do you still live there? Where have you lived? the pacific north american coast; i'm still here. i've lived in texas and georgia, USA.

38) do you have any pets or animals in your life? how did you find/get them? no pets.

39) what's the most unusual thing you've ever eaten? bull penis. 0/10 do not recommend. the most unusual thing i've actually enjoyed is probably fried crickets.

40) how did you 'find' fandom? got obsessed with a story and wanted to share that love with other people. didn't happen until my mid-thirties though with steven universe.

41) make a list of 5 things that you see without getting up. a heat gun, a soldering iron that i have never used for actual soldering, the laptop i'm typing this on, the laptop connected to my projector, a plastic mask.

42) how do you style your hair? usually a tall bun. my hair is long enough to sit on and this keeps it out of my way.

as always, no pressure: @yaraneechan @eshithepetty @impmansloot @gumy-shark @sukunekatano

@cheese-enjoyer9471 @sulfurousmirrorscapes @creativenicocorner or anyone else who sees this and wants to!

[blue-mostacho]

~Cherry Bomb~

Warnings: mentions of SA (not detailed), alcohol and drug abuse.

I decided to just change up a little bit the introduction of the prologue. I hope it doesn't disappoint you guys, it doesn't mean that the Billy romance is completely out of the table. That's not the case AT ALL, like, not even close. I just chose to change it up a little bit so it fits better the fic as it could lead anywhere.

I chose two songs to accompany this first chapter, you will find a symbol with the name of the song right at the beginning. As you read the chapter, the symbol will appear signaling the moment you need to play the songs and when to stop them.

Before you start reading it, please read the prologue for full context.

You can find it here.

I hope you enjoy!

Previous part (prologue), just in case bc I panic xd

Chapter One - Bruises and burgers.

★ Afraid - The neighborhood

☆ Kickstar my heart - Mötley Crüe

The tick-tack coming from the clock hanging on the wall is giving me an eye tick. I roll my eyes as the boredom is driving me nuts, yawning I stretch my back, lifting my arms. Another shitty day at work with shitty customers and shitty coworkers. I'm not very fond of people, I've never really had a lot of friends, in fact, I don't even recall having friends as a little girl. Of course, I had a couple of kids with whom I would play at recess, but that was it. In high school, I would hang out with different groups of people, but I never felt like I really belonged to any of them. It wasn't their fault though, I just didn't feel that way, you know? Like, I never had no one to rely on. On the other hand people didn't seem very pleased with my presence either, so...

It never bothered me too much, I liked being alone. I used to spend a lot of time in my head, making up stories of all sorts, fake scenarios and adventures. I had fun that way. My whole life revolved around books and comics, movies, and any other medium that would enrich my imagination. Although I must say that over the last few years, I have met some wonderful people, like Don. I met Don a couple of years ago, I'd landed a pretty decent job at an arcade in California, and the paycheck wasn't bad at all, he was my coworker. He wasn't into video games or comic books, but he needed the money to pay for school loans. Since I liked working there, the thought of settling down, getting a small room in a shared apartment, and starting a new life didn't sound bad at all. I did for a while, I was 20 at the time. I'd spent two years on the road and it was starting to take a toll on me. Everything was going well, but remember what I said about never having a real group of friends? Yeah, well, I actually had one for a short time. ★ I used to do night shifts at a local bar since I needed the extra cash to fix my car, which had broken down. When I said I had a rusty car, I really meant it. Every night, a group of six people around my age would come in and spend the night playing cards, drinking, and doing the usual shit people in their 20s do. I was the only one covering the nights, so it wasn't long until we became friends, especially since one of the guys in the group had his eyes on me. I liked hanging out with them. Soon, my shifts stopped feeling like work. Most of the nights they were the only customers, so I would just sit at the table with them and play poker until the end of my shift.

In the beginning, everything was fine, just a handful of wannabe adults having fun here and there, nothing special. But as the weeks went by, I started to notice small but weird details, I brushed them off. After all, they were in their twenties, living in a place like California, so of course things like alcohol and drugs were something usual.

During my first months in California, everything went well, I was convinced I made the right decision, but life wasn't planning on making it so easy for me, so eventually things started going south.

Don tried to warn me the few times the guys showed up at the arcade. I guess he could see something that I didn't. There's not a day that I don't regret not listening to him. I was so caught up in my own world that I missed all the signals until it was too late, and I know I deserved everything that happened.

With each passing week, everything turned more and more sketchy. New people started joining them at the bar, some of them were older, way too old. I just knew that they weren't just playing poker anymore. Slowly, they were going down a really dark path, and I was being dragged down with them.

I tried to stay out of it, but one night, one of the guys, Axel, showed up at my door. He was covered in blood, his own blood. That was his first mistake because after that they wouldn't leave me alone. I guess they assumed I was his girlfriend and tried to send him a message through me. We were actually pretty close, that's why he came to me when he needed help.

That night, he told me everything that'd been going on while I was nursing him up. After that, I understood why it's said that young people are stupid. Because we are.

Long story short, they got involved with some nasty drug dealers. I'm not talking about Eddie type of dealer. It was more of a drug network, they used to party a lot which led to them experiencing with strong, exotic substances. Safe to say they became addicted quickly, which resulted in consuming every day, and those substances were also expensive. So by the time Axel found himself knocking on my door, they were all in deep debt, and that's why he got the beating of his life. They did fuck him up real good, I was freaking out trying to convince him to go the ER to check for possible concussions. Needless to say, he refused.

After that I distanced myself from him and the rest, but as I said they already fixated on me.

Weird things started happening to me. It didn't last long though, just a couple of weeks. But I guess that's what you get when you ignore the red flags.

Don was there the whole time, he knew everything and kept insisting I cut off any ties with them, that just distancing myself wasn't enough.

I still saw them from time to time, especially Axel and Nadia, a breathtaking blonde with baby-blue eyes. I will never understand how she managed to fall into something like that, I swear she is the sweetest girl I've ever met.

I tried to help them both as much as I could, but it was to no avail.

Everything got too much for me on Axel's birthday, we all gathered to celebrate. I wasn't sure about going, but he insisted. That was his second mistake, and it was also mine. Don tried to talk me out of it, but we were just going to have dinner. They were planning on going to a club after that, but I'm not a party person, so I would just skip it with the excuse of having to work the next day. And that's exactly what I did. I had dinner, and then I went home, or at least I tried.

I will never forget that night. It was dark, the dining place we chose wasn't far from my home so I didn't take the car.

To this day if I close my eyes I can still feel the pain radiating through my body.

I would've ended up worse than Axel the night he showed up at my house if it wasn't for a couple of passers-by, but i was too late anyway. By the time the two strangers interfered, the other men had already managed to rip off my clothes between punches and have their fun with me on time. My entire body was aching, and the cold air didn't help soothe my already shaking figure.

After that I just left, nobody knew except Don. He was the only one I called once I managed to get into my house.

Eight months. That was the duration of my time in California. After that, I spent three months driving nonstop until I found Hawkins.

Today marks one year since that night, and I still shudder at the memory.

You're probably wondering why I decided to stay here after what happened, why not keep on traveling and avoid any attempt at a more stable life, or maybe go back home? Honestly, I don't know. I guess the contrast between this small town and a big city was too appealing after everything that's happened. Not gonna lie, my friendship with Eddie did help too. Of all the people that I've met in all these years of traveling, he's my favorite one. But I'll never tell him that, the fucker won't stop pestering me about it.★

The ticking of that goddamn clock still drumming in my ears pulls me out of my thoughts. I zone out a lot more than before, but I got used to it.

I groan annoyed, looking at the time. I still have thirty minutes left and I pray to God that I don't get any customers.

It's almost Christmas, so everything is decorated with tinsel and colorful lights, the streets smell like freshly lit fireplaces mixed with aromas of holiday sweets that had just been taken out of the oven.

I love Christmas, but like, obsessively. Although this year is kinda hard to get into the festive spirit, around this time is when I miss home the most. Reliving that night doesn't help either, it feels like my body knows exactly what day it is and decided to keep bringing the memories back on a loop. It's not like I think about it all the time, but sometimes it just comes to my mind like a slap on the face.

I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away, tired of the subject. I realize that I can start with my closing routine, first flipping the sign on the door as always. Soon enough I'm on my way to my car, not before grabbing some instant ramen and a few other snacks from the store. Sometimes, I walk to get to work, but the cold air of Indiana's winter is unbearable at this point.

It's a ten-minute drive home, it's already dark outside, it's almost 10 pm so my headlights help me see enough so I don't crash.

As always, I drag my feet to the entry of my roulotte, cigarette hanging from my lips like a ritual. My eyes fall on Eddie's trailer as it's parked thirty feet away in front of mine, just like every day. He's home, so as soon as I set foot in my house, I just throw my bag on the bed and rush outside again.

I make my way to the long-haired boy's door, I don't even bother knocking. Once I open it, the warmth of the house hugs my body as I make my way inside.

–Momma's home!- I shout, to make sure he can hear me. But I get nothing in response. I can hear some struggling, a frustrated 'fuck' coming from the living room. I look to my right just to find him lying on the floor with his arm under the couch, his neck hurtfully bent as his head rests on the front of the piece of furniture.– What are you doing?

–What does it look like I'm doing?- he tries to turn his head to look back at me, but clearly, he fails. I walk over there, swinging my legs over him trying not to step on him. I crouch, so now I have a perfect view of his face, it is red, and the vein on his forehead looks like it's about to explode. His bangs are bathed in sweat as he keeps struggling.

–I don't know, you tell me.‐ I try not to laugh as the words leave my mouth.

–My fucking arm is stuck under this thing.- he punches de couch with his free hand.

–How did it end up there Eds?- I don't even bother to keep it in anymore and a laugh comes out from the bottom of my chest.

–Oh it's just something that I enjoy doing...what do you think? My fucking guitar pick fell under it!- he starts out with a calm tone full of sarcasm and ends up yelling with a pitched voice.–Could you just help me already?

I laugh even harder, but I get up and place my hands under the side of the couch, lifting it up, freeing his arm. He rubs his now red, almost bruised, bicep as he mutters a "fucking couch" under his breath.

–You're welcome.- I let it down again and let myself fall on it.–Didn't it occur to you to just move it to the side?‐ His eyes snap up at me.

–Well, obviously not smartass.- getting up to sit beside me. I lift my hands in a surrendering.

–Okay okay, chill.- but I am laughing hysterically, which only increases his bad temper. His face turning red again.–Anyway, I brought ramen. Do you have any clean pots?.- I turn to look at the kitchen only to find the sink full of dirty dishes.–Nevermind.

His back is now laying against the cushions, he's lookin at the ceiling, putting on display his side profile.

Eddie has long, curly hair that falls a little lower down his shoulders. Big brown eyes, right under the waves of his bangs. We actually have the same haircut... kind of. The only differences being the orange dye in my hair compared to the chocolate of his locks, and mine has a lot more layers and volume. We're pretty similar in a lot of things, even in clothing.

His skin is pale making his pink lips stand out more as he bites on his bottom lip thinking.

–I'm too tired to cook right now.- he says with a dramatic sigh.–Why don't we go out?‐ He tilts his head to look at me.–I could use some fresh air.-I roll my eyes.

☆–Okay but I'm not driving.‐He shruggs nonchalantly.

A few moments later I'm handing him the keys to my car, as he enters the driver's seat. The sound of the engine roaring in the trailer park as he speeds off.

–The guys really want to meet you, you know?- I'm deep in thought when his voice fills the car, gaze lost in the window while i suck on a cherry lollipop.- Dustin wouldn't shut up about you after he met you.

–I mean, I will be having a few days off from work during the holidays.- I say, taking the sweet out of out my mouth, focusing on him. He's been trying to introduce me to his friends for a while now, I usually work double shifts so I barely have any free time. I kept promising him that I would find some time, but it's nearly impossible. After all, we are short on people at the store. But I did meet Dustin one evening after work, I'd stomped into Eddie's place unannounced as always. They were so focused on the videogame they were playing that I almost killed them from a heart attack. Kid's pretty cool though.

–Maybe you could join the D&D Christmas campaign.- My eyebrows rise in surprise, he's very picky about the people he allows into his D&D club. I've been pestering him about it since I came here, but he always would spit out something along the lines of it not being just a game, life or death situations and not allowing himself to recruit nothing but the best warriors he could find. Everything in a very dramatic way, just as he is. Even after I told him that I've been playing for years now, he wouldn't change his mind. Saying that the key word was "playing", and that it was enough for him to know I wasn't worthy of a place in his fantasy world or the Hellfire Club.

–Are you okay? Do you have a fever or something?- I tease placing the back of my hand on his forehead, fake concern lacing my voice. He pushes it away, not moving his eyes from the road.

–Shut up.- he laughs.–I'm just tired of listening to you bitching about it.

–Yeah, sure.‐ chuckling I place the candy back I'm my mouth looking outside the window again. I don't need to look at him to know that he rolled his eyes. He stretches his arm to reach the cassette of the car, turning up the volume and banging his head to the beat of Mötley Crüe. He speeds up the car almost to its limits, enjoying the thrill of the adrenaline as he laughs vibing to the song.

It only takes us two more songs before my car is far behind parked as we reach for the door of Richie's, I swear they make the best burgers here. The place is full, diferent groups of teenagers spread throughout the ample space. We make our way to a table and just as we were about to sit down, someone shouts behind us.

–Munson!☆

Next chapter.

[flimflamfandom]

More Lacy Vignettes

This features my Lackasona, Arthur Keane - who you can read about here!

On Loan

-

Lacy sighed as she got her coat on. "Hasn't Mitzi got a maid?"

"Yes, but she's...ill, or...has a sick aunt or...something, I don't know." Sedgewick shook his head. "She wasn't clear over the phone. She just said she needed someone and-"

"I'm not doing any criminal work. Not after what happened last time."

"No, no, I made sure it isn't that." Wick said. "Just...don't let her talk you into anything like that, alright?"

Lacy made her way to Mitzi's place, a little annoyed, and very tired. She hadn't had a chance to wake up this morning before she was suddenly recruited to be in for Miss May.

She opened the door, letting herself in. "Miss May?"

"Ahh, Lacy...come in." Mitzi said, wearing a silk robe. "You're just in time."

"Miss May, I want to help as I can, but I'm not a chambermaid, I'm a-"

"Oh, hush." Mitzi scoffed. "Be a dear and help me with this, would you?"

Lacy groaned. She was not going to spend her morning putting up some aging star's hair just because she-

Huh.

Lacy stared down a pile of what appeared to be paychecks.

"I need you to make sure those are all accurate - the boys got a little holiday bonus this year and I swear I did some math wrong someplace."

"...you make your maid do payroll?"

"Nio, sweetie, the maid's a moot point. Ever since Mordecai I've been doin' it myself, but-...well. You know how a girl gets."

"I do not." Lacy wryly asserted. She sat down to work, trying to not get distracted by the fact that Mitzi was just mulling about, changing, putting on makeup...humming and hawing about dresses.

"Do you prefer Pink or blue on me?"

"I prefer clothes on you. This is indecent."

"You know, you're just like Mordecai when you talk like that." She said. "Just...turn around and look."

Lacy rolled her eyes and turned to face her. She watched as Mitzi held both over herself. Lascy thought for a moment. She blushed as she watched, blinking, and shaking her head. She rubbed her eyes.

"...Lacy?" Mitzi asked, furrowing a brow and perking her ears.

"...Blue." She said. "The pink reflects a bit off your fur, which would be fine if you were using a different stole."

"The stole's gray, it's neutra-"

"The stole is silver - blue serves it better, Miss May." Lacy got back to work.

"..." Mitzi hummed a little tune. She looked over. "Find what I did wrong yet?"

"I believe so." She said. "You'll have to sign these..." Lacy peered at the books one more time. "You forgot a 3 with Rocky, that cascaded through the rest of the results."

"Heavens! How silly of me."

"Hmm."

"...you're a little Icy, lace." Mitzi said, plainly. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you didn't like me."

"It's just early." Lacy said. She looked away. "I apologize if I came off the wrong way, I-"

"Lacy, you realize I sent for you because you would come off a little icy?"

"Beg pardon?" Lacy asked.

"Ivy normally does the books, but she never says I did anything wrong, despite me knowin' I did something off. She just fixes it - tries to hide it. And my maid, god love her, she's...concerned with keeping me in a good mood. She's too obsequious and all that. But you? You're honest. An honest woman is a fine friend." Mitzi said, holding one of Lacy's hands and patting her shoulder.

"...Thank you, Miss May." Lacy nodded slowly. She smiled a little.

"Of course, dearie...now, you do what you need to do for Wick, I'll be alright here."

"You're sure, miss May?"

"You wouldn't wanna help me with ironing, would you?"

"...no."

"That's what I thought. In a while, sugar."

-

Orpheus

-

It had been rainy and miserable all day.

Lacy walked out of Wick's mansion, heading home. On the way, she saw the little shop - Boggs & Co. - the luthier. She smiled. She looked inside, and saw the cinnamon, mild faced cat behind the counter, wearing an apron and a work shirt, his sleeves rolled up, his brow twisted in thought as he stared at something on the wall. She crossed the street and entered, more than ready to use the 'in from the rain' excuse if need be.

"Hi, welcome t-...Lacy." Arthur Keane smiled that sweet, gentle smile of his. Lacy always felt like hers was a bit stilted compared to it, but she was sure that was just her brain talking. She purred a little when he said her name.

"Evening, Arthur." She said, getting a bit closer. She perked her ears up. She looked over at the wall. "...what were you staring at just now?"

"Oh, this?" Arthur grabbed something off the wall. it was a guitar, and it looked...metallic? He strumemd it, and Lacy winced a bit at the sound - moreso how loud it was.

"It's a metal resonator - nickel plated brass." He said. "I had a friend help me make it - there's a company out in California making them, and I wanted to give it a try." He leaned on the wall, and began to idly strum away at it, as quietly as he could.

"You won't get in trouble for that?" Lacy asked. "Surely they've got a patent?"

"Oh, I'm not selling it. Just want to have this one...it'll help with that band at the daisy." He said.

"...d'you mind playing something?" Lacy asked.

"Sure...I won't sing, though." He said. "And it'll have to be quick, I need to help close up." He sat down, and began to play. It must've been some sort of baroque thing - maybe Bach. Lacy recognized some of it. The soft, still air in the shop rang with the bizarre, alluring noise of the metallic thing. There was a coolness to the sound, as if it was relaxing Lacy as she listened. Arthur leaned into it as he played, his eyes closing, his head moving, his body swaying.

She began to close her eyes and just feel the sound, as she sat on one of the many stools in the shop. She lifted her eyelids as the music stopped...

She leaned over, almost to kiss him, before she realized...

The sun had come out.

[stardust-swan]

How to marry rich?

I am a single woman who would rather marry middle class tbh so I can't really help with marrying a millionaire or anything. If I were going to try marrying rich though, here's what I'd do:

Do a six month legal or medical secretary course. If you're happy with being upper middle class rather than rich-rich, working at law firms or hospitals and doctor's offices are probably the best way of meeting lawyers, doctors and consultants. I've mentioned the story of the Emirati senior doctor who asked to marry me years back based on a picture, and that never would have happened if my mother hadn't known him by working at the hospital with him.

The downside is that the guys who have the most money are usually older and already married, while the ones who are still young and cute and less likely to be taken are probably paying off their student loans and saving up money, and some also realise they hate the job after a couple of years and retrain to become teachers or whatever. If you can find someone young who has their heart set on their career or don't mind an age gap relationship with a wealthier older man then it's a good route though (wouldn't personally recommend an affair with a married man though as you get them how you lose them, but there are exceptions ofc).

Use dating apps near places where rich men hang out. Like five star hotels and restaurants, golf courses, etc. More likely to match with someone wealthy if you're near where the wealthy hang out.

Wouldn't personally recommend this as gambling doesn't always end well, but some women in my city go to casinos trying to meet wealthy men that gamble for fun. If you go into the casinos at evening you'll see a bunch of single women who don't really look like they fit there. And they don't fit there, they're there to meet men.

Work on yourself. If you ever look at rich men's wives, they're always well-spoken, put together, and knowledgeable. You need more than just looks. Pretty faces get boring if you can't hold a conversation. Looks also aren't as paramount as you might think. You need to look attractive obviously, but you don't need to be jaw-droppingly gorgeous. It's rare to see a rich man with a wife who looks like Adriana Lima. It's more important to be well-groomed and put together with an engaging personality than it is to put all your energy into planning the cosmetic surgery you want because your nose is slightly too wide or your boobs are slightly droopy and you think you need to be the most striking one in the room at all times to have a chance (guarantee you that 99.9% of men don't notice or care about these things). Also obviously you should know how to behave, don't do anything that will embarrass him and make him drop you like a hot potato (like calling him "Daaaadddyyy" or something in front of his friends).

Tbh I'd recommend reading r/marryrich on Reddit. They'd have more resources like books and stuff you should read and you can also ask questions to people who have actually married rich.

Edit: should've have mentioned this, but avoid influencers like Anna Bey. A lot of hypergamy influencers who claim to be giving advice on marrying rich are actually giving sugar baby tips but in a covert way that won't get their pages removed from social media. For example, Anna Bey advises people to hang around in hotel lobbies to meet rich men, but you're not going to meet your future husband by hanging out in his hotel lobby. They'll assume you're a sex worker looking for clients. Just be wary of tips like this that are actually tips for sex workers presented in an innocuous way

[netherworldpost]

Sorry if you've been asked this before, but how do you get started working in, as you said, weird quasi-startups?

This is a history retelling, not advice, because the world I came up in doesn't exist anymore. I'm in my 40s and started in the '90s.

If you skim over all of this WATCH THE VIDEO AT THE END HERE IS A LINK TO SAID VIDEO IT IS A CONDENSED VERSION OF IT from a local design firm.

The video is not a rick roll. This one is though.

Now I hope you can trust me. This is a long post. I'll use HACKERS to break it up.

I have no connection to Coudal.

Or Rick Astley.

I get into the nitty-gritty Small Scale Stuff

Jim Coudal gets into the nitty-gritty of the Medium-to-Large Scale Stuff... in 2011. The basics remain the same.

I am realizing in linking this that I don't think Coudal Partners exists anymore? I think they shifted their entire focus to Field Notes notebooks?

Anyway, still relevant.

(No -- 1994... and... maybe a bit earlier I can't remember that far back)

As I say -- this is history, not advice -- I'll try to pepper in some advice.

In some ways that's bad (Flash animation used to pay really well when weighed against what it took to learn how to do it).

In some ways that's good (things like Stripe and BigCartel and Shopify and MailChimp and Tumblr exist).

I was an anxious, studious kid really into mythology with very little access to it. I had access to the internet for about 6-8 hours a week, so scrambled to cram as much into my brain as I could. A reminder this is the early to mid 1990s.

I realized at some point that websites could be built without special tech. I explicitly remember seeing a web hosting company have a late night television ad on Conan O'Brian, offering a few megabytes of space free.

I learned HTML.

Then CSS launched, and I learned CSS.

(...yeah, this... this was the '90s)

From there I learned Macromedia Flash (later Adobe Flash) because it could do things I couldn't do with programming -- because of my own limitations, the web's limitations, free server limitations... etc.

I learned Flash the same way I learned HTML and CSS -- taking things apart to see how they worked, making my own stuff, breaking things down (and just breaking things)

At some point I was able to secure my own computer + internet and just hammered things constantly until I had a grasp of the basics.

So with that technical background...

"I am a web designer, do you need a website?" I would just offer up. Friends on forums, people in shops, a few cold calls that didn't work out great because I'm not a talkative person.

Just. Constantly. Networking.

Which is an accurate but kinda useless term, right?

"How does one network, does one just shove business cards into the face of everyone they meet and say 'I am a business person'"?

...yes.

Diners, comic shops, tattoo parlors, independent restaurants.

To illustrate the differences of when I started versus today -- any time I went somewhere that didn't have a website, I would ask the person behind the counter --

"Hey are you thinking about launching a website?"

When it wasn't the owner/manager at the counter and they would say something like "I just work here," I'd ask for the manager's contact info to follow up.

The success rate of "I ask" versus "I get money out of this" was maybe 1%. Just constantly asking, constantly trying to build the business books.

Never taking things personally when ghosted or just ignored or it fell through.

Cool but it's 2023/2024... so... the second half of my story may help.

I eventually gathered up enough clients and student loans to go to school for design. I have mixed opinions on this.

I had a few teachers who needed Extremely Cheap Intern-Level Labor and I was able to parlay my web experience into these opportunities.

I learned print design, branding, color theory, the basics of art in school.

I learned better business models by doing business and fucking up and getting burned and taking notes on how to fuck up less and get burned less the next go-round.

I applied for an ad agency job and hacked their website to rebuild it to show I could build websites and they were like "okay well we have to hire you now because we're in love with you / we fucking hate you"

(both emotions at the same time) (I worked there 11 months then went to grad school / see above art school link, it also applies)

Great thanks but maybe get back to advice?

I made things. I still make things.

Pins, buttons, shirts, bridge models, a chair, a lamp, I hired blacksmiths to learn about blacksmithing, I traded logos for beer, a theater company needed artwork so I engaged in a multi-prong trade of theater tickets and candy and / and / and / and with various other friends / clients / non-sense makers.

I made things and if people didn't have money to pay for them, I took some of their product.

Sometimes I paid other people with that product for things I needed, sometimes I paid with my labor for things I needed... etc.

Kept doing that until I could leverage skills acquired against people with money. Meeting them the same way.

"Hey who does your website?"

"Hey who does your menu design?"

"I like your logos, do you have someone working on your brochures? Oh you hate your logo? Okay to be honest... I was using that as an opening line. I hate it too. Want to chat about redoing it?"

I fucked up a lot. I got burned a lot. There was more success than failure so I was able to keep going.

Modern Day Translations

A lot of that will work -- build a portfolio, keep it updated, if someone mentions they are launching a whatever, chat with them -- but also look at freelance agencies.

If you work for trade, then scale the work offered for the product received. Don't be afraid to say "nope, out of scope."

People who will take +50% of the commission but help you find the commissions and handle the tax paperwork.

Ultimately, the basics are the same.

Make stuff. Put it into a portfolio.

Get comfortable introducing yourself.

Learn not to take rejection personally.

Keep going. The number of clients I would get on the first project discussion was probably 5-10%. It would take an average of 18-24 months, average, before I'd get money out of people. MEGA EMPHASIS -- A LOT OF -- MEGA EMPHASIS "hey remember me? I didn't have budget before, but now I do!"

By "make stuff" I mean.

Stuff.

(Things I have actually made)

Websites, blogs, writing, temporary tattoos, posters, ads, animations, plush toys, paintings, poems, books, rubber stamps, ads, grocery store packaging.

A whirlwind of stuff.

"That sounds expensive and difficult"

Yes. That's the bad news. There is no magic solution to it aside from "be careful with your time and cash and contracts and good luck."

I am not a soft person who is going to promise you everything is going to be okay and if you just work hard enough then things will work out and if you're talented enough then money and clients and business will come to you.

The brutal reality is it is going to be extremely difficult for as long as you do it and my #1 piece of advice is "constantly evaluate if you would find more happiness in a traditionally structured job doing weird stuff on the side."

It is absolutely possible to make a weird job.

It gets easier if you have financial support from family and/or a partner who will help you survive the lean times. I mention this in the spirit of honesty -- a lot of folks with weird jobs had/have one, or both.

In my opinion, this isn't talked about enough, and it leads to this mystic "This person must be doing well and I can't get off the ground, ergo something is wrong with me / my work / my process / my..." -- not necessarily.

Right, wrong, or indifferent -- some people have extra-to-their-personal resources help that allows them to make stuff. More, bigger, and/or faster.

I had the advantage of starting 30 years ago when the talent pool was smaller and harder to find and the work was harder to understand by people who were hiring.

Take what you have and try to make more of it being careful to spend as little as you can with it as it grows.

That's the essence of business.

Everything else is salad dressing.

SO MANY WORDS

I'll wrap up:

Start small and affordable

Figure out how to keep going when you want to stop but can keep going

Figure out how to stop when you want to keep going, but can't

Figure out how to start again when you have to stop

This isn't a moral or ethical dilemma -- it's business.

Cold, hard, ruthless business.

"Does it make sense to continue putting resources into this? Yes? Keep going.

"No? Pause.

"It never will make sense? Do this as a hobby, possibly an extensive and advanced hobby, possibly as 'this is my job in the sense I spend my resources here and the tasks I do for a company for money are life maintenance, on par with brushing my teeth."

Never work for free. Barter to a level mutual benefit.

If you want to work with other people, build a portfolio and keep it stocked with the stuff you want to do. Make up your own projects from literal scratch.

Most of the time, real work is better than personal work

BUT personal work is always better than no work.

This is cross-sectional -- if you want to make logos, it's better to show real work logos.

If you don't have any, make personal work logos and fold these into real work brochures, which you WILL DO but DONT WANT TO DO, as you build your logo business.

As your logo business builds up, replace real work logos + keep personal work logos and reduce brochures until you have enough (of either form) of logos to just have a logo portfolio.

Here is that video from Jim Coudal again talking about his (former?) design firm, Coudal Partners, and how it evolved to partner to create Field Notes

A final disclaimer:

I do not know Jim Coudal, I've never worked with him or FIeld Notes, they don't know I exist in any capacity. His projects are significantly larger than anything I have the appetite to tackle (I like small, weird things nearly exclusively)

This video + countless similar talks helped me build me up to where i am with advice, ideas, and the strength to get through the invariable weird / hard times.

[anonymousboxcar]

TTTE AU: Cockade the Actor

Recently, I’ve been playing around with an au!Diesel 10 that fits into a more RWS-type world. Known as D810, or Cockade, he isn’t villainous or bigoted against steam engines. This is in part because he noticed a growing disdain for diesel-hydraulics such as him, thus realizing he wasn’t in too dissimilar of a boat.

Where most of his class didn’t survive, Cockade did. He was a warm, affable engine who endeared himself to many people. He was also something many of his siblings weren’t: a minor celebrity.

Ever since a background appearance in a local commercial, Cockade wanted to be an actor. He pushed to appear in more commercials, instructional tapes, and TV episodes B.R. used to drum up good PR. These amounted to only several seconds of screen time apiece, but he loved it. He loved becoming a character, embodying part of a story. He thought it could help him work toward the silver screen.

And eagle-eyed rail fans recognized him in all his roles. He developed a small following that advocated on his behalf, working to get him — and at his urging, as many of his siblings as possible — preserved.

He never lost his passion for acting, nor his dream of a “big break.” So when the producers of a project called Thomas & The Magic Railroad came knocking, he all but threw himself at them.

His heritage railway loaned him out to the producers, who gave him his character’s — Diesel 10’s — livery and excavator claw. His enthusiasm and flair for dramatics proved infectious on set. He had only one serious hiccup: he tried method acting.

He didn’t mean any harm by it. He only wanted to try out a new technique; he wanted his first ever film performance to be his best and most convincing. But for all his good intentions, acting like his villainous character 24/7 got on everyone’s nerves.

Thomas, playing himself in the film, got fed up. “Do you want to ‘method act’ some bent buffers, too? I can help you with that.”

Cockade stared at him. “What?”

“The script calls for it, doesn’t it?”

“But that’s — oh. Ohhh.”

It was the wake-up call Cockade needed. Embarrassed, he apologized for his behavior and saved his acting for the cameras.

While still somewhat miffed at first, Thomas softened after Cockade helped him through some stage fright without any judgement. Cockade respected Thomas’ tenacity and sense of responsibility in turn. The two had a similar sense of humor, making each other laugh between takes and teasing the others.

He and Thomas also became close to Sarah, a recent custom-built engine cast as Lady. She gave as good as she got with their teasing, while also becoming interested in the technical aspects of film production and writing. Her perspective on something in the script was always fresh and helpful (even if it was critical).

The engines playing Splatter and Dodge — who didn’t have names of their own, and liked their characters’ names enough to adopt them — came out of their shells at everyone’s encouragement. They loved to ad-lib scenes with Cockade, and they contemplated going into improv comedy once their work was done with TATMR.

A good time was had by all. Cockade felt very satisfied with himself and the overall production, delighting in having so many new friends and connections in show business.

And then the film bombed at the box office.

These days, Cockade says it was a valuable lesson: there’s a lot of moving parts to a film production, and nothing can be perfect. You can only do your best with the part you have. What matters is that you had fun and you gained more experience.

It took him some time to absorb this lesson, though. He wondered if he could’ve done something more, if he could’ve helped. He feared this was the end of his career.

“I’ve been working towards this my entire life,” he said late one night. “I had plan, a vision, of my career. This was my chance at the big time. And now that I’ve had a taste of it, it’s all up in smoke.”

Sarah nudged him. “You read the books, yeah? Look at how many times Mr. Number One over there messed up. He’s still doing alright.”

Thomas only rolled his eyes a little. “My foul-ups did me a world of good, actually. I wouldn’t be famous if those stories didn’t get out.”

“Besides, so what if that’s it for your career or whatever?” Splatter asked. “You’ve been at the bottom.”

“S’not so bad down there. You’ll have us, for one,” Dodge said, grinning. “And if you went up that incline before, you can do it again.”

“…I can,” Cockade said after a pause. “Thanks to all of you.”

In the end, lots of people still liked his performance as Diesel 10. At his request, his heritage railway put him back into D10’s livery for “Day Out With Thomas” events. He auditioned and got to act in other, smaller productions. While typecast as a villain for some time, he considered that a small price to keep doing what he loved.

He still visits Sodor every now and then, both as himself and as Diesel 10. Thomas is always happy to see him. They often chat about how Sarah’s doing as a railway consultant in television writing. Other times, they listen together to Splatter & Dodge’s latest improv comedy podcast released online.

Cockade’s big break didn’t go as he imagined it, but that’s alright. He doesn’t need the glitz and glamour of Hollywood anymore to have a fulfilling career. To him, the fulfillment comes from the wonderful people he meets along the way.

“And failure is never forever,” he tells people, smiling. “It’s always an opportunity — if you let it be one.”

[hiddenobject-fanblog]

His Soul (Chapter 10)

Show and Tell

Summary: After saving the abducted collectors, you were trusted with Curioso's box. What seems like a dangerous possession slowly turns into an opportunity to learn more about this creature and his curse. Can you earn his trust, and possibly, his affection?

Pairings: Curioso/Reader, Curioso/The Detective

--

It took a bit of searching on your end, but you finally tracked down a translator who was able to make any sense of the book. You had reached out to several other people for a week, all of whom sadly informed you that they couldn’t understand it. Still, you remained determined and you were glad your patience finally wore off.

You were sitting in a small office across from a woman who wore a blue suit. Her eyes were wide as she read the book that you left open on her desk. You were still dumbfounded with the news she’d just given to you. 

“You can really read that thing? I haven’t met a single person who could.”

She nodded and leaned back in her seat. “You see, Detective, I used to delve into magic - divination back in my day. This book was written by an enchantress. I recognize the spell that is decrypting it from normal eyes.”

“Huh…” Your mind went back to the time Curioso disabled a concealing spell on that house in your last case. Had he done the same thing to this book to make sure Andrew couldn’t read it? “Are you sure it was an enchantress? Not a…creature of some sorts?”

“Her name is written right here. I can translate this for you, but I’m afraid it will take some time.”

“That’s fine; I’m in no hurry.” You waved your hand. “Just…do you know what it is?”

“Instructions, I think,” She rubbed her chin as she observed the pages. “But what they say and what they are for…I will have to get back to you on that.”

“Great. Just call me on the phone when you make any progress - I’ll pay you in advance.”

She stopped you when you stood from your chair, her eyes lit up in fascination. “I am curious, where did you get this book? I have never seen anything like it.”

“....A friend of mine gave it to me. I’d like to know what it says.” 

“Very well. Expect to hear back from me in a few days…thank you for such an interesting job. I will have fun translating this.”

You stood and dusted off your pants, relieved to have finally found someone for the job. You were antsy to know what this book contained…if she was right, then they could possibly be instructions for Curioso’s box. You desperately needed that, as you couldn’t keep relying on him for its codes and instructions. He lied to you about that before and you were sure he would do it again if it benefited him. 

You handed over some cash and shook her hand, already wishing time would move forward. 

-----

You returned to your office and sat down in your chair. If Curioso sensed that you had the book before, then he must know it was out of your possession now. When you looked up, you found his box lighting up from your shelf. A sign of his presence.

Before he could say a word, you beat him to it. “I don’t have it. Are you happy?”

“Did you destroy it?” 

“No. Just…loaned it to someone. I’ll get it back, but I still don’t know what it is.”

Mist pooled out and you found the projection of his mask greeting you from across the room. He tilted his head. “Who did you give it to?”

“A magician,” You spread your hands out theatrically. 

You thought he might take it as a joke, but that didn’t happen. “You’re smarter than you look, Detective.”

You narrowed your eyes with skepticism. “You still don’t want to tell me what it is? Even if I don’t have it with me anymore?”

“You should have gotten rid of it, that’s all I’m telling you.”

You paused. Something just occurred to you that you should’ve thought about before. “Just a silly question here, but…it’s not going to kill me, right? Or bring a sudden end to the world?”

“Only an end to mine.”

You jumped out of your seat. “It’ll kill you!?”

Curioso laughed really hard. It made you feel ridiculous as you slid back down into your seat. Your face was as red as a tomato for overreacting the way you did. 

“How kind of you to care about me..! But, no. That won’t happen. I’m sorry.” 

You groaned and tried to hide your face. “Believe it or not, I actually WANT you here. Otherwise, I would’ve given you right back to Andrew.” 

“Yes, that’s right. You want me here as part of your things …your collection. Your memories.” 

“No, I-” You were getting flustered over this and you didn’t know why. “I want to get to know you. Isn’t it obvious that’s what I’ve been doing?” 

“You don’t need a book for that. You can ask me all your questions, Detective. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” 

Your face was still hot and your heart wouldn’t calm down. Something about this conversation was embarrassing you. You grabbed a piece of paper from your drawer and took a deep breath before walking over to Curioso’s box. You held it up and prepared to enter the correct pattern, then you hesitated.

“Do you…want to come out? I mean, if you’re not still mad at me?” Your voice was timid. 

“I always want a breath of fresh air.”

You gave a wryly grin. “You wanna’ watch me do paperwork? Do all the boring detective stuff?” 

“Please. The anticipation is killing me..!”

You chuckled and let him out of the box. The same bright flash ensued and he was standing before you again. You rubbed your eyes as you stumbled back over to your desk. It felt like getting your picture taken with the flash on. You wondered if there could ever be a way to change that. 

“Take a seat anywhere, you can explore my office. Just don’t touch anything.” 

You sat down and grabbed a pencil, preparing to do some work. To your surprise, Curioso didn’t stray very far and instead perched himself on the edge of your desk. He really wasn’t in the way of anything, but his close presence made you nervous. His set of sharp teeth was closer to you than you were comfortable with. 

“There’s another chair right over there,” You pointed across from your desk.

“Ah, but this is annoying you, isn’t it? He grinned. 

“It is, actually. Yeah.” 

“Then I’m not going to move anywhere.”

“Fine."

You began filling out paperwork in spite of his close proximity. You pretended he wasn’t there and you were just doing some work as usual. You were actually able to get a bit done. You paused to stretch your arms and crack your back, suddenly remembering Curioso was right beside you when you accidentally smacked your elbow on him. 

“Whoops - sorry…” 

“I like your name,” He whispered.

You blinked twice before glancing back at the paperwork and found your first and last name signed on the sheet before you. You hadn’t thought he was seriously paying attention to what you were doing. Who in their right mind would willingly watch someone fill out boring papers instead of looking at pictures of your heroic cases? Curioso, apparently. 

“Ah, thank you,” You grew warm again and cleared your throat to change the subject. “So I can ask you questions, right?”

His voice was dramatic. “I guess you can.” 

“Apparently, that book was written by a woman. Do you know who she is?” 

“...” 

“Her name is in there. I’ll be able to find it soon. Is she someone I should get into contact with?”

“NO!” He exclaimed loudly into your ear. 

You flinched and nearly stumbled out of your chair. He noticed your state and withdrew into himself, moving away from your desk and into the seat across from you. He was deliberately trying not to face you.

“Alright, geez.” You rubbed your ear in pain. “So, she’s nobody I should know, apparently?”

“Detective.” His voice cracked. Your heart broke at the sound. “Don’t dig any deeper than you already are. You’re keeping that book despite my wishes - please listen to me and never find that woman.” 

It felt like you lost all your strength. “Okay…I won’t. I promise.” You waited a second before adding, “Can you at least tell me who she is? Why is she so bad?” 

“Patience is a virtue.” He tapped a robotic finger on the edge of the wood. 

You wanted to groan and throw a fit, but now wasn’t the time. He sounded like he was on the verge of crying. You didn’t know if that was possible or not, but you didn’t care to test it. Your eyes traveled down Curioso and you realized you’d never gotten such a good look at him up close. Observing him for too long hadn’t been your goal back at Andrew Collins’ house. You’d been too preoccupied worrying about him getting into anything to really study him before. 

He wore a blue-and-red jester costume, but it was torn in places and had many holes in its fabric. It was also dirty, like it’d been through hell and back. His top hat was in a similar condition, torn at the ends with its colors dull. When you looked at his hand, you found holes, scrapes, and cuts on his mechanical digits and palms. Even his mask, when he turned to look at you, was damaged and missing pieces of its decoration. 

You never noticed how… rough he looked. Like he was something someone had left outside and forgotten about for years - equally as damaged from the weather as he was from the neglect of his owner. Pity swelled in your throat. 

“Are you alright?” The jester queried. 

“I remember you looking a little different,” You confessed. Something was off about him…he was missing those little hats on top of his big one, and you swore he was more colorful before. “Did something happen?” 

“This is how I’ve always looked.” 

“But..” You leaned forward and squinted your eyes. You probably looked ridiculous doing this. You didn’t care. “Your mask isn’t supposed to look like that, is it? Your hands…they’re all damaged. Did…did something hurt you?”

He promptly moved his limbs out of your view. “Just wear-and-tear. I’ve been around for a long time.” 

“When we were in your box-” You pointed at him, the memories flooding back to you. “You looked perfect. Your mask was glittery, your clothes were bright, everything was fine…what happened?”

“I can bend anything to my will there. Anything I want.” His voice grew quiet. “Even myself.”

“You mean you made yourself look like that?” 

“Do you ever want to relive your glory days?” He threw his head back and grinned widely at you. His teeth still remained pearly white and as sharp as always. The only part of him unchanged and intact. “That’s how I used to look. I’m sure you remember a time when you were young and full of energy…” 

You shook your head and sat back down to give him some space. “Alright. I don’t know anything about your kind. But I’m going to assume that’s normal unless you tell me otherwise.” 

“Completely normal.” He insisted. “If you had to wear the same clothes everyday, you’d look just like me after a while.” 

“I don’t have holes in my face or my hands,” You pointed out. 

Curioso slouched in his seat. He clearly wasn’t happy that you were pressing this as much as you were. “They’re artificial. It’s not me. Not really.” 

“What do you mean..?” Why was it always a guessing game with him? Why couldn’t he explain anything to you? “Curioso, I don’t really understand what you are. Can’t you just tell me?” 

“I wish I could, but even I don’t know what I am.” 

“I still don’t understand…”

“What is there to know? I’m a jester in a box. I like collecting human souls and exposing their dark secrets. That’s all there is.”

“I don't think that’s the case. What were you at the carnival?” 

You could’ve sworn his smile grew smaller. He must’ve thought you’d forgotten about that detail, but you didn’t. He confirmed himself that what Andrew said was true. If you couldn’t find out WHAT he was, then you could at least learn where he came from. 

“I was a jester,” He responded. “Telling jokes, making fun, you name it.” 

That , you could believe. But it felt like he was only telling a half-truth. “Really? With all your powers, you only told jokes?” 

“They were good ones..!” 

“Tell me one.”

“ ‘Why don’t cannibals eat clowns? Because they taste funny !’”

“Yeah, there’s no way you were telling that to kids.”

“Maybe I didn’t perform for kids..?”

Now you are getting concerned. “Curioso-”

“-Honest, Detective! I was an entertainer at the circus. For both adults and kids! They loved my show, I’d been doing it for a long time.”

You went quiet as you tapped your pencil on your desk. You were neglecting your paperwork now, but you were far more invested in learning about your friend. Not many people could say they've held conversations like this one. 

“Did you like it?”

He sounded strained. “Of course.”

“Then why did you come out of your box angry? Why did you threaten Andrew? If you loved what you did, why did you want revenge-”

He did something you did not expect - which was to learn towards you, pinch your cheek in between two white fingers, and pull a little too hard.

“You’re so nosy.” He hissed. “Must you know EVERYTHING?”

“Ow!” You swatted his hand off and rubbed the red spot left on your skin. “You said it yourself - I’m a detective. It’s in my job description.”

“Hmm. And you’re putting together the mystery of my past ?” You swore you saw a small flame flicker in his mask’s eye socket. You blinked twice and it was gone.

“If you’re going to make it this much of a challenge, then I might as well.”

He tittered. “You’re so fun. That’s why I like you.” You blushed at his words and scolded yourself for feeling so flattered. “I suppose I can help you solve it, but…you may find things that you don’t like. Are you okay with that?”

“I found a room full of bodies in my last case.” You shuddered at the image left in your mind. “I’m sure that whatever it is, I can handle it.”

He hummed, looking at you for an awfully long time. Then, he said, “I’ll tell you when I feel that you’re ready.”

You wondered when that was going to be.