#Create Physics Slides Presentation

[gustavsbrainneuron]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤInterrupted dream.

ㅤㅤㅤ2011 Tom Kaulitz × female reader.

Warnings: fluff & smut, unprotected sex, p in v (riding Tom yumyumyum), Tom eating out reader while she is sleepy, all CONSENSUAL.

Author's note: OK IM FUCKING SORRY IF THE SMUT PART LOOKS LIKE SHIT, I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED HALF OF IT AND HAD TO WRITW ALL AGAIN BECAUSE I WNATED TO POST THAT SHIT TODAY, IM GOING CQRAZYYYYY. Also sorry if there are any mistakes, english isn't my first language. 🙂‍↕️

"If you don't finish these slides for your presentation by the day after tomorrow, I'll fire you!" The boss said in a stern voice; that echoed in my head and the only thing I was thinking about was how I wanted to punch this mustachioed old man in the face and get out of there. My thoughts were interrupted when he left my office slamming the door, the sound of wood hitting the frame making the table in front of me shake slightly. I just sighed, my hands working on the keyboard of the computer that looked like the oldest in the world - it was slow as fuck, one click and it took fucking 6 minutes to react.

Without thinking, I continued working as I only thought about how much I wanted to go away and see my boyfriend, Tom. He should probably be rehearsing with his band right now, creating riffs, making melodies..I wanted to be there with him right now, just watching him play his guitar and the band creating new music; however, I had to stay in that office for at least the next 3 hours, working on a boring presentation that I will have to present in 2 days. Bummer. Three o'clock passed slowly, as if the clock was 40 minutes behind every time an hour passed, probably because of boredom and stress. I couldn't stand another day in this place, I felt on the verge of throwing all that paperwork up and throwing that monitor that looked more like a gigantic engine making helicopter noises - out the window.

When I finally got home, I just took off my shoes and put on my slippers, Tom heard me coming so quickly he left the room and I heard his hurried footsteps, he came to me; welcoming me with an contagious smile, which made me smile back at him and come closer, hugging him.

"I missed you." Tom said, I could hear his smile in the way his voice came out. He was always so excited to see me, it's cheesy - but I felt myself falling more and more in love with him.

"I missed you too, babe." I replied back, my voice showing slight exhaustion, but I tried to hide it, my body relaxing against the larger figure that hugged me.

"How was today? Are you okay?" He questioned with concern, his hands coming to rest on my waist; pressing the skin lightly with his long, large fingers.

"It was very tiring but I'm fine. Did everything go well in the studio?" My voice indicated concern at the same level as him, taking my hands to the back of his neck, stroking some of the black braids that were there while I buried my face in his chest, closing my eyes.

Tom chuckled, looking down when he felt my face against his pecs. "Of course, everything worked out and we are planning a new album." He replied, his knees bending slightly so he could place a kiss on the top of my head, almost on my forehead. "You seem a lot more tired than usual, how about a shower? We can even watch a movie later, if you want." he suggested as I moved my face away from his chest, putting distance between our bodies; but as Tom didn't like to be without physical contact, he removed his hands from my waist but brought one of his hands to mine, holding our hands together.

"That sounds like a perfect idea, are you a mind reader?" I asked playfully, laughing softly and hearing Tom's laugh mix with mine, leaving me feeling better than ever after such an unbearable day.

Tom guided me to the bathroom, gently pulling me by the hand, he did all the work, helping me remove my clothes first and then his. While he took off his clothes, I went to the shower and turned on warm water; putting my hand under the water, checking if it was too hot or too cold. When the water was at a pleasant temperature, I went under the water, wetting my hair and giving Tom space to enter as well.

"Can I wash your hair?" He said almost with a pleading tone on his voice as he looked down at me. I hesitated to answer him, after all, I didn't want to give him so much work, we were both tired.

"You don't need to wash it if you-" I tried to respond before he interrupted me. "I want to wash it, honey." he said, as if he already knew my answer - was I really that predictable? He stretched his muscular body to grab the shampoo, placing a small portion on one of his large hands before running it through my hair, rubbing my scalp gently as he waited for the foam to appear. I looked at his face, our naked bodies facing each other made me think about how intimate we were and how attentive he was to me, I loved him so much.

After the shower he even offered to dry my hair, he didn't exactly offer...he stated that he would dry my hair, no matter if I said "no, I don't want to give you too much work" and who was I to disagree with that statement? I let him dry my hair, the air from the dryer not being too hot so as not to damage my hair.

"Hmmm. Your hair smells so good, I would stay all day with my face in your hair if I could." He commented, his voice loud enough for me to be able to understand him over the sound of the hairdryer. His body was bent slightly, his handsome face approaching the back of my head which was covered by some of my hair; just to smell it more closely, so that he could still dry the rest of my hair and see me in the mirror.

"Stop being silly! let's finish soon so we can go see a movie. I still have to finish some work things." I smiled gently as I looked at him in the mirror, his face lifting from the back of my head, our eyes meeting momentarily. He saw my smile and just smiled back, still drying my hair; his right hand holding the hairdryer handle, slowly moving the electronic device left and right, making the hot air reach almost all of my hair, drying my strands quickly.

Finally wearing pajamas, lying together on the couch, a bucket of popcorn on my hands, we started watching a movie that I chose because it was about an hour and a half long. The movie was playing on our television, while we were eating popcorn, we were spooning, with me being the smaller spoon and Tom being the bigger spoon. I gave him some popcorn because I needed to reward him after he washed my hair and dried it too - he was definitely the best boyfriend any girl could have, I was so lucky. His left hand was on my waist while we watched the movie, he squeezed the skin in that area from time to time, in a gesture of affection and protection and he never failed to make me feel loved and protected, without a shadow of a doubt.

During the movie, we laughed, talked and stuffed ourselves with popcorn - maybe we talked more and paid less attention to the film but that's ok, it wasn't like there was going to be a test about the movie after we finished watching it.

"If you were a super duper professional movie reviewer, what grade would you give the movie?" I questioned curiously, my body now facing his; instead of spooning. My eyes kept looking up, watching his dark brown eyes, waiting for an answer while he let out a long "hmm" thinking about an answer, looking into my eyes with a thoughtful and relaxed expression at the same time.

"First of all, what makes you think I'm not a super duper movie reviewer?" He questioned back, his tone dripping with sassiness, his gaze showing teasing. I rolled my eyes and slapped him lightly on the chest, eliciting a hearty laugh from his lips, which made me give a silly smile in response. "Okay...I'd give it...a pretty solid 7.6, considering several funny scenes. Especially the one with the man tripping that we laughed a lot at. The scenery isn't bad either, but I've seen better." His voice was forced; actually trying to imitate a fancy critic who knew what he was talking about, which made me start laughing and caused his character to break - as he started laughing too, bringing his face closer to shower my face with little kisses as we laughed.

But as all good things eventually come to an end, we had to get up and leave our "cocoon". I went to clean the popcorn bucket, while Tom tidied up the living room, especially the couch; folding the blankets, arranging the cushions and cleaning up some crumbs that accidentally fell during the movie. While I was cleaning the popcorn bucket in the kitchen, I got distracted by my thoughts, now I was going to have to go finish that damn presentation to send to my boss. My thoughts were interrupted, this time it wasn't by my boss closing the door but by Tom coming to hug me from behind, his hands finding themselves in front of my abdomen and putting light pressure there, while his face lowered to rest on my shoulder. His body was pressed against my back - and that's not a complaint, I loved being like that with him, even in silence. Today he was much more needy than normal, normally he can stay longer without physical contact with me but today he seemed to want me close to him all the time.

"Did you manage to finish cleaning the couch?" My voice was very low and gentle, waiting for a response but I just felt his head on my shoulder moving up and down; indicating that yes, he was done, he just wanted to stand there and hug me. I smiled broadly, finishing cleaning the popcorn bucket and removing the excess water, placing the bucket to dry on the dish rack. As soon as I finished, I gently separated my body from Tom's, turning so we were facing each other, looking up at him.

"Are you okay?" I watched him with slight concern, his needy hands already making their way to my slim waist, pulling me closer to him as he kept his gaze on mine.

"I've been thinking about you all day, you know?" Tom said rhetorically, squeezing my waist lightly as he lowered his face towards my face; getting close enough to make me close my eyes, thinking he was going to kiss me, but he moved past my face and placed his chin on my collarbone, placing kisses there on my neck. My skin crawled as I felt his short beard brushing lightly against the warm skin of my neck and also felt his lip piercing, cold against my warm skin. I could understand his intentions, even a blind person could understand what he wanted. As much as I wanted, I had to finish the presentation as soon as possible, so I gasped softly and opened my eyes, placing my hands on his broad shoulders and moving him gently away from my neck.

"Sorry honey, I need to finish my a presentation by the day after tomorrow." I said almost like an apology, seeing the tall boy lift his head and watch me, squeezing my waist again; he needed a place to take out his desire, huh?

"It'll be quick, I promise. Please?" He begged with the most insistent puppy eyes in the world, caressing my waist in search of a "yes".

"How about tomorrow?" I suggested as I took my right hand to caress his cheek gently, looking into his eyes and reflecting the same desire he had, but knowing that I have responsibilities. Tom just nodded and sighed at the idea of having to wait until tomorrow, getting closer - if that was even possible. "Can I at least get a kiss?" As soon as he finished speaking, I brought our faces closer and began a calm kiss, the cold sensation of his piercing taking over my lips while I kept my hand on his cheek, my thumb caressing his face and feeling the short beard there. Our tongues danced together, almost as if they had a life of their own. Tom's hands went under my loose pajama top, caressing the skin on my back, making my breathing become shaky. He did this on purpose, just wanting to see me getting goosebumps, what a son of a bitch.

The kiss stopped due to lack of oxygen - which sucked, since I could keep kissing his lips until I died and I would still die happy. Opening my eyes, I breathe again, breathing deeply, but not exaggeratedly. I watched him; and he had a silly smile on his lips, which made my cheeks light up with a light red tone, smiling back.

"Don't just stand there and stare at me like a zombie, let's go to the bedroom. I have to finish the presentation while...well, you can try to sleep if you want." I said, pulling away from him, joining our hands and pulling him carefully towards our bedroom.

"A zombie? Is that what I looked like? I was admiring you, asshole." He replied, pretending to be offended while maintaining that same stupid smile, making his eyes almost become a straight line because of the smile that took up space on his face. In response I just shook my head negatively, giggling.

As soon as we got to our room, I let go of his hand and let him go to bed - if he already wanted to go to sleep. I walked in big steps, reaching a desk in the corner of our room and turning on my computer; which, by the way, was much more up to date than the one I had in the office. I dragged the chair with wheels back and sat there, forcing my body forward until I fit my body on the table so I could see the computer screen better and finally; finish this presentation that is bothering me and not allowing me to spend more time with Tom. As I typed and typed, time passed slowly, which was good and bad at the same time. It was good because it meant I had more time to finish and spend more time with Tom and it was bad because I felt like I was doing the presentation very slowly.

I finally managed to finish it after a few hours there, my eyes were almost closed and my posture was completely forward; so that my head was lying on the cold wood of the table while all I had to do was send this to my boss. I looked at the small time indicator in the corner of my computer screen, showing that it was 1:56 AM. Before I could send the presentation to my boss, Tom approached with slower steps since he was probably sleepy too and without saying anything, he just closed my computer and picked me up bridal style - taking me away from the desk and the computer. I let out a sigh, worrying about the presentation for a few seconds, but remembered that it would be saved and I could send it to my boss when I woke up tomorrow morning. So I just accepted Tom's embrace, placing my face against his shoulder, even though his steps were slow, they managed to reach the bed very easily, so he placed me on the bed and joined me straight after placing me there. When he did that, I covered our bodies, turning sideways to face him.

"You shouldn't have to stay working late, honey." He said first in a strained, low voice, gently scolding me for working late.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just need to deliver this presentation soon." I responded to him, feeling one of his hands come to my face, cupping and caressing my cheek affectionately; his thumb almost taking over my face because his hands are big and my face is small.

"No need to apologize. You know I have enough money to support both of us, right?" I waited for him to finish speaking before answering with "I don't want to feel like I'm a leech on your money, Tom." In response he snorted slightly at what I said, as if I had just said the stupidest thing he had ever heard, moving his hand away from my face. "That's the last thing I would think of you, Y/n. If I can help and save you from having to work and deal with an annoying boss, then I want to help. Please?" He insisted as he brought his face close to mine. Even in the dark, I could still see the silhouette of his face there, approaching my face. I remained silent, thoughtful about what he had said, hesitant to answer a yes or no. "We'll be able to spend more time together without you having to work. You'll even be able to see me rehearse with the band. I'm already a super happy man by your side, but I'd be a super duper happy man if you didn't work and we could spend more time together." He insisted a little more while his voice dropped to almost a whisper, wanting to get that "ok, I'm not going to work anymore" from my lips, getting closer until his forehead was touching mine. "Money is not a problem for me, you know that." He completed, waiting for some response from me. My mind was racing, I would love to spend more time with him...but I didn't want to feel like I was gold-digging, even though I really wasn't and I just loved Tom so fucking much.

"I will think about it." I finally gave an answer, but not choosing between yes or no, as I needed to think more about what Tom suggested. Tom didn't question or show disappointment or displeasure, he just brought our lips together in a quick peck since we were both tired. "Think fondly, okay? I love you." He replied, moving our faces apart just to place his face between my breasts, using that area as a pillow. "I love you too." My small hands came up to stroke his long black braids, tracing a pattern through his braids until we both slept.

In the morning, I woke up to the sounds of birds chirping, the light from the window hitting the curtain and making it slightly transparent; so that the light entered our room. But that wasn't the only thing that woke me up. Little by little I started to let out soft and low cries, feeling hands holding my thighs. I woke up, still sleepy, already feeling a knot in my stomach, which made me look down and see no one but Tom there, practically drowning in my pussy. His tongue moved up to my clit and down, flicking quickly on my pussy while holding my thighs as if I could disappear at any moment. I felt his short beard rubbing against my pussy, making me let out louder cries, specially now that I started to be more aware of what he was doing. My pajama pants were lying on the corner of the bed, along with my panties - how had he taken them off without me even waking up? I must be pretty tired, I guess.

"You said I could have you today. But you didn't specify the time." His husky voice vibrated against my pussy as he noticed that I had woke up and was being responsive to his stimulations. Tom looked up, wanting to see my eyes, which at the moment were closed in pleasure, due to waking up to this surprise of his; which wasn't the first time, of course.

"Good morning, to you too, Y/n." He said teasingly, not expecting a response from me as he pressed my small thighs against his muscular arms, wanting to taste me in the purest form possible - straight from the source.

My legs were shaking because of the constant stimulation of his tongue, my hands went to his head, pulling at his black braids, gently trying to get him out of there, even though I knew I had no chance against Tom. He purposely tightened his arms around my thighs, moving his tongue up to my clit, flicking his tongue there in a skillful way, wanting to make me as overwhelmed with pleasure as possible. And he was so fucking good at it. My back arched as moans interrupted by other moans of mine - echoed through our room. He grunted against my clit in response to seeing me like this – desperate and seeking release. "Tom! My god, fuckfuckfuck!" And with one last slightly stronger pull on his black braids, my body lost control and the knot that was forming in my stomach came undone, my legs lightly kicking the air as waves of pleasure passed through my body and Tom felt the taste of all of the release, not letting a drop go unharmed, stimulating me until he felt the last drop on his tongue.

When Tom felt my body relax, he gave one last loving lick to my overstimulated sex and removed his face from between my legs, finishing tasting the pleasure that he gave me, lifting his body and approaching me; who was lying on the bed, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I processed the orgasmic effects coursing through me.

Suddenly I felt his hand under my thigh, pulling me closer to him quickly and easily, since he had a lot of strength. "Open your eyes, Y/n. Look at me." He said gently but with a tone of voice that made it seem like he was demanding and expected me to open my eyes as he asked. Without hesitation, I opened my eyes that were filled with post-orgasmic bliss and looked in his direction, our gazes meeting as a proud smile formed on his lips.

"I love watching you fall apart like that. It never gets old." Then, with a most mischievous smile, Tom; still with his hand under my thigh, added his other hand under my other thigh and pulled me close to him, my body dragging across the sheets. He moved his hands from under my thighs to my waist, lifting me up and finally placing me on top of him so that my body was facing him.

"Now that you're awake, how about we get on with my dick, hmm?" He suggested as he brought a hand to my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, adjusting my messy appearance.

"But I'm tired. I just woke up." I answered calmly, my body relaxing in his lap, which made him place both of his large hands on my waist, just to keep me balanced and not fall back. I looked at him, my hands going to his shoulders; standing still on top of the pajama fabric that separated my hand from touching his body.

"Aww, poor thing." He muttered soothingly, mocking me. I felt his face get closer to mine, only for him to pepper kisses on my jaw that went down the side of my neck, making me respond to this action almost instantly, as I shivered and closed my eyes. "It'll be really quick, I promise. Then you can go back to sleep." Looking for some way to say "yes" without having to say anything, my hands on his shoulders gently pulled the fabric, wanting to take that shirt off; Tom understood what I meant and helped me take off his shirt, throwing it anywhere, as much as he could have me here, now. My eyes roamed his body before he suddenly captured my lips in a vaguely aggressive kiss, the taste of my own release making me cringe against his mouth before I deepened the kiss.

Tom's hands squeezed my waist one last time before starting a path upward towards the last piece of clothing on my body. His fingers slowly ran up my torso, until they reached the middle of my chest where Tom began to unbutton the buttons of my pajamas in a hurry. Our kiss seemed to get more heated as he removed my pajama shirt, my waist moving back and forth in his lap; looking for more contact with him, since I felt he was hard through his sweatpants. In response to my movements against his lap, Tom made low grunts against my lips, our tongues "fighting" together, our desires being discounted against each other.

My waist stopped and my hands dropped from his shoulder, going to his sweatpants, pulling down his pants along with his underwear; his cock freeing itself from the fabrics that were squeezing him. I couldn't take his pants and underwear off completely, so they hung loosely over Tom's thighs.

I broke the kiss after his dick was already exposed, breathing quickly due to the anticipation of wanting to feel him. It was funny how minutes ago I was sleepy and now I just wanted Tom inside me. Tom looked down into my eyes, one of his hands that were on my waist, moving up my cheek and caressing the skin there, admiring my tired but glazed with desire face. My small hands went to his shaft, our eyes meeting as I lightl the area, making slow up and down movements.

"Mmm...just ride me, Y/n. I need you now." He said with a hoarse voice due to my teasing, his hand leaving my cheek and going to my waist; getting up and positioning his length at my entrance, pushing my waist completely down, filling me with just one thrust; eliciting a whimper from my lips. My hands quickly went to his shoulders, squeezing that area in an attempt to ease the pain I felt from being filled suddenly. "A-ah...Tom!" I silently screamed, my eyes closing as I concentrated on getting used to him, he used one hand to stroke my back in circles wanting me to get used to it before he could continue. "Shh..I know, babe." He softly whispered, wanting to soothe the pain away.

When I finally got used to it, I slowly lifted my waist and Tom; with his hands around my waist, pulled me down without slowness, filling me again, eliciting yet another whimper from my lips, a whimper that he liked to hear, as he took control of my movements and his hands tightened around my waist, guiding my movements up and down. I helped him with difficulty, with each thrust of his, one moan came louder than the other. "You sound so fucking pretty." He said between low gasps, his face approaching my neck, nibbling and sucking the warm skin in that area, marking me with hickeys. My head fell back, letting him have easy access to my neck and mark wherever he wanted; being at his mercy.

"Ouch!..I can't!" I cried, my legs failing to help him move inside of me, causing him to stay still inside me; his dick shuddering against my tight, hot walls. He was very big and even though we had a relatively active sexual relationship, I had difficulty getting used to him.

"Yes, you can." He answered sternly, hugging my waist, both of his arms keeping our bodies pressing against each other. "And you will." He stated, thrusting upwards, his cock filling me more intensely in that position, making my hands desperately go to his biceps and squeeze the muscular area; who was tense against my touch as he was keeping me trapped between his body and his arms. I laid my head against his chest, words coming out of my mouth but they were all incoherent and accompanied by messy whimpers. My body shook with each thrust, the bed beneath our bodies creaking with each thrust coming from Tom, as my walls clenched around him, milking him for everything he was worth.

"You feel..so fucking good." With Tom's hands around me, he used this to his advantage and lifted me up slightly, thrusting in and out of me at a faster pace, angling himself to hit a sensitive spot between my hot walls, my moans echoing through our room - complaints would come from the neighbors, I thought before my mind became numb so that all I could think about was that moment and how it was good. However, due to the intensity, I tried to escape weakly and make Tom stop focusing on that point of mine. Tom smiled at my attempts but didn't let me escape, pressing myself tighter against his body, wanting me to reach the peak as quickly as possible. "Oh no, you're not getting away now, Y/n." With Tom's skillful movements against my sensitive spot, my legs began to tremble and my head lifted from his chest, looking up towards him, admiring his expression; Eyebrows furrowed, those black braids all messy, his forehead sweaty, eyes slightly closed, looking back at me and groans leaving his lips. He was just so pretty.

Tom lowered his head to search for my lips and begin a slower, more desire-filled kiss; our voices mixing between the kiss, making my whimpers sound more erotic. His movements quickened more as I clenched tighter and tighter around him, and then, our bodies shook together and both of us climaxed, our voices joining in a long satisfied "Mmm" that echoed through the room as we slowly rode our highs, the waves of pleasure passing through both of us and making our bodies go into light spasms. The grip of Tom's arms around my waist became lighter little by little, with his hands off my waist, he reached down and gave my ass a light squeeze, making me sigh against his lips before parting our lips; that they were still "together" even though we were moving our faces apart, as a long thread of saliva formed between us but briefly fell apart.

I gave him a satisfied smile and made him smile back at me, I could still feel him buried inside of me, his cock twitching. "I think that was one of the best 'good morning' you've given me so far." I declared with a tired voice, still processing my recent climax, my hand going up to his face, gently running my hand through the sweat on his forehead and removing at least some of the sweat from that area. "But what about all the others 'good mornings' I gave you? Weren't those enough?" Tom replied, a sad pout forming on his lips; teasingly, his eyes shining with happiness. "Of course they were."

"You're not lying, right? :("

"Tom."

":("

"Don't be silly, I love all the 'good mornings' you give me."

":D"

"Sooooo..." Tom started talking while we were both taking a shower, I had the soap in my hands, soaping my body while I waited for him to finish talking. "What about your job? Have you thought about what I said yesterday?" He finished speaking, approaching me and observing me, searching my eyes and wanting a concrete answer on this subject. "Can I answer after the shower?" I asked calmly as I looked up at him, the answer was already on the tip of my tongue, but I wanted to wait to say it. "Sure. Whatever you want." He responded back without any hesitation, starting to clean his braids, just wanting to get out of there quickly so he could get the answer soon.

As soon as we got out of the shower, changed into more casual clothes, I sat on the edge of the bed and sighed; I didn't even think about what Tom said to me yesterday, since I didn't even have time to think. I soon felt Tom sit down next to me, the mattress dipping slightly against his weight; It was clear that Tom was wanting an answer, so I got up from the end of the bed and went towards the computer, turning it on and going to the file where my presentation was located - it was what I was going to present tomorrow. Tom followed me, curious as he watched what I was doing. "What are you doing? Don't tell me you're gonna send this to your boss." He replied, his tone showing obvious frustration. "You'll only know if you see it, silly. I haven't even answered anything yet." I answered, giving him hope. My fingers moved over the keyboard just to delete my entire presentation; even though I spent several nights making them to send to my boss.

"Is that a 'I'm gonna spend more time with my boyfriend and not deal with my annoying boss anymore'?"

"Almost. What should I send my boss?"

"Tell him to fuck o-"

"Tom!"

"I'm sorry but he practically steals you from me for like 10 hours every day!"

"He used to steal me from you for 10 hours." I corrected, rolling my eyes, typing on the slides where my presentation should be, "I quit."

"Aren't you even going to put a smiley emoji in the message?"

"Why's that?"

Tom just looked up and down at me and gently removed my hands from the keyboard, making sure to put a ":D" at the end. "Aren't you happy now that you're not going to work and are going to spend more time with me?"

"I am."

"That's what the smiley emoji is for. To show that you're leaving that boring place and you're going to be happy with your boyfriend."

"I should never have taught you to use those emojis. Ugh."

@httpkaulitz jwss eu te amo eu to com Tanto sono sao tres da manha.isso ficou mais longo do que eu esperava mEudeus

[soulofapatrick]

In the Quiet Moments - Aaron Hotchner x female reader

Summary: A case makes you admit your feelings to Hotch

Words: 1.8K

Warning: none, just fluffiness

Y/N's POV

The jet cabin is cloaked in a heavy silence, a stark contrast to the usual banter and camaraderie that fills the air after a case. Each member of the team occupies a space, physically present yet emotionally distant, lost in their own thoughts and the weight of the horrors we've witnessed. I hate this part of the cases, the cool down. The somber atmosphere that feels suffocating when things don’t go as well as they could have. The exhaustion on everyone’s faces. The guilt in their eyes. 

I’m stood by the coffee machine, nursing a hot cup to keep away the nightmares. Everyone’s doing what they can to distract themselves. Spencer’s taken the couch, his lanky frame stretched out across it and my coat as his pillow and soft snores emitting from him. In the nearest four seater to Spencer is sat Rossi, he’s playing a game of chess with Emily to distract themselves. Morgan’s sat in the two seater with his headphones on and JJ’s asleep opposite him, leaving Hotch sat on his own in the other four seater. 

The soft glow of the cabin lights casts a gentle halo around Hotch, illuminating the worn lines etched into his features. There's a subtle furrow in his brow, a testament to the weight of responsibility that rests upon his shoulders. His gaze, fixed with unwavering determination, traces the lines of the case files spread out before him, each page a glimpse into the horrors we've witnessed.

Despite the exhaustion that hangs heavy in the air, Hotch remains steadfast, his posture rigid with resolve. His jaw is set in a firm line, the faintest hint of weariness lurking beneath the surface. In the quiet solitude of the cabin, he seems both distant and yet achingly present, a pillar of strength amidst the chaos that surrounds us.

As I watch him from across the cabin, a surge of empathy washes over me, mingling with the exhaustion that gnaws at my bones. Hotch's unwavering composure belies the turmoil that rages within, a silent battle fought in the depths of his soul.

It what makes me decide who to sit with. I need to feel someone and that someone would usually be Spencer but he’s taken up too much of the couch for me to join his sleeping form so I head towards Hotch. 

My steps tentative as I don’t want to disturb the quiet peace, approaching Hotch as the soft hum of the jet engines create a soothing backdrop. Hotch looks up, his gaze meeting mine with a flicker of acknowledgment, a silent invitation lingering in the air between us. 

Hotch's gaze softens as I gently push his shoulder, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes at my playful pout. With a subtle nod, he shifts over to the window seat, making room for me to slide in beside him. The warmth of his presence envelops me like a comforting embrace as I settle into the space next to him, the gentle hum of the jet engines a soothing backdrop to the heavy silence that surrounds us.

"What are we looking at?" I inquire softly, my voice barely above a whisper as I pick up the nearest folder, my heart sinking at the gruesome images that greet me. Hotch takes the folder from my hands with a shake of his head, a silent gesture of protection against the horrors contained within despite me being a member of the BAU and seeing this stuff on a daily bases.

With practiced efficiency, he begins to stack the folders, creating a barrier between us and the darkness that threatens to consume our thoughts. I meet his gaze with a mixture of determination and vulnerability, my silent plea for solace echoing in the depths of his gaze.

"What do you need?" Hotch's voice is gentle, a beacon of calm amidst the chaos that swirls around us. But instead of answering, I find myself drawn to him, a primal instinct guiding my movements as I gently manoeuvre him into the corner of the seat, his warmth enveloping me like a protective shield.

I lay my head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby against the backdrop of our shared exhaustion. With a faint smile, I hand him a case file, the words barely a whisper against the material of his suit jacket.

"I sleep, you work," I murmur, the weight of our shared burdens momentarily forgotten in the quiet intimacy of the moment. And as the jet hurtles through the night sky, carrying us home to the familiar embrace of the unknown, I find solace in the unspoken bond that binds us together, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that threatens to consume us all. 

His scent surrounds me, a mixture of leather and cologne, familiar and comforting in its simplicity. It’s a scent that speaks of strengths and resilience, of the countless battles fought and won in the name of justice. And as his hand finds its way to my hair, the gentle caress sending shivers down my spine, I can’t help but lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering shut as I bask in the warmth of his presence. 

In this fleeting moment, nestled against his chest, I feel safe, cocooned in the protective embrace of his arms. His heartbeat, steady and reassuring, lulls me into a state of peaceful oblivion until it suddenly picks up when I burrow a hand under his suit jacket and into the fabric of his button-up shirt. It brings back that yearning I’ve been trying to bury, a desire that simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to engulf us both in its fiery embrace. I long to lean up, to press my lips against his in a silent confession of the emotions that swirl beneath the surface. But he’s my boss, and I’m just his friend and college, bound by the unspoken rules that govern our professional relationship. 

As I nestle against Hotch's chest, a pang of longing courses through me, igniting a fire that threatens to consume us both. I find myself nuzzling at his shirt, the fabric warm against my nose and cheek, his solid and toned chest a testament to the strength that lies within. In the hushed stillness of the jet cabin, I hear Hotch’s breath hitch, a subtle indication that he, too, is affected by the tension that crackles between us. 

His voice, when he speaks, is quiet and measured, a soothing balm against the storm raging within, “What’s on your mind?” Hotch’s words are laced with an undercurrent of curiosity, a silent invitation to share the burden that weighs heavy upon my heart. And as his gaze meets mine, I see something flicker within the depths of his eyes, a vulnerability that mirrors my own. 

For a fleeting moment, his eyes dip down to my lips, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken desires that simmer just beneath the surface. And in that moment, I see the truth reflected in his gaze, a yearning that echoes my own. 

Summoning every ounce of courage I possess, I run my hand up from his chest to his cheek, the touch tentative yet filled with longing. His stubble grazes against my palm, tactile reminder of the intimacy that binds us together. And as my fingers slip into the soft tufts of his black hair, I see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a question hanging in the air between us. 

I’m shifting my body slightly, bringing my lips tantalisingly close to his, I feel the tension crackling through his entire being as if he wants this but he wants to remain professional. Uncertainty hangs like a veil, casting a shadow over the moment, yet I can’t help but be drawn to the magnetic pull that binds us together. 

“Stop me if I’m reading this wrong.” I murmur, the words a soft whisper against the canvas of our shared intimacy. It’s a plea, a silent beg for him to guide me through this uncharted territory of our desires. 

And then, in a heartbeat, everything changes. Hotch surges forwards, his lips meeting mine in a breath stealing kiss that ignites a firestorm of emotions within me. It’s a symphony of passion and longing, a silent confession of the unspoken desires that have been lingering between us for far too long. 

His hands find their way to the small of my back, drawing me closer in a gesture of unspoken longing. His touch is both gentle and possessive, a silent promise of the depth of his desire. His lips, warm and velvety against mine, ignite a firestorm of sensation that courses through my veins like liquid flame. It’s a kiss that speaks volumes, a language of passion and longing that transcends the boundaries of words. 

In his embrace, I feel alive, every nerve ending ablaze with the intensity of our shared connection. It’s a if the world fades away, leaving only the two of us suspended in a timeless embrace, lost in the depths of shared desire. Hotch makes me feel cherished, desired, and understood in a way I’ve never experienced before. In his arms, I find solace, a sanctuary from the chaos that surrounds us, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that threatens to consume us. 

But, just as we lose ourselves in the depth of our shared desire, a sharp wolf whistle pierces the air, snapping us back to reality with a jolt. Morgan is standing before us, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he observes our flushes cheeks and disheveled appearances. 

With a nervous laugh, I jump apart from Hotch, the remnants of the coffee spilling across the table in a chaotic mess. My cheeks flame red with embarrassment as I fumble for words, the panic evident in my trembling hands.

Morgan’s laughter echoes through the cabin, a lighthearted reminder of the camaraderie that binds us together. With a playful wink, he saunters away, leaving Hotch and me to contend with the aftermath of our momentary lapse in composure as we hear Morgan telling the others what he just witnesses at the end of the cabin and hearing the gasps and giggles and laughter. 

I glance at Hotch who’s cheeks are as red as his tie, his expression a mixture of amusement and affection and I can’t help but smile despite the embarrassment that lingers in the air. 

“Get some sleep, we’re gonna need it.” He mutters, pulling me back into his arms so my head is on his chest again and this time I let his heartbeat begin to lull me into the sweet bliss of sleep as he pours over the now slightly coffee stained case files, not quite sure if this is all a dream or not. 

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

the last great american dynasty

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6.8k (whoops)

summary:

Joel Miller has loved the historic Victorian home in his neighborhood since the first time he laid eyes on it. When the elderly owner passes, he thinks he might get his chance to finally buy it and fix it up.

He doesn’t expect to find you, the granddaughter of the previous owner and trustee of her estate, standing in the way of his dream

author's note:

inspo board this work is inspired by taylor swift's song "the last great american dynasty" and is part of the folklore album anthology! if you enjoy, please consider reblogging/commenting and make sure to check out the other works by the amazing collaborators on this project.

tags/warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, work contains journal entries as part of the plot, porn with plot, pre-outbreak!joel, grandma is a named OFC, sassy reader, dirty talk, teasing, praise, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paint as a flirting mechanism, mild enemies to lovers, pet names. let me know if there are any missing!

August 20, 1948

I have arrived in Texas. I am uncertain where to go or what to do. For so long I’ve answered only to George, but now I am my own woman and the world before me has suddenly become much bigger, seemingly overnight.

I just hope it will be good for me.

-R

PRESENT DAY

If there’s one thing you never expected, it’s to inherit a mansion from a grandmother that you’ve never spoken to. As far as you were aware that kind of thing only happened in movies, so receiving a phone call from an estate lawyer that had been trying to locate you for a whole year since this mystery woman’s passing was a complete shock.

Now you find yourself with a car full of your belongings driving cross country to a sleepy suburb of Austin, Texas. The first stop is the lawyer’s office, where a secretary eyes you warily as you sit in the lobby of the lush office suite, fingers toying with a loose thread on the t-shirt you’d been wearing for the last eight-hour leg of your road trip.

A voice calls your name from a door just past the secretary’s desk, an older man with white hair and a deeply wrinkled face smiling kindly at you. You stand, shaking his hand as you pass by him into his office. He gestures to the wingback chairs that face his impressive dark wood desk. You take in the diplomas on the wall and the floor to ceiling bookshelves lined with thick, leather bound tomes. 

“I appreciate you comin’ all the way out here so quickly. You were quite the tough one to find,” the man says with a chuckle. He pulls out a thick envelope, cream colored with swooping, swirling handwriting across the front reading your name. “Your grandmother was a dear friend of mine. She established a trust in your name not long after you were born.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m still a little confused. I didn’t even know I had a grandmother,” you admit quietly. He nods solemnly. 

“She never told me all the details, but there had been a falling out between her and her daughter. They kept their distance after that.” When you don’t say anything, mind too busy racing with the questions that you suppose only your mom can answer now, he continues. “Would you like the review the details of the trust?”

“Um, sure. I guess that’s why I’m here, after all.”

He slips a piece of paper from the folder, sliding it across the desk. The same swirling handwriting fills the page.

My Dearest,

You may not know me, but I’ve watched you grow in photographs and letters since you were born. You mean the world to me, even if I could not fit in the world that your mother created for you. I respected that choice, hurt though it may have.  She had her own path to forge, just as I did, and just as you will. I am eternally grateful for the parts of her life she did share after she left.  

In the event of my passing, I leave my estate to you in its entirety. I built my true happiness in those walls, and I hope you can do the same.

-R

You read the letter twice, eyes stinging with tears. A tissue box slides across the desk, and you pluck two sheets out gratefully. 

“In this envelope are the more official documents. The deed transfer that will need your signature, beneficiary statements for her banking and savings accounts, things like that. My office will handle all the paperwork filing,” the man says. A few more forms are laid out on the desk, and you lean forward to read them. 

“Holy shit,” you snap, eyes wide as you swipe the beneficiary statement from the wood. “There must be too many zeroes in this, right? Or a rogue comma? That can’t be the right amount.”

“I assure you that’s the correct amount,” he says with a laugh. “And if you’ll sign down there, it’ll be transferred to your name and designated account.”

Your mouth goes dry as you read through the rest of the documents. In addition to the sizeable amount of money about to hit your bank account, there’s a five-bedroom house being transferred into your name, as well as a safety deposit box. You sign each form where directed, sliding them back over to the lawyer. 

“I believe this is yours,” he says, holding a house key out to you. He drops it into your open palm. “Good luck.”

“I wish they would just put that place up for sale already,” Joel grumbles from the passenger seat of his brother’s truck as they drive by the out-of-place 1920s Victorian home on their way to a job site. 

“You’ve been sayin’ that for the past year since that poor old woman passed,” Tommy says with a laugh. “Give it up, brother. Your dream house is just goin’ to rot away before your eyes.”

“Don’t you say that,” Joel replies. He doesn’t need Tommy speaking his fear into the universe. 

The house has already been showing signs of falling apart in the last ten years Joel has lived in the neighborhood. The roof needs work, the shutters need replacing, the lawn is overgrown, and there’s a sizable hole in the wrap-around porch that seems to get bigger over time.

He’s wanted that house since the first time he saw it while he was house hunting ten years ago, a then three-year-old Sarah on his hip as he toured a nice little house that was available in the neighborhood at the time. While the home he’s built with his daughter through long days of hard work is nothing to scoff at, he’s always dreamed of something with more character and story. 

He just hopes he’ll get his chance.

You stare up at the old house in front of you, shielding your eyes from the late afternoon sun. It’s a beautiful house, though there’s no denying its seen better days – two stories with large bay windows on both floors, white wood siding and chipped red shutters that are clinging to their rusty hardware, a large wrap around porch that has vines encroaching on the banisters, a lawn overgrown with weeds. You tentatively climb the steps of the porch, peeking nervously into the large hole in the wood to the left of the front door.

“That’s private property,” a gruff voice calls out, making you jump. You turn, finding a man standing on the sidewalk with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You ain’t supposed to be snoopin’ around.”

“Actually—”

“Why don’t you just head home, sweetheart, and I won’t have to call the cops,” the stranger says, cutting you off. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“This is—”

The man huffs, arms dropping as he digs in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a cell phone. “Seriously, I’ll give you until the count of three. We don’t need trouble around this neighborhood, alright?”

The nerve, you think, narrowing your eyes at the man. Since he clearly doesn’t want to hear what you have to say, you decide to take a different route. You reach into the pocket of your shorts, pulling out the key that the lawyer had given you earlier that day. You take a sideways step closer to the door, keeping your eyes on the man as you pointedly insert the key into the lock and opening the heavy wood door.

His mouth drops open in surprise and you smile at him.

“You were saying?”

Joel had seen the car parked in the driveway of the empty house when Tommy dropped him off after work. He’d quickly checked on Sarah, newly thirteen and fiercely independent, finding her working on her homework at the kitchen table, before making his way across the street. 

He hadn’t expected to find a gorgeous woman snooping around the old house, curves hugged in denim shorts and a tank top that made his mouth water. He also hadn’t expected the woman to produce a key from the pocket of those sinfully tight shorts.

“You were saying?” You ask, lips curved in a smirk and eyebrows raised at him. When Joel doesn’t immediately reply, still too stunned that you have access to the house, you turn and walk through the door, shutting it behind you. 

He finally shakes himself of his shock, bounding up the steps and knocking on the door. You pull it back open.

“I’ll buy it from you,” Joel says immediately.

“Excuse me?” You reply, your hands moving to your hips. “It’s not for sale.”

“Come on, what’s a girl like you need all this space for?” Your mouth drops open, pretty lips stretched wide in surprise and Joel struggles to keep his thoughts from drifting to sinful places. 

“A girl like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re young, that’s all. You don’t need a house this big and this much of a project!”

“What makes you think I don’t have a big ol’ family I’m moving in here? Four kids and a loving husband?!”

Joel blinks. “You got four kids and a lovin’ husband?”

“No, but that’s besides the point.” You roll your eyes, jabbing a finger at his chest. “It’s not for sale. Now get off my porch before I call the cops on you.”

With that final word, the door shuts in Joel’s face again, the sound of your retreating footsteps signaling the end of the discussion.

November 12, 1948

There’s a gentleman who comes into the diner every Tuesday. He always sits in one of my booths, with his perfect hair and suit and handsome face distracting me until he leaves. Some of the other waitresses try talking to him but he doesn’t pay them any mind. They’ve whispered to me before that he comes from money - oil, or something, not that it matters. 

His name is William, and I think he’s trying to steal my heart.

-R

“So, let me get this straight. First, you threatened to call the police on this woman. Then, rather than introducin’ yourself or welcomin’ her to the neighborhood or even apologizin’, you just go straight to tellin’ her she doesn’t need a house that big and that you wanna buy it from her. Did I hear that right?” Tommy says, watching Joel as he throws together dinner the following evening. 

“Yeah, that sums it up,” Sarah says. Joel huffs.

“Well, when you put it like that.” He sips his beer as his daughter and brother share a look. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothin’,” they say in tandem. Joel narrows his eyes as Sarah breaks out in giggles. Tommy stands, heading to Joel’s pantry and rifling through the shelves until he finds an unopened bottle of whiskey buried in the back.

“What are you doin’ with that?” Joel asks. 

“Welcomin’ your new neighbor like the gentleman I am. Sarah, watch the pasta while I show your dad how it’s done,” Tommy replies, heading for the front door, Joel trailing behind him. 

Tommy crosses the street with quick steps, eyeing the porch dubiously as he knocks on the door. Joel stands beside him, hands shoved in his pockets as he curses under his breath about his brother’s stupid antics.

You open the door, dressed this time in a pretty sundress that makes Joel’s mouth go dry. Tommy flashes you a grin and Joel can’t help the annoyance he feels when his brother’s eyes trail over your body.

“Hey there! I’m Tommy Miller, you may have met my dumbass brother over here the other day. I’m certain he didn’t make the best impression, so I just wanted to come over and welcome you to the neighborhood,” he says, holding the whiskey out to you. 

You introduce yourself, ignoring Joel. “Thank you so much, Tommy. Would you like to come in?”

“Sure thing,” his traitorous brother replies, stepping over the threshold. When Joel makes a move to follow, you give him a pointed look before shutting the door in his face. 

“You want a beer, Tommy?” You ask the handsome man in your kitchen. You can’t help but be impressed by the genetics of the Miller family, both men tall and tan and handsome as hell. Sure, one of them could use a lesson on manners, but you’ll admit that since your confrontation your mind has drifted to thoughts of brown eyes and soft dark hair that belong to the brother you left on the porch out of spite.

“Yes, please,” Tommy says politely. You open the dated refrigerator and grab two beer bottles, popping the caps against the countertop and handing one to him. “This sure is a nice place.”

“Thanks. I just inherited it from my grandma,” you explain. “It’s a little…dated.”

He chuckles. “We call it ‘character’ in contractin’.”

“That what you guys do, then? Contracting?”

“Sure is. Miller Brothers Contracting and Construction.” Tommy scratches at the label on the bottle before saying, “Look, I know my brother can come off the wrong way. He didn’t get the social genes. But he’s a good guy, and he’s loved this house since the first time he saw it. Always wanted to buy it, fix it up, raise his little girl here. Maybe add to his family one day.”

You look around the rundown kitchen. You’ve only been here a day and you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. The electrical and plumbing are all outdated, the appliances need replacing, the floors need to be refurbished, and that’s just the first floor. You could use some help with it all, and maybe the grumpy contractor next door who cares about the house could help you with it all.

“I appreciate that he loves the house but…I never met my grandma. Never even knew who she was or that she was even alive, and it’s the only connection I have to her. I don’t know if this is going to be my forever but…I want to at least give it a shot.”

Tommy smiles. “We could help with that.”

It feels like ages before Tommy’s stepping back out onto the porch, a beer in his hand that makes Joel frown.

“Y’all were havin’ drinks while I sat out here like an ass?” He asks incredulously. Tommy throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“Yes, and if you don’t quit your whinin’ I’m not goin’ to tell you about our lovely conversation,” the younger man says as he walks with Joel back to his house.

In the kitchen, Sarah is pouring the pasta sauce and ground beef over the noodles. Joel takes over and waves her away, mumbling his thanks as he mixes the ingredients together. He sets up two plates, setting one in front of his daughter and sitting down with the other. Tommy makes an affronted sound before fixing his own plate.

“So?” Joel asks. Tommy slurps at his food.

“Was the lady nice?” Sarah asks.

“No,” Joel replies at the same time Tommy says, “Yes.” 

Joel glares at Tommy. “You gonna tell me what she said or what?”

“She ain’t sellin’,” Tommy finally says. “But, she wants to fix the place up. Offered our services so you could get your grubby fuckin’ hands in there.”

“Language,” Joel says, eyes flicking to Sarah. The girl rolls her eyes. “Really?”

“Yep. Better start callin’ the guys. From what I saw we’re dealin’ with electrical from the 50s, plumbing from who knows when, not to mention the HVAC and roof will need to be upgraded, too.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin before grinning at Joel. “You up for the challenge?”

“Hell yeah.”

August 23, 1949

William and I have just been married.

I know, I know. I can’t believe it either. But he is truly the light of my life.

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche. I’m still not abreast of all these new societal expectations that surround a man like William, but I’m willing to try. Today he will be taking me around to view houses in the more opulent neighborhoods, the type of homes I used to gawk at but one of them will be mine.

I must be dreaming.

-R

Joel and Tommy start working on the house right away. Every day there’s a line of pick-up trucks parked on the curb and the sounds of construction start early in the morning and continue into the late evening. The electrician and plumber come through first, updating the wiring and pipes through the whole house. The roofers and HVAC come through next, replacing the crumbling shingles and dated central unit with a split system for each level of the house.

It’s not until the big projects are done that you get to have fun with the place, which is how you found yourself methodically painting the front door a muted lime green early one morning. 

“What do you think you’re doin’?” 

You sigh. Despite Tommy’s assurances that Joel is a great guy beneath the grumpy control freak exterior, you’ve continued to only get the side of the man that grates your nerves.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m painting the door.”

“You can’t paint the door that color,” Joel says, heavy footsteps stomping up your newly repaired porch. 

“Says who?” You retort. You smear another stroke of paint over the sanded wood.

“Me, for one. The historical society, for two.” He pulls the brush from your hand and holds it above his head and out of your reach. The movement drags his shirt up, exposing a strip of tan belly with a trail of dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans.  “Why are you bein’ a pain in the ass?”

“I was put on this earth simply to make your life more difficult, Joel Miller. Isn’t that obvious?” You reply sarcastically. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like you got that right. “What are you even doing over here? It’s Saturday.”

“We’re goin’ to the store. You gotta start pickin’ stuff out for the bathrooms and kitchen,” he says, tossing the paint brush into the tray. “And then we’re gettin’ a new color to cover this up.”

Joel leaves the porch and you follow behind him to the black pick-up truck idling by the sidewalk. He opens the passenger door for you and you raise your eyebrow at the gesture but climb inside.

January 3, 1950

Our New Year’s party is the talk of the town. There were so many people in the house I began to lose count. William had so much champagne ordered I swear we could fill an entire swimming pool with it all. 

The ladies at the club have already begun to ask when we would host our next event. I can’t wait to plan another.

-R

“Can you please focus?” Joel begs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He’s laid out three tile combinations, one for each bathroom in the home, and he needs you to look at them but you keep getting distracted.

“You’re no fun,” you huff. You examine the tiles, pointing to a turquoise blue one he’s picked for the shower in the master. “I love that.”

He looks at you in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. She can be reasoned with.”

You giggle and Joel can’t help the smile it prompts from him, the sound of your laugh so sweet compared to your sharp tongue. 

“I like the white and blue combinations for upstairs, but in that powder room I want a pink theme,” you tell him. Your eyes search the displays, landing on a blush pink glass subway tile option. “Like this!”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Joel replies without thinking, taking the sample from you and comparing it next to the floor tile he’d chosen for that bathroom. When he glances at you, you’re giving him a confused look. “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply, shaking your head. “What about the kitchen?”

“What were you thinking for in there?”

“Green cabinets. White and black backsplash, the kind with the little hexagons that look like flowers. I gotta pick out appliances now that the electrical can sustain newer ones, too.” You pause. “And how do you feel about wallpaper?”

“It’s the devil,” Joel replies.

Your grin is downright mischievous. “Excellent.”

February 2, 1956

William had a heart attack. It scared me so badly that I haven’t let him out of my sight since. The doctor said he’s been working too hard, drinking too much, and not sleeping enough. Maybe the parties have started to be too much for him. 

I’ve been feeling unlike myself. Tired, nauseated. Hopefully my heart isn’t troubled, too.

-R

Joel places a hefty order for all the items you’ve picked out today from nearly every aisle of the store - tile for the bathrooms and kitchen, vanities and plumbing fixtures, countertops, lighting, and appliances. While he’s preoccupied with calculations and measurements and pricing things out, you pick out paint and wallpaper for the projects you’ll be able to do on your own.

He finds you a while later, a cart full of paint buckets and supplies. To your surprise, he grins. 

“More paint, huh? You pick a new one for the door?” He asks. You smile back at him, butterflies erupting in your tummy. 

“Yep. Does navy blue suffice, your highness? I thought we could paint the trim the same color.”

Joel nods. “Good choice. Look, I’ve kept you here so long for all the orderin’. You wanna get lunch?”

“Careful, Joel. I’m like a stray cat - once you start feeding me, I might never leave,” you reply with a laugh. You push your heavy cart of paint towards the exit.

You miss the soft smile he gives to your retreating figure.

September 23, 1956

Our daughter is here. She’s the sweetest little thing, though she can screech like a banshee when she sees fit. William is so besotted, he keeps looking between the two of us with stars in his eyes like he can’t believe how lucky he is.

I love them both with my whole heart and soul.

-R

Joel takes you to a retro family diner with black-and-white checkerboard flooring and red vinyl accents with a vintage jukebox in the corner. You’re delighted by the themed menu, eyes immediately zeroing in on the classic malt shakes and french fries. 

Over lunch, Joel actually opens up to you. He tells you about going into construction right out of high school and dragging Tommy into it when he’d gotten back from serving his tour with the Army. He talks about his daughter, Sarah, and you can’t help the smile that stretches your lips as you watch his eyes light up while he talks about his little girl. She’s at a sleepover this weekend, which gave him the extra time to visit the home improvement store this morning.

In turn, you tell him about getting the call from the lawyer one afternoon that changed your life forever. How you’d packed up everything you owned and driven across the country to find out that you had a grandmother that your mother never told you about that left you her entire estate. 

“Wow. That’s…wow,” Joel says when you’ve paused to take a sip of your chocolate shake. 

“Excuse me?” A voice asks. You both look up at the elderly woman dressed in a  t-shirt with the restaurant’s logo and pressed slacks. She smiles. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and ever since you sat down I’ve been wrackin’ my brain tryin’ to place your face and it’s just hit me.”

She holds out a framed black and white photo of six waitresses standing beneath the same sign that’s still out front, all of them grinning at the camera. There’s one face, however, that looks familiar despite you never having seen her.

“Her name was Rebecca. We used to work together. That’s me, right there,” she says, pointing to the girl standing to the woman’s left. “Rolled up to town at eighteen, fresh off a divorce and hardly a penny to her name. My daddy, god rest his soul, he owned the restaurant and gave her a job when she’d come through lookin’ for work.”

“Wow,” you murmur. “This is insane. Do you have any other pictures?”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “‘Fraid not, darlin’. Just the one. But I know she kept a lot of journals. Was always scribblin’ in one and spent what little extra cash she had makin’ sure she had a new notebook ready. Maybe they’re still around?”

July 16, 1958

William…

William is gone. My light, my love, my world. The doctor said his heart just…stopped. In his sleep, right beside me. 

I have to continue to live with a hole in my own heart, the piece that William stole years ago gone with him. 

But I have to be strong for our daughter. Our brave girl, my little bird.

-R

When Joel brings you back to the house, you stare up at the facade, wondering if the journals the woman had spoken about could still be inside. Lost in thought, your eyes land on the little window that sits above the bay windows on the second floor, where the master bedroom is. You’ve been sleeping in that room for months now and you know there’s no window there that you can see from the inside. 

“Hey, Joel?” You call out, eyes still fixed on the little window like it might disappear if you look away. “This place is only two stories. How come there’s a window there?”

He looks up at the roof. “Huh. Might be decorative?”

“Or it might be a secret room,” you tell him.

“Okay, Sherlock. Let’s go see.”

You lead him upstairs to the master bedroom, most of your grandma’s furniture still present save for the bed that you replaced upon arriving. You stare up at the ceiling, but it’s smooth - no trap doors to be found.

“If I were a secret door, where would I hide?” You ask.

Joel, who’d been poking his head into the walk-in closet, replies, “Probably the closet.”

There’s a creak of old hinges as Joel reaches up high and tugs the brass pull handle fixed in the ceiling. A descending ladder falls to the ground and you both stare at each other in surprise.

“I’ll go grab a flashlight,” Joel offers, sprinting from the room. You stare up at the hole in the ceiling, anticipation thrumming in your veins.

He returns quickly. “I’ll go up first.”

“Ever the gentleman,” you tease, watching as he ascends the ladder, your eyes shamelessly fixed to his ass as he climbs. You hear the click of the flashlight and see the sweep of the beam through the opening in the ceiling. “Anything?”

“Lots of suitcases. Hang on, let me grab one of the small ones,” he calls down. There’s the sound of something being dragged across the floor before he’s slowly lowering a leather suitcase into your hands. 

It’s surprisingly heavy and you drag it by the handle to the bedroom, kneeling on the ground to pop the latches and open the dusty lid. Inside are stacks of leather bound notebooks, edges of the pages yellow with age. 

“I’ll be damned,” Joel says, wiping his palms against his jeans. “We found the journals.”

Joel drags the suitcase downstairs, setting it in the living room for you while you order pizza and open a bottle of wine for the occasion. You sit beside each other on the couch and he hands you a journal that you carefully open. 

May 17, 1974

We had another argument last night. She claims that I’ve been too overbearing, too protective, too stifling, but what else is a mother meant to do? 

-R

May 18, 1974

Her bed was cold and empty this morning. Her piggy bank smashed to bits on the floor and her drawers cleared. Despite my tight grip, my little bird has flown away.

It appears that history does repeat itself. Imagine that.

-R

“Holy shit,” you say, sitting back on the couch with your glass of wine in one hand and one of your grandma’s journals in the other. “She ran away.”

“Who did?” Joel asks, biting into a slice of pizza. 

“My mom. She just…packed up and disappeared.” You glance at him. “Guess that’s why I never knew about her.”

“Maybe you should stop uncoverin’ dark family secrets for the night,” Joel suggests. “You know, the dining room could stand to be painted.”

You glance over to the room in question. Joel must have set down the drop cloth on the floor while you’d been engrossed in your discovery.

“Sure. Why not,” you acquiesce. 

October 29, 1976

I’ve received an envelope of photographs in the mail, pictures of my daughter holding a little baby. She’s written notes on the back of each one. I’m a grandmother.

My daughter looks happy. Healthy. That’s all I can ask. She didn’t provide a return address. 

As for the baby…I love her so much. She takes my breath away. I keep one of the photos on me at all times.

-R

Joel turns on the radio while he works, humming along to the classic rock station selections. He’s been working on painting the wall near the wood molding while he left you with a paint roller to cover the middle of the wall. He looks up at you occasionally, admiring the way your muscles work as you wash the wall with color. 

You must sense that he’s watching, turning your head over your shoulder and looking at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he says. You smile at him, setting the roller in the tray. He can’t help but look at your ass in your tight leggings as you bend over.

You straighten up, walking over to him. There’s a glint in your eye that has Joel on high alert.

“You got a little something on your face,” you tell him. 

“No, I don’t,” he counters. He’s a master at painting. He knows damn well he doesn’t have a drop on him.

“Yeah, you do,” you argue. You reach out, and your fingers smooth across his forehead. “Right there!”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise and he lets out a bark of laughter, bringing his fingers up to his forehead. When he pulls his hand away, they’re stained blue and you’re grinning at him like a mad woman.

“Yeah? Well, you got some right—“ He smears his paintbrush across your chest and you try to step back, but it’s too late. “—there,” he finishes.

You rush back to the paint tray and dip your hands in the liquid, brandishing your palms like weapons. He starts to advance on you, smirking as you back up.

“Stay back,” you command. Joel laughs, dodging your swinging arms as he charges, dropping low to press a shoulder into your belly, dragging you down to the ground in a heap of limbs.

He presses his body to yours as he reaches an arm out to the paint tray, covering his own hand in paint. Your eyes go wide and you squirm beneath him, your paint covered palms reaching up under his shirt to press the cold liquid to his ribs. He flinches away, giving you enough room to scramble out from under him.

Joel grabs your arm, paint smearing on your skin as he tugs you back down. You wrestle together, paint getting everywhere as he lets you straddle his waist. His hands grip your hips, fingers pressing tightly as he stares up into your face.

“You win,” he murmurs, voice low. Your lashes flutter, hips canting over the obvious bulge in his jeans. He groans, hands urging you to do it again.

“What’s my prize?” 

Joel slips his fingers beneath the hem of your tank top, dragging the paint stained material up and over your head and tossing it aside. His gaze burns across your newly exposed skin.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?” He says, a hand sliding up your belly to palm one of your breasts. Your head drops back as you moan. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply. He chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest as his eyes grow darker, his gaze more heated. “Come on, Miller. What’s my prize?”

With a growl Joel sits up, wrapping an arm around your low back and twisting your bodies until you’re on your back, staring up at him as his lips stretch in a devious smirk. His fingers curl into the waistband of your leggings, sliding the fabric down your legs. His touch paints your skin blue as he does.

His hands press your thighs apart, opening you up. Your cheeks heat as he stares down at you like he’s trying to commit every curve of you to his memory. Finally, he leans in and you can feel his breath ghosting over your heated flesh.

Joel’s tongue traces through your slick folds, a broad stroke that has you gasping and arching your back. He hums against your sensitive flesh as he repeats the languid motion, his stubble catching on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

You reach your hands down to tangle in his hair, paint catching on the strands as you tug and pull. He groans against you, tongue moving faster as he circles your clit before pulling it between his lips. A hand leaves your thigh, the one not coated in paint, and two thick fingers press to your entrance, sliding inside of you as you gasp out Joel’s name.

“Christ,” he groans as he presses in deep before withdrawing slowly, curling his digits against your front wall, “you’re so fuckin’ wet, pretty girl. That for me?”

“Uh huh,” you reply, breathless as you work your hips to the rhythm of his fingers. Joel watches you, his lips and chin shiny from his efforts. “Joel, please!”

“Please what?” His hand moves faster, fingers pressing harder as his lips spread in a lascivious grin that makes your toes curl. “Come on, baby, ask me real nice and I’ll give you anythin’. Ain’t that right? You know damn well you’ve had me wrapped around your sassy little finger since the moment we met, don’t you?”

You whine, nodding your head quickly. “Knew you were a glutton for punishment.”

“Could say that again,” he says, chuckling as he lands a smash to the outside of your thigh with his free hand. “Now, come on, baby. Follow directions. Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna cum, Joel. Please!”

“Good girl,” he growls, lowering his lips to your pussy to lick at your clit. He hums as he lavishes the sensitive bud with attention and it’s the final push you need over the razor's edge you’d been teetering on since he started. You press your thighs against his head as your nerves light up and your muscles go tight with pleasure, his movements slowing as he works you through your release.

Your muscles go limp, head dropping back to the floor with a thunk. Joel sits up, crawling up your body and trailing kisses across your tummy and chest in the patches of skin not covered by paint. He grips your chin, holding you steady as his lips press to yours in a kiss so deep you worry you’re at risk of drowning.

Your hands fumble with his belt, pulling the leather free of the loops in a frenzy. He stands quickly, freeing himself of his jeans and boxers in one motion before reaching behind his head to tug his shirt off while you admire his labor-toned body.

Joel drops to his knees, pressing his hips to yours and dragging the thick head of his cock through your sensitive pussy, bumping your clit and making you both groan in tandem. His forearms rest on the floor beside your head as he teases you like this, slow drags of his length through your wetness, the tantalizing catch of him at your aching hole. You tilt your hips slightly, hoping he gets the hint, and he chuckles.

“You know the drill, baby,” he says, breathless with his own desire. “Just say the word.”

“Fuck me, Joel, please.”

His cock slips inside of you with little resistance, the stretch of him making you gasp. His eyes remain fixed to yours as he bottoms out and you smile up at him, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Joel gives a small, experimental thrust that makes your eyes roll back with pleasure. He does it again, a sharper snap of his hips making you cry out and dig your nails into his shoulder. He builds his own rhythm, one that has your hips chasing his on every pull from your body, one that has you chanting his name and staring up at him like he’s a god and you’re simply a sacrifice on his altar. 

He sits back on his heels, the angle changing as your hips get lifted onto his lap. His hands wrap around your waist, fingertips pressing tightly to your ribs as he uses your body for his pleasure, pounding into you roughly.

“Cum for me again,” he demands, bringing a thumb to your clit in quick circles. “Come on, sweetheart, want you to cum on my cock. Was so pretty on my fingers.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the near overstimulation but you nod, wanting to give this man whatever he wants if it means he’ll keep touching you, holding you, looking at you. 

You cum again with a shout of his name and he groans, deep and visceral as he presses in deep, holding your hips to his as his cock pulses inside of you with his release.

Joel slowly lowers your hips to the ground, withdrawing from your body as he does. He flops gracelessly to the floor beside you, sweat damp chest heaving with exertion. His head turns to yours, grin wide and eyes bright.

“You’re covered in paint,” he comments, reaching out to run his hand across a streak on your collarbone.

“So are you,” you reply, mimicking the gesture against his ribs. 

“What do you say to a shower?”

You smirk at him before jumping up and racing to the doorway. 

“I’d say last one there doesn’t get the hot water!”

You can hear his curse as you rush up the stairs, making it halfway before a strong arm wraps around you and stops you in your tracks, your laughter echoing through the house.

June 27, 1993

The neighborhood has changed so vastly. Much of the older homes have been torn down and replaced with less handsome architecture. The residents grow younger while I continue to age. Just last week a handsome young man and his darling daughter moved in down the street. He looks exhausted. I remember those days.

Not all the neighbors are lovely. Harold next door has an annoying dog that barks at all hours. He prances her around like a show pony, when she’s just a yappy little creature.

-R

ONE YEAR LATER

The house is finally finished. All the tile has been laid, everything has been painted, appliances delivered, holes repaired, fixtures installed, and wallpaper glued. You go downstairs for coffee in the morning, you take it to the parlor room you’ve made into a study. Floor to ceiling bookshelves display every journal you’d unearthed from the hiding place in the attic, each one read through cover to cover. 

When you finally told your mom about what you’d been up to, her surprise and hurt could be felt even through the phone. You mailed one of her mother’s journals to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said the next time you spoke. “So much time had passed and I didn’t know how to fix what I’d broken.”

You don’t begrudge her decisions. Your grandma left you her story, and through that you’ve been able to know her.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs precede Joel’s appearance in the study, his hair messy from sleep and his eyes half shut. He drops beside you on the couch, grabbing your coffee from your hands and taking a sip of it.

“Is it everything you’ve always wanted?” You ask him, tilting your head to his shoulder. You still remember the way he’d been desperate to buy the house from you and you laugh at how the world works, given that he now wakes up in bed beside you and is tasked with the lawn maintenance every weekend. He presses a kiss to your head. 

“It’s even better.”

June 29, 1993

I don’t think the dog will be bothering the neighborhood again anytime soon.

Turns out he doesn’t hold as much pride for the dog when she’s been dyed lime green.

Imagine that.

-R

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist!

[celesterayel]

the tragic heroes | percy jackson

pairing: percy Jackson ✩ ‧₊˚

IN WHICH — the tragic heroes and the tragedy that appeases the chaos.

The monster cackles in delight, its bulging eyes crinkling with glee and invoking disgust in all that have (and will) witness its countenance. Darkness hides all other pallors of rotting skin and luminously straining veins, slivers of shades of bruised blues and bloody reds clashing against the dark abyss of the room, that the monster has no use for as an entity of chaos.

Bells foil loudly in the distance, perturbing the distant silence of the castle with grating screeches only reaching the heights of noise as the pits of tartarus. It is a cacophony of choked laughter and perversive glee for the delicate steps that built the foundation for what is to come. And soon it shall!

The Fates have come knocking on the door of destiny and offered up to the beast the next great tragedy that shall put all the others to shame. A deal for judgement and devastation. The Fates have weaved through sorrows befitting the leagues of Icarus's falling and Achille's lost love, enthralling the vices of Aphrodite's cruel methods that end with aching lips and entranced poets--forever written into history. They have searched the sands of time and bid the eons of creation for this.

The monster lounges forward as if the visions in the water will disappear and greedily drinks forth the taste of cataclysmic devotion and the etchings of pain in the cosmos as the moonlight of the water provides the burning echoes from lips that shall taste the sweetest sin and ache for it in every other lifetime. What a lovely destruction this will be.

The monster pitches out, “It has begun, young little hero. Such pretty sorrows..."

The Fates have certainly outdone themselves. This story will be one for the ages to come and even after!

The walls haunch over and enclose the story in its grasp, keeping it their secret even if only just a bit longer. It reeks of desperation and devastation--the greatest ones always do.

Voices of the damned and lost screech out in laughter, the entity mocks in pity or sadness all the same: "Wretched Greek story doomed to repeat like it has every lifetime; the pour of ichor waning between reality and prophecies about to drip, drip, drip down the pages. Except in this one, it seems perhaps the gods made a mistake choosing you for him. He has no qualms choosing you over all else. I must say, I shall have fun watching the Earth burn and Olympus fall down--the chaos it shall bring...delightful! Blessing or curse we have yet to see! It seems I have a new tale to tell when the cursed half-bloods come crooning at my gates to weep. My, what marvelous tunes!”

The beast could taste the tears and heartache that slide right off this tale, so presently tasteful.

My, my what marvelous fortunes to come indeed.

The Savior of Olympus., Son of the Seas, Percy Jackson. The Survivor.

The Great One, Daughter of the Heavens, Callopeia Iris. The Tragedy.

"Finally a story for the gods below who ache for destruction and tragedy like it was made for them. They shall have a riot."

The Tragic Heroes.

✩ ‧₊˚ author note i was doing physics and calc hw and this came into my mind and now thinking of creating a full on fanfic on ao3 and wattpad based on the dialogue i wrote. i apologize for being so inactive and for the requests in my inbox. swear I have alot planned and written but classes are kicking me rn. i just needed to post this cuz i think it sounded really good :)

[chris-prank]

All is fun and games until antihero reader is present. And I imagine it more like a teasing flirty antihero, making Fatalité mad at their antics and Dr. Seraph shy at them and in a bliss at the same time.

Oh! And antihero reader being one of those you'll never catch me types who defys laws of physics with their wardrobe and their escape scenarios.

Just one "Fatalité, dear old friend, you better be taking care of your little scientist. I could make use of him... for villainous purposes ofc *wink*"

This totally gives me vibes of a dad trying to protect his son from the local baddie that keeps trying to flirt with him. 😂

A really flirty antihero would so be the death of Dr. Seraph. He literally gets weak in the knees and maybe hits some of his boss’s henchmen with his creations by accident. But don’t give him false hope though, nothing can prepare you for what would happen if you actually didn’t reciprocate his feelings. 

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

The white van pulled up into the cargo shed. Fatalité was waiting inside, his hands behind his back and a carnivorous smile forming on his lips. Beside him stood Dr Seraph, who was anxiously looking around. Two imposing men got out of the vehicle and opened the sliding door for their boss. Inside its back was a single black briefcase with a lock on it. 

Fatalité took it with his gloved hands and relished hearing the little click sound when unlocking it. Once open, him and the smaller man were graced with the sight of a magnificent crystal. It was one of the rarest in the world, since if exploited correctly it could create the deadliest weapon. 

But suddenly, it disappeared in a flash. No one had the time to see nor stop the grappling hook from snatching the crystal. The two men heard an all too familiar cackle behind them. Fatalité was quick to turn around and look up while shoving the now empty briefcase in his sidekick arms. The supervillain pointed an accusatory finger at the intruder. 

“YOU!” 

You were on the edge of a broken window, crystal in hand and a triumphant grin on your face . You winked and blew a kiss to Dr. Seraph, before letting yourself fall backward and into the cold night. 

The mad scientist almost swooned over this flirtatious act. At the same time Fatalaté was yelling at him and his henchmen to do something!

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Thank you for sending this ask and also thanks to everyone else that sent one before too! I’m so glad to see that you guys are invested in my little silly guy 😭❤️

[onejellyfishplease]

So if you dont mind me I was just going to ramble about my ideas surrounding This post.

long post!

... so it takes place in the far future, where humanity has mived on to live with the planet and live harmoniously (think solar punk). the reason for their success as a species can be traced back to these mysterious heroes, who have vanishes from the world and are now mostly regarded as myth.

the turtles themselves have aged weirdly. without the stress and tremendous pain of the apocalypse they do not seem to age like humans do. much like the Yokai they are based upon they find they have incredibly long lifespans.

and as they age, they move away from what ties them to being human.

they become mythic and ethereal.

I didnt have clear cut plans for most of them, but heres what i came up with:

Raph never stops growing, ever. while his brothers find suitable hights he gets ever taller. eventually he becomes too large to move about safely.

When this happens he voluntarily sinks into a deep sleep. his physical body becomes part of the landscape as the world carries on around him.

But Raph's not gone. he can still send out his projections, which without a close bond with his physical form become more and more abstract as time goes on and Raph becomes more separated from his physical body, still embedded in the landscape.

The locals call these forms their 'red angels' as they commonly lead lost children back home and protect wanderers from falling rock slides. they also look almost incomprehensible, their abstract forms overwhelming to the human eye, such a display of mystic power.

Donnie never stops working. his need to create insatiable. So he never stops. From the shadows he helps humans build their technology, expanding their collective knowledge with his own.

he pours his soul into his work.

his technology becomes inseparable from humanity.

and so does he.

Donnie's soul is present in every computer, interface, and screen. watching over humanity behind a curtain of coding.

hes spent so much time watching over humans and creating with them, that hes kind of... forgotten... what he last did with his body.

oh well. he can always build a new one.

Mikey never stops helping

Mikey has committed himself to the restoration of nature. during humanities growing pains a lot of the planet had been scarred by their errors.

So Mikey has been helping them fix it.

with the help of his mystic powers, which have evolved beyond all recognition, he twists the environment back to the health of its prime.

(large machines a big as skyscrapers aid him, purple light flooding their servers as they trudge through the landscape)

he gives so much of himself, so much of the light of his soul to nature that its started to give back. flowers grow where he stands, the wind ruffles his hair. he snores in whalesong. he can speak in the light trills of birds. the wind gales when he sneezes. and his scales become soft with moss

Leo has grown with the O'Neil bloodline. All his brothers startes distancing themselves from the family once April passed, unable to look at the faces of her descendants without being over come by grief. but Leo stays.

he looks the same as he did a thousand years ago.

[amourtoken]

someone requested some iv content so here's some lil blurby stuff cause I cannot create a full length fic for the life of me lol I'm sorry bb. This isn't structured rlly it's just a collection of my random thoughts off the dome while thinking abt him so lmk if you want me to elaborate on anything.

*nsfw below the cut, MDNI*

cw: petplay, sex toys, raw sex (pls wrap that shit), mentions of choking, breeding, subspace, phone sex, mirror sex, threesomes, DP, oral

◇ he's so-

◇ when you first got together, iv was much more reserved but as the group gained some traction and more opportunities presented themselves the the boys, he can't help himself he let the fame get a *little* to his head. He's become much more outgoing in many ways and he knowssss he's fine at this point. He will use this fact against you cause he knows how easy it is to melt you from the inside out so you're a pliant little toy in his hands.

◇ he's always been so sweet to you. Constantly bringing you flowers with sweet notes or forcefully making time in his schedule so he can see his sweet girl and give her the attention she deserves. He knows it could be tough being with someone who has to keep their personal life on the low but he makes up for it 100%.

◇ he swears up and down he's not *trying* to come off this way but he's tiptoeing the line of being your sugar daddy lol. If you so much as even mention something you want in passing, it's in your hands within the next day at most. After a little, this extended from things *you* said you wanted, to things *he* wants to give you. This includes the sluttiest lingerie you've ever laid eyes on, jewelry with his name on it, and countless sex toys he pleads for you to use on camera so he can rewatch while he's out on tour.

◇ he's head over heels for you, and absolutely *cannot* get enough. Your smell, your taste, your touch, all of it. He'd inject you into his veins if possible. Even while fucking you, one angle isn't enough. iv has strategically aligned a couple mirrors so he gets all the best views of you no matter what position he's manipulated you into and ugh it makes his head spin sometimes. You deserve to be in a museum but he can't help himself but to be a lil rough with you on occasion.

◇ knows how to get into your head and all up under your skin, on multiple occasions he's slid behind you while you're getting ready in the mirror and rested his head on your shoulder just to whisper the filthiest things imaginable in your ear. He'll wrap his arms around your waist or run his hands up and down your torso, sliding down to your thighs and tugging the hem of your dress up little by little while detailing just how pretty he think you are in it in a low voice. Sometimes he'll slide one hand up and gently squeeze your throat, leaning your head back onto his shoulder while he's touching you. He makes a whole ordeal of it and most often, you end up right back in bed.

◇ he's got lots of sweet little pet names for you. Love is absolutely his favorite but sweet girl, pretty thing, sweetheart, all perfect. He's not big on degradation *however*, he did get you the prettiest engraved collar with a cute little tag reading "slut" in his handwriting.

◇ bouncing directly off that, man's into some petplay. Loves knowing you're all his and wrapped right around his finger. The physical manifestation of this is him wrapping your leash around his hand and tugging when you break eye contact while he's fucking you like he hates you (he doesn't but the way he bullies your poor insides, it sure feels like it.) He's got you a collection of pretty collars with his name on them, and adores having you sat at his feet at any given chance. He'll also literally pet you, fingers lovingly brushing your skin or running through your hair absent-mindedly but ugh it feels so fucking good, what's not to enjoy about having his hands on you? Throws you right into a comfy subspace.

◇ I think all of the ST Boys are in this boat but God if he doesn't get lightheaded at the thought of breeding you. He'll grab your hips and pull you to meet his deep thrusts while your head hangs over the edge of the bed, watching the scene from the full length mirror beside you. He gets off on the fact not only is it the *ultimate* claim on you, but thanks to his mirror fixation, he gets to watch the whole thing and know it's the exact moment he knocked you up. You're already perfect in his eyes but once you're all round and pretty, he *really* won't be able to keep his hands off of you. It'll only serve to make him more possessive as well, that's his baby carrying his actual baby, he'll be damned if anything happens to you or you're not treated like a piece of fine china.

◇ he's very possessive of you like I said, *but* if one of the other boys wanna join...he'll consider. By consider I mean he'll hold you on his lap, arms hooked under your legs and holding them open while iii eats you out like he's starved. Your head is leaned back on his shoulder and he's praising you for being so good for both of them, he'll also direct some praise to iii for treating you so well. As long as he's ultimately the one pulling the strings and directing the scene, he's in his element. Fucking you from behind while Vessel's down your throat or leaving countless dark hickeys and love bites all over your neck and chest while he and ii fill both of your holes. You're his, doesn't matter if they get a taste cause he's the one you belong to.

[another-identityofmine]

if you talk in your sleep; 50s elvis x wife!reader ☁️🫣

summary: reader has been feeling something, for a whole while. Slowly, she hints at elvis, her freshly, new husband to help her in on it.

author’s note: hehe I haven’t been too present on here 😅 so I decided to write this out, an idea by my lovely love @jhoneybees. Elvis is pretty subby here in my opinion.

warnings: basically just finger sucking and humping.

•••••••••••••

you’re too shy, too nervous…but that’s opposite of what you desire to physically play and do.

as you sit on the edge of the wooden, creaky bed but comforting, aloft mattress. All pretty and naturally shining, your soft, loved curls on your shoulders, in nothing but just your palm pink dress

you’ve never been this bold to wear your pajamas like this. And Elvis figured the same, you could tell by the look in his eyes as he walked into the room from the shower. His cheeks shiny and high, lips moist and fluffy, hair scruffy and damp.

there’s a silent moment where you and him are both just studying eachother. As your eyes roam around his figure, all slump in his baggy but well-fitted, blue and white stripped pajamas, you catch the growing pink on his cheeks.

“H-honey, what’s uh,” he can’t even function as he sees the obvious silhouette of your breasts smooshed against eachother that presses to the fabric of your sleeping clothes.

Without a time’s tick further, he’s on the bed, all laid out for you to play with. And you can feel that he wants to be played with too. Obvious from the hardening length that presses stiffly against his thin stringed pants.

“You know, Elvie, I’ve been wanting something…and you just haven’t been giving it to me.” You whisper out, straddling his hips with your thighs that trap and hug on him like a second skin. He furrows his eyebrows, lips open in a second as he lets out a strangled groan from the friction to his erection.

“w-what is it mama?, y-y-y-ya know I wanna take care of ya as best as I can, honest. Poke a needle in my eye, dagger in my heart-“ he stutters out, pulling up to his elbows and letting out a low hum from the hip movements against eachother.

you shush him swiftly by pressing your pretty digits, your middle and ring, against his lower, puffy bottom lip. the world goes silent as he glances down at your fingers, to your eyes that grow and darken with sexual desire.

Then you push them between his lips. The action both bolts somthing in your cores. The not wetness that swish around your finger tips, and the feeling of your salty but savory sweet digits that prod into his tongue.

he submits so easily. Not that he doesn’t already, but without further words and actions, he just completely submits to your account.

He connects with your eyes, his light blue eyes from innocent to lust pupils speak into yours, as he then lightly pulls pressure and sucks your fingers. Like a baby being nurtured from his mother’s breast.

the thought of your husband sucking your breast creates a vivid, hot image in your mind that has your hips randomly buck into his. The sensation has his mouth responding around your finger with a low hum that vibrates throughout.

“Y-you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you? My beautiful, loyal, loving husband. Hm?” You coo into his ear, slowly sliding your fingers in and out of his lips. His saliva shines on your fingers, prettily complementing the shiny ring that lays prettily around your ring finger.

He nods vigorously, eyes fluttering close as his hips slowly rock into yours. Pressing his hard, hard cock that strains against his pants into your clothes pussy.

But that just won’t do.

You immediately shove back your fingers into his mouth, his eyes popping open with glossy developing tears from gag reflex. You pull your fingers back a little, only a little, to explain yourself with actions.

“Then listen to me, just keep your hips still. Let me do what I want, Mr. Presley.” You huff out gently, and he groans, furrowing his eyebrows as his tears fall down to the sheets and he nods fast. All of a sudden, needy.

pulling your hips back and then forth against his. Grinding completely as your cores touch, but with just a thin, tiny layer of clothing in the blocking.

his response is almost immediate. A moan rumbles in his throat as he can’t help but rock his clothed manhood that’s hard and probably a pretty, upset red.

It feels almost like the real thing, penetrating deeply into you like he did sweetly on your wedding night. Your virgin, tight hole swallowing him greedily and deeply.

his pretty blues roll to the back of his skull as you both move your hips in a matched rhythm. Sliding your fingers wetly in and out of his mouth, following your hips.

He’s not following the rules but who cares now? You both are in the middle of chasing a specific high that only desire can yearn and capture for.

then he cums, thick, steaming hot ropes splatter in his underwear that coats his pale thighs and pubic hair. He squeals and squeaks, stuttering his hips and completely slamming them in between his legs.

The feeling of his cock twitching harshly, wickedly and hotly under you has you orgasming so hard, curling your fingers on his tongue and smooshing your clothed vagina on his hard on. Wetting his center pajamas further by your sticky, deliciously wet orgasm.

if you talk in your sleep.

••••••••••••

tag list: @pomtherine @your-nanas-love @jhoneybees

[angelyuji]

skirts and promises

707 x reader (most (if not all) dialouge from day 9 phone call) reader wear a skirt but no gendered pronouns

hope you guys enjoy! i know not many of you follow me for mystic messenger stuff but it's summer so im back on the grind :)) no warnings! maybe a little suggestive so yk.... anyways, i'm a 707 girlie till i die thats literally my man i need him so bad it physically hurts me like omg thats my FREAKING MANNNN.... have fun reading!

you glance at seven sitting next to you on the couch, typing at lightening speed on his laptop. you quietly pull out your phone, pretending to look through the chatrooms before dialing his number on the RFA app.

“hello?” seven laughs next to you and you pout at the phone.

“why are you laughing?” you look over at him suspiciously.

“i noticed you glancing at me while pressing on the phone, so i wondered if you were trying to call me. and you really did! why are you so cute? i even love how predictable you are.” you blush at seven’s words. you jump up and run into the kitchen, giggling to yourself. “hmm? why are you running into the kitchen? i can’t see you now!” seven whines as you press yourself against the fridge and slide down to the floor.

“it feels like we’re actually talking on the phone if we can’t see each other!” you speak into the phone, smiling to yourself.

“what?” you peek your head around the corner and watch as seven tilts his head in confusion. “huh…you’re right…then i want to hide too! where should i go?” seven stands up, phone pressed to his ear. “i want to go into the kitchen too!”

“no, no! then there wouldn’t be any point in me hiding!” you whine, and you watch as seven throws his head back and laughs. he plops back onto the couch, arms spread out on the top of the couch. you bite your lip and watch as he relaxes into the couch.

seven sighs, “…i miss you when you disappear from my sight. i want to be right beside you… always.” a warm silence fills the apartment. you feel your heart beat faster. you turn your head back to face the cabinets across from you.

“i… i feel the same.” you whisper, afraid to disturb the feeling in the air.

seven’s voice quiets as he talks into the phone, “you know, it’s good to laugh. i mean, if we can manage to laugh in this situation, what other miracle can we hope for?” you hum, letting him continue. “i think this is what suits us. that no matter what happens, we can look at each other and laugh.” he stops talking and you wait. “promise me… promise me that from now on, we’ll look at each other, smile, and get through whatever comes.”

“i promise.” you smile.

seven stands up and walks towards the kitchen, stopping at the entry. “and if we get tired in the process… our robot can help us laugh.”

“i want to make you smile too.” you giggle, clutching the phone to your chest.

“then poke your head out!” you peek your head out, seven grabs your legs, and pulls. you scream and he cackles as you lay flat on the floor. he sits on his knees, clutching his sides. you raise yourself up onto your elbows and smile. “why are you smiling? you just looked into my eyes!”

“i don’t know, i guess i just like you a lot.” you lay back down, covering your face as you feel a blush creep back up your face.

seven laughs, pulling you closer. “do you like me that much?” he whispers and holds himself over you. one hand cups your face, “don’t pout, i like you too.” he moves back to his knees with a huff. “god, i like you so much… i want to tease you, i want to watch your cute little face.”

you sit up and hit his arm, feeling your face burn. “you’re so annoying.”

seven laughs harder, “i’m so happy we can manage to play in such a small apartment.”

“interesting you say that when you didn’t even want to be near me earlier.” you huff and cross your arms.

seven grabs your hand, “ahh, just forget about that now. what’s important is the present, and the future we’ll create… together.” you smile, crossing your fingers together. “oh, but there’s a problem right now.”

“huh? what problem?” your eyes widen in panic.

“you do realize that you’re pretty defenseless, right?” seven lets go of your hand to cup your face once more. “i’m not just a guy that types away at a laptop. i’m really, really trying hard to hold back right now.” his thumb brushes against your lips and you hold your breath. you watch as his eyes drift to your lips. his face gets close and you close your eyes. you feel as if time stops, but he pauses, you can feel his breath on your lips. all of a sudden, you hear a loud laugh, you open your eyes and seven’s on the floor once more.

you move closer to him and whack his arm, “you are such a jerk, seven.”

you flop back onto the floor, annoyance turning to laughter. seven sits back onto the floor, crisscross. “ahh, don’t worry, (y/n). i’m super good at holding it in. speaking of, can’t you- can’t you pull down your skirt a little. i think- i think it kind of crawled up when you were laughing.” his eyes drift to your thighs. you look down and notice that your skirt had ridden up, exposing more of your thighs.

you smile, innocently, “what if i don’t want to? what if i don’t want to listen to you?” you use a finger to slowly pull your skirt up higher. seven’s hands clasp yours, stopping you from going further.

his eyes were wide and you tilt your head, noticing how wide his pupils are. “you don’t want to? please… i feel like my nose is gonna start bleeding if you keep going like this… i’m sure of it.” you pull one side of your sweater down below your shoulder, smiling slightly. seven’s breathing gets heavy. “god… i don’t think- i can’t-” seven shoots up, surprising you. “i need to go work out a bit. i just want to work out of my body too, not just my brain all the time.” you get up with him. “maybe- maybe a cold shower too…” he mumbles, brushing his hand through his hair.

“wait- seven-” you grab his arm.

he looks back at you with a weird expression. “and uh… please be careful of your skirt. i’m sorry.” you bite your lip and pout.

“fine… i guess i should hang up then and help you.” you grab your phone and seven grabs your hand, pulling you closer to him.

“huh? help me? wait- why- why are you trying to hang up? not yet!”

[letsquestjess]

The Bad Batch and Showing Affection (TBB x GN! Reader)

Summary: The Batch all have their different ways of showing you their affection.

Warnings: Lots and lots of that fluffy fluff!

-- -- -- -- --

Hunter (Pampering)

Hunter’s main way of showing affection is by pampering you. Massages, face masks, pedicures, head massages that have you closing your eyes and almost falling asleep. It’s all on the table, and he makes a note of everything that helps you unwind.  

After one incredibly stressful day that had had you running around doing tasks from the moment you got up until the sun went down, he sneaks into the refresher and begins to run a bath. He arranges candles in safe spots and dims the lights, happy with the relaxing ambiance he created before he goes to fetch you. You chuckle slightly as he covers your eyes and guides you slowly into the room. As he presents the surprise, you feel a flutter in your chest and your breath catches. The water is lusciously warm as you sink into the tub and you inhale the aroma of your favourite bubble bath. Hunter kneels down behind you and his strong hands massage your shoulders, easing the tension and the knots with each press of his thumbs. Once you’re totally relaxed, he runs his fingers along the foaming bubbles and tells you how wonderful you are. 

Echo (Reassurance)

Echo is always brimming with kind, reassuring words, and they are his favourite way of showing affection. He is familiar with the sneaky nature of doubt, how it can infiltrate your mind and take root if left unchecked, and he is always there to support you through those moments. He has a way with words that never fails to reassure you and you’re never short of confidence with him around. 

On one particularly bad night, Echo notices how tense you are and asks if everything is okay. You share with him that your doubts have returned, but this time you can’t seem to shake them. He encourages you to talk about them if it will help and creates a comforting environment for you to explain how you’ve felt for the past few days. He patiently listens to you, allowing you to speak at your own pace and gently strokes your arm. Afterwards, he offers to go through what you’ve told him, talking through each point you made and providing the sweetest reassurances. You know they’re genuine. Every single reassurance he believes with all his heart and soul, and it goes a long way towards helping you re-evaluate your doubts. 

Wrecker (Emotional support)

Wrecker is a great listener, and out of all the Batch, he’s the best with emotional support. When times are tough and you need to vent, he listens to you intently, taking in every word you say and processing the concerns behind them. He has an intuitive ability to pick up on the subtle emotional shifts in your voice and body language, allowing him to help you in the best ways possible.  

You’d had a run-in with some idiots in town, and although you usually let things like this slide, you were already on edge, and this was the final straw. Wrecker notices the shift in your mood and asks what happened, listening quietly as you recount your story. Your clenched fists do not go unnoticed by him, and he asks if there is anything he can do to ease your stress. If you want a warm drink and a hug, he’ll grab you a cup of hot chocolate and wrap you up in a comforting hug. If you just need to vent and get it all out, he will sit there and listen for as long as you need. Or if you want to spar with him to release some of that anger, he’s absolutely up for teaching you some new tricks. 

Crosshair (Touch)

Crosshair’s not one for physical contact, but with you, it’s different. He is surprisingly tender with his touches. A brush across the back of your hand, holding your waist when he has to reach into a cupboard above you, moving his leg closer to yours when you’re sitting next to each other so your knees gently bump together. It’s his way of reminding you he’s there and he loves you.

The night after a long mission that has separated you both for far longer than he would have liked, Crosshair bundles you into his arms and lowers himself onto the edge of your bunk. He doesn’t even try to be subtle with how much he wants to bask in your presence, and how much he wants you to feel him there, protecting you. His hands massage any bit of skin he can get access to, eyebrows almost knitting together as he concentrates on how you feel against his fingertips. It connects him directly to you, and each touch that dances across your body is laced with the promise of affection, love, and safety. 

Tech (Making things)

Tech finds joy in being of service, especially to his partner, and he shows the most affection by making things for you. No matter the issue, he always knows precisely what to make to help. 

You enter the cockpit to help Tech with a few repairs. He carefully raises his head in greeting and shuffles out from underneath the console, rummaging in the pouch on his belt and handing you a slim box. When you ask him what it is, he smiles and tells you to look. You open the latch and find a set of tools inside, all similar in appearance but of varying sizes. You instantly recognise what they are for and look up in amazement at the man in front of you. Tech tells you how he remembered you struggling to fix some circuit boards with the tools they had, so he designed new ones to make the task easier for you. The hopeful smile on his face is so endearing you jump out of your seat to embrace him, thanking him for his kind gift. 

[definitelynotstable]

Camomile pt. 9 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10

AN: Ok this series just started out as cute one shots and now I have to think of a plot god damn.

Synopsis: The 141 celebrate your return to duty with a night out at the local pub. Ghost and you argue over Price's decision to clear you for duty. Word count: 1.8k Warnings: Casual drinking, mention of past trauma, arguments Ghost x gn!Reader (callsign Rags): Soap doesn’t know what kombucha is, Gaz doesn’t like mulled wine and Ghost gets a bit overprotective. Fluff, light-angst, etc.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

It’s nearly a month till you’re cleared for duty. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been lonely. The guys were gone for recon missions half the time and you were either stuck behind a desk playing secretary, in physic therapy or in therapy therapy. It was a tiring routine. 

But it didn’t stop you from feeling a little proud when you were able to present Price with a clean bill of health. He’d raised a skeptical brow as he skimmed the mental health section – no one in the military was well in that regard and most of you knew how to con a therapist. The nightmares hadn’t stopped and you supposed they never would. But  you’d stopped jumping at random sounds or flinching when touched unexpectedly. You were fit for work and you knew it. 

“Everything okay, Captain?” You asked, felling slightly nervous. He could, in theory, refuse to accept the medical certificate and write you off. The man instead sighed and with a flick of his pen he signed off on it. 

“You have any problems, you come to me – am I clear?” He said sternly, leaning his elbows on his desk and creating a steeple with his fingertips. “I’m not stupid – wiser soldiers than you and I take years to get over this kind of shit, Rags. No on e would blame you off you needed more time.”

You frown, jaw set. “I’m ready, sir.”

He looks at you for a moment, eyes hard and unwavering – searching for any cracks in your resolve. Finally he nods, pushing up with his hands on the desk to stand. “Alright,” he reaches over the desk to shake your hand, “Welcome back, sergeant.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Good on ye!” Soap claps you on the back with a grin, “Glad tae have ye back!”

Soap and Gaz had negotiated with Price on the optics of a mid-week visit to the local pub. They never confirmed nor denied his verdict. You suspect permission wasn’t explicitly given. 

Nevertheless, here you were. The three of you crammed into the usual booth in the back corner, a spot with the best view of all possible exists and entries. An old habit. It wasn’t particularly fancy – some might even call it dingy. But you liked the exposed brick walls, the dented and paint chipped bar made it feel homey. You favourite part was the roaring fire in the centre of the wall at the back, cracked leather armchairs with slightly scratchy pillows arranged in front of it. There was a dartboard off to one side, the wall behind completely littered in holes from drunken misses. The health and safety concerns behind having darts in a pub was certainly still up for debate – though you’d certainly spent a few evenings versing Gaz at the game.

“Thanks mate,” you smile over your mug of mulled wine – another reason this spot was a favourite – “Price was a bit hesitant, but I don’t think he could say no to the med-cert.”

“You’d be surprised,” Gaz remarked, some foam from his beer clinging to his upper lip, “he held LT back from an op once, claimed he faked the certificate.”

“And had he?”

“I had.” The low voice makes you jump as Ghost himself slides in next to Gaz, in the space across from you. “In fairness, I was a lot younger than I am now – and stupider.”

“Can’t’ve been that long ago then, mate.” Gaz jokes, passing the Lieutenant the drink he’d bough for him earlier. Ghost gives his arm a punch but thanks Gaz quietly for the drink anyway, taking a small sip. 

“What held ye up?” Soap asks when the lieutenant shrugs of his jacket.

“Bloody paperwork,” he grumbles, “I don’t envy you, Rags. Just a couple of hours has me going mental – I can’t fathom a full day.”

You nod sympathetically, “Yeah, can’t say I’d recommend it.”

“Rags was just tellin’ us Price cleared ‘em for duty,” Soap says proudly, “I said we’d each buy ‘em a drink.”

“That so?” Ghost raises a pale brow at you, balaclava pulled up so he can drink. You blush under his stare. “Not sure how he’d react if you showed up to trainin’ hungover.”

You scoff, “It’s a week night, I’m drinking mulled wine.”

“Surely mulled wine can still get you drunk.” Gaz says, setting his empty glass down with a thud.

You shake your head with a laugh, “They cook it out, Gaz. There isn’t much alcohol left in here at all.”

“But surely there’s an amount you could have that’d do it – like kombucha – right?”

“What in the world is kombucha?!” Soap splutters, licking at the beer on his upper lip. You laugh as Gaz attempts to explain it. 

“Tha’ sounds horrid.” The scot says, looking ill. 

“It’s not bad,” you say, still grinning at Soap’s expression. “I’m sure there is an amount, Gaz, but you’d probably die of overconsumption before getting drunk, or something like that.”

“Boring.” Gaz mutters, flicking his empty glass away, “What’s the point in non-alcoholic wine, anyway?”

“Because they put spices and shit in it – it’s delicious.”

“Doubt that.”

“Here, try some,” you shove your half empty mug in his direction, some splashed onto the table, “it’s good, I promise.”

Gaz wrinkles his nose, pushing the mug away with a single finger, “I’m ok, thanks.”

You roll your eyes and reach out to take your drink back when a pale hand intercepts you. Ghost takes a long sip and licks the excess from his lips, watching you with something playful in his eyes. 

“You’d do well to expand your palette, Gaz,” the lieutenant drawls, setting the mug back down in front of you, “instead of only drinking beer like you’ve just turned eighteen.”

Gaz snorts indignantly, “Ok, grandad.”

Ghost just smirks, sculling the rest of his whiskey.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Though Gaz and Soap are smarter than to get drunk the night before an early training, it still takes Ghost and you a while to drag them away from the bar. 

“Social butterflies,” you scoff, slumping onto the couch in the kitchen after successfully directing the two men to their rooms. Ghost clicks the door to the hallway shut and flicks in the jug. 

“Horny bastards.” Ghost offers instead and you laugh.

“All it takes is for the pair to have a single sip of alcohol and suddenly the pub’s their oyster.”

The lieutenant hums in agreement. “Camomile?”

“Yes please,” you groan, kicking off your boots and sinking further into the couch. You sling an arm across your eyes but still watch the man as he potters around in the kitchen. You smile as he reshuffles the mug shelf to find your favourite mug. He finds it and turns to place it on the bench next to his when he notices you watching.

“What?”

You grin, snuggling further into the couch with a sigh.“Nothing.”

The lieutenant huffs, returning to the mugs. Steam curls around him as the boiling water hits the cool ceramic. God he looks gorgeous in such a domestic setting. You’ll never get over it. 

“Here,” a mug hovers in front of your face, you push yourself up and take it from him with a small “thanks”.

Instead of settling at the table like usual, the lieutenant nods at the other side of the couch. “Scoot.”

You curl your legs under you, careful not to spill your tea as the couch shifts as he sinks down next to you. 

“So,” he says, leaning into the arm of the chair and angling himself to face you, “Price cleared you for duty, huh?”

You nod slowly, unsure where this is going. “Albeit hesitantly, but yes.”

“Hmm.” He replies, taking a long sip from his mug. 

You frown, “What? You disagree?”

“I didn’t say that.”

You scoff, “Ok well that reaction heavily implied you did.”

He leans forward, eyes hard. “I just think – look none of us would judge you if you needed more time.”

“It’s been over a month!” You point out, exasperated. “Price wouldn’t have said yes if he didn’t think I was ready –”

–“I never said I thought you weren’t ready –“

“Then what are you saying?!” You cry, hitting the side of the couch with your free hand, Ghost watches you with wide eyes. “What is your problem?”

“I’m just saying – recovery doesn’t have a deadline.”

“I know that,” you snap, “but I can't keep babying myself. It's been long enough.”

The man across from you narrows his cobalt eyes, “Babying yourself? You call healing from trauma babying yourself?”

“No, I call wrapping myself in cotton wool and avoiding anything that reminds me of what happened babying myself.”

“Or maybe it's about bein’ cautious,” Ghost replies, voice stern and hard as steel, “about making sure you're in the right mental state before jumpin’ back into a warzone.”

“I've faced worse – we all have. I'm not going to let fear control me.” You’re glaring at him now and he glares back.

He shakes his head. “This isn't about fear, it's about being smart. You could be a liability out there if you're not mentally prepared.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, pushing yourself off of the couch. “So now you think I can't handle myself? That I'm a liability to the team?” 

“I never said that.” He growls firmly. “But if you're not thinking clearly, you put yourself and others at risk.”

“You're overthinking this.” You hiss, “I told you I’m fine.”

“You're not fine!” Ghost mirrors you, pushing himself to his feet where he towers over you, eyes shimmering. “You're pushing yourself into something you're not ready for.”

You push him with your freehand. He doesn’t budge and it only adds fuel to the fire. “And you're being overprotective, as always!”

The lieutenant steps closer, his voice low and intense “Because I care about you, damn it.”

You pause, mouth slightly agape – your retort forgotten. 

“I care about what happens to you out there.” He says, stepping closer, eyes softer now.

“I know,” you say, searching his eyes, “I know you do. And I don’t expect you to understand. I just need you to respect my choice.”

You watch as he sighs, shoulder slumping. “I do understand,” he murmurs, “and I do respect your choice, I just –“

You cut him off by stepping closer, wrapping your arms around him. He tenses for a moment but relaxes in your hold. “I know.” You whisper into his warm chest, “I know you understand.”

He sighs again, arms finally wrapping around you, a hand settling in your hair. “I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

You laugh into his chest, “I raised mine first, I should be the one apologising. “

He lowers his chin to rest on the top of your head. “I know you’ve been trying, I know you’re doing better. I just can’t help but think of how you were when we found you –“

“Shh,” you hush, rubbing small circles into his back, “I’m ok, you got me back. I’m safe.”

A deep breath shudders through his chest beneath your cheek. “Promise?”

You pull away, his arms loosen but still around you. “Promise.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Tag list:

@alanalanalanalanalanna

Comment if you want to be added :)

Masterlist

[artbyblastweave]

It's so funny how Cap just COINCIDENTALLY seems to be physically unable to go through a SINGLE Republican presidency without having a crisis of faith that causes him to not be Cap anymore. Nomad with Nixon. USAgent with Reagan. Death and Buckycap with Bush, then HydraCap with Trump. I like to think him dying was the universe's way of identifying "...well he doesn't seem to be changing yet. Better balance this out real quick"

This is true, and moreover this ask dovetails nicely with another Cappost I've been thinking about making. Given the sliding timeline, who should we assume was in charge of the Secret Empire?

Loose, possibly at-least-partially misremembered background for those who weren't aware of this batshit plot point- In the early seventies, concurrent with Watergate, Captain America shut down a scheme by a neofascist group called the Secret Empire to, I dunno, hold the country hostage with a mutant-powered nuke or something, the specifics aren't important, what's important is that Cap cornered the leader of the group in the Oval Office, where he killed himself to avoid capture, and you never get to see the guy's face but it was all but directly stated that the Leader was Richard Nixon attempting a Coup D'état (possibly to get out of being prosecuted for Watergate?). This shakes Cap up pretty badly and he temporarily retired the Cap identity in order to operate as Nomad, The Man Without A Country, it was a whole crisis of conscience situation. Anyway, the whole situation is still vaguely implicitly canon, they refer to the Secret Empire, and there have been successor heroes who've taken up the Nomad identity after Cap got out of the funk. But It also can't have been Nixon who killed himself in front of Cap due to the sliding time scale- the rule of thumb for Marvel is that it's generally only been about 15-20 years at most since the Fantastic Four did their thing, which does hilarious things to the worldbuilding. My understanding is that you're supposed to assume that if the president is depicted in a marvel story you need to just mentally "swap in whoever would have been president 10-15 years before the present day, but given the specificity of this situation that quickly gets insane. Did Bush kill himself in front of Captain America to escape the consequences of the 2008 recession? Did Obama?! Was it just not a president at all at this point- in which case, why did Cap react badly enough to quit and become Nomad? And so on, and so forth. They basically gotta memory hole it, but I will not let them forget! Cap saw a U.S. President off themselves! But to tie this back to Civilwarposting- what I think about a lot is that from a worldbuilding perspective the actual political moment that generated Civil War is perpetually in flux. This is true of every Marvel comic but it's especially notable here because of the extent to which the comic itself is emphasizing the political moment and what created it. It's a Bush-era comic, a reaction to the politics and the rhetoric of the War on Terror and the post-9/11 years, Bush actually personally appears in it. But if it hasn't already, eventually it's going to have implicitly been pushed through Congress during the Obama Administration, and then during the Trump Admin, and then during the Biden Admin, and so on and so forth, and like. setting aside that there's already an entire swath of the marvel timeline that's very blatantly trump-admin-coded, produced in reaction to that atmosphere, The situations and arguments and rhetoric and battle lines that would have gotten that bill through each of those admins looks very different each time! And I'm not gonna say it's interesting to see how they'll resolve this, because they won't resolve it, they don't need to, they're politely asking everyone to let this one go and that's not the biggest ask these comics make of me, so fine. Whatever. But it's very very funny

[ququb444hm]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭, 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝

part 30 / sassy man apocalypse ☆

masterlist

warning(s): *REUPLOAD* bc i didnt like the first one n i am in love with angst/comfort, possible typos, profanity, kys joke

rain pitter-pattered against the glass windows of mr. ramirez’s classroom as soft jazz filled the empty conversations of college students writing out their history essays due at the end of the week. 

“aw man. what the hell.” rin groaned as he accidentally wrote down the wrong citation on his worksheet. “mori, do you have white-out? i keep fucking messing up and i’m so close to throwing the whole paper away.”

rummaging through his green pencil pouch, the sandy blond shook his head with a frown. “think i might’ve forgotten it in my dorm, sorry. nn* might have some though,” he stood up from his chair, walking over to yn’s table which was as quiet as ever.

(nn = nickname)

keiji had just left to go use the bathroom a few minutes ago, the seat in front of his being vacant also because that student barely came to class, today was no different. the girl who was assigned to sit in front of yn was fast asleep and the other kid who was supposed to be in front of kozume had moved to talk to their friend across the room. this left yn and kozume alone together. awkward. 

but yn didn’t seem to care... or to notice.

actually, she didn’t even seem mentally present.

mr. ramirez was still getting used to being in a physical classroom after persistently having asynchronous classes for almost two years because he simply “didn’t wanna get out of bed.”— he often supported his statement by falling asleep after his short lectures and with the current weather, it was easy to do so. 

so whenever yn had history class, it was basically a free period. which was very much needed after the conversation she had the previous day with shoyou. just what did he mean when he said kozume was scared of letting himself be happy? so focused on the question at hand that everything around her all mushed together into an unimportant blur. the pen in her dominant hand moved on autopilot, creating messy scribbles all over her notebook– seemingly illustrating her disordered mind.

“yn, do you have any white-out? cause oh! uh-” mori peeked over her shoulder, seeing the black ink pour out of the pen and dance like there was no tomorrow all over the lined paper. “uhm.. yn?”

noticing her unresponsive behavior, kozume placed a gentle hand over hers, squeezing it ever so slightly. “hey,” his soft touch mixed with the familiar comforting sound of his voice lulled yn’s tangled thoughts, bringing her back to the present moment. “are you okay? mori was trying to talk to you but you weren’t responding.”

“hm? oh.” collecting herself, yn turned to face her friend with a smile. “sorry, mori.”

the libero raised a brow at the interaction, his eyes lingering on the physical contact of their hands that still continued even with yn snapped out of her daze. “uh yeah, all good, nn. rin just needed some white-out 'cause i forgot mine. so i’ll be taking this-” he situated himself in between yn and kozume’s chairs, purposely hovering the top half of his body over their joined hands (with his ass poking out because of the weird position) to emphasize his nonverbal disapproval at the blond, before dramatically grabbing the white-out and dragging it to the edge of the desk, successfully (and awkwardly) separating their hands in the process. “pleasure doing business with you.” he chirped, giving kozume a dirty look before trudging back to his own table.

“sorry.” kozume mumbled, turning his attention back to his work. he internally groaned, scolding himself for what he did. ‘couldn’t you just tap her shoulder? but noooo you just can’t keep your hands off her. stupid.’

“it’s okay.” yn reassured. “actually, kozume i-” the sound of the chair next to her sliding against the vinyl flooring made her stop her sentence– keiji was back. “nevermind."

as time drew on, it was finally the end of morning classes, and yet it was still pouring outside. even heavier than when class started.

“be careful out there!” mr. ramirez warned, watching as students bustled out of his class and into the rain. “make sure to turn your essays in by friday, midnight! each minute after the deadline is my increasing disappointment in all of you!”

“you sure you’re okay going with him?” mori asked for the fifth time as yn packed her bag. kozume blankly stared at mori, wanting to get out of the class as soon as possible because he could feel keiji staring at them, eavesdropping on the conversation. he internally begged keiji wouldn’t try to confront him about walking with yn. 

but, in all honestly…he was a little happy that yn had asked. even if it was because of tetsu. he missed her. every single fiber in his body yearned to be with her. hate coursed his body ever since that night. but only for himself. he wouldn’t, couldn’t, never blame anyone else, even keiji, for his actions because he knew that in the end, he was the one that told yn all those cruel words. so when yn asked if he could accompany her to pick up tetsu, he was grateful that they were able to have some time alone. just the two of them.

yn sent her friend a comforting smile. “i’ll be okay, don’t worry about me. just let coach know we’re gonna be a little late m’kay?” mori sighed, knowing he couldn’t change her mind even if he physically dragged yn away from kozume– they’d just find their way back to each other one way or another.

“see you.” rin murmured, ruffling yn’s hair before walking out with mori.

“which building is tetsu in?” kozume asked, getting his umbrella ready.

yn fixed the straps of her bag, waving at mr. rameriz as she and kozume exited the class before answering, “pretty sure it's on the second floor of T building.”

“ohh.”

“is that okay?”

“yeah. that’s okay.”

the walk to T building was quiet and a bit tense. yn fidgeted with her hands, shoyou’s words still circulating through her mind. she wanted answers from kozume. she wanted him to tell her why things were the way they were between them. but she didn’t want to force it out of him. she wanted kozume to come to her first. her eyes focused on the path in front, letting the sound of the rain calm her down. 

kozume on the other hand, he couldn’t stop staring at her. he never could in the first place. yn was just so spellbinding, and the rain wasn’t helping in the slightest. he had so much to say, but he could never find the right words when it came to her. he stopped in his tracks, holding onto the umbrella tightly. his free hand pulled at the hem of yn’s jacket so they were facing each other. “yn, i’m sorry.” his voice was soft. it was almost hard to hear over the harsh rain. 

the sudden gesture caught yn off guard. “wha..?” kozume’s apology, though expected because of how much they both knew his words affected yn, came out of nowhere. “kozume-”

“i know i haven’t been honest with you, but i..” he pursed his lips, mind going blank as he stared into yn’s inquisitive eyes. “i don’t know what to do.” his voice sounding desperate. sounding lost.

“kozume,” every time she said his name, it felt like a stab to the heart. he missed how her voice was laced with so much love when she’d call him kozu or koz, but now his name seemed foreign as it rolled off her tongue. she placed a comforting hand on his, returning the gentle squeeze he gave her previously. “you’re my friend before anything that happens. i don’t know what’s happening with you, and it physically hurts to have you push me away, but i’ll always want to be someone you can talk to.” her thumb rubbed the back of his hand, soothing all his anxious assumptions of how the conversation would’ve turned out.

her touch was so soft and warm, a heavenly contrast to the heavy rainfall. kozume’s features relaxed, his head falling forward to rest on yn’s shoulder. her other hand reached to caress his head. “i don’t want to keep hurting you.” he mumbled.

“i don’t want to keep getting hurt either, kozume.”

“i know, i’m sorry yn. please be a little more patient with me. i didn’t mean anything i said that night, i was just overwhelmed and i regret taking it out on you.”

yn continued running her fingers through his blond hair. she slowly nodded, letting his words sink in. “i don’t forgive you for what you said, and how you constantly kept confusing me before that night, but i’m not mad at you, kozume.” her hold on his hand tightened in just the slightest. “it hurt when you made me feel you liked me back and kissed me only to call everything a mistake, and it hurt when you told me you weren’t being honest with me just now. you hurt me kozume, but still, i don’t want to lose you.”

the two stayed in their positions for a few more minutes. allowing themselves to bask in each other’s comfort. yn was the only good thing in kozume’s life, he knew that. and for a moment he let himself forget just how much he needed her. but he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

he knew he had to talk to keiji.

“what took you guys so long?!” tetsu fussed. after what was about 15 minutes since the bell, the two had finally made it to tetsurou’s class. “and why is my sister wet, kozu!? i thought you had an umbrella??” he quickly removed his own jacket, placing it on top of yn’s smaller figure. 

“it’s raining hard as fuck out there.” kozume groaned, also damp from the rain

“why do you guys still have practice anyway.” yn shivered, wrapping herself in the added fabric. “i know your game is coming up but what if some of you get sick?”

“no pain, no gain!” tetsu insisted, grabbing kozume’s umbrella from him and pushing the two out of the class. “now we gotta hurry..coach called me like three times telling me to get my ass to the gym!”

yn checked her phone to see if she had gotten a call also,

2 missed calls from milo’s dad 🫶🏼 1 missed call from SUNAVABITCH 🤣🤣 3 missed calls from alcoholic (coach) ⭐️

“well, fuck.”

part 29 secret little personal diary <- | masterlist | -> part 31 old man

note(s): me when i lie n say i'll finish this before thanksgiving break but i didn't >p< (IM SORRY.) anyways.. am i or am i not dragging their argument too long like.. let's wrap it up kenma! also i don't like the ending..but i wanted to post SOMETHING so i might change it later. next part is also written.. but AFTER that r a few text msgs :3

✩⡱ taglist !! + @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sherryuki-callmeyuki @anny-bah @ast4rg1rl @sukunasrealgf @dani-shitting-around @whokillednyx @vernon-dursley @limaswife @sugawara-levi @sixxze @ryoiii @literally-a-ferret @444sunarin @llearlert @lloyd4x @usermins @2baddies-1porsche @vernon-dursley @lyzisbitchingagain @h3xi2g0n3 @l0v3do11 lmk if u want to be added (msg or inbox)ヾ(･ω･`；)ﾉ

[traldemic6]

In the kitchen with my son - a weight gain vignette

The warm glow of the Christmas lights in the living room spilled into the kitchen, casting a soft, cheerful hue on the counters and appliances. I stood by the stove, stirring a pot of homemade hot chocolate, a nostalgic aroma wafting through the air.

The sound of shuffling feet interrupted my thoughts as I glanced over to see my son Jake, clad in his slightly stretched-out underwear, making his way to the freezer. His eyes darted around, ensuring that no one was watching him. Unaware of my presence, he opened the freezer door and began rummaging through the frosty shelves.

I couldn't help but notice the changes in his body – the once lean and muscular teenage soccer player had been replaced by a softer, rounder figure. His once-toned abs were now hidden beneath a layer of fat, and his thighs had grown thicker, rubbing against each other as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

I watched as he pulled out a tub of ice cream, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. He grabbed a spoon from the utensil drawer and began to dig in, completely absorbed in the moment. It was clear that he had been craving this dessert, seeking solace in its sweet, creamy goodness.

As a mother, my heart ached at the sight – not because of his appearance, but because I could sense the emotional turmoil hidden beneath the surface. I knew that junk food had become his coping mechanism, and I worried about the long-term effects on his physical and emotional health.

I cleared my throat gently, causing Jake to jump in surprise, the spoonful of ice cream halfway to his mouth. His eyes widened as he realized he'd been caught, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Hey, sweetie," I said, trying to keep my tone light and non-judgmental. "I see you've found the ice cream. How about I whip up something special for us to enjoy together?" I suggested, hoping to create an opportunity to connect with Jake and discuss his feelings.

He hesitated, glancing down at the tub in his hands. I could see the internal debate playing out on his face, torn between guilt and desire. But before he could respond, I decided to take the lead.

"How about a warm brownie sundae? We can share it and have a little mother-son time," I offered, giving him a warm smile.

Jake's face lit up at the mention of the brownie sundae, and he nodded enthusiastically. "That sounds amazing, Mom."

As I took out the ingredients to prepare the dessert, I continued to observe Jake, who had taken a seat at the kitchen counter. His once-prominent collarbones were now softened, and his chest had grown rounder, gently rising and falling with each breath. Even his arms, once toned from hours of soccer practice, had lost their definition.

I tried to push aside my concerns about his weight gain and focus on the present moment. I knew that offering him extra dessert wasn't the solution to his growing dependence on junk food, but I hoped it could open the door to a conversation about his feelings and struggles.

As the warm, gooey brownies emerged from the oven and the aroma filled the kitchen, I glanced over at Jake, who was watching intently, his eyes full of anticipation. I placed a brownie on each plate, topped it with a scoop of ice cream, and drizzled hot fudge over the top.

"Bon appétit," I said, sliding the plate in front of him.

As we indulged in the decadent dessert together, I hoped that this moment of connection would serve as the starting point for helping Jake regain control of his life and ultimately rediscover the strong, healthy, and happy young man he once was.

As we finished our brownie sundaes, Jake let out a deep, satisfied burp and chuckled sheepishly. "Excuse me," he mumbled, rubbing his now-full belly.

"No worries, sweetie," I replied, attempting to maintain a lighthearted atmosphere.

Jake pushed his chair back and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. "Thanks, Mom. That was really good. I think I'll head back to my room now."

As he turned and walked away, I couldn't help but observe the changes to his back, butt, and legs. The once-sculpted muscles of his back were now concealed beneath a layer of softness, and his once-firm butt had grown rounder and fuller. His thighs, once strong and lean, now jiggled slightly with each step he took. I also noticed that the elastic on his underwear was starting to fray, a testament to how much his body had grown.

"Hey, Jake," I called out just before he reached the stairs. He paused and turned to look at me, a questioning expression on his face.

"Would you like to take the rest of the ice cream up to your room? Just in case you get hungry later," I suggested gently, hoping to make him feel comfortable and loved, even though I knew it wasn't the healthiest choice.

He hesitated for a moment, then his eyes lit up, and he gave me a grateful smile. "Yeah, sure, that sounds great. Thanks, Mom."

I watched as Jake grabbed the tub of ice cream and headed back upstairs to his room. While it wasn't the healthiest decision, I knew that building trust and making him feel accepted was important at this stage.

[g5mlp]

On Behance, two presentations of scrapped marketing materials possibly for 2022 were found. These were made by Andrés Restrepo, a creative copywriter based in Colombia. Here are some of the details.

Links: 1, 2

Slides 1-4. My Little Pony x Amazon Alexa. It seems like you would have been able to have Zipp on your Amazon Alexa acting as a guide to Equestria. Kids could travel with Zipp and even help her get through challenges by doing physical actions and saying certain phrases.

Slides 5-8. "Make Your Own Cutie Mark" would have been an Instagram challenge where users could create their own cutie marks and share them under the hashtag #cutiemark. Throughout five days, a cutie mark based on an element would be shared daily by the official mylittlepony Instagram account. After the five days were done, cutie mark designs shared under the hashtag would then be shared in Instagram stories. The elements and their days were: Monday - Hope Tuesday - Creativity Wednesday - Bravery  Thursday - Confidence Friday - Kindness. 

Slides 9-10. Over on Pinterest, now that you have your own cutie mark, you would have been able to show off what you think your room would look like in Equestria by using Pinterest boards. Pre-existing boards of the different locations in Equestria would be available to look at for inspiration.

Now that users have cutie marks and have done the other challenges shown, TikTok was possibly going to be used to create new trends for users to participate in.

Below is the second presentation that was posted.

Slides 2-3. These are about a concept where online users can participate in sports related challenges on TikTok and Instagram. Those who completed their challenges would be able to join a screening of new (possibly My Little Pony: Make Your Mark) episodes as long as they also presented their medal in a Liverpool store in Mexico to buy a toy. Each pony of the mane 5 would have a challenge.  Pipp - Soccer tricks Zipp - Jump rope for a set amount of time Sunny - Get baskets in a pony costume on a basketball court Hitch - Create a dance routine to "The Dance of the Pony" Izzy - Create a medal using your own cutie mark

Slides 4-6. There could have been another challenge for TikTok called the "Pony Walk Challenge". Influencers would be chosen to spread the challenge and encourage users to participate by creating TikToks. Participants would have to dress up in one of the five fashion styles given: rock, pop, modern, classic, and mix. 

The influencers would then choose the best dressed for each style. The five winners would have gotten a chance to go to Liverpool Fashion Fest Mexico.

Slides 7-9. It seems like we could have gotten another podcast similar to the "My Little Pony: The Podcast" called "Doubts in Equestria by Sunny." This one would have been hosted by Sunny. 

Each episode would have focused on day-to-day situations children and parents may deal with, offering solutions and lessons to reflect on. Based on the images, it seems like the podcast could have gone on in 2022 alongside the "My Little Pony: The Podcast" podcast.

[foli-vora]

run to you: chapter one

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: what's this? What is this? Hah, surprise! The plan was to save this until I finished 'Glory & Gore' but I physically couldn't stop myself so here we are! Thank you for all the interest in this little universe, and for being so patient while I worked the deets and organised everything! I hope you enjoy the first part x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and 'You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: roughly 3k

Warnings: angst right off the bat, blood, description of injuries, swearing, mentions of previous undercover relationship.

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

Present. 

Bile builds in your throat as you drop to your knees, uncaring as the rough floor scuffs the skin of your knees through the thin material of your dress. You tug desperately at his jacket, rolling him over and clawing at his body until he sprawls over your lap, heavy and unmoving.

“Marcus? Marcus, look at me,” you beg softly, a strangled sob falling from your throat when his eyes eventually flutter open languidly and focus tiredly on yours. “What did you do? God, what did you do?”

His lips part, words building on his tongue, but before they can fall from his mouth he jolts in your arms, heaving and coughing and sputtering. It sounds fucking horrible.

You watch the blood ooze from his lips, creating a stark trail of bright red that melts into his faded stubble and slides down along his jaw. You push at his jacket and feel your heart plummet to the floor at the deep maroon patches outwardly soaking the crisp white shirt from the holes in his torso.

“It’s okay,” you soothe shakily, wiping the blood away from his lips with your thumb and feeling your stomach jolt with the wet sticky feel of it. “It’s okay. Keep looking at me, okay? I’m here. Somebody help me! Marcus, please—hold on, please—”

Six months ago.

It’s not home.

It’s been three months since your release, and you still haven’t managed to quite get the feel there. The apartment is fine, albeit much smaller than what you had before, but at least it’s in a nice building.

Well, anything was better than the cold and cramped cell you had lost a year to.

Now you were left to try and make sense of the pieces left behind after your world was shattered. Mostly everything had been stripped from you. Your apartment – your home – seized and sold off, along with ninety nine percent of your belongings.

It was a startling reality, coming out to nothing but a letter from your attorney saying to collect what had been put aside in a storage locker downtown.

An application had been put through for an apartment in your name, and accepted a few days before your release, so it was ready and waiting by the time you blissfully walked free of the gates.

Some clothes, five boxes, a couch and your bed. That’s it. That’s all you had of your old life. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to any of it. 

The art that used to line the walls – gone. The borderline ridiculous amount of houseplants you had grown from seedlings or bought on lazy Sunday mornings at the market – trashed, probably. Your trinkets, and furniture, and memories...

You ache for it, for the life you had before it all went to shit. 

It had taken a couple of weeks, but you eventually managed to get a job – a part time thing at the diner close to your building. It wasn’t a lot by any means and the pay was awful, but at least it was something.

You worried about rent, until your kind elderly landlady said the first couple of months had been taken care of, showing a letter from your attorney organising to pay said rent.

Six whole months were taken care of and already paid for in advance and a weight lifted from your shoulders. You didn’t need to panic just yet and slowly, week by week, you somewhat found your feet again, but the ache of what had been lost didn’t fade. You were learning to live with it, though.

It was all behind you, and now you simply wanted to look ahead.

You should’ve known… it’s never that simple.

A firm, brisk knock on your door jolts you from your thoughts as you leisurely flick through a book huddled on your couch, and your brows furrow in confusion as to who it could be.

A neighbour maybe?

You eye the front door, softly setting your book aside and throwing the blanket off your legs before standing and striding over to answer it. 

It’s crazy how fast everything fucking crumbles.

It all hits you immediately the instant you pry the door open.

Anger—rage. Heartache. Sorrow.

It floods you in heavy, overwhelming waves and you struggle to keep your head above it all. What the hell is he doing here?

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve. You hate that the sight of him could still make your heart jump in your chest, even after fifteen months. No. It was never him, you remind yourself. He didn’t make your heart jump like that. 

Seconds pass as you critically eye his appearance, scanning the freshly shaved skin of his jaw to the crisp dark grey suit and light blue tie. You’re loath to admit it to yourself, but he looks fucking good.

God. What a dick.

“Hi,” Marcus finally says, seemingly unfazed by your scowl and merely tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks. 

You inhale deeply, straightening your shoulders and curling your fingers tightly around the door knob.

“Will I get arrested if I slam this door in your face?”

A twitch of a frown creases his brows, “No –”

“Good.”

It’s loud.

Your windows rattle from the force of it. You don’t care that you probably just disturbed most, if not all, of your neighbours. The once steady beat of your heart has turned thunderous, beating against your chest and making you dizzy from the rush of blood pounding through your system.

Had you not been clear enough? You never wanted to see him again, and now he’s at your front door? How does he even know where you live? The bitter reminder of who, and what, he is hits you, and you start to wonder if you’re under surveillance or something.

Are they watching you?

Suddenly, you start to question everything.

Had they been following you on your morning walks to the coffee shop? The book store? Getting groceries? Do they watch you now, coming and going from your apartment? Do they look through your window?

Your chosen safe space to explore your ideas doesn’t feel as safe, as comfortable anymore.

You eye the large window looking out onto the busy streets now, and the thrifted armchair you had dragged in front of it to enjoy the long stretches of sun that would shine through the glass. Various art materials are scattered around it and lining the window sill, your sketchbook and art journals stacked on the small side table beside the well loved seat… it was your spot.

Your favourite spot.

Had they been watching you while you sat there for hours? Had he been watching?

It’s violating. You feel sick, repulsed by the idea of sitting there or going anywhere near your windows. Goddamnit, when will he stop taking from you?!

“I know I’m the last person you want to see,” he speaks through your door, “and I’m sorry for showing up like this, but we need to talk.”

“I told you to leave me alone, Pike!” You hiss, rushing towards the door and pounding your fist against it to try to channel some rage out of your system. It doesn’t work.

“What the hell did you not understand, huh!? Does your stupid government brain not comprehend simple English?”

“I understand your hostility—” he replies calmly. 

You snort harshly, tearing open your door and fixing him with a vicious glare. “My ‘hostility’? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He exhales softly, gazing down the corridor before his eyes fix on you once more. He doesn’t seem put off by your anger. In fact, he looks braced for it. He’s playing the cool and calm agent perfectly. 

Are you shaking?

It takes you a moment but, sure enough, you feel a tremble in your hands. Rage simmers, hot and heavy, under your skin and you swear your heart’s about to beat out of your chest. The silence stretches on and you just seem to get madder.

Eventually, he sighs softly. “Can I come in?”

“No.”

“This won’t take long –”

You force a tight, sarcastic smile. “Do you have a warrant, Agent Pike?”

“No. I’m not here to –”

“Then you can contact my attorney and we’ll talk then.”

Fuck you and your stupid badge.

The door starts to swing shut, the temptation to slam it in his face again bubbling beneath the surface. You’re just so fucking angry. The last thing you expected when rolling out of bed this morning was to be greeted with him of all people. 

Despite trying your hardest not to, he ever so slowly seeped through your defences to the forefront of your mind, and you found yourself thinking about him almost regularly. It was enough to drive you mad some days, filled with so much harsh resentment and bitterness it oozed into your art.

You’d spent months thinking over your relationship with him – with Alex – while in your cell, picking through every single interaction and moment spent with him, analysing every memory, every word, every touch, until you feared it was starting to get obsessive. You grumbled for days, weeks, on end. 

There hadn’t been any warning signs or red flags. He’d been just right, fitting so perfectly into your life you thought the universe had finally decided to cut you a bit of slack and grant a little wish come true. His curiosity over your work had come on slowly, and simply felt so natural that you didn’t even think anything of it.

It’d been the performance of a lifetime. The government should really look at giving out fucking Oscars, or something. He had played his part immaculately if the icy cold ache left in your heart was anything to go by.

The door jolts to a sudden stop.

You blink in vague surprise, a quick scowl forming with the longer his hand stays splayed on the door to keep it from closing.

“Just a minute of your time – that’s all I ask. Please.”

For the love of –

You exhale deeply, your eyes tracing the doorframe of the apartment opposite before you silently step aside, allowing him a small enough space to accept as an invitation in. A minute only. You start to count the seconds.

He gives a quiet murmur of thanks and you ignore it, simply closing the door behind him with your stomach turning to knots. Your arms cross defensively over your chest as he wanders deeper into your apartment, a barely there flicker of curiosity pulling at his features as his eyes roll over your things.

You hate it. You don’t want him here. You don’t want him tainting the life you had, the new life you had created by yourself. You don’t want him in your new space; your new home, free from the memories of what you had shared with him.

No. You had nothing with him. You had something with Alex, but then again… did you? He didn’t exist. He was a lie, a sham. None of it was real. You’d fallen in love with a character thought up in a room full of federal agents wanting to close a case. 

The rage returns. 

“Out of curiosity,” you mutter, grimacing at the way he eyes your apartment and feeling your eye twitch from the fury pumping through your system, “how many years would I get for assaulting a federal officer?”

He turns at your question, mirroring your stance and crossing his arms across his chest. He oozes authority. He looks like an agent, all stiff-postured in his suit and carefully concealing any and all emotion. He doesn’t give you any reaction to your question.

Instead, he merely does a once over, studying your own posture and deciding you’re of no threat whatsoever. 

“I wouldn’t press charges, so none.”

“Oh? You don’t want to lock me up? But I thought you were quite good at that,” you spit. “I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t give a fuck about you and I hope you dehydrate on my shitty rug, you lying piece of shit.”

The words sit in the air and he blinks, his brow quirking slightly at your little outburst. “Feel better?”

You shift in your spot, your tongue swiping along your lower lip. You do actually. Ugh. Bastard.

“What do you want, Marcus?”

“I know this must be very unexpected for you and I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, but I – we – need your help—”

What?

“Get out,” you snap before he can even continue, infuriated by the mere idea that he’d come to you for help after everything.

“No, I’m fucking serious, Pike. Get out. You think I’d help you? After everything you did to me? You fucking broke me, Marcus! You ruined my fucking life!”

A small, logical part of you reminds you that, ultimately, it was your doing in the end. You chose the life you had, choosing to do what you did. There was always going to be a chance it would come crashing down, but that doesn’t alleviate the pain of having the one person you thought truly had your back assisting in bringing it all down around you.

You’re surprised when the slightest flicker of sadness shines through his eyes.

“I know,” he murmurs, head falling into a small nod, “and I am sorry for that. It was never...”

He doesn’t continue, his sentence merely leading into silence as he struggles for words.

It was never what? It was never meant to happen? It was never meant to get as far as it did? It was never meant to end like it did? What?

You look away, not entirely sure you even want to hear him continue. It had happened, and no amount of apologies or excuses would ever make it better.

“I’d like you to leave,” you mutter weakly, hating that tears start to sting the back of your eyes. 

It shouldn’t hurt anymore. It’s been so long – why does it still hurt?

Why does it feel like you’re still in the holding cell, desperately clutching your chest in an effort to hold your heart together? It shouldn’t hurt, not like this.

You hurriedly wipe away the single tear that falls, now fully unable to look at him knowing he would’ve seen it. 

“Okay,” he murmurs soothingly, taking a small step towards the door. “I know we have no right to ask you this, but there are people getting hurt, and I—”

You huff in pained amusement, “No one cared when I got hurt.”

“This is bigger than you and me,” his voice is quiet and thick with emotion, but when you look at him, he shows nothing on his face.

“Look, if you’re not interested, that’s fine, but please just… just think it over, okay? You could really make a difference in our investigation, and if you do happen to change your mind—”

“Not likely,” you cut in, but he carries on as if he doesn’t hear you.

“—then give me a call.”

You glare at the card he holds out to you, but figure he’ll leave quicker if you take it so you snatch it from his grasp and nod, averting your gaze before it could meet his. You see him hesitate from your peripheral, almost as if he were contemplating saying something more… but nothing comes.

No words fall from his mouth, and instead he merely clears his throat and lets himself out of your apartment quietly. The door closes softly behind him and your fingers immediately tear the small white card in half.

—

It plagues you for days.

You toss and turn at night, unable to calm your mind long enough to get a restful night's sleep. Instead, it’s painfully interrupted, and mostly consists of you staring through your ceiling and bedroom walls until your body can no longer fight the wave of heaviness coming over your eyes.

The pieces of Marcus’ destroyed business card sit on your countertop. You play with them over your morning coffee, sliding the pieces together as if it were a jigsaw puzzle before flicking them apart and attempting to ignore their presence as you went about your usual routine.

You couldn’t bring yourself to throw them away.

The thought of people out there – nameless and faceless and nothing to you personally – getting hurt simply sat wrong in your stomach.

What kind of person would you be if you didn’t at least try to help? You could be bitter over your situation and no one coming to your aid when you needed it, but would you really let that bitterness stretch out onto others? Could you live with yourself knowing you had done nothing when, maybe, you could have made a difference?

It’s those thoughts that propel you to just do it.

You slip the pieces together and dial the numbers printed neatly under his name, ignoring the feeling of tightness wrapping around your lungs as you bring your phone to your ear. It rings three times before he answers, and you spit out the words before you can change your mind.

“I’ll help, and then that’s it, okay? I want no more of this. You leave me alone – all of you— for good. I want to live my life… understood?”

Had you spoken too quickly?

It had all come out so fast in your hurry to get the call over and done with. A part of you still wants to completely forget he ever knocked on your door… too late now.

This could be good, would be good. You’d do your part, you’d help and then you’d be able to sleep peacefully knowing you had done what you could for those getting hurt.

“Understood,” he replies, and that seals the deal.

You’re involved in his investigation now.

“Okay, so… what now?”

-

tags (will also be continued on reblogs): @maievdenoir, @william-butcher, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80,@danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld, @h-hxgirl