#God guys the worms are back in full force with these two (even though there is no way PL happens in Riley's canon-- don't got room :( )

[tarmac-rat]

Turn that corner, watch us grow older We talk about death, but it's still not over

[practically-an-x-man]

Here's a prompt for you!

"I don't need you to be perfect! Just please, for once in your life, listen to me!"

Oooh I'm thinking Jasper for this one!!

____ Mama

Word Count: 2.5k Content Warnings: heavy argument, abusive parents, transphobia/deadnaming (NOT by Kyle don't worry there)

____

Jasper did not enjoy visits with his mother.

There were the better sides to it - homecooked meals, the familiarity of the house, visiting his friends and neighbors that were all a hair too far from the city to visit regularly. It wasn't as though he wallowed in misery, on those recesses and holidays he spent away from Tulane.

But he didn't enjoy spending time with his mother. There were a lot of reasons why.

"I was thinking maybe I could take some of Dad's old records back with me," Jasper said, posing the question as casually as he could, "I've got a record player in my dorm."

"We have a record player here." his mother said, without even looking up from her novella. Jasper resisted the urge to sigh.

"I know, but-" he started, chewing the inside of his cheek, "I know you don't listen to them, since it's not your kind of music. But I like it. I think it could be nice to listen to when I study."

"Did I not buy you an iPod a few years ago?" she asked, the words undercut with a shiver of dark annoyance. Jasper felt every ripple of it. His mother raised an eyebrow. "Did you break it?"

"You did. And- no, it works fine. But records, um, records have a better sound, y'know? And they remind me of Dad." he continued, tumbling over his words under the weight of his mother's gaze, "I'll leave the country ones, and the CCR and the other ones you like. I just want the heavy stuff. He's got those Metallica records, the originals, and a whole bunch of Linkin Park, and even some stuff that's even heavier than that and I know you aren't listening to those ones anyway-"

"Jasmine Michelle."

Jasper fought hard to bite back his grimace. It never got easier to hear.

"You are not taking your father's records out of this house." his mother continued, her voice and emotions equally icy, "He left them here, and they'll stay here. This is the last time I'm having this discussion with you. And stop cutting your hair so short. You look ridiculous."

Ironic, considering she was sporting a pageboy cut herself. Jasper's buzz cut wasn't much farther removed from that, he thought. But it was harder to pretend he was still Mama's Little Girl when he refused to let his hair grow out, he figured. He wrung his fingers behind his back, squeezing until it hurt.

"I like it cut like this." he argued, fighting hard to summon his voice, "It's... better for derby."

"Is school going well? You're passing all your classes?"

Breezing on ahead. Like she hadn't even heard him. That, too, never got easier.

"Yes, mom." Jasper sighed, "It's going fine. I got an A on my anatomy midterm. My professor said only two percent of students actually manage to ace that-"

"And you've got friends? A boyfriend?"

Kyle's name sprung to his lips, but he bit it down. He didn't want his mother to know about that. It would only lead to more prying questions, which would lead to her wanting Kyle to visit, which would lead to... God knows what else.

"I've got friends," Jasper agreed - not a lie, but not the full truth, "With derby, and with nursing. There's even a- a guy in my history class who's really nice. We've had a couple study dates."

"Good." his mother replied. Her eyes flicked up and down Jasper's figure, and he realized he was shifting on his feet. Another shiver of cold annoyance wormed its way through his chest. Jasper forced himself to freeze, despite the way his body demanded movement. "Am I keeping you from something, Jasmine?"

"Jasper." he muttered under his breath, regretting it the instant it was past his mouth. The cold only deepened. He wanted to shiver.

"What was that?"

Jasper swallowed hard. It wouldn't get any better if he didn't stand up for himself. His mother had never been outright cruel about matters like this - she just didn't care. She didn't speak badly about him, didn't call him slurs or cast him out, but she also didn't make any effort at his name or pronouns. That was why he hadn't bothered correcting her. But if he started now, maybe she'd start to see how important it was do him. At the very least, he was done being walked over.

"It's my name. Jasper." he repeated, a little more strongly. His mother gave him a strange look. Emotions danced in his chest. He couldn't tell what they were, even which ones were his own.

"Your grandmother gave you that name. It's a family name. It belongs to you."

"It's- it's a beautiful name." he stammered, a bit of his confidence waning, "But it's not my name. My name is Jasper."

He could feel irritation beginning to brew, alongside a nebulous sort of confusion. He didn't know what to make of it. He decided to stand his ground.

"Mom, I-"

"Was I not good enough?" his mother blurted. Jasper blinked, confused at the question. His mother sighed - without his sense, he'd have assumed it was disappointment. And it was disappointment... but not towards him. Jasper's mother pressed her lips together, choosing her words. "Did I not raise you right? Should I have raised you as a boy?"

"You didn't know, Mom, it's- it's okay." he tried, "You didn't know, but now you do, and-"

"I'm sorry I wasn't a perfect mother to you. I'm sorry I did something wrong."

Funny how I'm sorry could sound so little like an apology. His mother had always been awfully good at casting blame. Casting blame, claiming all the sympathy in the room for herself, never letting another person speak their mind. It had taken Jasper a very long time to realize other people's parents weren't like that.

The only thing that kept Jasper from wilting was the anger stiffening his muscles. It didn't even need to be an argument. It didn't need to be about her. All it was was his fucking name. Basic decency. He'd thought she could look past her ego for that much.

"I don't need you to be perfect!" he blurted, though he winced at the way his voice cracked. He felt tears rising behind his eyes. "Just- please, for once in your life, listen to me!"

"I just want to understand what happened to my daughter!"

"I'm not your daughter!" he shouted, unable to help himself. Something sharp and surprised, verging on painful, darted through his chest. He could see it written all over his mother's face. Regret flooded him so intensely he almost couldn't breathe. "Mom, that's- that's not what I meant. I'm your child, I'll always be your kid, but I'm- I'm not your daughter."

He didn't know how a simple conversation about his dad's old records had spiraled out of control so fast. His heart beat so heavily he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

His mother didn't speak. It was worse when she didn't. Finally, she let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Jasmine..."

"Jasper."

"Jasper." she echoed, with something like disdain coloring her voice, "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't..." Jasper mumbled, "I don't know."

Without another word, he turned and left the room.

With tears now freely streaming down his face, Jasper ducked into his dad's old office and sat down on the floor. Boxes of weathered LPs surrounded him, and dust motes caught the sunlight that streamed in from the windows.

He let out a shaking sigh, flipping through the records and watching the album art blur into smears of color past his tears. Really, he knew it was going to end like that. It was how his mother treated a lot of things - anything that didn't perfectly align with how she wanted the world to run, he thought. He'd known from the beginning that there were only two options for that conversation to end: she'd brush it aside, refuse to care, or she would flip it into a plea for sympathy.

But knowing and hoping were never really the same. He wanted things to have turned out right.

As if on some cosmic cue, Jasper's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his glimmer of annoyance melting into something a little softer when he saw Kyle's name on the screen.

How's the visit with your mom? Received 3:44 PM

Jasper huffed out a sharp breath, swiping a hand angrily across his eyes.

Bad Delivered 4:16 PM

Kyle's response came in hardly a moment later, accompanied by a brief flicker of concern behind Jasper's heart.

Want to talk abt it? Received 4:16 PM

No Delivered 4:16 PM

Just wish I was there with you Delivered 4:17 PM

Me too Received 4:17 PM

Jasper's fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he couldn't figure out what to say. Eventually he sighed and gave up, tucking his phone back into his pocket. It buzzed only a minute or two later.

He opened the message and found a picture of a dog - a puppy, either an Australian shepherd or something similar, snapping at a cluster of fallen leaves dropped by a hand just barely in frame. It succeeded in coaxing a smile from him, albeit a faint one.

Neighbors got a new puppy Received 4:19 PM

His name is Ferdinand Received 4:19 PM

The texts were closely followed by a video, slightly warped and blurry from being sent over text, but still clear enough. It showed Ferdinand prancing after a tossed Frisbee, moving in that rambunctious but not-quite-graceful puppy way. Kyle wasn't in the frame, but his voice cheered out from behind the camera.

He's really cute Delivered 4:21 PM

Kyle responded with another picture, this one clearly a flub of what was supposed to be a posed shot. Kyle was crouched beside the dog, one arm around its fluffy back- but Ferdinand had jumped up onto his knee and was stretching to lick his face. The picture showed Kyle mid-laugh, both of them slightly blurry. It got a wider smile from Jasper, and his fingers danced across his phone screen.

Not as cute as you are though Delivered 4:22 PM

He felt a flicker of soda-pop amusement bubble through his chest, accompanied by something warm and comforting. He'd always been grateful for his odd little link with Kyle, but now more than ever. At least he had someone on his side - someone who'd never doubted, never faltered, never questioned even when he still didn't understand.

Jasper let out a low sigh, forcing himself to exhale his lingering emotions. His fingers itched for movement, and he found himself flipping again through the box of old records. He'd seen them all before, knew his well-worn favorites and those he always skipped past. But this time he paused, stalling on the image of a night sky overlaid by a silver longsword. Despite everything, it made him smile. He reached for his phone and snagged a quick picture.

Look what i found in my dad's old records Delivered 4:25 PM

Kyle responded almost immediately, a bloom of warmth filling Jasper's chest just as the message went through.

Toto!! Received 4:25 PM

Give it a listen for me :) Received 4:25 PM

Jasper managed a fragment of a smile. Broken, shattered, but... almost there.

I will Delivered 4:26 PM

He blew dust off the record, flipped it over and scanned the list of songs, anything to occupy his hands or his mind. Jasper briefly glanced at the record player on the bookshelf, just as worn and dusty as the record itself.

No. He'd do one better.

He was taking this one with him. Not all of them, not even the heavy rock he'd promised, just this one. His mother wouldn't even notice the loss. There had to be a hundred records in his dad's collection. Even Jasper couldn't list them all.

She wouldn't even notice it was gone. And Jasper would hang onto a little piece of his dad's heart.

Before he even realized it, his fingers were dancing across his phone again.

Would it be easier if I was a girl? Delivered 4:33 PM

Brief pause. Uncertainty, mild confusion, swirled through Jasper's chest like bubbles in a lava lamp.

Would what be easier? Received 4:33 PM

Us Delivered 4:34 PM

Idk Delivered 4:34 PM

Dating me Delivered 4:34 PM

Another brief pause. Another uneasy drift of confusion, this one tinged with cool blue concern. There was something else there too, something Jasper had learned to identify as longing. Kyle wished he was there, that they could talk face-to-face, that he could mend whatever wrongs he could clearly sense that Jasper was struggling with.

The response went through a moment later.

Are you a girl right now? Received 4:35 PM

No Delivered 4:35 PM

Then no Received 4:35 PM

I like you better when you're being yourself Received 4:35 PM

Jasper almost sighed with relief. There was no waver in Kyle's sincerity. Not that there ever really was. It made things better, though doubt and hatred still prickled across his skin.

But would it be easier Delivered 4:37 PM

There was a longer pause, like Kyle was choosing how to respond. Jasper hardly moved, staring at the phone in his hands and the album in his lap.

Maybe Received 4:39 PM

Technically I guess Received 4:39 PM

But I don't want it to be easier like that. I want you to be happy w who you are. Even if it means we have to deal with bible belt bullshit sometimes. I love you Jazz Received 4:40 PM

Jasper's fingers twitched across the little keyboard, typing out another message.

Are you sure?

But he shook his head and deleted it. He knew Kyle was sure. He could sense it as well and clearly as he could feel his own heartbeat. He couldn't have doubted Kyle if he tried. Sometimes his sense really was a lovely thing.

In the silence that followed as Jasper failed to respond, his phone buzzed again in his hand. He glanced down at it.

And hey just think next year we'll have our own apartment. Won't have to leave on the breaks Received 4:42 PM

Eight more months Jazz Received 4:42 PM

Hang in there Received 4:42 PM

Love you <3 Received 4:43 PM

Jasper forced himself to take in a long breath and let it out, nearly coughing as he inhaled more dust than air. Kyle was right. Just a few more months of this, and then they'd have their own place in the city. A safe place. No more judgement, no more invasive questions, no more abuses of privacy and hands where they didn't belong. They'd both be safe.

Eight more months. A few more weekends, one more holiday break, one more summer. Then it would be just him and Kyle. Then... all of this would be a little easier.

He could make it through eight more months.

I know Delivered 4:45 PM

Hanging in there Delivered 4:45 PM

Love you too <3 Delivered 4:45 PM

[obsessive-ego]

Talking in you sleep

Musical beetlejuice x reader

Reader says Beetlejuice's name 3 times in their sleep, but hes already in their home

Sfw

Idk been thinking about this for ages

Just a small fic

It was an accident

It was no secret to anyone that you talk in your sleep, not full sentences, just a word or two, nothing too abnormal, you didn't know about this little quirk of yours until a certain foul mouthed undead demon wormed his way into your life, he was the one who told you.

...

"Ya know you chatter on in your sleep?" He'd  chuckle as if he found something truly embarrassing to bug you about.

"How'd you know? Am I that loud you can hear me in the livingroom?"

"Nah, I watch you sleep" he said it so plainly as if it wasnt super creepy.

The ghoul eventually upped his late night habits from watching you sleep, to sleeping in the same bed as you, he did this so often you stopped setting up the couch for him and just accepted your fate to be spooned every night by a creepy old dead guy who you may or may not have a crush on

...

The nights you've babbled in your sleep always brought on annoying mornings of beetlejuice teasing you, probably lying through his teeth over how you moan his name in you sleep to get you worked up for his own amusement, unfortunately you couldnt prove you didnt since your dreams never really stuck with you long after waking.

Hell with your late night chatter you even manged to summon beej once in your sleep, a night he was spending over at the Deetz, you manged to say his name 3 times in a row, spoken, unbroken, in your sleep, and boy was your face red when you woke up and saw the bastard in question sitting inches from your face with the widest shit eating grin you've ever seen on his face, that was an instance you couldnt deny saying his name in your sleep and dreaming about him, you missed him, of course you think about the demon when you two are apart, even the few days he's with the Deetz and the maitlands.

Tonight wasnt one of those nights, beetlejuice has spent the entire day glued to your side, chatting your ear off about all the scares he and lydia pulled in your absence, his stories always made you smile, the way he practically glowed green with excitement as he retold his showmanship to you.

The night went on with bad jokes and fun stories as the demon filled you in on all the fun you missed while you were doing boring adult breather things and how the two of you should mess with some unlucky breathers so he could show you how amazing he truly was, as if you needed proof that the ghoul was a ham who loved to show off.

As the two of you sat on the couch laughing away, forgetting the movie that basically became White noise to your conversation, a yawn escapes your lips

"Getting tired babes? Am I really that boring" the ghoul teased pinching you cheek

You groan and pull away "well, yeah, unlike you mister freeloader, I worked all day" you shrug before letting out another yawn

"Freeloader? Oh sugar, your words hurt" the ghoul fakes hurt, giving you an over exaggerated gasped face, with his hands over where a person's heart would be "I thought we had the mutual understanding that I was your trophy husband"

You give the demon a soft laugh "you wish-"

"Every night baby~" he purrs pink stripes slowly appearing in his hair

You freeze, it wasnt uncommon for beetlejuice to openly flirt with you, but that doesnt mean it didnt make you freeze up everytime, you werent exactly the type people lined up to date, nor were you very popular growing up, so the sudden and intense attention the demon gave you always made your heart pound.

"Uh, um, I think I'm gonna head to bed" you stammer before getting up "night beej" you mumble before disappearing into your bedroom.

The demon stifles a laugh, god slash satan you were a delight to get worked up, not to mention easy. He loved it, his favourite little breather was always so hot when they were an embarrassed mess.

The ghoul decides to finish the movie the two of you had on in the background, before heading to bed with you, he didn't need to sleep, just enjoyed being snuggled up to that soft warm body of yours, and it was more rewarding to sneak in after you were out cold, bed would be already warm, and with the added thrill of not wanting to wake you.

As the credits roll beetlejuice snaps his fingers and tv goes dark, the ghoul raises from the couch and gives a yawn and a long stretch as if he was exhausted. The demon makes his way to your room, standing outside your door he pauses at the sound of your voice

"Beetlejuice"

It was soft, barely audible, but herd it, guess you were still up, beetlejuice phases through your bedroom door, to be greeted by your sleeping form.

He stifled a chuckle, you were dreaming of him, tomorrow was gonna be great, the ghoul was already busy thinking about ways to poke fun at this in the morning, moaning out his name in you sleep? What kind of dream were you having babes? He could see your face now.

"Beetlejuice" you mumble again in a whisper

"Whoa there babes, you know the rule, one more time and I'm out" he whispers making his way to your bed.

"Beetlejuice" you sigh

"Y/N!" was the the only thing he had time to shout before vanishing.

His shout was enough to make wake you, but not enough to clue you in to what you just did, you grumble out a swear before rolling over and going back to sleep.

The next morning you wake up, a tad confused to not have a snoring dead guy weighing you down, normally on nights beetlejuice would stay over he'd slip into bed with you after you've fallen asleep, using your chest as a pillow.

You dont think much of it at first, heading to the kitchen to make some coffee before getting dressed, you did notice there was no beej there either, waiting for you kettle to boil you give your little home a quick sweep for the demon, nothing.

He's vanished to do his own thing before, he was a grown man, sometimes he'd duck out and mess with the neighbors in your apartment complex, but he would at least leave you a note or something.

You started to worry, what if something awful happened to him? Then it clicked, lydia must had summoned him away to hang out, that had to be it, and with that thought all dread left you so you could carry on with your day, since bj wasnt around you took the opportunity to get a few odds and ends done.

The day drags on into the late evening, you were enjoying the peace as you catch up on some reading.

Your phone rings, looking at the screen you see its lydia, that's odd, she normally texts you if anything

"Hello?"

"Y/n I need to ask beetlejuice something"

"Isnt he with you?"

"What? No-"

Dread returns to you chest, you havent seen him since last night, he left no note, he wasnt with lydia, did something awful happen? was he bored with you? You felt like you were going to be sick

"Y/n?"

"I gotta go" was all you could say before hanging up,

"Beetlejuice!"

Nothing

"Beetlejuice!"

Again nothing, he normally came after the second yell, anxiety for your dear friend make you since to your stomach in fear for the worst, you steady yourself and take a deep breath and say it for a third time

"Beetlejuice"

With a puff of green smoke there stood the ghoul, unfortunately sporting a purple hue

"Bee-"

"It took you that long to notice I was gone?"

"No, I-"

"Why did it take so long then? Enjoying your time without me?!" Red streaks began to show up amongst the purple

"I thought lydia summoned you back-"

"And you waited till now to check?!"

"I DIDNT WANT TO BOTHER THE TWO OF YOU" you yelled back, beetlejuice is taken abck by your volume, you take a deep breath "if I knew why you were gone I would have said something sooner, what happened?" You say calmly gently taking the demon's hand, red now fading away, though the purple stayed

"You sent me away, you said my name 3 times in your sleep and sent me back to the netherworld" he refused to look at you as if you did this on purpose to mess with him.

"Bee, I'm sorry, I would have never done that on purpose, i- i love having you around, and I, god, i miss you when you're not here, with me" now it was your turn to refuse eye contact, admitting such a cheesy thing, you wanted to just die, not that it would help.

The purple hue is quick to leave the ghoul's form in replacement with a much softer pink, you missed him, music to his ears.

"Sugar" beetlejuice grabs your chin and forces eye contact

You give him a soft smile seeing that he was no longer purple, but also when he pulls you into a rather over exaggerated dip and sloppy kiss "so how bout we make up for some lost time and you can make this little misunderstanding up to me, what do you say babes?~"

You only stutter and choke on your words as the demon spins you around

"Would you like to scare some delivery guy and watch a bad slasher?" You finally get out

The demon pauses for a moment, as if to think about this offer.

"Normally I'd be delighted honey, but I think you owe me~ how bout you have to sit on my lap the entire film~" he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you, you swallow the lump in your throat, this was gonna be a long night

Bonus

The two of you were snuggled together on the couch, Beetlejuice's arms were around your waist, his head on your shoulder, your bum on his lap.

"So babes, whatever you dreaming about last night?"

[lyrebright]

I mentioned in my last TMA post that I wasn't sure if I wanted to take a break or go charging on ahead--well, the answer was both, apparently, because I did go charging on ahead, but then I hit MAG030 and halfway through had to take a break. I don't think I like the meat episodes.

I am jumping ahead here a bit but I just needed to get that out!! I was cooking beef mince for dinner while I was listening to that episode and it made me unbelievably queasy!! No Thank You!!

Jon's closing statement for it did get a chuckle out of me though. Yes, precisely, my thoughts too, my guy.

MAG027: I actually have immense paranoia about being alone at night so this one Got Me. Outside of the "oh I can relate to that" vibes though I honestly didn't find it very...visceral? I get the vibe from the writing style that the horror in TMA doesn't come so much from making you afraid as it does just simply making you feel, and this one was like. Too generic spoopy horror story to carry that through?

MAG028: another live statement! It's cool to get some further fleshing out to the worldbuilding; this is someone from an established YouTube channel, and also apparently the Magnus Institute has an established reputation, which. Hmm. Interesting.

I liked both the focus of the statement this time and Melanie King. Since the only other live statement givers we've had so far are the...first one? And two 'recurring' characters I wonder if that means they're all like...important? I'll have to to back to the first statement giver and remind myself of her name so I can keep an ear out for it in case she turns up again.

I hope Melanie turns up again too I like her and I wanna know more about her IRL spooky YouTube happenings.

In the first live statement I actually did feel like Jon was trying to be tactful in his words to the woman at the end and she simply took them the wrong way, but oh no the bitch energy came out full force for Melanie (she gave as good as she got though!)

OH I am looking through the episode transcripts as I write these to remind myself of what went on in them so I know what points I wanted to ramble about and that's right. Jon said something in the closing statement about Sarah Baldwin being a familiar name Hang On.

Yes I Am Going To Go Backread The Prior Transcripts What Of It

Oh I did. Not have to dig too deep I was just going to skim through them from episode one and There She Is.

Hmm.

Much to think about.

MAG029: this was an episode I listened to the same night as MAG030 and it was ALSO not a pleasant one to cook dinner to.

At least I wasn't cooking meat at the time? I was frying onions.

I don't have much to say about this one other than that I am Updating my Worldbuilding Databank.

MAG031: I actually just finished this one today (I also finished MAG030 today and it's still BLEGH) so it's a lot fresher in my mind. Also I was doing the dishes while listening, not cooking, so it made me feel MUCH less queasy.

Oh my god I know Jon like gets really into delivering those statements but the like. The poshness he slips into for this one had me cracking up.

Sounds like something that would happen in America, yeah.

The whistling hovered between sinister and taking me out of it entirely tbh. I do not think it would have felt nearly as cringe if Jon did not sing along at that part in the statement.

Like I dig the commitment but Come On. He was totally a theatre kid.

Closing statement was the most interesting part once more.

So it's been two months since Martin endured a worm siege and he's just living at work? That poor man.

Jon's work/home balance sounds atrocious and he does NOT have the excuse of living at his workplace get some sleep???

He sounds so like...exhausted ): and the worms keep just turning up...sounds like some psychological warfare to me!

Wormfare, even,

Does make you wonder though. Jon aren't you meant to just be archiving these? Digitizing these historical records? Jon won't people listen back to these for study one day and hear all the personal shit you are saying?

Imagine being a uni student in like. Current day listening through some tapes for, idk, your thesis or whatever (I have no idea how higher education works) and you get taken through this wholeass journey of this man being snide to his coworkers before worms and you are just. I am just l. I am just listening here.

I'm pretty close to the season one finale now!! I'm excited!! Worms!!

[ashtheshortstack]

Truth be Told

Rating: G Fandom: Danny Phantom

Sequel to dwelling on deceit

Tags: Valerie POV, Post-PP

Read on ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny Phantom saving the world with his genius plan was something Valerie had to give him kudos for. Especially after he confirmed her suspicions and transformed back into Danny Fenton right before her eyes. She was a bit stunned to see it happen to say the least, but she knew. And was glad she was right.

The Danny she knew was just a dorky, awkward kid that she had ended up crushing on. It was… sudden. And she didn’t quite know how it happened. Little did she know she’d been fraternizing with the enemy. Danny did though. He knew she was hunting him. And yet… still pursued her. Still wanted to feel like a normal kid and date the girl he liked. She couldn’t imagine how hard it’d been for him. How hard she’d made it on him to constantly fight her knowing full and well he didn’t want to.

Dating Danny had been an uphill battle. As much as she liked him, she knew in her heart that he liked someone else more. Valerie wasn’t stupid. She could see the way he looked at Sam. It was selfish of her to confront the goth girl on the issue, but she wanted to hope that Sam would back off. She remembered when she overheard Sam saying that they’d give her a chance for Danny’s sake, but they knew. They knew this wouldn’t work out.

Jeez, Valerie owed Sam an apology. But… that would come later.

When she suited up, she hadn’t expected to find Danny so quickly. And surprisingly… alone? He and Sam had been attached at the hip since the Disasteroid. Valerie had noticed a small class ring on Sam’s finger every day at school when the two walked down the hallway with their fingers intertwined. Which was super lame and definitely not Sam’s color, but was fitting for Danny. She hated to admit that they were cute. As much as it made her want to gag.

He sat upon the town billboard. The one with the dumb “Amity Park: A Nice Place to Live!” slogan. Yeah, Amity Park was a great place to live if you enjoyed the constant ghost attacks. She was sure their town was going to become a tourist attraction not too long after the famous Danny Phantom saved the world.

“Do ghosts normally haunt billboards at night, Phantom?” she teased as she retracted her hoverboard beneath her feet.

“Night is the best time to haunt, Red, makes things spookier,” he replied, not turning to face her yet. His ever charming sarcasm oozed from his voice, but she could place a bit of hesitance in his tone as well.

Poor guy. Danny probably thought the worst of her. She hadn’t spoken to him since they had returned to school. He had spared her a few glances and nervous smiles between classes, but she hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t dared to pop open that can of worms. And yet, there she was… somehow finally finding her courage to speak to him. The boy she had hunted… the boy she had dated.

Her face softened as she smiled. “Hey, Danny.”

He looked at her then, those green eyes piercing and glowing. “Hey, Val,” he smiled. A genuine Danny smile that she had come to appreciate so much.

Valerie took a seat next to him, not sure where to even begin. But Danny took the lead, of course.

“So, how long is this truce thing going to last? I kind of miss you chasing me around with blasters,” he joked with a half hearted shrug.

Valerie chuckled, leaning back on her palms. “I didn’t know you enjoyed fighting so much..”

“Oh, yeah. Screaming in pain, getting caught in nets, even Skulker constantly telling me he wants my pelt on his wall: love it.”

“That’s a little TMI, Danny. I didn’t need to know that you were a masochist.”

Danny gaped at her. “That is not what I--”

Valerie cut him off with a burst of laughter. He pursed his lips, giving her a glare for teasing him but seemed to relax and join in the fit of giggles with her.

When the chuckles died down, Danny finally leaned back on his palms as she was. “You knew, didn’t you?”

She didn’t have to ask him to elaborate. Valerie already knew what he was asking. She looked up, gazing at the stars with a hesitant smile etching at the corner of her lips. “I had a suspicion. That was my fault, though, I shouldn’t have been so nosy and pried.”

Sighing, he shook his head. “No, if anything I was glad you knew. It’s hard explaining why I didn’t like Vlad Masters without a reason. Especially as a ghost.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t like him either.”

Danny snorted at that. “Pretty sure no one likes him anymore, Val. He tried to conquer the world by force and promised safety he couldn’t follow through on. Even my dad hates his old pal Vladdy.”

“Well, I didn’t like him anymore before that. And I tried so hard to play nice so he’d give me information. I think he tried to hint at your identity a few times too.”

Humming, he nodded. “Sounds right. Vlad always had a weird obsession with me.”

“What a freak.”

“A crazed up fruitloop.”

Valerie snorted at that. “I just--I want you to know that I’m happy for you. You’ve never seemed happier and I’m glad. You deserve it, Danny.”

He looked at her, those green eyes seeming to pierce her soul. He really was too kind. Too good, ablet a bit devious at times she knew. He always wanted what was best for everyone. Willingly sacrificed himself for the greater good so many times. And somehow, he was still the dorky unpopular kid at her school. The one she was mean to for so long because she thought that’s what she was supposed to do. Dating Danny had really opened her eyes to the person he could be. It didn’t surprise her one bit that he was Danny Phantom: the ghost hero of Amity Park.

“Thank you.”

The response was so genuine… it made her heart ache. There was a look on his face, however… something that told her there was more he wanted to say. Something in his eyes that didn’t sit well in the pit of her stomach.

“What is it?” she asked.

Danny swallowed, seeming tense. “I have to ask… how do you not hate me? I lied to you--a lot. You were dating me. You were dating Danny Phantom, the literal ghost you wanted to blast to bits and had no idea. Why didn’t you come here screaming at me?”

Sighing, she felt her shoulders sag. “After that stuff with Vlad… and after I figured you out, I had a lot of time to think about it. I was a little angry at first, I guess. But then I thought about how it must’ve been for you. You just wanted to be normal for once. It’d be lame of me to blame you for that. You knew I was literally trying to destroy your other half and yet you still wanted to be with me. I can’t hate you for that.”

He considered her, seeming to soak in her words. When he nodded with a smile, Valerie felt some relief. It wasn’t even a worry she realized she had. She hadn’t thought about Danny fearing how she’d react to him being Phantom. She was glad she could clear that up for him, at least.

Clearing her throat, Valerie quickly realized that sincere conversation was no longer for her. “Sooo, is Tucker seeing anyone?”

He blinked. “Aside from his PDA? No, not that I know of,” Danny paused and grinned. “Why? You interested?”

“I dunno. Dating Amity Park’s youngest mayor in history sounds enticing..”

“What? And dating Amity Park’s ghost superhero isn’t?”

She cocked a brow. “Yeah, but I heard he’s taken.”

“Again, that’s not what I meant.”

“Duh, I know what you meant.” Valerie paused, letting silence wash over her a minute before she sighed and glanced away from him. “We were never going to work, you know that, right?”

He cocked his head in a curious gesture. “What?”

“Danny, you’ve always loved her. Even when you didn’t know it. It was so obvious to everyone else. I just--I just thought I’d take my chances.”

Danny’s cheeks tinged pink (with a little bit of green mixed in, oddly enough.) “Valerie, I liked you. A lot. My feelings for you were real too.”

“‘Liked’ being the operative word. Danny, it’s okay. You don’t have to validate your feelings to me. I know you liked me. I just know you have had stronger feelings for Sam.”

He opened his mouth as if he were going to argue, but snapped his jaw shut quickly. Pursing his lips, he glanced away. “I do. I love her.”

“Have you told her?”

“No…?”

Valerie smacked him on the arm.

“Hey!”

“Why are you telling me, Fenton!? You should be telling Sam that!”

“I will!”

“When?”

“When it feels right!”

Valerie groaned, flopping her head back. “Ughh, you’re such a hopeless romantic. It’s almost gross.”

“Hey! You liked it when I tried to woo you!”

“Maybe so.”

He gave her a knowing look before turning away. “I don’t know how to tell her. I’ll get there, okay?”

Raising her hands in surrender, Valerie caved. “Okay, fine. But do it quick, someone may snatch her up.”

“Are you trying to steal my girlfriend, Valerie?”

“Hey, maybe I just want to homie hop. I’ll date Tucker next then steal Sam from right under your nose.”

Snorting, Danny shoved her gently. “As if. Pretty sure she loves me.”

“Uh huh. Maybe she’d say it if you say it first.”

There was a beat of silence, and Valerie worried she had pushed the conversation too far. But Danny surprised her instead.

He smiled at her.

“Can we be like this all the time,” he asked.

“Me threatening to steal your girlfriend?”

He barked a laugh. “No! Just--Just being friends.”

Valerie smiled in return, holding out a hand to him. “Permanent friends truce, then?”

Nodding, he took her hand. “Permanent friends truce.”

When she let go, Valerie turned to look over the streets. As stressful as it could be to live in Amity Park, there’s nowhere else she’d want to go. This was home. These were her people. And she loved her life. It took her a long time to see it. But Amity Park meant so much to her. It was terrifying to know her life was a risk. Her home was at risk. But Danny saved them. Saved her. Just like he always did.

“You want to be a member of Team Phantom?”

“Oh, God,” she made a gagging sound. “You guys have a team name?”

“Hey! We’re cool enough to have a team name.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that, Fenton.”

[fickle-tiction]

Gotham’s Ticklish Prince

This started out as a headcanon, and then it spiraled out of control. You’re welcome.

  ~~

One day Bruce Wayne makes headlines. This isn’t surprising, or even noteworthy. He’s always making headlines for some silly nonsense he does as Bruce, to draw attention away from Batman. What is surprising is when he walks into the Hall of Justice and sees his face smiling back at him from about 10 different magazines strewn all over the meeting table.

Specifically, he sees himself curling inwards, eyes crinkled, nose scrunched, mouth stretched into a wide surprised smile as Mike, his date to last night’s gala, stands behind him. Thankfully, Mike’s hands are out of frame so no one can tell from the picture that he’s squeezing Bruce’s sides from behind.

“Oh look.” Arthur says, coming out of nowhere with a shit eating grin on his face. “Gotham’s Ticklish Prince decided to show his face.”

If Bruce didn’t have years of training and self discipline under his belt he would have flushed.

A Different magazine comes flying at him and smacks him in the stomach before he can even blink. Bruce catches it on reflex and looks down, only to be met with the headline “Gotham’s Ticklish Prince Has A New Squeeze” and, to his internal horror, it shows a picture snapped about two seconds after the first one. Bruce is clearly laughing in delight as Mike squeezes his sides, in full view of the camera. Several smaller pictures are beneath it, catching Bruce as he latches onto Mikes hands, turns and leans in close to tell him to stop. He didn’t have to flip to page 4, where the story apparently continued, to know what other pictures they surely got. Mike hadn’t stopped after one squeeze, and Bruce was too into character, and for once too unaware of any paparazzo nearby, to make him stop.

He knew he should have skipped the gala last night. Getting only 3 hours of sleep over the course of 4 nights and then slipping into his Bruce persona was always risky. Normally the two whiskies he had wouldn’t affect him at all, but the exhaustion plus the fact that he liked this Mike guy and was feeling comfortable and loose, clearly created a perfect storm. He remembered Mike sneaking up on him, he remember his guard being down just enough for it to catch him unawares and cause a reaction. He remembered how good it felt, but he won’t be letting himself go there. No. No thank you.

What he didn’t remember was the paparazzi being right there.

Or what would happen when those pictures surfaced at HQ.

Bruce finally looked up from the front cover of the Gotham Globe and was met with identical smirks from Arthur and Clark. Well, that explained the newspaper smacking him in the stomach earlier.

“It’s a character.” Bruce said, voice flat as he tossed the magazine onto the conference table. It wouldn’t help his situation if he tried to throw it out or look like he was hiding something.

“Right.” Clark didn’t sound like he was buying it at all. “So you knew you were being recorded. That’s why you put on such a convincing act.”

Recorded?

Recorded?!

Again, Bruce didn’t outwardly react at the news, but inside he was curling into a ball, ready to wither and die at any second. They fucking got that on video?

Naturally, the huge screen on the wall clicks on at the moment, showing a video of Bruce doing something on his phone. He had actually been playing some asinine game as he waited for Mike to come back from the bathroom. Bruce Wayne couldn’t be caught doing anything more than slicing up fruit on his phone, after all.

“I see Victor’s here.” Bruce says dryly, as though his eyes aren’t glued to the screen. His face remains impassive, but inside he’s once again screaming for his past self to turn around as Mike comes into frame behind him. He’s so busy watching Mike smirk and start sneaking up behind him (and, really, how did he not notice this last night? The guy is being so damn obvious about it.) that he doesn’t notice Clark and Arthur inching closer to him on either side.

Bruce feels a hand latch onto either of his sides just as Mike reaches forward and does the same on camera. Thankfully, Bruce’s guard has been up since he first saw his goofy face smiling back at himself when he walked into the room, so he does nothing more than cock an eyebrow and look at first Arthur, and then Clark.

“It’s a character.” He repeats, ignoring the staccato squeezing at one of his worst spots.

“I’m not going to react like he does, even though this tickles like hell. Bruce Wayne is an airheaded goof ball. Batman might be ticklish, but he doesn’t let it show--what the fuck?!” Bruce looked down to see a glittering gold rope wrapped innocently around his ankle. “Diana! What the hell?! I’m going to--” He cut off, clamping his mouth shut as he felt words trying to spill out. Words he most definitely did not want to say in the present company.

“Going to what, Brucie?” Diana asked, smirking as she held the lasso of truth in her hand. Bruce glared daggers at her, lips clamped tightly even as the squeezing on his sides turned to wiggling fingers and, to his horror, he felt his resolve breaking. 

“I’m--” Bruce huffed, biting his lower lip to keep from both speaking and laughing. “--I’m going--” His mouth was trying to curve into a smile, but Bruce was nothing if not stubborn and refused to let it happen.

“We’ve almost got him.” Arthur smirked, venturing a little lower and pinching just above Bruce’s hipbone. 

Clark noticed the jolt that caused and immediately followed suit on his side.

“I’m-Going-To-Pretend-To-Hate-all-of-you-to-keep-up-my-image.” Bruce was forced to say, as he finally caved and latched onto Arthur and Clark’s hands. Not that it did him any good. He might be The Batman, but outside of his suit he didn’t stand a chance against Superman, Aquaman and Wonder Woman, if she decided to get more hands on.

“You don’t actually hate it, do you.” Clark marveled, giving that spot above his hipbone another gentle pinch. Thank God for his super hearing, because without it he probably would have missed the squeak Bruce let out.

“I-” Again, Bruce was trying to clamp his mouth shut, but it wasn’t very effective since his mouth was stretched into a wide grin. “I have an image to maintain!” It was supposed to come out as a growl, but instead it sounded more like a whine as Bruce’s dam broke and laughter started pouring out of him.

“Well, if you’re trying to maintain the Ticklish Prince of Gotham image, you’re doing a fantastic job.” Arthur mocked him, now fluttering his fingers up and down Bruce’s side rapidly. 

Bruce was lost to the laughter, something that hasn’t happened to him since he was a kid. He began backing up, trying to back away from the tickling fingers flying furiously up and down both sides of his body. Absently, he noted that Diana must have let him go because he didn’t trip over the lasso as he tried to get away. He did, however, back himself into the wall without realizing it since his eyes were squeezed shut as he tried to contain the wild laughter pouring out  of him.

“Fahahahack!” Bruce cursed himself as Clark and Arthur boxed him in, each still tickling away. Clark was now experimenting with Bruce’s stomach while Arthur, the bastard, was worming his way under Bruce’s arm. 

They let him try to defend himself for a minute, wordlessly taunting him as they both danced around his arms with half-hearted attempts to get at his armpits. Finally, Arthur spoke up. “Clark, do you mind doing something about these?” He asked, tracing his fingertips gently up and down Bruce’s forearms. Bruce was well and truly gone if even that tickled like hell.

“Wha-” Bruce asked, laughter starting to die down as he got a short break. He cracked his eyes open, realizing for the first time he had been hunched in on himself, arms clamped down tightly, trying to protect as much of his sides as he could. 

“Oh, it’d be my pleasure.” Clark grinned. Lightening fast, he grabbed up Bruce’s wrists in one strong hand and pinned them to the wall above his head. Bruce’s eyes widened comically, too far gone to have any hope of controlling his facial features.

“Hey now.” He said, voice breathy as caught his breath. “You’ve had your fun.” Instead of the gravely voice they’d come to expect, Bruce’s voice was closer to that of his alter ego Bruce Wayne’s now. Nearly high pitched, and just short of panicky as he flexed his arms against the steel grip they were in.

“Tell me Bruce,” Arthur started, fingers slowly crawling up his ribs towards their destination. Bruce’s nerves immediately jumped to attention because they were already so worked up. “Are your armpits ticklish?”

Bruce tried to glare at him, even as his muscles twitched beneath Arthur’s fingers and his mouth started curving into another grin.

“Diana left.” Clark added, grinning at the man he had pinned to the wall. “And she took her lasso with her. I guess we’ll have to find out for ourselves.”

“Fuck.” Was the last coherent thing Bruce said for quite a while.

When Clark and Arthur finally let him go, he slumps to the floor in an exhausted heap and marvels at the last time he laughed that much (The answer: never.) or the last time he felt this exhausted without getting his ass whooped, or whooping someone else’s.

Once he’s regained some of his dignity, Bruce goes to the security feed with the intention of deleting the last hour of footage. He surprised to find it’s already gone, the tapes spliced seamlessly, with only a minor blip to show anything is missing. 

Victor, naturally, saved the entire thing to his personal servers. Just in case.

[brutal-nemesis]

Arthropod Day 2021: 🦀Time For Crab 🦀

Malacostraca Moment 😳🦀

So fun story I wanted this to be on a Saturday because SIDEWAYS SATURDAY but when I was deciding on the date I looked at the calendar for July without realizing it. Happy Sideways Stuesday I guess? 

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: drowning mention, animal attack (kinda chill tho it’s not really violent), dehydration, autocannibalism mention, parasitic insects, partial nudity, heckin surgery (but it’s CONSENSUAL (⊙ˍ⊙) who am I), suicide for convenience (immortal)

“This looks like a lovely spot for a vacation; thank you guys so much for finding it for me.” The small dingy had just landed on a sandy beach enclosed by dark rocks on either side, a lush forest leading deeper into the island. Casyts’s captor glared at him before harshly tugging the rope tied to his wrists, trying to get him to stand and step onto the beach with her.

“Shut your trap, Ragnarok, or I might change my mind about gagging you. Now get up or I’ll have my men drag you.” 

Castys sighed and rolled his eyes, getting up and following her so his rope burn didn’t get any worse. “Aye aye, Yvonne.” 

“That’s Captain Veldna to you,” she growled, jerking him forward. He stumbled a bit, but he was able to catch himself before he got sand up his nose. He debated trying to yank the rope out of her hands and running away or stealing the boat, but her very strong men were right behind him and that would probably just end in him having extra bruises. So he just followed her like a stupid little goat as she led him towards the rocks, hoping she wouldn’t leave him tied up so he could at least enjoy his time being stranded. But no, this was about sending a message to his crew or making him suffer or something. He didn’t really remember, he’d been dazed as hell when he’d initially gotten captured during a fight between their two ships. Blood loss was a bitch sometimes.

They forced him to sit with his back against a large rock, yanking his bound hands above his head and worming a large nail through the knotted rope before hammering it into the rock. “Not gonna lie, this seems a little extra. I’m not going to go anywhere, so, like, just let me-” Yvonne slapped him harshly across the face.

“You’re not here to have fun, you annoying little parrot.” She looked over at her men, who had just finished tying his ankles together and nailing them down in a similar fashion to his wrists. “If you lot are done, let’s leave.” She turned back to Castys, a wicked grin on her face. “I wonder how many times you’ll die before your crew finds you?”

“My money’s on eight. Do you want me to keep track and tell you next time we see each other? If only I could write in a diary what horrors I suffer sitting on this warm rock that you tied me to during high tide so I won’t even drown later. Now that-agh!” Yvonne stabbed him in the stomach, and Castys bit back a scream as she twisted her blade. 

“The sound of your silence is something I could get used to.”

“Well, the real question is, is silence actually a sound-” Castys’s very valid observation was cut off by the bitch yanking out her sword and promptly kicking him in the stomach. He couldn’t help but cry out, doubling over as far as he could. Yeah, yeah he should probably just shut the fuck up and let them get on their merry way before he got more unnecessary injuries. 

“Enjoy your vacation, Ragnarok,” Yvonne spat. As one last gesture of maturity, she kicked sand at him before walking off, and some of it definitely got in his stab hole, so that was nice. He watched them row away, sighing. Now it was just boredom city, but hey, at least he had a nice beach view. The sun was a few hours away from setting, not that it mattered that much since his skin was dark enough that he probably wasn’t going to get sunburned. 

Being tied to a rock on the beach was...just about as boring as he expected. His arms got all tingly after a while from being stuck above his head, so he couldn’t even properly relax, and a man could only watch little waves roll for so long. He had a nice view of the setting sun, and hey, that means the light of dawn wouldn’t be shining in his face. While the sun was still a little ways above the horizon, he heard an odd rustling noise over in the vegetation, different from the background sounds he had gotten used to. He looked over, hoping it was a friendly man with a knife.

It was not a friendly man with a knife. But it wasn’t something bad, either. “Oh shit hello crabs!” Castys watched as they scuttled out of the treeline onto the beach, glad to have something fun to watch. One of them was slowly making its way towards him, and Castys wondered if he would be able to convince it to snip his bindings. “Hey there mister crab man, come on down, and please for the love of god untie me.” Yes, yes he was talking to a crab, because why not go full send on the insanity right away? It would be so much more fun, and it’s not like anyone else was here to judge him. “Yeah crab get in my zone-wow you’re kinda big.” He’d thought the crab was closer to him, but nope, it had been farther away but giant. Not like giant giant but not, like, normal crab size. It was almost as big as his torso maybe, but he was never great at estimating the relative sizes of things. 

“You’re large but you’re a gentleman, ain’t ya? I don’t know why, but you just seem like a polite fellow.” The crab stopped not too far from Castys and just looked at him blankly. Or maybe it was making a face at him, but he couldn’t read crab body language. Could anyone read crab body language? Crabs, he would hope. “Could you bring me some tea, good sir? Or just...water. Water that’s not salty. I don’t actually like tea it literally tastes like nothing but you know what I would drink it now because I am thirsty.” There was a moment of silence. “Not like thirsty in the weird way some people are. I have no idea what that’s about. But like, I want water. Or...oh my god, Mr. Crab, bring me a coconut!” Castys closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Yeah… that would be nice. Food and water and it’s prepackaged and I don’t know how I would eat it because my hands are tied but I’ll figure it out.”

A sudden sharp pinch against his wound jolted Castys out of his daydream. He looked down in horror to see that the crab was holding something in its claws. Something pinkish-red that was dripping blood down onto the sand. The bastard. The crab brought the piece of his flesh to its mouth and just ate it while staring right at Castys. “That,” he blinked in surprise a few times, “was incredibly rude.” The crab stayed still, watching him as it did its weird mouth movements that were maybe chewing. “You are absolutely not a gentleman. I rescind everything. You little garbage boy. Rapscallion. I bet you never get invited to the crab raves.”

And the crab. Had the audacity. To reach out its stupid pincher. And do it again. “Little bitch!” Castys yelled, squirming against the ropes in an attempt to scare the thing off. Shockingly, it did not work, because wounded, dying prey squirmed all the time, and...that’s pretty much what Castys was in this scenario, wasn’t he? He was just stuck sitting here while that stupid crab ripped off little pieces of him with its stupid crab pincher and put them in its stupid crab mouth. If he was lucky, this would make him bleed out and die faster and then he wouldn’t have an open wound anymore, which would be a bonus. Though, it had sand in it, and then if it healed…

A problem for another day.

Not the next day, though, or the one after, because, hooray, he was still tied to a rock, so even though he did die a few hours later, he couldn’t do anything about the Sand In His Insides. He made up a song about it, but singing it loudly did absolutely nothing to scare away the crab, whom he had named Crabstard (Crab Bastard). Crabstard seemed to think Castys was his new best friend, coming back regularly for meals. Castys liked to imagine killing and eating Crabstard as a show of dominance, but that made him wonder...would eating Crabstard be a form of autocannibalism? Because Crabstard had eaten him...

He wasn’t sure what was worse, Crabstard and his stupid giant pinchers, or the mosquitoes. There weren’t a ton of them, but their bites were just awful, littering his arms and legs with swollen, white boils, which were unusual and also very concerning but what the fuck could he do about it. Because of course he couldn’t scratch them, and they itched so much it hurt and he just had to endure it. Just like he had to endure fucking everything. The heat of the sun, the awful tingling in his arms, the soreness of his wrists, Crabstard pinching off bits of his flesh, the maddening pain and itch of all his bug bites, the hunger and thirst, the boredom, and the...the loneliness.

No, he was fine, he was fine with just himself, it was always just him anyway. He wasn’t imagining his crew rowing to shore and untying him and tending to him in his cold, dark cabin, because he couldn’t get his hopes up, because they probably weren’t even coming for him. They were just going to leave him behind like everyone else and fuck he was wasting water like a useless idiot and he couldn’t stop or even wipe them away and he probably deserved this for everything he’d done so what did it matter?

And, great, the next day he started hallucinating a passing ship and a rowboat coming for him. Thank you, dehydrated whore brain! Let’s get our stupid little hopes up! Dang, the people on the boat kind of even looked like some of his crewmates, which was rude of his brain to make this so realistic looking.

It wasn’t until his first mate, Kaveri, was untying him that Castys realized that this was real, that they’d really...really come for him. “I’m so glad we found you, Captain.” She pulled him into a hug as soon as he was free, and he hugged her back as best he could with his sore arms. 

“I’m glad y’all did, too.” He leaned back when she let go and looked down at himself, wincing. “Well, before we get back to the ship, I am going to deliver a much needed death upon mys-“

“Captain, Captain, wait,” the ship’s medic, Sixtus, called as he ran over. He knelt beside Castys, taking his arm and examining the bug bites closely. “I knew it. These bites all over you are...they contain fly larvae. We’re going to need to dig them out before you heal yourself.”

“...what if I’ve died since I’ve gotten bitten. Like, earlier.”

“Well.” Sixtus breathed in sharply. “We will just have to wait for them to, uh, let us know where they are.” He sighed. “For now, let’s get you back to the ship and I’ll get out the ones I can. I don’t have the tools for it with me.”

“Can I kill Crabstard first?”

“Crab...stard?” Kaveri gave him a concerned look, and Sixtus felt his forehead.

“He’s a very impolite giant crab. He is my rival. I wish to vanquish him.” The other two shared a look.

“Do you know where this...this crab is?” Sixtus tried.

Castys held up a finger and opened his mouth, pausing for a second before shutting it and blinking a few times. “I. I do not. He just scuttles out of the trees to commit crimes every now and then. He has no friends.”

“Alright, in that case, no. You’re in no condition to wander around the island looking for a crab.” Sixtus held out his hand. “So, come on.”

“Fiiiine,” Castys groaned, letting the taller man help him to his feet. He was a little unsteady, but he was able to make it to the boat with Kaveri’s help. As they rowed away, he turned back to the island one last time, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yelled, “Fuck you Crabstard I hope you starve and die in a pit and the other crabs eat you!” 

Once they made it back to the ship, Sixtus ushered Castys into his office, instructing him to sit up on the examination table and take his shirt and pants off. Kaveri helped him, opting to stay in case Sixtus needed a hand. He examined Castys thoroughly, using a lightstone to get a good look at the swollen bug bites littering his body as well as the number of small wounds in his side.

“These from the, uh, crab?” Sixtus asked as he gestured to them.

“Yup. Him and his stupid pinchers.”

“Alright, I know you don’t really get infections, but I’m going to clean these out just to be safe.” He paused. “Also it just feels. Really wrong not to. It’ll bother me if I don’t.”

“Do whatever, doctor man.” Castys did his best not to let his pain show as Sixtus dabbed at his wounds with a stingy liquid. It really didn’t hurt that much, but when Kaveri placed her hand on top of his as he gripped the edge of the table, he didn’t wave her off. He’d let it be Fuss Over The Captain Day. For their sake. Because they seem to have been worried about him. 

“Alright, I’m all done with that, so if you could lay down, Captain, I’ll get started with removing those larvae. Kaveri, get him some rum and then hold him down.” She nodded, leaving and returning soon after with a small cup.

“You know, I haven’t had water in days,” Castys mused before winking at her and downing its contents. Kaveri shook her head.

“You literally emptied my waterskin while we were rowing back.”

“Oh dang, I forgot. Nevermind I’m actually not funny and am just stupid.” He scooted a bit and laid down with his hands behind his head. “Get rid of my worms.”

“They’re not-they’re not worms, Captain, they’re insects, since-” Sixtus stopped himself, folding his hands in front of his mouth. “Nevermind.” He cleared his throat. “Arms at your sides, please. Kaveri, if you would.” She nodded, holding down his shoulders as Sixtus turned Castys’s arm, locating the first larva he was going to remove. Castys breathed in sharply as the knife sliced into his arm, doing his best to keep still as Sixtus slid a pair of tweezers into the wound. The rum dulled his senses enough that it didn’t hurt as much as it could, but it certainly wasn’t painless, and he couldn’t help but gasp as Sixtus slowly pulled a small, wriggling grub out of the incision. He dropped it in a metal tray, cleaned the wound, and picked up his knife.

Then the process started all over again.

Castys didn’t bother counting how many times those tweezers probed around inside him, how many wet little plops he heard as another larva dropped into the tray. He focused on staying still, on the prickle of the rough wood table against his bare back, on the feeling of Kaveri’s hands on his shoulders, more comforting than restraining. They reminded him that he wasn’t alone in his suffering, for once. But he wasn’t supposed to need comfort, he was their immortal captain, the one who’d been through everything before and was strong enough to go through it again, the one his crew could always depend on to be strong. And here he was, teeth gritted against the pain, his forehead resting against Kaveri’s arm, fists clenched to mask their shaking, all over a few cuts and some little maggots.

“Alright,” Sixtus wiped his brow with the back of his hand, “I think that’s all of ‘em. That I can see, at least.” He looked down at Castys. “You had seventeen of those things in you, Captain.” He grimaced. “And possibly more, so please let me know if you feel anything, uh, wiggling. But for now, you’re free to...die.”

“Can’t believe I got a new world record for worm friends.” Castys grabbed the small leather pouch that usually hung around his neck from his pile of clothes, pulling it open.

“They’re not worms-”

“Thank you, Sixtus.” With that, Castys stuck his finger in the pouch and touched his death stone. He came back to life feeling infinitely better, but Kaveri and Sixtus still insisted he rest after he cleaned himself up. He grumbled, but he let Kaveri force him into his bed and bring him something to eat. Once he was finished, she collected his plate and stood awkwardly by his bedside.

“Do...do you want me to come back, Castys? Will you be alright?”

“Look, I’m honestly fine, you’re good. I’ve been through a lot worse, and I’m all healed up now so it doesn’t really matter.” 

She pursed her lips. “I suppose, but that doesn’t mean that that didn’t still take a mental toll on you, and…” she sighed. “Just...call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Will do.” She nodded, but as she started to walk away, Castys realized there was something he’d rather not leave unsaid. “Wait, Kaveri?”

“Yes?”

“Th...thank you. For, uh, finding me.”

“Of course, Castys. We’ll always be there for you.” Castys opened his mouth to reply, but he stopped himself and just smiled and nodded, his shoulders only falling once she’d left.

He wished that were true.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch

[azucanela]

Hey, can I get an Bakugou/Shouto/Shinsou hcs where they have a crush on their classmate that haves an astronomic quirk? I had seen an artwork where the guy is just like an universe force full of stars on his body and I've just had this idea. I hope you having a good day✨✨✨

REACTING TO S/O WITH ASTRONOMIC QUIRK [GN HEADCANNONS]

ft. bakugo katsuki, shinsou hitoshi, todoroki shouto

SUMMARY: in which Y/N has an astronomic quirk and the boys can’t help but fall for her. 

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

WARNINGS: mentions of threats, fluff, really pg tbh

A/N: there is a total of two gifs for shinsou hitoshi that exist so for the sake of fairness we shall move away from gifs! also i hope you have a nice day too bb <3

BAKUGO KATSUKI

the volume in this bus is

astronomical.

okay but fr you have an astronomic quirk that essentially allows you to do anything in relation to the universe, so you’re out here making black holes with your hands and shooting out some cosmic energy at your opponents, your lil super weapon is a supernova

whenever you use your quirk your body literally glows, like it looks like a galaxy on your body, your skin literally looks straight out of a photo from NASA, its almost as if your hair becomes a liquid as it floats into the air, defying gravity, wisps of energy occasionally coming off, speaking of defying gravity you can fly because gravity happens to not exist in space um float float woo 

moral of the story, you are POWERFUL, scoring in the top five amongst your class, depending on your control over your quirk and creativity, you may have even outdone katsuki

he hates you for this, and despises you because you’re just so good at being a hero, and yet everyone is still a student. unlike him you hopefully have your emotions in check, and are far more capable of social interactions, which are very important as a hero! for rescues, and interviews, and team ups! collaboration is key.

as he grows as a person, he also grows out of this mentality of despising those who are better than him and instead begrudgingly seeking their assistance to improve. so congrats, you earned his respect! you are one of few that his managed this task!

he just kinda forces himself into your life, not that you mind, but it is a little random when he just kinda plops down beside you during lunch and starts eating, looking at you as though he’s daring you to say something

you just raise a brow and move on, continuing to speak with your friends who remain baffled by his sudden presence

katsuki is gonna be asking you to train 24/7, he wants to improve his skills and you are one of few he considers worthy, you don’t mind because he’s also talented and your quirks are pretty well suited for each other in combat practice

realistically you could just suck him into one of your black holes but he doesn’t need to know that

anyways during one of these training sessions, after a while of actually getting to know you and stuff it just kinda hits him that you look really ethereal when you’re using your quirk, and wow you are beautiful

and now he’s been hit in the face by one of your cosmic blasts, and he is cursing and you are apologizing, coming over to his as the stars on your skin fade and your hair returns to normal

katsuki is BLUSHING as he realizes his mistake and he is desperately hoping you did not notice why he screwed up, swatting you away as you attempt to help him up from the floor, the remnants of your quirk’s glow still in the training room

he was here to be a hero. not to have stupid crushes.

you are definitely his first crush oh god. this boy is an emotional mess, he’s never felt like this, he never had the time or the desire to feel like this, katsuki has always felt like nobody else could keep up with him so why should he like anyone?

until someone could keep up with him, that someone being you

he likes you oh no. oh no. oh no. panic is all that is katsuki bakugo and he’s going to try and storm out but you’re like omg what the hell man???

everytime he sees you, especially when you’re using your quirk, he’s gonna get all blushy, and everyone is gonna notice how flustered he is, they’ll catch on pretty quick

accidentally stares at you in class and it frustrates him to no end when he begins to focus again and realizes he allowed his gaze to fall onto you

“you’re staring again bakugo 👀”

“SHUT UP.”

when you two start dating he’s gonna want to ask you to use your quirk when you’re alone just because he wants to admire you and how pretty it looks, but it is going to take a LOT of bullying and pushing to get him to reveal this

let him touch your starry skin he’ll be freakishly calm, and his touch will be so gentle because it is just so pretty and its you and it seems really out of character for him but your quirk is just so coming because at the end of the day it is you

moral of the story is stars calm our boy baku

SHINSOU HITOSHI 

the only person who hasn’t seen your quirk in action because he doesn’t get accepted into the Hero Course until later on. but he’s probably gonna see it for the first time at the UA Sports Festival.

you two are friends already! you wormed your way into his life, initially to his dismay but now he likes you as a friend, thats about to change

you probably just started sitting down at lunch with him randomly and he got really confused and you just kinda shrugged and were like, “you have nice hair.” 

that was it.

in all honesty, the purple color of his hair lowkey reminded you of your own quirk and you kinda just wanted to meet him and that’s what you did, after a while of hyping yourself up and backing out several times

regardless, it became a daily thing and you found yourself determined to befriend him, and you did! it was lovely, he was slowly accepting you and everything was going great, he was finally talking about stuff with you during lunch and he’d wave in the halls and woo!

anyways, the UA Sports Festival, you’re like the only person he knows so he’s paying attention to the festival purely for you, even when he gets eliminated

you’re about to go up against bakugo and allow me to explain some of the other wonderful parts of the universe

a wormhole = a white hole and i think its still rather theoretical and not proven but right now in this instance they are definitively real! so you can teleport with you quirk basically! not that anyone knows this because you’ve been saving this lovely ability

there is also black holes but that is a little excessive for a festival, and cosmic blasts, but bakugo has blasts of his own so

shinsou is watching and then you begin GLOWING AND HE’S SO SHOCKED MAN, like your skin looks like a picture of the galaxy, and your hair is glowing and floating in the air, hands sparking with wisps of energy radiating off of you 

its beautiful, you’re beautiful, bye bye platonic feelings, shinsou just fell in love by accident

he probably liked you already but it took this moment for him to realize that he liked you. 

shinsou is watching in astonishment as a white hole opens up in front of you, bakugo blasting forward at an incredibly quick rate and shooting through the hole, just to end up outside the arena

that’s the story of how bakugo almost killed you on camera and you won the sports festival :D shinsou thinks you are so COOL but he’s gonna be really nonchalant about it and be lowkey when he asks you about your quirk

tbh he’s gonna be bashful, but he’ll ask for a demonstration of your abilities because he really just wants to see that again, and when you say yes he’s pretty ecstatic though he isn’t expressing it.

“hey.. why didn’t you tell me about your quirk?”

“you never asked”

“would you mind uh..”

you’re looking at him like what you want boy

“would you mind showing me your quirk?” the words come out quicker than he’d wanted but you don’t seem to notice

“sure! right now?” 

you two are in his room and he doesn’t know why but seeing your body begin to glow, beautiful stars lighting up your skin, it feels rather intimate, and he finds himself blushing

you’re giving him a demonstration of your other abilities but he can only really focus on just how pretty you look because WOW

in general, he’s gonna try to catch glimpses of you using your quirk as often as he can, though it is difficult since you are in different classes 

when you two start dating it’s probably around the time he gets accepted into the hero course, and he feels like he’s behind so naturally he asks his girlfriend and best student in the class for help training!

get’s distracted the first couple of times he sees you use your quirk in class, but he manages to get over it after a while, mostly

not ashamed to blatantly stare at you in class, because you are his girlfriend and he is VERY proud to say that

TODOROKI SHOUTO

welp

this boy

is probably an astronomy nerd, idk why but i can see it, he just knows an odd amount of things about the universe and stuff or anything astronomy related

where’s this constellation? oh ask shouto for some reason he knows

honestly though, he had a lot of tutors growing up since he spent most of his time at home “training” with his father, shouto didn’t go to school and was instead taught by these tutors, and astronomy happened to be a very prominent subject

due to his blunt personality, he’s the only person who is gonna outright say that you look really beautiful when you use your quirk, and everyone is gonna think they’re hearing things, but he has no shame repeating it when asked

you’re blushing this time around ma’am

like you’re all demonstrating quirks as Aizawa pretends to determine if you are going to get expelled or not, and you kinda just begin to glow, your skin looks like the literal galaxy and your hair is glowing a variety of colors, becoming an liquified thing as wisps of energy radiate off you and yoU’RE JUST FLYING ACROSS THE FIELD WOW

space has no gravity because people go float, this is why you also float, but it is a controlled float! you also have cosmic blasts, a funky black hole, a white hole that definitively exists in this universe, yeah astronomic quirk looking good rn

“that’s incredible.”

“im sorry what did you say?”

“her quirk is very impressive.”

later on probably after the two of you are slowly befriending each other, shouto finds you interesting and he wants to learn more about your quirk, and he thinks you would be a decent training partner seeing as the two of you are at the top of your class, so he starts associating with you

and associating with you becomes sitting with you during lunch, sharing his food, studying with you, training with you, he’s spending a lot of his time with you and the entire class notices because shouto is normally way more withdrawn what is this??

its not until one particular training day that uraraka wonders if the dekusquad should get involved, you’re using your quirk and she, todoroki and the others are on the sidelines just watching as they wait for their turn to spar

shouto is staring at you, eyes wide, mouth open with wonder and he just says, “wow. that’s beautiful.”

uraraka is like DID I HEAR YOU RIGHT HAHGAS

he likes yessir, that is a gorgeous person that i simp for look at them glowing so pretty yes yes

idk who approaches who first, either shouto is so confused by this weird feeling he gets whenever he is around you and starts avoiding you, opting to visit midoriya since he’s knowledgable and asks what is wrong with him. or uraraka insists on an intervention since homeboy is clearly in love with you and someone has to tell his deku smh

once he realizes he likes you hes probably gonna be quiet about it for a hot minute, and you find his silent behavior odd because to everyone else he’s like this, yes, but with you he tended to talk more and now you’re like??

shouto is trying to figure out what to do about this situation because this was an ACCIDENT and he does fear losing you since you are like the only person he considers a friend at this point.

you confront him and he’s kinda like, “apparently im in love with you.” he cracks pretty fast about whats going on and he is really upfront with you and you’re just like WELP

thats how you start dating icy hot :)

only one that is not ashamed to ask you to use your quirk because PRETTY SHINY WOW gorgeous just art. definitely takes time to just stare at your glowing skin, connecting the stars with his fingers in astonishment he’s gonna tell you how pretty you are 24/7 even if you don’t use your quirk because you are just that beautiful

loves telling you random astronomical facts, tries to see if the things he learns can be used by you since your quirk is based off space

accidentally finds astrology and is now lowkey obsessing over zodiac signs and nearly got his ass beat by bakugo because he had a temper tantrum and shouto was like “this is just because you are an Aries.”

power couple woo

you aren’t just his world, you’re his universe <3

[sasster]

I dunno if you guys can tell but I haven’t done a lot of fantroll stuff lately. Or really. Much of anything. But I DID write this.

Mind this is just some oc species shit, BUT it would mean quite a lot to me if you guys read it. Since it’s the... Longest thing I’ve written in .. All of 2021? Yike!

Anyway, as usual, here is a link to a google doc if reading it on my blog upsets the minds eye.

----

“You know that we are practically Gods in comparison, right? It is a marvel that my people are not in the conquering business. We would be very good at it, do you not agree?”

Their captor spoke with a high in their voice, Qei was positive that they’d gotten their hands on some sort of mind altering substance to get them into the mindset that they were in -- Well, how else could you explain prattling on your master plan to a supposed lesser species? He found it rather foolish for the younger Cardali to speak so loudly and so boldly in front of newly rounded up prisoners. That was to say nothing to the tragically gaudy and unnecessary large castle-like structure that he and the four others of his crew were dragged to. Truly, he’d never seen such high ceilings outside of the Temples on Cardalith. What a waste of resources.

The upside is that the People of Aeilur were a remarkably easy species to mimic. They have no real sexual dimorphism, at least not one noticeable from the outside looking in, nor do they spend a lot of their time on ridiculous beauty standards. They were just a product of their world. Aeilur is a beautiful planet, actually, lush with fauna and vegetation long extinct on most other worlds. A strong, sturdy, practical people, with pacifism practiced down to an art, they wouldn’t raise arms even if an entire army to make a grab for their planet and it’s bountiful resources. It was Falarittus’ responsibility to help keep such things from occurring.

Qei could see how an opportunistic megalomaniac might have taken advantage of such information, he just never thought that he would see the day that one such megalomaniac would be an Ambassador of Cardalith, one of their own. He was disgusted.

There is a tug at the shackles that restrain his top set of hands, indicating that while he was lost in thought he’d stopped shuffling behind. He emits a low inquisitive grunt, he was going his usual hm, but he supposes that this is the only translation his current form could offer. How fascinating! He’d have to make plans to spend more time with the People of Aeilur. Under less pressing circumstances.

There is another sharp tug at his reins and he resumes trudging along behind the madman. How humiliating. Demoralizing. It was important for him to experience this though, so that he could speak to his short experience under their thumb when it came time to trial. There would be a trial. Not that Qei was worried that Falarittus would have much of a case. It would be short.

Not as short as it would have been if Qei were to let his patron in on the manhunt -- Why that temperamental giant would have lost it before they even stepped foot into this… Mansion? Seriously, this thing was gaudy. Might’ve burned the whole thing down Himself. No matter, this was always going to be a job for Qei. He even felt bad bringing along a crew with him. Diollea insisted he bring back up “just in case”.

He threw a worried glance over his shoulder to gauge them. They seemed comfortable, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.

Oh. Right, Falarittus was still talking.

“Once they see what I’ve done for the people of this world, the Gods themselves would shower me in praise. My peers and superiors would turn to me for guidance in the new age!”

It looks like Qei tuned back in just in time for a gem! He couldn’t help himself as the air quickly expelled from his new and quite long proboscis, which resulted in trumpets quite a bit louder than he was anticipating. He thinks this might be what a laugh is for this species. He did not intend to be laughing, but the idea that their creators would entertain the idea of the subjugation of any species, let alone one so peaceful as the People of Aeilur, was preposterous!

Only an idiot who made their home the size of a mall would have such delusions.

“What is so funny, worm?”

Worm! Perhaps not letting Diollea come was the mistake, this miserable pile of goo would long be ashes in that event. The trumpets were coming in spurts now, and Qei’s guess was that these were the equivalent of hiccups or maybe wheezing.

Qei’s crew took some steps back as Falarittus took the several steps to close the gaps between them. Now, naturally, Falarittus and Qei were eye level, but in this form they only came to just about chest level with him. Gentle, emphasis on the giant, indeed. The latters trunk swayed between them with a gentle undulation in a behavior that Qei was actually quite familiar with! Taunting.

He’d only seen it when three sisters prepared for a friendly bout of wrestling upon their reunion; It was cute. This was not.

“Oh, did you want to fight? Is that it? Did you plan to be the warrior of your people?”

Qei merely held up his two sets of shackled hands, hands big enough to hold Falarittus’ head in it. Hands that could crack their skull like a fragile piece of pottery if he were so inclined. He could not disrespect this form with violence, though, he thinks.

The bitter laugh that erupted from the man opposite him was unlike anything he’d ever heard come from the mouth of another Cardali, and he has met many of them in his day. It was almost ear splitting and made the hairs from his arms to his chest stand on end. Danger receptors? Very nice.

“It is not in you to fight, but please raise your hands to me so that I may cite self defense back to my superiors.”

There was a sick smirk on their face as they pulled a set of keys from their robes -- Robes, they were wearing robes like some sort of high priest in a fantasy story book -- and began to unlock the cruel piece of metal from Qei’s top set of arms. This was ideal, as he was fairly certain this is the set that translates back to the singular set of arms in his natural form, as they did not rudely burst from his shoulder blades like the second set did.

“Let's keep it fair, I only have the one pair after all.”

“Fair?” His own voice was quite alien to him, raspy and guttural as it tried to form words unfamiliar to the vocal cords tongue he borrowed to speak. Standard was not a language that belonged in this mouth.

“Fair. Say it with me. F-er.” Holy. Xenophobia. How did this pass the sniff test? No, there had to be another traitor in their ranks for such an awful wretched soul to have been left alone here. An example was to be made, and Qei would make sure that it was handled swiftly. The only good news was that this was so early on, that there was just this region of the planet that experienced it. Which was a really bad thing to think was a good thing. But there was a chance that the People of Aeilur would continue to allow Cardalith’s aid.

“Fair.” Qei said, once again the word barely made it past his tusks in one piece.

Falarittus cackled wildly at this attempt as Qei closed his eyes and focused his energy intro retracting that disrespectful set of arms back into his body, he’d been shifting for quite long time at this point in his life, so the rest of the shift passed by with a pleasant hum and totally not worth describing from the inside.

He reopened his eyes to the sound of metal hitting the floor, he was now looking at his own hands, ambient green glow and birthmarks exactly where he’d left them. They were clenched into tight fists. Most importantly, though, he was staring straight into the shell shocked eyes of the once quite full of himself clown.

“Fair enough?”

“Qei’eleritte, wait, let's talk about this --”

He swung hard, possibly with more force than intended, because they crumpled to the floor almost instantly. Behind him, he could hear the humored trumpeting of his still disguised crew behind him.

This could have been so much worse.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Riverdale//i didn’t realize how important you’d end up being

Request: Riverdale imagine the reader is from the Northside and is a Cooper and she changes her name when she's on the southside and she feels guilty for it but she didn't want her last name to be a problem for anyone bcuz of Alice and the Northside and either Sweet Pea finds out or Jughead is there and busts her and SP looses his temper and the reader feels bad and gives him a good explanation and Jughead too.

hey! i hope you like this!! it’s a little bit angsty at times and there’s a hint of a romance between the reader and sweet pea, but it has a happy ending and that’s really all that matters isn’t it? 

The moment you step foot over the threshold of The Wyrm, you can feel your heartbeat thumping in time with the loud music. Neon lights cast shadows over your skin and your face blends in with the crowd. It must be happy night tonight, because every time Betty has been, it’s been practically empty with only the regulars occupying the seats. 

Teenagers squash together in booths while older serpents sit at the bar and watch them carefully, just waiting for one of them to breathe the wrong way so they have an excuse to start a fight. 

Normally you wouldn’t be seen dead in a place like this. In fact, you would be better off dead if you’re mom caught you. You’ve seen the effect that her coldness has taken on Betty and even though she tries to remain nonchalant to practical abandonment, you know Betty’s just as upset as Alice is. They’re just too stubborn to talk to each other. 

But desperate times call for desperate measures, and with Betty locked in her room like Rapunzel, you’ve been sent on a suicide mission to find Jughead and tell him that she is currently unreachable. And if Jughead steps within 30 feet of the Cooper residence, Alice will kill on sight. 

A boy stumbles past you, his beer tipping over the edge of the glass as he tries to stay standing and you watch him drunkenly shouts across the room at a friend. A glass smashes from behind the bar and the people sat around groan collectively while watching a pink haired girl clean it up. 

You can see a lot of serpents, but none of them are the one that you want, making you huff loudly before spinning on your heel. You’re about to walk out and just ring him in hopes that he’ll actually answer his phone, but instead you walk straight into the chest of a very tall boy and now suddenly you feel the eyes of half the bar on you. 

“Sorry.” You dip your head down and try to move past him, but his hand grabs your arm, stopping you from going any further. “What the fu-” 

“Who are you?” He cuts you off, clearly unaffected by your tone or the way you pull your arm from his grip. You’re the one that has to stop yourself rubbing the sore bit of skin while he just stares at you, a scowl growing on his lips as the seconds pass. 

“Y/n...Pool...table? I mean, Y/n Pool. I’m Y/n Pool. I’ve said my name too many times haven’t I?” You ramble. Guilt worms its way into your heart, forcing you to think about the repercussions of changing your name. You love your family of course, but The Coopers can be a bit intense, and the only one that isn’t well known for something is you. 

So maybe it was wrong of you to change it, but it’s not like you’re ever coming back here again, and it’s not like it’s an official name change. 

“I’m looking for Jughead.” You say when you notice him staring. He’s smirking at you and a heat creeps up your cheeks when you realize you must have been staring at him for an awfully long time. 

Oh God, what if he thinks you were checking him out? Okay, maybe that wouldn’t be a lie. 

“Why the hell would you want to hang out with Jones?” He asks, a snarl replacing the smirk as he stands up straighter. 

“I don’t want to hang out.” You roll your eyes. “You must be Sweet Pea.” You add and he looks at you confused. You’ve heard Jughead complaining about some guy named Sweet Pea for weeks now, and to be honest, it was boring the first time you heard it. So what someone doesn’t like him, he also doesn’t get along with many people. “I need to tell him something.” 

“And you had to come all the way here to tell him? Don’t you have a phone?” He teases, a small smile playing at his lips and you have to suppress your own. A black curl falls in front of his face and he pushes it back before looking you up and down. 

“I do.” You nod and try not to show just how flustered you are. “It’s just he doesn’t use his.” 

“Well I use mine, I could always give you my number and then whenever you need to tell him something, you can text me and I’ll tell him.” He suggests and you narrow your eyes suspiciously. 

“Why? Do you not want to see me around here anymore?” 

“Nope. I just wanted an excuse to get your phone number.” He replies making you choke on air. If the bar didn’t already feel crowded, it certainly does now. 

“Oh-” 

“Sweet Pea, stop flirting with-Y/n?” Jughead’s surprised tone thankfully stops the conversation from going any further and you quickly turn around to face the beanie-clad boy, a slightly awkward smile on your face. “No offence, but what exactly are you doing here?” He asks, leading you away from Sweet Pea who you’re sure looks slightly disappointed while watching the two of you leave.

You look at him one last time, sending him a wave and a small smile before disappearing through a set of doors. 

“Hey Jug. Betty wanted me to tell you-” You start talking, but you’re not listening to yourself. You’re too busy watching the doors and wondering if you’d ever see him again. 

---

There’s only one light in the parking lot of the Whyte Wyrm, and it’s been broken since before you started coming regularly. Normally it doesn’t bother you, the light from the neon sign outside is enough to light your way into the surprisingly welcoming bar. 

Tonight however, there’s no light. Not even the sign is lit up and as you make your way across the dusty parking lot, you can’t help the frown that pulls on your lips. You pull your jacket tighter to you and crane your neck to see if there’s anybody around. 

Usually the place is packed with old trucks, new bikes and at least a few people standing around. Either drunk and puking against the wall, or sober and trying to have a conversation with someone that they’ve bumped into. But tonight it’s empty. 

You pull your phone out, ready to text Sweet Pea to ask if he knows what’s going on. You’re hoping that it’s just a last minute serpent meeting, but a part of you fears that it’s something worse. 

Over the past few weeks, you’ve been in pretty regularly, mainly talking to Sweet Pea, and the thought that something bad could have happened and that he could possibly be involved is enough to make your heart skip a beat. 

“There’s no need to text.” Sweet Pea says and you let out a relieved sigh. Your face lights up as you watch him come out from the around the back of the bar, his breath visible in the chilly air and the hairs on the back of you neck stand as you watch him slowly approach you. 

Is this it? After weeks of flirting is he finally making the move? Your heartbeat pumps with excitement and you stand waiting for him to close the gap. Your palms are clammy and you shake them out a little, trying to get rid of the nervous energy that still seems to be clinging onto the moment. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a Northsider?” He asks and your eyes widen. “More importantly, a Cooper?” He adds and your face falls. He stares at you, an expectant look on his face as he waits for you to answer. If it wasn’t for the full moon, you wouldn’t be able to see the disappointment on his face, and for the first time in you’re life, you wish the moon would disappear. 

Without it you wouldn’t have to see the hurt and betrayal that he’s trying and failing to hide. 

“Yeah, Jughead told me? He said he never thought he’d see me take an interest in a Northsider, let alone a Cooper. And when I asked him what he meant he told me you were Betty’s sister.” He adds and you gulp. 

He stops a few feet away from you and your gaze drops to his muddy boots. You can’t quite force yourself to look at him. You knew as soon as you lied it would catch up with you at some point. Either he would find out or your mom would, and before you weren’t entirely sure which one is worse. 

Now you know though. Because you’re mom’s been upset with you before, in fact she kind of is at the minute because you’ve ben defending Betty and her choices a lot recently. You can deal with Alice Cooper being pissed at you. It’s something she is at least once a week. 

But this is far worse. The way that he’s looking at you makes you feel sick and if you could go back a month, you never would have set foot in the bar in the first place. You would have told Betty to just text her boyfriend like a normal person and then you’d never have to see him look at you like this. 

“I’m sorry.” You start and look up at him. But the look in his eyes make you stop and drop your gaze again. 

“Sorry?” He repeats. “You know, the worst thing is, is that I actually liked you. You just turned up one day and you were all awkward and you looked so lost in there, but you looked nice and for some weird reason I wanted to help you.” He sighs and runs a hand over his face. His curls fall in front of his eyes and you move step forward, your instant reaction being to move them for him but he takes a step away from you, leaving your hand awkwardly hanging in the air.

“Okay, I lied too. I bumped into you on purpose so I had an excuse to talk to you, but at least I didn’t change or hide myself. At least I was honest.” He says and tears pool in your eyes. 

“Okay, yeah. What I did was bad. But I didn’t murder anyone and that’s what you’re acting like. All I did was change my last name, but can you really blame me? If I’d said ‘hey, i’m y/n cooper’, would you have honestly given me your number? Or would you have kicked me out the of bar yourself?” You glare at him and now it’s his turn to avoid eye contact. 

“I know it was a shitty thing to do, but I know what my mom is like and I know what her and the rest of the town have put you through. I just, I didn’t want to be associated with them. I was only supposed to be here to tell Jughead something and then I was never gonna come back. I didn’t think it would be worth the hassle of me telling you I’m not only a Northsider, but a Cooper too, all for two minutes of conversation.” You argue and stomp towards him. “So, I’m sorry. But at the time I didn’t realize how important you’d end up being to me so I thought it would be ok-what?” 

“I’m important to you?” He asks, his eyes wide and you feel your cheeks heat up at the confession. 

“Of course I do.” You say, your voice a lot softer. You dare to reach out for his hand and he lets you take it. “This past month I have been the happiest I have ever been and that’s because of you.” 

“It’s okay.” He nods. “I lied too. I don’t really use my phone.” He shrugs and you send him a look. “Okay, I lied again. I’m never off my phone. Now we’re even. Now I have a very important question that must be answered immediately.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Do you even know how to play pool?” He asks and you shake your head with an embarrassed smile. “Come on, I’ll show you how to play.” He says and leads you to the front door of The Wyrm. 

“It looks closed.” You stop and stare at him confused. “Should we be going in?” 

“It’s okay. If we get caught you can just tell them you’re really convincing fake name and then we’ll just be able to leave.” He says. Your jaw drops as you stare at him annoyed before a loud laugh leaves your lips and you shove him. 

“You’re an ass!” 

“And you’re a liar.” He replies, his tone happy as he dances down the stairs. “Are you coming?” He asks from the bottom of them. “Y/n Pool...table? Hey if you were to marry a pool player that would be so cute!” 

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[rhysismydaddy]

An Artful Revenge Pt. 1

First part of The Archeron Damnation series. 

~Rhysand~

Have you ever had everything you’ve ever wanted dropped in your lap like a present? 

It makes it so easy you almost don’t even want it anymore. 

Before today, this had never happened to me. For over thirty years, I’ve worked and fought and killed for everything I’ve wanted. Nothing about my life has been easy. 

Until today. 

Until a young, beautiful woman paused to look at a piece of art, oblivious to the monster who stood behind her. 

As soon as I looked up and saw her, I felt like an anvil fell on my chest and robbed me of air. I couldn’t fucking breathe.

For the first time in my long, miserable life, I was utterly speechless as Feyre Archeron tilted her head contemplatively, as if the slab of paint was something that required great concentration. 

Her focus was so singular it gave me more than enough time to figure out what I wanted to do. 

But I couldn’t concentrate enough to even do that. Not yet. For now, I just took her in. Photos didn’t do her justice, honestly. Sandy blonde hair, a slight frame more than pleasing to look at from the back, defined cheekbones, full lips. Beautiful. 

It was almost unfair for someone like her to be so beautiful.

She had a hand on her chest and was completely still as she looked at the work in front of her, like she almost couldn’t stand the rush of emotions it gave her. 

I understood the feeling. 

My friends often tell me I should go on the road as a mind reader or fortune teller or some other bullshit. The point is, I’m pretty decent at reading people. 

And just from the way the woman in front of me is looking at an overpriced, ugly piece of art, I know she’s innocent. 

She has no idea who she used to share a bed with, no idea what kind of evil she invited into her life with a smile. 

I also know I can’t let it change things in the slightest. Innocent or not, beautiful or not, I’ve been trying to find the perfect moment to worm my way into her life and turn it fucking upside down. 

And she’s just handed it to me on a silver platter. 

I’ve been looking for her, and I’ve finally found her. 

She’s mine.

~Feyre~

“You like it?”

Gasping and pressing my hand harder against my chest to calm my racing heart, I spin around to face whoever just asked such an obvious question. 

And the first thing I can think is, He’s more beautiful than the painting. 

The stranger’s casually leaning against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets, confidence and wealth and class draped over him like a very impressive, very handsome mask. 

He’s concealed in a jet black suit, but somehow I can tell he’s impressively built; it’s like strength and power are radiating off of him. His face probably took the gods years to craft, the sharp angles of his jaw and slash of his brows perfectly creating the most alluring thing I’ve ever seen. 

Dark hair, piercing violet eyes that scan me head to toe, and smirking, sensual lips complete his features. 

He’s the most attractive male I’ve ever seen. And I’m an art major who frequently finds herself painting models, so that’s saying something. 

“You like it,” he states, whatever he finds on my face taking away the need for a question mark. 

“I do,” I confirm, forcing myself to turn back to the painting and stop gawking like an idiot. 

He surprises me by asking openly, “Why?” 

The painting in question is one of the most revered paintings in the world: Dancers in Blue by Degas. But he’s asking in a way that makes it clear he genuinely doesn’t know why people pay to look at it.

Running my hand through my hair, I try and put it into words. “There’s just so much... energy in it. The background’s nothing but a bunch of paint splatters, and yet you can feel it almost. The dancer’s excitement, the energy of the crowd. It’s breathtaking.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I cringe inwardly, thinking of how weird that probably sounded. 

Then, “Would you like it?”

Only four words and they almost knock me on my ass. I spin back around so fast he chuckles, eyes wide, and sputter, “Would I what?”

I mean, it’s clear he’s rich, but there’s rich, and then there’s buying a Degas rich. 

“I was planning on buying it anyway. It should belong to someone who loves it as much as you obviously do.”

“What?” I repeat, still not understanding why he would offer something like that to a total stranger.

“I presumed you to be intelligent, but if you keep asking that question, I might have to amend that.”

I narrow my eyes, somehow intelligent enough to pick up on the insult. “I’m just confused. I mean, you look rich and all, but that painting’s worth $45 million dollars. And you just asked...”

“If you want it.”

Putting my hands on my hips, I regard him speculatively. “Which psych ward did you break out of, exactly?” 

He smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “The way I see it, you have two options. You can accept the painting and stare at it from home, or I can buy it and hang it with the other one and never give it a second thought.”

My mind can’t stop running, and I think if I wasn’t determined to not completely embarrass myself, I’d collapse to the ground and sob at the impobability of this situation. “What do you mean the other one? You already have a Degas?”

“The pink one,” he confirms casually, flicking a nonexistent fleck of dust off his jacket. 

“You have Dancers in Pink?” He nods, lips twitching at the look on my face. “And why, exactly, are you buying priceless pieces of art if you don’t like them?”

“It’s not priceless. You just told me it’s worth $45 million.” I scowl at the non-answer, and he shrugs. “Someone I don’t care for likes them.”

I connect the dots slowly. “So you buy them so he can’t.”

He nods. 

My mouth falls open, making him smile again. It’s dangerously attractive and distracting, but I still demand, “Who the fuck are you?”

The stranger laughs outright at that, strolling forward and offering me a tan, tattooed hand with practiced ease. I notice there’s a platinum, engraved ring on his pointer finger, and I stare at it for a moment because it looks strangely familiar. 

He seems to pause as I look at it, holding his breath. I’m probably acting like a total weirdo, so I snap out of it and take his hand. 

Because he’s rich and confident and beautiful, he feels entitled to drag his calloused thumb across the back of my hand. 

And because I’m poor and stupid and at the end of the day, just a woman, I blush. Which only gets worse as he notices and smirks. 

“My name is Rhysand.”

“Rhysand what, exactly? Rockefeller? Vanderbilt? Carnegie?” I run out of rich families and fall silent, and he gives me a look like I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever come across. 

“Rhysand Azara. When you google me, you won’t find anything of consequence, I’m afraid.”

The way he says when instead of if makes me blush again, because I’d been waiting for him to leave so I could pull out my cracked, struggling little phone and do exactly that. 

He looks at me expectantly, and I realize I haven’t said a word, just held onto his hand like a toddler being led across the street. “Oh, I’m Feyre.”

Rhysand just raises an eyebrow. 

“Feyre Archeron.”

“And what would I find if I were going to google your name?”

I notice his statement has an if, but I answer anyway, stating facts nervously like an army cadet reporting for duty. “I’m an art major at UChicago. From Missouri.”

“What else?”

“There’s really not much else.”

He tsks, telling me this answer is unacceptable, but doesn’t press it. Instead he shocks the hell out of me once again. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

It isn’t a question, but it isn’t quite a demand, either. It’s a statement, and it’s said like he already knows what my response is going to be. 

But like I just told him, I’m a college student. 

Which means for the past three years, I’ve been dealing with college boys. 

I’ve been asked to “hang,” “smash,” and even to go to coffee on a few rare, wonderful instances. But never, in my entire life, have I been asked---or told--to go to dinner by someone like him. 

I realize it’s because I’ve never met anyone like him. 

Even my ex-boyfriend, who’d been well off and older, was nothing like him. Compared to the man in front of me, everyone else seemed... juvenile. 

They were boys, toddlers even, compared to the man still gripping my hand.

It prompts me to ask, “How old are you?”

He smiles. “Too old for you, I’m sure. Have dinner with me anyway. For the sake of the painting.”

I’m halfway sure I’m in the middle of a fever dream, about to wake up covered in sweat and wondering what the hell just happened, because this cannot be real. 

“You’re... are you actually... you’re offering to give me a $45 million painting if I have dinner with you?” I sound incredulous and wheezy to my own ears, but I don’t even care. 

Who the hell is this guy? 

“You’ll be my second most expensive date.”

“You’re insane.” I look down to where he still holds my hand, entire focus narrowing on the strength in his grip. How would it feel to have him grip me somewhere else? Rhysand gives me a look like he knows what I’m thinking, so I look at the ceiling. Then declare, “I can’t have dinner with you.”

It almost hurt to say it, honestly, because I really love that painting. 

He waits until I look back down at his face before asking, “Why not?” 

Blushing to high hell, I murmur, “It feels a little like... prostitution.”

Rhysand throws his head back and laughs, a full, wonderful sound I hadn’t been expecting. It’s easy and contagious, and I find myself grinning, even though what I said was true. 

“Dinner, gorgeous, was the deal.” He leans in close and whispers, “You coming home with me won’t have anything to do with it.”

I push him away, mind set on giving myself a few feet away from him to compose myself, but I’m so dizzy and confused and strangely turned on I almost fall. His hands shoot out, landing on the bare skin of my shoulders, and I pause. 

And really, really contemplate my life. 

Yesterday I was sitting on the floor of my dusty apartment in my underwear, eating Ramen and struggling to figure out what the fuck to put in the background of my painting. Today I’m being asked to dinner by a probable-billionaire. On the condition I accept a very expensive form of bribery. 

“I’m not going home with you, but I’ll have dinner with you.” He starts to smile, so I cut him off, “Only if you promise to not buy the painting.”

His brows narrow, a silent demand for information. 

“I come here almost every day to see it anyway,” I explain. “Besides, there’s no way I can accept it. It’ll get stolen or damaged or... I just can’t accept it. And the thought of you putting it in some forgotten hallway depresses me.”

He sighs dramatically and re-puts his hand out. “No painting. Just dinner.”

“And no sex.”

A very male look crosses his features. “We’ll discuss that later, I think.”

I roll my eyes but shake hands with him, a strange sense of finality settling over me. I shake it off, telling myself the bare mention of having sex with him is why I’m so nervous. 

~

Four hours later, I stand at the door, purse clutched in one hand, keys in the other. I’m staring at the door, practically foaming at the mouth, waiting for a knock on the other side to hopefully shock me out of my crazed state. 

I’ve been like this for ten minutes already, for some reason not wanting him to wait for a second after he got here. Or maybe I just don’t think he’s actually coming. 

Maybe I’ve been on some horrible practical jokes show, and Rhysand Azara isn’t even a real person. I’ll probably end up on television, blushing and beyond naïve, having been convinced a man who looked like a male model wanted to buy me a Degas. 

I snort, shaking my head at myself. And then almost fall down when a soft yet somehow insistent knock sounds through my small apartment. 

“Holy fuck, he’s here.”

I have no idea why I state it aloud, to myself no less, but I feel like it should be said. Hell, it should be written down in history books. If I kept a diary, I’d write in bold, underlined letters: I HAVE A DATE WITH A VERY STRANGE, VERY HANDSOME MAN.

After fluffing my hair and checking my makeup in a mirror, I stop stalling and open the door. 

He, of course, looks like sex on a goddamn spoon. And for a split second--just a moment, I swear--I debate grabbing him by his expensive lapels, dragging him backward into my apartment, and finding out what his mouth feels like against mine. 

“Feyre,” he greets, snapping me out of my perverted daydream. “You look beautiful.”

I know it’s dumb to be flattered, because it’s fairly standard to tell a girl she looks nice when you pick her up for a date, but it does my ego no harm because how I look right now took some fucking work. 

I shaved from the eyebrows down, exfoliated, scrubbed, cleansed, plucked, and spent thirty minutes deciding what to wear. 

I’d taken a gamble he’d wear a suit and dressed to match in a black dress, unremarkable save for the very low back, and simple heels. 

I step outside with him, grateful for the warm weather, and turn to lock the door. 

Rhysand makes a humming sound, and I freeze as I feel a finger drag down my spine, stopping right at the edge of the fabric. Which happens to be very, very close to something indecent. 

“Beautiful,” he states again, and hell if I don’t feel like it. 

I finally manage to get the lock closed, then spin around to face him. Up close, there’s silver flecks in his eyes, like starlight. Oh, and he smells amazing. Something manly and wintery and not sold in a bottle. 

I. Am in. So much. Trouble. 

I have no idea why this man has taken an interest in me, but I know it can only end in one way: me in love, him long gone. 

But even though I know it, I’m ready. Five minutes with him makes me feel more alive than I ever have, and even though it’s a disaster in the making, I can’t bring myself to care. 

He offers his hand and pulls me towards a--surprise--black car, one that looks expensive. After depositing me in the passenger seat, he goes around and climbs in beside me. 

“Where are we going?”

“I’m making a guess about something.”

I glance over at him. “Have you ever realized you don’t give actual answers?”

"Yes,” he responds with a grin, turning the stereo on. 

Twenty minutes later, I’m practically bursting at the seems to know where he’s taking me. 

What kind of guess is he making? Also, what does that even mean?

He pulls up in front of a nice looking place I’ve never been to--again, surprise--and comes around to open my door. Despite the crowd, as soon as the hostess sees the man leading me through the restaurant, we’re ushered into the back. 

Turns out the place has private rooms. It’s quiet and cozy, and I’m pretty sure only the president gets this kind of treatment. 

Once I’m seated across from him, menu in hand, I have to ask, “Was your guess correct?”

“I don’t know, do you like French food?”

I smile because j’adore French food, and he grins back because he somehow knew that already. 

The waiter comes to ask for our drink order, and I gesture at Rhysand for him to order mine. I know nothing about wine, and he obviously does, because he orders something fancy and expensive sounding. 

There’s soft music playing in the background, candles in the corner, and a handsome man sitting across from me. It’s the most romantic situation I’ve ever been in, hands down. 

He braces an arm on the table, watching as I take a small sip of the wine. Trying to maintain some sort of maturity, I say, “You have good taste.”

“I do,” he replies, but his eyes are on me, not the wine. “Are you almost done with school?”

“One more year,” I answer, trying not to cheer as I say it. Four years of education for an art major is kind of ridiculous to me, but it would’ve been stupid to turn down a full scholarship. 

Rhysand hums, nodding. Even though he asked, I somehow feel like he already knew that. Weird. 

“Did you go to college?”

He gives me a strange look. “My formal education stopped around seventh grade.”

It’s an effort to keep my jaw off the table, and I’m proud of myself when I say mildly, “Impressive.”

“Being uneducated impresses you?”

I scowl. “No, but having everything you do despite not being handed anything is.”

His face stays impassive, but there’s a twinkle of respect in his eyes. The waiter comes back and asks what we want to eat, and because the menu I’ve barely even looked at is in French, I get the same thing as Rhysand. 

When we’re alone again, I ask, “Okay, spill. How’d you know I love French food?”

Rhysand shrugs. “I’m good at reading people.”

I wave a hand, because that wasn’t answer enough, and he continues on a sigh. “You’re kind of... easy to read. No offense.”

“Interesting you say ‘No offense’ after calling a woman easy,” I note.

He laughs, but points out, “You’re not easy. I offer to buy you a Degas and you won’t even come home with me.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Once again, you haven’t answered my question.”

There’s a long beat of silence. “You like French food because you like Impressionist art, and both Degas and Monet were French. Your dream vacation also happens to be Paris, and eating French food makes you feel closer to that goal.”

My mouth drops open, and he laughs soundly at the blatant display of shock, but before I can ask how the hell he knew that, the waiter comes with our food. Identical displays of delicious-smelling pasta are set in front of us. 

I reach for my fork, but he grabs our plates and switches them. 

When I raise a brow, he shrugs and says, “In case you were thinking about poisoning me.”

I snort in a very ladylike manner, tucking into my food. A soft moan escapes me, and he looks up at me, bite halfway between his plate and mouth. 

“Uh, sorry,” I murmur, blushing down the neckline of my dress. 

Rhysand just smiles, making me feel young once again. “Don’t be. I quite enjoy the sound of a pleasured woman.”

Rolling my eyes, I take another bite, managing to refrain from sounding too pleasured. “So, Paris. How’d you know?”

He doesn’t really give me an answer, just says, “I bet you have a little Eifel Tower trinket on your desk and everything.”

An embarrassed laugh bubbles out of me, because I do. I totally do. I’ve had it for three years and look at it every time I’m tempted to drop out.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask, trying to get us back on even ground. I feel like he somehow knows everything about me, and even though I’ll have to ask questions, I’m finding out at least one thing about him. 

“I’m in real estate.”

I nod, ready to just accept that answer. Then I look around us, remembering how crowded the restaurant was, and start giggling. “You own this restaurant, don’t you?”

A sigh. Busted. “Yes, I do.” 

I tsk and give him a judgmental look. “You can’t take me somewhere you own for a date. That’s cheating.”

He takes a sip of his wine. “How so?”

“It just is.” I sigh, just to tease him. “Shame. I was feeling so romanticized, maybe enough so to go home with you. Not anymore, though.”

He rolls his eyes, the gesture making him younger. “Eat your food.”

I do, and by the end, I’m so full I probably look pregnant. “Holy fuck, that was good.”

Rhysand smiles, like it’s adorable that I cursed, and pushes back his empty plate. “Dessert?” I shake my head. “Coffee?” 

“I’m so full I might die.”

Rising with fluid grace, he extends a hand. “Then come with me.”

Not bothering to ask questions at this point, I just take his hand and follow him out, noticing the city has a slight chill now that the sun’s gone down.

“Why is it women can never plan for the sun going down?” he ponders, wrapping me in his suit jacket.

“It’s a test to see if you’ll let us freeze to death.”

Rhysand chuckles and slides his hand into mine, so casually and simply it seems like a mundane thing we do every day.

I know I’ve known him for a total of five hours, but everything about today has been... easy. Natural. It’s like we just click, and I’m not stupid enough to question it right now. 

“You’re quite the gentleman,” I remark, bringing up our intertwined fingers to look at the tattoos on his skin. He’s silent for a minute, and when I glance over, he’s looking at the ground as we walk, a strange look on his face. “What?”

“You’re probably the only person in this entire world who believes that.”

I scoff, because the idea that the man next to me, holding my hand and running his thumb across my fingers, is anything but a gentleman is absurd.

“What other paintings do you have?” 

It’s a question I’ve been dying to ask since he mention his other Degas. 

“It’s a shame you’re determined to not go home with me. You could see them yourself.”

I drop his hand and shove his shoulder, my lips twitching as he laughs. “You asshole. You’re leveraging access to a private collection for sex? Men are horrible.”

Rhysand chuckles, throwing an arm around me and pulling me close. “I have a Monet,” he whispers in my ear, placing a featherlight kiss to my temple. “And a Rembrandt.” 

“I hate you.”

He releases me and grabs my hand again, then pulls me toward a dark alley I hadn’t noticed he’d been guiding me toward. “Um... where are you taking me?”

He, of course, doesn’t tell me. No, he shushes me. 

“I will not be quiet while you drag me down some seedy alley!” I’m beginning to panic a bit, because besides spending way too much time alone, I like to watch Law and Order, and this is turning into the beginning of a familiar episode. 

“Is this because I said I won’t have sex with you tonight?” Before he can respond, I blurt, “Because I probably will at some point, I’m just kind of nervous-”

“I’m not going to murder you, Feyre darling.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Now shut up.”

Pouting like a sullen child, I shut my mouth and accept my fate. He tugs me further down the black alley, and eventually I can’t even see. Can he? Is he some sort of vampire? Am I really asking myself that?

The glow of his phone illuminates the dark for a second, and I catch the time 11:59. “One more minute.”

“Until...?”

He’s silent for thirty-eight seconds, then he says, “Until this.”

Suddenly, the space above us lights up, colors shooting all around us in a kaleidoscope of reds and blues and greens. 

Gasping, I look up to see the air above us full of glass lanterns, the surfaces painted with swirling black paint. The alley is covered wall to wall, and the end result gives the walls around us beautiful designs and dimension.

I laugh in surprise, twirling around to take in the entire place. “What is this?”

“We’re in the artist’s quadrant of the city. I don’t know why, but they do this every night, exactly at midnight.”

I spin around in a circle, arms out, smiling from ear to ear. He watches with a grin, leaning against one of the walls casually. I walk down the alley, eyes up, taking in everything. 

It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. 

The lanterns are each unique, like they were done by different people. Some are solid colors, others are mixtures. 

I look back over at Rhysand, beams of red and blue and pink bouncing off his face, a smile playing at his full lips. It’s obvious he took me here because he knew I’d love it, and it makes me feel insanely special. 

Still giddy with happiness, I bound over to him, put my hands on either side of his face, and press my lips to his. 

For a second, we probably look like idiots, just standing there pressing our smiles together. 

Then, like we’re in synch, the smiles fall away and we start to actually kiss. 

His hands slip inside the jacket, linking at the small of my back and pulling me closer to him. He’s still leaning against the wall, back against the brick, and I put my hands on his chest, fingers digging into the corded muscle I find there. 

Rhysand pulls back for a minute, traces his fingers over my face lightly. He looks so surprised and confused, I’m tempted to ask what’s wrong. But then his mouth is back on mine, moving more fervently, and I forget all about it. 

His hands cup my jaw, tilting my face to where he wants it, then slide in my hair. 

He tastes like honey and citrus, and I slide my tongue in his mouth, desperate for more. I moan at the taste of him, and he suddenly moves, like the sound unleashed something in him. 

One hand grabs the back of my thigh, the other wrapping around my waist, and then I’m the one against the wall. The brick digs into my shoulder blades, but I hardly even notice, because he wraps my leg around his hips and presses us together. 

His mouth is sliding down my jaw, sucking on the spot between my neck and shoulder softly. I make a low sound, slip my hands in his hair, and prepare to eat him alive. 

And then the world goes dark. 

The lanterns above us turn off, casting us in darkness, but we don’t stop for a few minutes. When we’re both breathless, he pulls away with a low chuckle and releases my leg. 

I slide down him slowly, leaning against the wall for support. 

What the hell was that? 

Did I really just make out with a complete stranger in an alley? 

The answer to that question--and the one of if I’d do it again--is hell yes.  

He runs a hand over his lips, almost in disbelief, then takes a healthy step back and holds out a hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

I take another look at the disheveled hair, swollen lips, rumpled shirt. And I know without a doubt that if he were on my doorstep, looking at me with those bedroom eyes, I’d pull him inside without a thought. 

“I think I should take a cab.”

Rhysand smiles, knowing exactly why. “I’m flattered.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, pushing him away and starting back toward the busier street. 

Even though the street’s deserted, he manages to hail a cab easily, the bright yellow car slowing to a stop next to us. I open the back door, kiss his cheek, and slip inside. “Thank you for dinner. Even though you cheated.”

He rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind me. “I’ll call you.”

I nod, feeling a little ridiculous for how happy that statement makes me. Tonight was... like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It was just dinner, I remind myself, but it doesn’t do any good. 

It feels like the beginning of something. 

The cab driver glances at me in the rearview mirror and laughs. “That good, huh?”

I don’t even respond because yeah. That good. 

I’m halfway home before I realize I never even gave him my number. And I honestly wonder if I’ll ever see Rhysand Azara again. 

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Part 2

@elorcan-trash @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2​ @claralady​ @tswaney17​ @rowanisahunk​ @superspiritfestival​ @thegoddessofyou​ @jlinez​ @studyliketate​ @over300books​ @bamchickawowow​ @justgiu12​ @maastrash​ @aesthetics-11​ @b00kworm​ @sleeping-and-books​ @musicmaam​ @hizqueen4life​ @maybekindasortaace​

[babbushka]

Act Normal

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

2.8k; Content warnings: Mentions of baby zimmerman, NSFW (exhibitionism, public sex acts/semi-public sex acts, under the desk blow-jobs, sex at work, office sex, masturbation/fingering) 

Available on AO3!

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One o’clock, your favorite time of the day. Your son coos happily against your hip and snuggles into your neck, his little hands focused on the fascinating task of touching your earrings. Your heels click softly on the polished wood flooring of the CSPD, and you smile to everyone you see as you make your way through the lobby, brand new butterfly gold Pyrex tucked against your free hip carrying treats for your favorite detective unit.

Just a few more feet, a few more hellos, and your husband will be back where he belongs – in your arms.

“Hello Mrs. Heidi, is he in the new office?” You stop by the secretary in the main bullpen, and greet the elderly woman as you open up the casserole dish for her.

Inside are as many shortbread cookies as you could safely cram, all decorated in royal icing of reds and oranges, yellows and gold, designs done with a steady hand and very fine icing tips to make them appear autumnal and delicious. Mrs. Heidi, a woman who you know happens to have a penchant for shortbread, happily takes a couple and sneaks them onto a napkin with a wink, pinching the baby’s cheek to which he giggles brightly about.

“Do you even have to ask?” She motions for you to lean in close, raising an eyebrow conspiratorially, “He’ll be pleased to see you both, he’s in a right mood today.”

What else was new, you thought to yourself with a sigh and a fond shake of your head. Mrs. Heidi seems to read your mind, and she lets out a little amused laugh and pats your shoulder from across her desk.

“Hopefully this will cheer him up.” You say brightly reclaiming the cookies, knowing you have far more up your sleeve for your husband today.

You immediately grow hot, when you think of just what you’ve got planned for him -- if Mrs. Heidi can read your mind, you hope that she isn’t doing so now.

You leave the kind secretary to her treats and her typewriter, and are glad to run into a friendly face, who, by all accounts, looks far more glad to see you.

“Oh thank god.” Ron looks like he’s been put through the ringer, and you simply smile at him apologetically. Ron was too nice of a friend to Flip, he was always exceedingly tolerant and listened to your husband rant and rave and bitch about everything under the sun. Even nice friends like him could only handle so much though, and it seems like Ron was getting to the end of his patience.

“What’s gotten him worked up this time?” You give him a greeting kiss on the cheek and open up the pyrex so he can grab a handful of cookies to stress eat his heart out, walking and talking your way through the bullpen to stand outside the small office door.

“One of the cops misread their rights, so all the evidence we managed to obtain from the might be inadmissible as evidence at trial when this thing goes to court. We almost had to let the guy we’ve been hunting for three months walk.” Ron sighs and your eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, who was it?” Immediately you begin searching the room, trying to look around for the poor sonofabitch who must have been absolutely throttled by your handsome detective.

“Richard -- but not here anymore, Flip really reamed into him and told him to go home for the rest of the day.” Ron scratches the back of his neck, takes another cookie for good measure, “He’s on the warpath.”

Time to work your magic then, you decide with as much of a casual air as possible. You shift your little wiggle worm off your hip and into Ron’s waiting arms, and suddenly your friend’s bad mood has vanished.

“These are for the rest of the guys, could you put them in the breakroom for me?” You ask Ron, who happily nods. “Be nice for Uncle Ron okay ziskayt?” You smooch the baby’s dimpled cheek and he giggles loudly, and Ron gives you a bright smile before taking him over to his desk to go say hi to Uncle Jimmy.

Turning to face the door of the little office, your heart can’t help but warm at the black letters applied on the frosted glass of the door.

Lieutenant Zimmerman

A great big grin spreads across your face as you rap your knuckles gently just below his name, and you roll your eyes when he answers with a rather harsh, “What?”

“Aw and here I thought you’d be happy to see me.” When you open the door, it takes all of two seconds for the angry expression on his face to turn to one of being stunned.

“Ketsl!” Flip practically bolts out of his big leather chair, his legs almost flying up comically with the force of how he pushes himself up and over to you. He scoops you up tight and begins kissing all over your face at once, his goatee tickling your cheek chin neck chest as he apologizes, “I’m sorry honey, I had no idea it was already one, come in, c’mere, let me get a look at you.”

“Waitwaitwait! Let me close the door first.” You can’t help but laugh, because the door to his office is still open, and what you want to do with him today will require it being closed.

However…you make sure to leave it unlocked. Once the little latch clicks into place and you’re sure the door won’t swing open of its own accord, you turn back to your husband and are already undoing the wrap tie of your blouse.

“Alright cowboy, go on.” You smirk at him when the fabric of your blouse falls to the side and your ribcage expands with the deep breath you take, your tits on full display.

Flip’s crowding you against the door, groaning low in his throat as his hands cup under your breasts and push them together so that he can nuzzle his face into the cleavage there.

“Ugh, fuck, I missed you.” He kisses the soft skin of your chest all over, grumbling and mumbling you’re your flesh, “Today’s been absolute shit.”

“I’ve heard, is there anything I can…do to help?” You manage to get one of your hands under his chin and tilt his face up up up to yours, your lids heavy and your lips licked wet, kissing his eyelids as they flutter shut, “Anything at all, to relieve you of some of this tension?”

He recognizes it, that tone of your voice. That tone of yours that makes him weak in the knees, that makes him turn into nothing but a puddle of desire for you. You get whatever you want when you talk to him like that – and he knows exactly what it’s going to be this time.

At least, he thinks he does.

He kisses you slowly, against the door. The kind of kiss that has his tongue pressing hot and wet against yours, the kind of kiss that makes him hard in his jeans for you. He’s so hard, and you grin against his smile, against the rasp of his goatee, because he has no idea what he’s in for when he growls,

“Watch it ketsl.”

“Mmm, or what? You’ll bend me over this desk right here where everyone could see?” You whisper against his jaw as you begin to kiss down down down his face, sucking and moaning softly against his throat. “Oh, but that’s right. You like that, don’t you, you like being watched.”

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game sweetheart.” There’s a fist in your hair then, and you grin up at him when he pulls your head back ever so slightly, searches your gaze. Are you just teasing him? Or do you mean it?

“A game sounds like just what you need to get you out of this mood.” You moan guiding his free hand, the one that isn’t in your hair, to grasp and squeeze at your nipple, telling him to, “Go sit down. Let me make you feel good.”

 Flip looks good, sitting at that desk of his. He’s got a real fancy office chair, brown leather that can recline a little ways back. Just enough, in fact, that he can lean lean lean back as his legs spread, those knees of his bumping just underneath the wood of the desk. They spread just wide enough for you to settle yourself between them.

Having the office is such a luxury that you can’t imagine not taking advantage of the enclosed space when you visit every day. He’s had it for a week, and you’ve already come on every surface, broken the place in to the best of your ability. But this…this was something else altogether different.

You undo the button closure of Flip’s jeans, and with an expert hand you pull his cock out. It’s flushed at the head, a dark delicious red where he’s aching for you, the veins thick and practically throbbing under your tongue as you lick a stripe up the shaft. That hand in your hair returns, and a long moan shudders through Flip’s chest as he slouches in the chair to relax into your touch.

“Mmm, shit ketsl.” He watches you with eyes that are practically glazed over, jaw dropped at the way you rub the head of his cock through your lips. “Touch yourself?”

You’ve sucked Flip’s dick at the station too many times to count, in back store rooms and broom closets, bathrooms and the empty breakroom, and of course quite a few times on the interrogation table -- but this, this was something you knew he’s always wanted to try, the thrill of being caught. The thrill of someone walking into his office and knowing what you’re up to.

Knowing that you’re under his desk, with your tits out, his cock in your mouth, your free hand stuffed in your panties. Your fingers rub and tease at your folds, and you moan around his length, moan and take him deeper as your fingers push into your pussy.

He can feel it, that thrill now, you know he can; his thighs are twitching, trembling, his tongue darting out to lick and lick and lick at his lower lip. He keeps looking up at the door, his heart thudding, pounding in his ears as his cock throbs in your mouth as you suck him off, take as much of him as you can down your throat.

His cock is velvety and hot and you drool around him, because you can’t help but drool, he’s so big and your mouth gets forced open so wide – you’re lucky his office is wood floors and not carpeting, easy clean up. Especially with the way your cunt is so slick, dripping all over your fingers and soaking through your panties, that wouldn’t do to have absorbing into his carpet.

“Fuck – (Y/N) someone’s coming.” Suddenly, Flip tenses, and your heart hammers in your chest as the two of you make eye contact.

He looks wild in the best way, and when you pull off of him and gasp for air, his dick oozes precome onto your lips and chin.

“Better act normal then, because the door’s unlocked and I’m not stopping.” You grin devilishly, and lick all of that precome up, swallow it down.

“Flip, can I come in?” The voice of Mark, one of the guys down in homicide, sounds from just beyond the door.

Flip looks at you, and you look back at Flip, and you suck so hard that he has to brace himself against the edge of his desk as he makes the decision that yes, yes you’re going to do this.

“What do you need?” Flip clears his throat loudly and with the question, allows Mark to come into the office.

You’re hyper-aware of everything all at once, the thud of his footsteps as he comes into the room, the noise from the bullpen just outside the office door, the heaviness of your own breathing, the air conditioning and the chatter and and and – everything reminding you that you’re in public, that you’re at Flip’s work, that you’re under his desk.

The only reason you can get away with this at all, you think with a smirk as you nearly deepthroat your husband right there, is that you’re completely concealed by the desk. And, as long as Mark doesn’t come any closer, Flip’s big cock down your throat is concealed too.

That big cock, twitching and pulsing, hot precome salty tangy perfect on your tongue as you fuck yourself on your fingers, your tits glistening and wet from drool that’s slipping sliding out of your mouth.

“Hey wasn’t your wife visiting?” Mark asks real nonchalantly, and you almost choke. “I could’ve sworn I saw her in the lobby earlier.”

“She uhhhh,” Flip realizes a second or two later that Mark is talking to him, and he blinks and clears his throat again as he twitches and tries his best to remain calm even when you’ve got your hand wrapped around his length and are stroking him off while you suck on the head of his dick, “She had to go to the bathroom. What do you need?”

“Chief needs some signatures on this paperwork, he asked me to bring it over. Do you think you take a minute to look at it?” Mark is blissfully unaware of you under the table, and Flip does he absolute fucking damnedest not to look at you – because if he looks at you he will blow his load right in front of this guy, and then everything will be fucked.

He’s so hard from that thought that he accidentally twitches so hard that he rams his knee up underneath the desk and shakes everything on top of it. You pull off his cock and cover your mouth so you don’t gasp from the sudden movement, giving yourself away.

“Sure sure, just leave it on the side table there,” Flip doesn’t know how he sounds entirely too cool for a man about to come so hard he might cry, but he is, and he does, and Mark is nodding and already walking away from the desk, back towards the door. “I’ll get it back to him after lunch.”

“Thanks Flip.” He says with a friendly smile and a nod.

“Yup.” Flip wants to come so badly, wants to come down your throat so badly and then bend you over this desk and fuck you raw until you’re the one crying.

“Oh and tell the missus I says hi.” Mark is all too cheerful and Flip musters all his strength to not snap at him.

“Sure thing – close the door, please.” Flip replies through grit teeth, and finally, finally, the door is closed and Flip is growling at you, releasing a big breath he’d been holding.

He winds his fist in your hair again and gags you on his cock with how tightly he presses your face to his crotch, making your throat stretch and bulge around him. You rock back on your fingers fast fast fast until you’re coming, your eyes fluttering shut and jaw going slack. Your drool darkens his jeans as you moan and choke around him, and that leather chair of his creaks beautifully as you bob your head up and down shallowly to mimic the way he loves to thrust and fuck your mouth.

“Ohh fuck honey-bunny, you and that tongue…” He thunks his head back against the chair and comes hard hard hard, the salty tangy sticky taste of come hitting the back of your throat as he shakes and shudders around you with a, “Fuck.”

You just breathe through your nose and take everything he gives you, before eventually pulling off him and stroking his cock slowly, carefully, to milk out any last droplets of come that you kiss away from your palm.

He looks absolutely wrecked, your husband does, his eyes rolled back into his skull as he gulps down deep breaths. He’s sweating, which you think is charming, because you’re the one who did all the work. But it’s work you love doing, because he’s already smiling at you hazy dreamy so in love, his hand coming to cup your cheek as he leans over to kiss the taste of himself off your lips.

“Liked that?” Your voice is raspy from being used so raw, and that makes Flip come a little bit more in your hand with a soft groan. He knows that the second he tries to stand up, he’ll collapse, his legs made of jell-o.

“You’re gonna be the death of me honey, you know that?” He bites the inside of his cheek when you tuck him back into his jeans and button him up sweetly, let him bury his face in your cleavage once more before you tie up your wrap blouse, “The death of me.”

“At least you’ll die a happy man.” You chuckle, knowing that at the very least, no one can suspect what goes on behind the frosted glass.

[ofmythsandmadness]

stop moving | d.h

you do diego’s eyeliner. 2k words.

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NOTES: gender neutral. long haired diego. i don’t know why i’m writing this and i kinda hate it lol, i rarely write this sort of thing but y’know. i’m going to check all messages, notifs & messed gems in the morning, i’m really only posting this and ghosting again, bc i know otherwise i’ll never do it. and y’know, i want to feel productive about something. take care folks <3

BUY ME A COFFEE HERE. | CHECK OUT MY OTHER WRITINGS HERE.

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"CAN YOU PLEASE STOP MOVING?!”

Hot breath stings your trembling fingers as Diego huffs a laugh; it’s barely a sound, a mumble of a chuckle, but you feel it vibrate through your body and hit your hand and it almost does you in. You almost just give up and confess your undying attraction, right then and there. And as though you need more contact, even more of him pressing against you, egging you closer to the precipice that will surely be your infatuated doom. 

“You’re the one who asked to do this, you don’t get to complain.”

“Well, you wanted it. You agreed to this!”

“I--” another exhale against your hand, another peal of laughter following shortly. You've half a mind to clamp his mouth shut with it, if it wouldn’t ignite yet another ill-thought fantasy of yours. “This was still your idea.”

Your smile buds and blooms despite your brain begging your lips to be still. You can’t help it; he’s too good at weaseling into the cracks of your composure. One look, one soft chuckle and you’re set for life. It doesn’t help that you’re basically on his lap, cradling his face in your hands like he’s a baby, and his own fingers tap-tap-tap away on your hips, creating a rhythm no one else but you can make out. Honestly, you’re surprised you haven’t totally cracked yet, this close and this personal.

“Shut your eyes.”

“They are shut.”

“No they’re not!” you poke lightly at the fluttering lids. Your lip snags on your bottom lip; a poor attempt to hide a giggle. “I can’t do this with your eyes open.”

“D'aww…” his lids shut as he groans. “So I’m just supposed to sit here? Let you draw on my face in total darkness?”

You click your tongue, half in disapproval in his exaggeration, and half because you’ve won yet again against his stubbornness. “I won’t be long. Suck it up.”

“Sure. Y’know, I have siblings; I know how long it takes them to do makeup, and-”

“-stop moving, asshole!” Your free hand tugs ever lightly on a strand of hair, one of the many that’s slipped out of his ponytail. Repressed thoughts flash in sultry red across your thoughts and you swallow, quickly letting the hair go. “I-I need you to stay still, or this will take forever.”

Diego sighs and his grip tightens around your hips. Before you know it, he’s moving you. “Then stop wriggling,” he grumbles, flattening you against his legs. You’re basically straddling him, at that point, and your mind goes absolutely blank at how much more intimate this feels. Does he notice? Or is this just another friendly motion you’re yet again reading into?

Your mouth tastes of cotton balls and it’s dry as an Arizona summer. Still, you manage an ‘okay’ before readying your pen again. All you can hope for is a steady hand, though by the way he still holds your waist, and how your mouth lingers mere inches from his lips -- well, you’re coming undone.

It’s just eyeliner, you tell yourself. Your hand rises and swipes; black begins to pool its deep colour against his lashes, low and thin. The line builds taller, thicker as you work, extending out to the corner of his eye. As he breathes, and you try to remind yourself how to, the eyeliner pen works its shaky magic and draws the slightest tinge of a wing against his skin. 

“How’s it going?”

At least he’s kind enough to mumble it, though his face still shifts under your hold. Once more your tongue clicks. 

“It goes better when you don’t speak.”

He swallows his laugh; you know, because you feel his throat work as you hold his head steady. It’s strange and exhilarating, to be so close and still so far away. You want to cradle his cheeks gentler, to hold his face with the heart of a lover, but you’re terrified he’ll recognise your touch and realise your feelings. So you barely touch him and remind yourself to be professional about this.

It’s eyeliner, not a rom-com.

“I’m bored,” he whisper whines. 

“Shh.”

“It’s too quiet.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, patting his cheek gently. “M’working.”

“Y/N...”

You pull away and sit back on his thighs. His left eye doesn’t look half bad, but if he keeps talking… “You can’t talk, ‘else it’s gonna look bad!”

“Then you talk!”

You baulk. “What?”

“I’ll be quiet,” he swears, pouting up to you with eyes still shut, “but please, say something before I lose my mind.”

“Well, I-I-what about?”

“I don’t know. Anything.” He smiles softly. “I like hearing you talk. Don’t care what about.”

You could die right then and there. It’s a simple compliment, it’s really the bare minimum, but you’re already head over heels. And just a couple of soft spoken works are all you need to do you in and nearly keel you over, still straddling his muscular thighs.

“Uh…” you cough, forcing out the giddy tremble that threatens to take your voice. No lovesick teen voice today, thank you very much. “Okay. I don’t have much to...well, the other day, I saw my coworker totally wipe out leaving work.” You pause, expecting some reply, but he stays silent. “And he... he ate so much shit, he might as well dunked his head in a gas station toilet. And - and you know, normally I’d try to sympathise, but when you always make a point to park in my parking spot, I don’t care. Brett’s such an ass. And I don’t blame him, cause he’s got an asshole name -- Brett can’t be anything else but an asshole. So it's his parents fault probably but still, I…”

You continue on, slipping from the topic of your coworker to the free muffin you got with your coffee last week, to the prospects of buying a pet to keep your apartment less lonely, and to what probably felt like a thousand and one things ranted at him. All the while your hands continue, making neat work of a task that had just felt impossible.

And miraculously, aside from a chuckle thrown now and then, Diego stays silent. Maybe he actually means it. Maybe he does like your voice -- or he’s so bored he’s falling asleep, you don’t know. But it’s okay, you don’t let yourself linger on that, too content with taking in his relaxed features and the gentleness of the afternoon sun on the two of you.

“Aaaand….there!” With a triumphant shout, you throw the eyeliner to the side and your hands plunge towards the sky, fist-pumping like you’d just won the lottery. Your body bounces up and down on his lap like a child meeting Santa; in your excitement, you barely notice. “You’re done!”

“That’s it?”

“Yup.” You grabble for a mirror, looking away from him for a moment as you reach for the handle. Wiping it off, you’re focused solely on making sure the glass is clean enough for him to see himself in, and your brain is distracted enough to totally forget what you’ve even done, enough so when you look up, all you have is,

“Oh.”

Look, you know Diego is an attractive man. You’ve known since the day you met; he’s a beautiful guy, a handsome asshole who wormed his way into your befuddled heart before you could even learn his name. He’s pretty enough that if he wasn’t so set on his weird vigilante career, he could probably shoot for being a damn supermodel. He’s a catch! But all those years of knowing that and feeling like that could not prepare you for the sight in front of you.

Diego squints at you, cocking his head. “Is it okay?”

“I…” Delicate black lines his upper lash line, making his deep brown eyes stand out even more. He’s smiling still, full lips curving up to only make your heart pound faster. A strand of his hand falls across his face, painting the gentlest of shadows but it doesn’t bother his pretty face. “I...no, no, yea-ah…”

“Wow,” he laughs, jabbing a finger into your side. “Eloquent.”

“I-I-shut up,” you stammer. You force the mirror into his hands and look away. You’re still on his lap, still straddling his lap and the logical part of your brain begs you to get it together and fall off, already. But the stupid, foolish, absolutely idiotic part leaves you paralysed. “Just look for yourself.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for him in the silence. There’s nothing, though, for achingly painful seconds, until the mirror shifts down. “Huh.”

“Huh, good? Or bad?” 

“I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Really? What’s wrong?”

“It’s not bad,” he assures you, his smile evident in his tone. “Just different. Don’t know how to feel about it.”

“O-oh...well, if it makes you feel better, I think it looks great.”

“You do?”

Oh, dammit. That came out with way too much enthusiasm, didn’t it? Your legs are concrete as you shift, face angled towards the floor. Hopefully he’s strong enough to push you off him when your body literally catches flame from humiliation. 

“You look good man,” he mocked back to you. But he’s grinning, egging you on like a child who knows he’s got you twisted around his pinky finger. “Come on, say it like you don’t have a gun to your head!”

And maybe you do, maybe you’re holding the revolver to your temple, just asking to get screwed if you dare speak beyond the most stilted compliment you’ve ever extended to someone. He’s a friend, you remind yourself; friends are allowed to compliment the other. They’re allowed to say they look good and not make it a thing, even if they wish it was a thing, and--

“--hey? You in there?”

“Sorry,” you say to the floor. You swear a thousand curses before looking back to Diego. And, yeah -- he still looks impossibly good. The ageing afternoon sun falls just perfectly against his skin, flushing him into the being of a god, standing in your apartment while you, a mere mortal, remains stuck to his thick thighs.

You gulp in air desperately, trying to catch your gaze on something, anything else -- but nothing sticks. He’s still there, inches from you, desperately aching for you to stare at.

“No, uh, yeah. You look - you look hot.”

Wait.

That wasn’t--

“-I look hot?”

That isn’t what you were supposed to say.

“I,” you have literally nothing to save yourself. This is the end! You’re young Leo and Rose is shoving you off the door and into the icy waters, and you’ve just got one last look at pretty Diego to satiate the freezing burn before you succumb to it. “I...wasn’t...that wasn’t what I meant.”

He has no right to look so smug. But he does it anyway. He leans away from your hands as they flutter through the air on their own accord, looking at you through half-lidded pools of caramel. “You don’t think I look hot?”

“Don’t,” you warn, with little strength behind it. “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m just asking.”

He leans back in. You’re almost touching again. 

Is this weird? This is definitely weird.

You swallow back the lump in your throat and stare back at him. This all feels like fifth grade all over again -- awkward, sticky and like every move is the wrong move. But you can’t stop yourself from playing into his hands, because that sly, shameful part of you wants this more than will ever be admitted. You want him to look at you like this, like you could hang the stars if he asked you to...and you want him to pull you closer, as he does, and mean it.

Could he?

“Would you hate me? If I thought you looked hot?”

Diego head cocks to the side as he seemingly contemplates your words. A nudge meets your side; you look down to see his hands once again reaching for you. Though it's on their own accord this time, gently landing on your left hip, then the right. You shiver.

“That depends,” he says slowly. His eyes narrow, black wings just barely crinkling in. “D’you mean it like, ‘oH, that’s so-oo hot, woW-’”

Your laugh is hardly a whisper. It cracks even before your lips. “Come on.”

“Or, do you…” his fingers dig in a little more. They nudge at the fabric of your top, daring it to move enough so they could cradle the flesh hidden underneath. “You mean it the other way?”

Heart in throat, all the courage you can possibly muster with it, you mutter, “the...other way, probably.” Then a second later, “is that okay?”

“Mm…” His fingers finally reach your skin. You shiver under his touch, warm and unflinching as they brush against the soft curves. Diego’s face comes towards your own and you force yourself not to move. But he doesn’t stop, instead he goes past you, brushing his plush lips against your earlobe. “I would say...that if all this took was making you do my eyeliner, I shoulda asked years ago.”

“I, okay...don’t play with me, here--”

“--I’m serious,” he protests lowly. His lips leave your ear but they don’t run far. Instead, you find them a brush away from your own, just as you were minutes before. Only this time, you don’t try to clamp your mouth shut and skirt away from the touch. You nudge your nose against his own, exhaling softly as more skin meets the heat of his own. “You think I just let anyone sit on my lap like this, without thinkin’ it could be more?”

You shrug like this is normal. Like you’re perfectly at peace with the universe and the way you’re wondering how his tongue would taste, pushing back against your own. “I mean...do you?”

“No,” he chuckles low. “No, I’m...not into friendly lap dances, actually.”

“O-oh. Mm.”

He pulls you closer. He wants you closer.

“Diego…” You’re unravelling. You’re fucking unravelling, unnerved by his voice and his hands and you’re putty in them, all inhibitions sliding away like you’re three drinks in. His hands by your sides leave their marks against your skin; you can feel the pads of his fingers, burning into your skin like they were molten iron and not just mere brushes. “I...”

“Tell me.” He sounds cocky. He has a right to be, even if you’re damned to admit it. “Tell me what you think.”

Your hands shiver up his forearms, clinging to his bare shoulders as he pulls you impossibly closer. Your mind’s going a mile a minute and you refuse to listen to a single thought. You’re only feeling him.

“Y/N…”

“Fine,” you huff, with a smile. Your noses brush again; your eyes flutter shut with his image imprinted against their lids. “I think you look...hot as hell, Diego.”

“Yeah.” He’s grinning; you can hear it in his voice, that smirk that makes your gut flip like a damn rollercoaster ride. “S’what I thought, baby.”

And then he kisses you.

A/N: i normally hate writing oblivious characters but this wasn’t even intentional really. every time i try to write something remotely sexual i just lead the reader into ‘oH tHiS iS jUsT wHaT fRiEnDs Do’ and ‘iT’S wEiRd rIgHt’. to my defense...i doubt you’re on this page reading this expecting good sexual tension. i’m not the tua writer for that; let me know if you want recommendations for that because trust me, there are better authors for that. for now, you get this. <3

[whump-town]

If The Lord Don’t Forgive Me

Bi!Hotch returns

I brought Charlie around for round two because sometimes you just need sweet, wholesome gay love. And it’s sweet baby (okay sweet like sour gummy worms but it is sweet and, hey, I cut the whump out just to keep it that way so you’re welcome)

There is cussing, the slight implication to sex (but not graphic and far more like “men sometimes have sex”), homophobia (I know, I know why can’t I let them live in peace?? but I have to get something out of this too and I LOVE angst), child abuse (ugh... :( sorry Hotch but if you’re showing that pretty face in a fic, I’m gonna bring up the fact that your dad hit you...), and probably something else but I doubt it’s that bad

Anyways-- cut to the gay shit but let me hit it off with some “Work Song” by Hozier because... I’m the author and I can do what I want 

My baby never fret none About what my hands and my body done If the Lord don't forgive me I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

Despite it only being eight o’clock in the morning, Aaron Hotchner feels today has aged him immensely.

The morning started with Emily knocking over an entire bookshelf. The decision to move her into his apartment was stupid and on a whim but he’s never truly felt the consequences of that until today. Which is good considering she’s been living there for nearly three years (straight from “dead” in London to living in his house)  but that is not where the focus should be placed. No, it should be placed on the fact that the crash caused him to jump. A normal, knee jerk reaction but not good when in the middle of shaving.

So, he’d come running out of the bathroom-- face stinging because he’s just jerked a razor across it-- to find the living room in shambles. Emily standing on the other side of the room looking to the point of tears but only managing the barest morsel of containment and Jack, school clothes covered in milk from his cereal, lower lip trembling, and little fist clenched for some semblance of control over the tears pouring down his face.

Standing there, the three of them each taking each other in, had felt surreal. Bit by bit, they all came together. Emily wiped her nose and rubbed the tear that fell off her face. She went to get him a band-aid and he went to Jack. That setback was only a step in the wrong direction.

Truthfully, that old bookshelf needed replacement about twenty-years ago when he built it. Its bitter fall was only a matter of time and he has yet to mourn it. The mess of the shelf was easy to clean up. He’d need to take the larger pieces to a dump or ask Morgan if he knows what to do with it. The books just got stacked on the floor and the wood splinters swept up and Jack advised to stay away from there until he or Emily could really go at it a little better and make sure there was nothing left.

The hard things came afterward.

Fighting with Jack to wear other clothes. He’d picked his current milk-soaked clothes out and Jack is reliant on a schedule. Changing clothes is a deviation and no matter how patient Hotch had tried to be, he was finding it hard to keep his cool. So he’d caved rather than lose his temper over something as simple as a second grader’s clothes. So, Jack went to school today in green overalls and blue rain boots that are a little too big. He’d looked silly but he’s seven so it’s technically still cute for him to do.

As for the nice cut he’d dug into his jaw, Emily had come to inform him that the only band-aids in the house are scooby doo. So, he has wood splinters in his living room, blood all over his shirt, Jack in poorly matching clothes, and a fucking scooby doo Band-Aid on his face.

Coffee is the only thing he knows can fix this.

“Uhm--” Leave it for today to also be the day he is confronted head-on with the very repressed sexual attraction he feels for men. “Can I--” his palms are embarrassingly damp. “Can I just get a-- a large black coffee?” The muscle in his forearm flexes and he can’t really force his fingers to grasp his wallet.

The man in question raises his eyebrow but takes the order. “Alrighty,” he answers. “Do you want creamer? Sugar?”

Hotch can feel his throat tightening in and his face heating up. Thank God he’s never been the type to flush visibly or else he’d be in some trouble. He forces his eyes on to the nametag pinned to the apron over the other man’s chest. Charlie, it reads. Hotch glances back up. “Yes-- Yes, please.” If he were a blusher, he’d be beet red.

Charlie smirks at the stammered manners. It’s cute. “You got a name, suit?”

“Ho--Hotch.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow at that but he’s not going to comment. It’s unprofessional and Hotch is more than likely a nickname. He lets it go. “Hotch” comes in enough that Charlie gets used to the strange nickname but to the staff of his shop he refers to the cute stuttering agent as “suit” and it’s easy to understand why.

“A-- A date?”

Charlie is gay but he’s not sure what “suit”/”Hotch” is. He’s thinking at least a little curious because getting the poor man into a stuttering puddle of anxiety and stammering is as simple as deviating from their typical “cream and sugar” discourse.

Charlie smirks, he thinks the stammering is cute. “Suit” is such a composed guy that it is cute. “Well, yeah. Unless the terminology has changed, yeah, suit, a date.”

Hotch’s throat feels impossibly tight. He’s aware of Charlie, very aware of him and his jaw and how hard the pads of his hands are and-- “I’m--” I’m not gay “Ugh, wh-when?”

Oh. Well, he wasn’t expecting it to be that easy. “Hmm, good question. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Charlie sucks his lip into his mouth, thinking. He snaps his fingers with a sudden idea. He bites the Sharpie’s lid off (the one he uses to write names on the cups) and hurriedly scribbles something on a napkin. “Here’s my number. Text me and we can work that out.”

That was… months ago.

Things have been steady. Good.

Pulling in a deep breath, Aaron Hotchner plunges his head under the luke-warm water of his bathtub. Goosebumps have broken out across his skin but the cold kills the ache in his overworked muscles. Besides, he’s entirely too distracted by two things: (1) he’s too fucking big to fit comfortably in this bathtub. Knees bent, his thighs are out of the water making this bath entirely useless. (2) The very unnervingly attractive coffee shop barista who’s shop he goes to, all the time. Who just so happens to be on his way over right now, for dinner.

“Wow.”

Startled by the sound, Hotch jerks and gets a mouthful of water and suds. Coughing and pulling at his burning nose, Hotch scowls at the intruder. None other than Emily Prentiss standing at the side of the tub, one hand on her hip, and the other extending a towel to him. “Emily!”

She raises an eyebrow of indifference as if he’s the one acting oddly. “You can hold your breath for an impressive amount of time,” she says. She moves the towel in front of him, trying to get him to take it from her. He won’t move his hands from where he’s placed them over his groin.

“Emily, get out!”

“Why are you making this a big deal?” she groans, rolling her eyes. “Hotch I have seen you naked!.” She puts the towel near the edge, where he can reach it without it falling into the water or to the floor. She makes a show of planting her hand over her eyes and turning her back. “Such a baby,” she mumbles. “What is the big deal?”

He ignores her.

She hears the water moving with him as he stands, large splashes as he disturbs the surface. “You’re welcome by the way,” she mumbles. She’d thrown the towel in the dryer so it would be warm for when he got out. Contrary to his dramatics, she does love him. He’s her friend and in the same ways that he takes care of her, she makes sure someone takes care of him. “Besides,” she says, turning around despite his disapproving huff of a sigh. “I came to tell you Charlie is here.”

Hotch freezes. Ah… that’s why she’d come in. That deer in the headlights look that she doesn’t see nearly enough of. It’s silly, if not endearing, that Hotch gets so nervous for these dates. Charlie is pretty clearly head over heels for him and it’s a little surprising. Charlie all bright and cheery, a hard extravert. Perfect, always early to their dates, Charlie.

“He’s early,” Hotch stammers.

Emily nods. The date is at seven-thirty and it’s not quite six. “He knows,” she informs him, settling her hips back against the sink. She’s not watching him throw on his boxers but she’s just… standing there, talking as he drops the towel and makes quick work of drying himself off and pulling his legs into pants. “He also knows you’re in the bath so don’t go breaking your neck. I don’t want to tell your seven-foot-tall, beefcake of a boyfriend that you’ve managed to kill yourself in here.”

Hotch huffs, rolling his eyes. It would be just his luck that he breaks his neck in here while buck ass naked, with Charlie in the living room no doubt. Though, that is a bit of a ridiculous thought to care about.  Here Emily is standing, casually watching him pull jeans over his boxers, having already seen him in his full glory. Charlie, even, has seen all of what he has to offer. He’s spent the majority of his life in the company of Jessica. She’s seen him in hospital gowns, bare assed which is strangely humiliating (and there’s the bonus of the repressed memories of Jessica catching him and Haley multiple times).

They’ve all seen him naked but that’s still not something he wants to deal with.

“You really do look strange in jeans,” Emily informs him as he’s shrugging on his shirt. Charlie had warned him against his more traditional polo. Evidently, he’d look like a “stiff” if he chose to wear a polo to the park. He shoots her a glare but it’s true. No matter how many times she sees him in regular clothes… she just can’t get used to it.

Charlie isn’t mean to him when he wears jeans though.

“There you are,” Charlie greets when Hotch steps out of the bathroom. The strange, beautiful thing about Charlie is that he doesn’t really care that Hotch’s life is crazy. He’d been unsettled by the grisly things that seem to occur so brutally to Hotch but he was quick, startlingly so, to remind Hotch that none of what Charlie had just been told sounded like it was Hotch’s fault. Despite Hotch’s swayed narration.

He’d thought it might be a bit strange to have Emily living in his apartment but Charlie also knew about the details leading up to that decision. The loss of Haley putting a strain on Jack’s independence and pattern of life. Being a single parent and a federal agent pulling Hotch every which way. Haley’s father, Roy, falling ill and commanding more of Jessica’s attention. Then, the fateful fall out with Ian Doyle, Emily moving to London, and the internal bleeding that had almost killed Hotch.

The last of which had been the end all be all. Emily came home and she found herself drawn back here by the less than stellar track record of her family. The abrupt decision landed her here, with Hotch, and it’s been beneficial for everyone involved.

Charlie feels a little safer knowing that when he has to go back to his own apartment, Hotch has his own apartment full of Jack and Emily waiting up for him. Even though he’s only been with Hotch a short while, he’s becoming more and more aware of the trouble that seems to follow his partner.

“Your hair is still wet!” Charlie kisses Hotch, fingers slipping easily through the soaked hair at the back of his head. “I won’t take you out in the cold until you’ve dried it. The last thing I need is you getting sick on me.”

Jack nods seriously hearing this. He’s seated beside Charlie on the couch, the two having been discussing superhero comics. It was turning into an argument when Hotch had come out (who would win between Batman and Ironman-- Charlie says Ironman and Jack Batman). “You can’t get sick,” Jack informs him firmly. “You promised you’d make pancakes for breakfast Saturday.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “All I’m good for to you people is my cooking skills.”

Charlie sucks in a breath, making a I don’t know about that, sort of face. “Just your pancakes, Aaron.” Charlie pats Hotch’s thigh the opposite of tender just downright taunting. “I love you but you can not cook or bake. You literally burn everything.”

The chorus of grunted seconding of that statement behind him feels like a betrayal but he really is bad at cooking. And math. And remembering general the most basic things. So, true but hey! “I’m going to go dry my hair,” Hotch announces, shaking his head. Sure, laugh it up now. They all need him. It’s funny now… brats.

“Get some gloves! There’s a wind chill!”

Emily huffs a laugh and Hotch turns around to catch it. He smirks at the sight of his living room, melancholy swelling in his throat. His family genuinely looks like his lesbian best friend, his ex-wife’s older sister, his son, and his 6’5 ex-college football player turned coffee shop owner boyfriend. It’s a little crazy and yet… comforting because at eighteen when he’d packed up his meager belongings to go to college, he didn’t think he was capable of having any of this.

As Charlie pulls him out the door-- hair dry-- Jack’s actively talking to them both. Something pointless but childish and so, by reason, very important. Emily’s reaching into his jacket and stuffing a pair of gloves into his pocket, throwing a scarf at his head. Jessica’s calling after them too and as soon as the door shuts Hotch pulls in a deep breath.

“They’re smothering,” Charlie informs him as they step off the porch. He offers his hand out to Hotch, scowling down at the icy steps.

Hotch hums in agreeance taking Charlie’s hand out of necessity for touch not help. “You’ll get used to it.” The implication of his statement comes to hit him centerfold but Charlie seems unaffected and Hotch is reminded that not even ten minutes Charlie had said that he loved him. “I love you but you can not cook or bake. You literally burn everything.”

I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Aaron? Did you hear me?”

Hotch blinks stupidly, looking up, and shaking his head. “No,” he mumbles regretfully.

Charlie shrugs it off. “I asked if you were hungry, yet.” Though a year is not altogether that much time, especially when compared to their ages, Charlie would like to think he has an understanding of Aaron. He does know that for certain, actually. He squeezes Aaron’s hand within his own and smiles over at him. He’s got layers, Aaron, and you have to pay a price to understand each and every one.

Somehow, that enchants Charlie. He loves it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give up to have another layer.

“No need to pretend to be,” Charlie explains as they separate to get into his car. “You either or you aren’t. I just wondered if you wanted dinner now or after the walk.” Charlie wants his opinion. He desperately wants to understand what is going on in Aaron’s head. The thoughts he has when he gets silent like this, his restless fingers digging and rubbing.

Hotch hums, reflexively drawing his arms to his chest after he buckles himself into the car. He fidgets anxiously as he tries to figure out the correct answer. What it is that Charlie wants to hear. Charlie likes to eat early, that’s something he’s noticed. However, if Charlie’s asking him then maybe he doesn’t want to eat early. Would Charlie be hungrier after a walk? If they eat now it’ll be cold outside by the time they can get to the park. Then Charlie’s going to be mad at him because it’ll be his fault for having chosen to eat early and go to the park late. Maybe then Charlie will finally realize how stupid this whole relationship is, that he can do better, someone who isn’t like him, and--

“Hey.” Charlie doesn’t reach out and touch him. That’s a lesson he’s learned over the last few months. Hotch doesn’t mind physical touch but he’s easily unnerved by it when he doesn’t know it’s coming. Considering how lost in thought he just was, there is no way he would have seen it coming. “We can just go after, okay?”

Hotch immediately calms, “okay.” His shoulders fall from where he’d slowly, stiffly brought them up. He nods his head, looking down to his lap, while Charlie drives. He has to calm down.

He looks over, catching Charlie’s smooth movement. His arm is on the center console, palm up in a common gesture waiting for Aaron to take his hand. He blinks for a moment, mind slowly turning over exactly what this is. Glancing at Charlie, Hotch slowly lifts his hand up and shyly slots his fingers between his. Smiling when Charlie doesn’t even react much more than a pleased grin.

Oh, he thinks calmly. He likes holding Charlie’s hand. He likes Charlie. The way that he just fills the silence without ever expecting Hotch to return the vigor. Simply requiring Hotch remain engaged with the occasional hum of understanding or scowl of confusion. And Hotch loves that so much more-- that he never has to find the words to explain that he doesn’t understand. Charlie just knows.

“You can’t.”

Charlie frowns, turning to glance at Hotch. “What do you mean?” That’s where the compensation occurs-- Charlie is awful at remembering things. He forgets his dry cleaning, appointments that he set up, holidays, birthdays, weekend plans-- everything. Hotch seems to forget nothing.

Hotch looks out the window of the passenger side, feeling the cold seeping in from the door, but docile and contently closes his eyes to narrow his attention to Charlie’s thumb rubbing lazy patterns on the back of his hand. “On the twenty-third you have interviews for waiters. Your morning, at the very least, is packed.”

Charlies frowns, well shit. “You know,” he says, giving Hotch’s hand a little squeeze. “If you just came to work with me, I wouldn’t have to have those interviews. It would fix so many of both of our problems.”

Hotch turns his head, smirking at Charlie. Not true. It would fix some of their issues-- how much time Hotch’s job steals from them, Charlie’s need for more staff. However, Charlie just wants him working there because Charlie thinks Hotch would look hot in the apron (actually, he knows Hotch is hot in the apron).

They arrive at the park and the two get out. Charlie immediately regrets coming out in this weather.

The grass crunches under Hotch’s feet but he enjoys the way the snow muffles so much of the noise around them. Leaving nothing but the few courageous birds watching them from their perches. It’s a safety Hotch finds entirely enrapturing. Enough to not mind the cold at all and how Charlie’s been fussing with his own clothes since they set off.

Hotch is just walking along. His hands are cold but not enough to ache and with Charlie’s covering the majority of his right hand, he can slip the left into his pocket. It’s not until Charlie squeezes his hand to get his attention that they stop, that Hotch pulls his attention to his partner and away from the scenery.

Charlie pulls him by the lapels of his dark jacket, turning him so that they’re standing facing one another. The toes of their shoes bumping together. “Come here,” Charlie instructs, words a cloud of condensation around them. He wastes no time in pulling the hat off of his own head to pull it down over Hotch’s. Smiling when it smushes his overgrown bangs against his forehead. “I don’t want you getting an ear infection out here. Gotta keep you healthy.”

Hotch shyly grins, looking down at the ground, “I’ll be okay.” He still turns his cheek into Charlie’s palm, letting him wrap that hand around the back of his neck, turning his chin up to kiss him. His lips are cold and the tip of his nose feels frozen. “It’s not that cold.”

Charlie shrugs and Hotch doesn’t pull the hat off.

“You outta be disgusted by yourselves.”

Hotch flinches, recoiling from Charlie and bowing his head rather than to look up and see who it is shouting at them. But Charlie is not new to this little game and he straightens his back and raises a questioning brow. “Oh? Should we?” He glares down at the woman on the track, it’s clear she’d been running before she decided to come nosing her way into their business. “I’d appreciate it if you left us alone, ma’am. We aren’t hurting anyone.”

She scoffs.

Charlie stands still, unwavering. They’re big men. Hotch may be a force to be reckoned with but Charlie is not, by any means, small. They’re the same height and the woman in question is a petite blonde. They’re intimidating. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head disgusted but stalks off. Whispering under her breath about hell and how their time will come.

“What a hag,” Charlie grumbles, rolling his eyes and reaching down between them to take Hotch’s hand. He steps to move on but he feels the resistance in Aaron. His hand now loosely holding on to Charlie, fingers lightly hooked together. “Aaron--”

Hotch forces himself to take a steadying breath-- drop his shoulders, unclench his jaw, inhale slowly. His eyes peel up off of the ground and he knows he hasn’t moved fast enough. Creases of worry have broken up Charlie’s handsome face, tension that doesn’t belong there. “I--”

Charlie shakes his head, discouraging Hotch’s lame excuse. “What she said…” Charlie can’t tell Hotch that what she said shouldn’t affect him. That he should brush it off and not worry about what a small minded bitch has to say about them but that’s not fair. None of this ever really is. Not when it comes to Aaron. “She doesn’t matter, Aaron. You. You matter to me, okay?”

Hotch furrows his brows, letting out an aggravated puff of air as he fails to work through the shame burning his chest.

Charlie looks around them, tapping his fingers as he contemplates what he should do. “Do you--” How, in all of Virginia did he manage to get the one DILF, Unit Chief with the inability to make a decision or admit what he needs? He means it fondly, of course, but sometimes he’d like to lovingly shake some sense into this man.

Taking a calming moment, Charlie knows that his ability to play out this next scene is vital to his afternoon. If Aaron detects even a fraction of impatience, anger, or frustration he’ll shut down and then Charlie is going to have to spend days if not weeks working Aaron back to where he is now.

“It’s cold out here,” he states calmly. Aaron glances at him, sniffling and rubbing at his wind burned nose. “I’m hungry, I-- I forgot my lunch at home this morning.” Even though Aaron bought him a bright, hunter’s orange lunch box that sits painfully on his kitchen counter so that he has to see it. “What do you say we turn back for the car and surprise Jack with an early return? Order pizza? Watch some Scooby Doo?”

Aaron sniffles again, glancing at Charlie and then to the path they’re clearly meant to be headed on. “But…” he clears his throat. He can’t stand being like this. The anxious partner. The fucked up partner. He was with Haley. Now he is with Charlie. And, well, everyone knows how Haley played out. “You-- You wanted to walk.”

Charlie shakes his head, smiling and playfully poking Hotch’s chest. “No, I want to spend time with you.” Though he’s terrified Aaron will recoil from it, he makes the careful decision to touch him. Smiling when Aaron just looks back at him, searching for something but Charlie isn’t mad so Aaron won’t find what he’s looking for. He strokes Aaron cheek, “I’m cold. You’re cold. We can walk if you want but…”

Hotch looks back down the trail and shakes his head. No, he doesn’t want to walk.

Charlie feels pretty proud of himself. He’s pretty good at this.

And Jack is thrilled to have them back.

Hotch feigns hurt when Jack runs straight past him to Charlie. “Am I chopped liver?” But his light, fluttering chest betrays him and he can’t help a soft smirk as Jack holds Charlie’s hand. Charlie nodding, listening to Jack as he kicks his shoes off.

Emily appears at the mouth of the hall, frowning at the sight before her. She’s in different clothes from when they left. One of her dating apps having finally come through and delivered her plans for this lovely evening. She was just about to call Hotch to tell him she was going to have to call Jessica to watch Jack. “What are you doing back?”

Before Hotch can overthink the question Charlie smirks and motions over his shoulder, “it’s like ten degrees out there. Way too cold for a walk, don’t know what I was thinking.”

Good enough excuse for Emily, she doesn’t care. She has other things on her mind. “I have a date.” Both Aaron and Charlie look surprised. Which is annoying but she won’t engage them in conversation because she’s better than that. “So, I will be out of your hair this afternoon.”

Well, kind of. She steals some of their pizza before she leaves. Even sits down for an episode of Scooby Doo before her date texts and says she’s ready.

“Well, boys,” she leans down and kisses the top of Jack’s head. Wishing him a  good night and a whisper to make sure he’s extra good for his father when Hotch puts him down tonight. “I’m off. I will see you in the morning.” She offers Charlie a cordial head nod and Hotch gets his hair messed with as she passes.

“Be careful,” Hotch calls as she shuts the door.

It doesn’t take long for Jack to fall asleep and Hotch can feel himself slipping with Charlie leaning against him, his hand on the inside of Hotch’s thigh. Warm and comfortable, he doesn’t want to get up. But he manages to get Jack to bed with minimal fighting-- they agree to keep his nightlight, the hall light, and the bathroom light on. Emily even sends a text to confirm that she hasn’t been murdered by her date, he rolls his eyes but appreciates the sentiment.

It’s a good night, all things considered.

For a while, at least.

He’s in bed. Boxers shifted low on his hips as lays atop his beaten, threadbare comforter. The thick, heavy heat of an August night settling thickly over his bones. A blanket of sweat shining on his chest, just barely visible from the light of the hallway peaking into his cracked door. Downstairs, his parents roar on. He can make out every word spoken but if he hums just enough and presses his fingers into the thin mattress until it hurts he can numb out the world.

Nothing.

He thinks about Scott from his biology class. His booming laughter, already having hit his growth spurt and though only sixteen standing over them all in a man’s body. Thick with muscles that Aaron had felt when Scott had pulled him in for a tight, jovial bear hug. Perhaps he’d imagined it but for a split second Aaron had seen a flash of something-- warmth that he, himself, still can not name.

Closing his eyes, he brings back the heat of his stomach. A smile pulling at his lips as he thinks about how it felt pressed to Scott’s chest. Swallowed by the other’s boy’s body. The ache between his hips increases. It’s bad and it’s ugly but it’s Scott that he thinks about. It’s Scott that he wants.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Aaron scrambles upright, both hands planted on the bed as he scurries away from its edge and anywhere near where his father might be able to grab one of his frantically moving limbs. Still, a rough hand is thrown out and Aaron yelps in surprise as his body is yanked to the edge. He can’t hear the words being thrown at him, just looks at his drunken father screaming. Sees his mouth move but knows nothing of their meaning.

He’s wrenched up and out of bed, scrambling to keep up with the direction in which he’s pulled down the hall. To the large, cast iron clawfoot tub in the bathroom. He’s thrown chest first into it’s cold edge, his fingers wrapping tightly around the biting cold of the rim. He knows his fate long before his father’s broad hand grabs onto his hair and hauls him up just enough to push him down into the cold, soapy water.

His ringing ears hearing the slurs being thrown at him. Faggot. He screams as his father punches his exposed chest, causing him to gasp, the bubbles of air hitting his face. He’d used that word before. Thrown it at another boy the way rocks had been thrown at him for doing the same thing-- being too small, wearing weird clothes. He wonders exactly how it is that he can change because he tries. Good Lord, he tries so hard.

“Aaron.”

His vision blacks out for a moment and he’s lifted from the water. Everything feels strangely familiar. He can’t feel the cold water. Can’t feel the water dripping down his face.

“Aaron!”

He can’t expel the water in his throat. The hand on the back of his head tightens as water and his dinner come up, hot and wet against his chest as he’s moved mid-choke. His head goes under and he screams, grabbing frantically at his father’s hand on his head.

“Aaron--”

Screaming Aaron fights weakly against the hands touching him. It takes a moment for the uncoordinated sweeps of his arms to connect with nothing. For him to get a proper amount of space to breathe. The ringing numb of his ears slowly dies and he feels the world creeping back in around him. He blinks into the darkness, chest heaving  First, the dull clicking of fan in the corner of the room. It sweeps left to right, pauses, and comes back right to left. Then the hobbling, swinging of the fan above him. Cold air.

He’s not there in that tiny, suffocating town. In that too-big house with too many places to be seen and not nearly enough to hide.

“You fucking scared me,” pants someone behind him.

A large hand plants itself between his shoulder blades, the bed dipping as weight is moved across it’s top. His body flinches but he’s only minutely aware of the physical movement and, slowly, the rest of him leans into the warmth of the palm. Tears swell as he turns over his shoulder, eyes closed, and going blindly where he knows arms will enclose him. Protect him. “Charlie,” he finally recognizes. His face finds the other man’s shoulder and he feels, rather than hears, the sob that leaves his grimacing lips.

Charlie wraps his arms around Hotch’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

Hotch gives himself over, leaning completely into him. Gently, Hotch feels Charlie moving parts of him to adjust them back onto the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?” Charlie lays back, pulling Hotch’s knee so his hips cant against Charlie’s. The inner side of Hotch’s thighs lies laying across his. There’s no need to open his eyes, to fight. He knows he’s safe.

His tears have slowed but there’s no denying something big has happened. Lately, Hotch has noticed Charlie pushing for him to open up more but Charlie and Hotch’s childhoods are nothing alike. It’s hard to tell him about the dozen times his father put him in the hospital, each time with a better story than the last, and always Hotch’s fault. Had the whole town believing Hotch to be some miscreant kid.

And he was bad but not the sense that was ever true. He’d smoked and drank but that was small-town stuff. Everyone gets into that sort of thing one way or another. He’d had sex but no one he and his partners knew about that, his male partners, anyhow. The first time he’d slept with Haley he’d been proud to have fallen for a woman.

There was an old run-down barn that he’d take boys out to. There was one wall, facing the woods, that was strong enough to support weight and you could lean up against it. He’d been caught only once and the old farmer had beaten him with the wooden end of a rake. The other boy had managed to run off. Hotch’s pants had pooled against around his ankles and the other boy hadn’t taken his completely off his hips. That was a mistake Hotch only made that one time. Not that it would have mattered.

After that day, everyone knew what he was.

Which is what bred his nightmare. Though, that night had gone nothing like his dream. He’d come home with welts and broken ribs from the beating that old farmer gave him. As soon as he opened the door, he knew what was waiting for him. It was from the first floor that his father had dragged him, by his hair, to the second floor. Where Sean’s dirty bathwater sat cooling all afternoon.

But Hotch won’t tell Charlie about that day. It’s not worth it. So he changes the subject. “We need to clean the sheets,” Hotch finally sniffles. His voice is rough from the night’s activities and he remembers what they’d done before he’d fallen asleep and knows that surely did not help. Under his left hip, there is dampness to the old cotton sheet, like something wet has been drying. Sheets probably should be replaced but these are the back-up sheets and the goods ones are in the dryer.

Charlie hums, a vibration that Hotch can feel all the way down to his toes. “That would be your mess,” Charlie informs him matter-of-factly. Pressing his lips to Hotch’s forehead. “I did try to clean you up if you recall.” Charlie’s fingers have wrapped protectively around Hotch’s body, thumb lazily rubbing back and forth over his bare hip. “You told me to fuck off so…”

He remembers. He was still sensitive, shaking with exertion, and hadn’t taken kindly to Charlie dragging a slightly too cold wash rag over his ass. First of all, it was way too wet and secondly, it was cold. What was he to do other than protest?

Charlie’s chest shifts underneath his head as he bends to look at the clock. Yawning deeply Charlie pulls the blankets back over them both, rubbing at Hotch’s hip. “Let’s get some sleep,” he mumbles around another yawn that manages to overtake his breath. “Don’t be afraid to wake me up,” Charlie mumbles. “I want you to wake me up, capeesh?”

Hotch closes his eyes and turns a little more into the warmth of Charlie’s body. Trying to think of nothing. To slow the rapid progressions of his thoughts. There is no way that this was a good idea. A relationship. A life. He brought Haley into his world and looked at what happened. He’s a swirling storm of trouble, sucking in the best parts of the world and ruining them. He’s a liar.

“I love you, Aaron,” Charlie whispers, straining his neck to kiss the top of Hotch’s head. His hand holds Aaron still against him. “I don’t want you to be lying here suffering afraid to talk to me.”

I love you. I love you. I love you. That’s not good. It can’t be. He’s not worth that. Charlie is great. He’s gentle and he’s kind and he’s loving and Hotch can’t even decide when they should eat. If a walk in the park is better than a movie.

“You have not tricked me.” He wonders how Charlie sees so clearly into his mind. It’s not mind reading, Charlie can feel his pounding heart and tense muscles. He’s always so tense. “I love you completely, entirely, enchantingly by choice.” Charlie sighs softly. Content. He wishes desperately to bring Aaron the same peace that Aaron brings him. It's a content, pleased sigh that leaves his mouth and that confuses Aaron so much. No louder than a whisper, seemingly more to himself than to Aaron Charlie whispers. “There are worse life sentences than to be tricked into falling in love with you.”

[myhockeyworld87]

Bubble Wrapped - Part 7

Word Count: 4,131

POV: Reader

Warnings: Same as always, Language, Smut, NSFW, Please see the note in the Masterlist

Teams: Bruins, Caps, Flyers, Lightning and Pens (others)

Notes: So today was like crazy busy, but I was able to finish this tonight then do a quick edit. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but here it is anyhow...haha! Hope you guys have a great weekend! Happy Reading!

As you followed Logan to the lobby, you thought for sure this was going to be another false alarm, just as the rest had been. Why after all this time in the bubble had these men decided to fight, you had no idea? You knew tensions were high with games starting but they all had seemed fairly cordial with each other. There were about a dozen players gathered round when you saw the first fist fly and suddenly your heart rate sped up. You wormed your way to the front, to see who the hell was fighting. You weren't surprised to see Brad Marchand mixing it up with one of the Flyers but you couldn't quite tell who it was as their back was to you.

 The two teams had just come off a round-robin game, that you had no clue as to who won as you'd been busy working the entire time and not caught any of the game, but it obviously left a bad taste in their mouths. As Marchand swung with his right hand, the two twisted and it was then that you saw Travis Konecny was the one he was fighting with. While you knew that TK was a bit of a chirper, you'd seen a completely different side to him that first night in the bubble. You'd honestly thought he'd be the least of your worries here, other than maybe calling you up again to say his bed squeaked, yet here you were watching him take a jab at Marchand. Not that Marchand probably didn't deserve it, hell you wanted to take a swing at him the other day when he'd shoved you into the pool.

 You looked around at the other players that had gathered hoping one of them would put an end to this whole mess, but they seemed more entertained than anything. Part of you wondered if this went on would more of them end up fighting? TK had a nice right hook into Marchand's jaw and you saw them stumble back knocking a vase of flowers off the entry table and shattering it. That's when you knew you had to do something. "That's enough boys," you yelled trying to use your most authoritative voice, but it was ignored as Marchand threw a punch to Konecny's abdomen. At some point, you were sure this was going to turn into a wrestling match with the two of them lying on the ground amidst shards of glass. You gave a sharp whistle hoping that you sounded like one of the refs during play and that they would at least calm a bit, which they did. It was at that moment you chose to try and break the actual fight up, apparently feeling more like a referee now that you'd got them to just circle each other, neither one letting go just yet.  Taking your arms, you moved between the two hotheads saying, "I said stop fucking fighting in my…" You weren't exactly sure what happened next but you felt a partial fist fly to your jaw. It knocked you off your feet and sent you stumbling back hitting your head against the table the vase had been on moments ago.

 "Holy fuck!" Someone yelled. You closed your eyes to stave off the pain that was now not only in your jaw but also on the back of your head. "Jesus, are you ok?"

 "I don't think she is."

 "She's bleeding."

 You had no clue who was saying what but you could feel a million pairs of eyes on you. "Someone call one of the trainers."

 "I'm fine," you managed to mumble out while opening your eyes, only to have your vision blurred by blood trickling down. "Ok, maybe not." About five players were kneeling down around you, or maybe it was four, it was hard to tell as the blood obscured your view. Finally, someone gently pressed something against your forehead to stave off the flow.

 "Fuck (Y/N), I'm so sorry, you got messed up in this." It was Travis's voice you were sure of it and not because you knew Marchand would never apologize but because you recognized it from your night with him. Only he wasn't surrounding you at the moment.

 "Next time keep it on the ice and not in my hotel." You went to sit up but felt a little woozy. A strong arm clamped around your waist. It was the same person who was holding, what you now believed to be said person's shirt, against your head.

 "I think we need to get you somewhere else then this lobby." The voice was smooth and rich, and pleasing to listen to, yet every time you tried to see who it belonged the damn t-shirt was in your way.

 "You can take her to her suite." This voice you knew, for you'd been plotting to strangle him so many times over the last several days, it was hard to forget.

 "Thanks, Logan, I was just going to say that."

 "Here hold this and I'll carry you." In one easy swoop, strong arms scooped you up, and then he was standing with you in his arms. He was shirtless and you could feel his muscles bunch as he held you. Vaguely you realized where his shirt was at, as you held it to your head.

 "Logan, can you clean this up, please? And have Carly get new flowers in here." You saw him scurry away out of the corner of your left eye.

 "I'm sure there's someone in charge here that can take care of that." The man who was now carrying you off to the elevator said.

 "Yeah, that's me," you told him catching a glimpse of soft brown curls as you again tried to get a good look at his face.

 "Oh, I didn't realize." Which seemed funny considering how everyone at the hotel seemed to know who you were.  "What floor?"

 "Penthouse."

 "Well, I guess you are in charge then." He laughed and you found yourself joining in, even though your head hurt a bit. The ride on the elevator was short and soon you were in your room and he was setting you down on the sofa. "I'll grab you some ice if you steer me in the right direction."

 "Kitchen is down the hall on the left." He turned and you got a view of his well-defined ass as he walked away. God, even the muscles on his back were sexy. You heard him rummage around a bit and you wondered how bad you actually looked. You were too far away from the hallway mirror to find out, but you imagined you had blood in your hair from the cut; you just hoped your jaw wasn't sporting a nice bruise. It was then, that he walked out of the kitchen and you were finally face to...well somewhat face to face, with your rescuer, Josh Anderson. It was no wonder that he didn't know you, as he wasn't currently staying at your hotel. "Now, let's see that pretty face of yours," he said while cupping the good side of your jaw. "I don't think it'll bruise too bad. Didn't look like Marchy got you full force with that hit." Josh gingerly put the ice to the spot that had been hit.

 "I should've figured it was Marchand that hit me. He's had it out for me since he got here."

 "Marchy has it out for everyone, but I can't see why he would pick on someone as beautiful as you." The compliment caused you to blush, but thankfully between Josh's shirt and the ice, you didn't think he'd notice.

 "Not sure what I ever did to him, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me."

 "Well, his loss is my gain." It was Josh who was blushing a bit at his own words this time and you found it very attractive. "Now, let's have a look at that cut and see if it needs stitches." He brought his shirt down and examined your head. His lips just a hair's breadth away from yours making you ache to kiss him. "I think you'll be good with just some butterfly ones. It doesn't look that deep, though I can call our trainer and have him come over and double-check."

 "No that's ok. I'm sure your right. I have some upstairs." You went to get up and he placed a supporting arm around your waist.

 "Here why don't you just let me…" Before you could even take a step, he scooped you back up into his arms and started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He made it seem like carrying you around was nothing, and honestly, it was sexy as hell. He set you down at the vanity stool in the bathroom. "Ok, so where are bandages?"

 "Top shelf there is a medical kit with some in." He grabbed it, shuffling through it to find what he needed. "This might sting a bit," he told you as he opened up an alcohol swab to clean the cut first. You winced as he gently stroked it over the wound. When he stepped back, you finally looked in the mirror at yourself.

 "Oh my god," the words were out of your mouth before you realized how they startled Josh.

 "Are you ok? Did I hurt you more?"

 "No, it's not that. I was just looking at my face…or maybe my hair." Dried blood covered half of your face and your hair was matted and tangled like a stray dog's. "I look like I walked out of the set of a horror movie."

 He laughed, brushing your hair back before placing the steri strip on your forehead. "It's not that bad."

 "I seriously need a shower."

 "Oh…uh…" Josh fumbled around with his words, looking very uncomfortable and you sort of chuckled to yourself. "I can leave you alone then…probably should be going anyway."

 "You don't have to," you mentioned casually, though you weren't sure that he would take you up on your silent offer with the way you looked at the moment. "I mean, I'm still a little unsteady on my feet." There wasn't a whole lot you knew about Josh Anderson but what you did know of him, was that he was the protector type; so you tried to play to that sensibility of his.

 "Well, I wouldn't want you to fall in the shower and get hurt worse." There was a cute little smirk on his face and if you weren't doused in blood you would've kissed him. Instead, you stripped off your top, yet another piece of clothing ruined, you thought vaguely. Your skirt and shoes followed till you were left in nothing but your bra and panties. Josh made quick work of getting rid of his shorts and stood there in front of you in his boxer briefs. Reaching around you unclasp your bra, letting it fall off your shoulders and to the ground, before gliding your panties down your legs. Josh bit his lip as he drank in the sight of your body; his eyes lingered a bit long at your breasts before moving down to look at your pussy. Even though he still had his boxers on, you saw his cock twitch as he took you in. You let him drink his fill and when he didn't make a move, you stepped into the shower hoping that he would follow. He did within seconds.

 The water sprayed over your head diluting the blood that had been matted to your hair and skin. When you went to grab the shampoo, Josh's hand stopped you. "Let me." He put some in his hands, then started to massage it into your scalp. His fingers were gentle and he avoided your cut as best he could, sliding through your hair all the way down to the ends. When he was done, he had you rinse then followed up with conditioner. It was only as that rinsed out of your long strands that you finally turned to face him. Droplets of water coated his body, and there was a heated stare in his gaze. Josh was tall, so you went up on your toes so that you could kiss him. His arms immediately went to your waist to press you to him. Maybe it was his caring nature or the way that he'd just simply swooped in to take care of you, but your body just completely melted into him and you moaned into him as his tongue caressed yours. Josh was a sensual kisser; his mouth and tongue just working its magic on you as he ignited a flame deep within.

 His hands roamed around your back only to slide up your sides and move to your breast. Breaking the kiss, his lips traveled southward along your neck and collarbone until he was cupping a breast and bringing it to his lips. His tongue swirled around your nipple before he took it in his mouth and sucked on it. You felt yourself grow damp though it wasn't from the water cascading down on the two of you. Josh lavished each of your breasts, and with every tweak and caress you moaned out his name. When his fingers skated down past your stomach to slip between your folds, you thought you would die from the pleasure he was giving you. It was nothing like the other night with Tom. Josh knew exactly what he was doing. Listening as you moaned out what you liked, so he could repeat the action again. "I want to taste you so bad," he whispered, before dropping to his knees. You backed up against the shower wall, and he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. His tongue slipped out to lick a strip between your folds, and you found your hands threading into his hair to urge him on. They were small little licks at first before he actually sunk his tongue deep in your pussy. You tossed your head back forgetting about your injury, but not caring when he repeated the action. His nose nudged your clit as he licked at you furiously. Your hips started to buck and one strong arm, held you upright and secure against the wall, as his mouth suctioned on to your clit.

 "Yes Josh, fuck that feels so good." You panted out, as your hand locked around the back of his head. He slid two fingers into your pussy easily, pumping them in and out, while he continued his torturous treatment on your clit. Your orgasm hit as he made that simple come-hither movement with his fingers. Your legs shaking, body writhing as the pleasure overtook you. He dropped your leg back down when you finally came down from your high. Moving gracefully off the bathroom tile, Josh stood up and kissed you. Your essence still lingering there on his lips, as his cock pressed hard against your stomach.

 Reaching down you clasp your hand around the length of him; twisting your hand as you stroked him, in a way that had him hissing out his pleasure. "Fuck (Y/N), I just need to be in you." He moaned out. "It's been way too long." He drew your leg up again to wrap around his waist this time, allowing him easier access to the place he longed to be. His cock nudged between your folds, the head just inside you. Josh was thick and as he slowly slipped inside you; you could feel your pussy stretch to accommodate him. "Damn you're tight." You weren't sure if that was the case or if he was just so big, but you knew he felt delicious as he bottomed out. He took a minute, just looking you in the eyes as he stayed buried deep inside you.

 In the next second, his lips were on yours and he started to move. His tongue mimicking what his cock was doing, as he thrust in and out of you. You were simply two bodies sliding together as the water pelted down on you. Josh pinned you to the shower wall again, his strong arms biting into your waist and you thought you'd have bruises there but you knew he was also keeping you from falling down to the tiles. You looped your arms around his shoulders, so your hips could meet each of his thrusts. The water caused your leg to slip off his hip. "Josh…" you panted out.

 "I know," he hissed and he was pulling out of you so that you both could be more comfortable. He twisted your body so that your back rested against his chest for a moment before, bending you down. You spread your legs wide giving him greater access to your cunt so he could glide back in. Using the bench seat, you placed your hands there to hold on as Josh grabbed ahold of your hips before thrusting back in. Moans echoed off the bathroom walls as your bodies slammed together. "Fuck, yeah baby," Josh groaned as you pushed your ass back against him.

 His hand on your hip, snaked down so his finger could rub circles around your clit. "Yes…Josh…yes." He had you teetering on the edge in no time. It was when his other hand drew you halfway up and his lips bit down on your neck that you completely lost it, cuming with a loud moan. Your legs shook and felt like they would give out but Josh held you close still pumping in and out of you as you came down from your high. He pounded in and out of you a few more times, before thrusting even deeper into you and spilling himself inside your pussy. A guttural moan left his mouth and his fingers dug deep into your hips holding you still as he came.

 He stayed inside you for a minute as he said, "Damn, I needed that." Dropping kisses on your shoulder, he slowly pulled out. "Thank you," he said softly, turning you around so he could once again capture your lips in a sweet kiss. "We should probably finish up." You knew he was right, though you were out of energy after two orgasms. Josh must have sensed this for he grabbed your loofah and the shower gel, and started to wash your body. His touch was gentle and he added more soap to his hands, abandoning the sponge as he washed your breasts and pussy. You couldn't help the moan that left your mouth as he touched you; your body still sensitive. "God, you are so sexy. I could…" He didn't finish the sentence.

 "You could what?"

 "You've already given me enough. Especially with this," his hand brushed the water off your forehead where your cut was. You'd completely forgotten about it. Your eyes dropped down to his cock, where you could see it coming back to life.

 "I'm fine Josh," you told him, looking him in the eye. "Though maybe we should get out of this shower."

 He chuckled lightly. "Agreed."

 He went to turn off the water and you stopped him. "Let me at least wash you a bit first." Josh eyed you funny considering he really wasn't the one that needed to shower. "Humor me." He shrugged and you grabbed the soap. The feel of his hard muscles under your soapy hands, made you tingle all over again. By the time you reached his cock, it was back to being erect. The suds made it easy to work your hand up and down the length. This time it was Josh that was moaning as you pumped him up and down.

 "Babe," his voice warned, as he gripped your wrist and you knew it was time to rinse off and continue this out from under the water. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist before taking another so that he could dry you off. His fingers were swift yet gentle as he made quick work of drying you, then did the same for himself. The two of you shared more soft kisses as you headed to the bedroom for round two, which was just as magical as it was in the shower. "I should probably head back to my hotel before I'm missed," Josh finally said as the two of you laid in bed.

 You hummed your agreement. "I forgot for a little bit that you're not staying here."

 "Well hopefully we'll get to move over here soon and maybe we could continue this." The idea of spending more time with Josh was definitely appealing and something that could be happening soon.

 "I'd like that," you told him as he kissed your lips one more time before crawling out of bed. "I'll walk you down."

 "You don't have to, but you should get some ice on that jaw." He tipped your head to the side and winced. "It's starting to bruise a bit."

 "Ugh, at least it doesn't hurt."

 "You're one tough cookie." He pulled on his boxers and shorts, while you grabbed a robe. "You know I'm not opposed to beating the shit out of Marchand for you."

 "Don't bother, he's not worth you getting into trouble."

 "Well, I'm sure he'll get his somehow," he gave you a little wink and you wondered what he was planning with that statement. "So this was fun…well except that part." He gently touched your bandaged head before kissing you. "See you soon?"

 "I sure hope so." With one last kiss, he left you alone, and you went to grab the ice he talked about earlier. Now that you were done having your fun with Josh, you realized your jaw did hurt a bit, but a couple of aspirin would help. You headed back upstairs to grab the meds, then laid back down on the bed, texting Carly to make sure everything was fine, which it was and she told you to take it easy.

 You were half asleep when your phone rang; a FaceTime call from Tyler popping up on the screen. "Hey Ty," you answered sleepily.

 "Hey…omg what happened to you?"

 In your half-asleep state, you'd forgotten about the bruise and cut on your face. "I stupidly tried to break up a fight. It didn't go well."

 "Jesus babe, are those stitches?" There was concerned laced in Tyler's voice, as well as a worried look on his face.

 "No just butterflies. I'm fine." The look he gave you said he thought you were lying. "I swear it's not that bad."

 "Who the hell was fighting? Better yet, who do I have to kill?" You winced, not really wanting to tell him. "(Y/N), I swear to god if you don't tell me…"

 You weren't sure what he was going to do if you didn't tell him, but there was also no point in hiding the truth. "It was TK and Marchand, though apparently, it was Marchy's fist that caught me."

 "That fucking son of bitch." His face was getting red with anger. "I'm gonna kill him."

 "Easy tiger," you tried to tease but you could tell he wasn't having any of it. He started to pace around the room. "What are you doing?"

 "Packing. I told you I'm going to beat the shit out of him."

 "Tyler, you're not a fighter." He finally stopped at your words.

 "I'll still beat him to within an inch of his life."

 "Oh, stop. I'm fine. And you're not coming here. You're in the damn bubble and not going anywhere on my behalf." Tyler had a tendency to overreact at times and this was one of them, though you'd never seen him this angry before. "With a little makeup, you won't even see it."

 "You can't stop me from calling him and bitching him out."

 "Well, if it gets him to settle down in my hotel, I'll gladly take the help." It would be nice not having to worry about being thrown in the pool again or him starting up fights with another player. "But enough about that, tell me about your day?" The two of you chatted for over an hour, Tyler never once hinting about anything sexual happening, which surprised you a bit. It was nice though just talking about everything and anything with him. You always had this easy banter with him, but this just felt different. "Hey, I have another call coming in. Can I call you later?"

 "You can call me anytime babe. Feel better." He kissed you over the phone and you did the same for him before hanging up.

 You didn't recognize the number, but said hello anyhow only to be met with, "Hey (Y/N), I need your help?"

[nightowlfandom]

I’m a Bad, Bad, Man- AU! Criminal! Levi Ackerman X Detective! Reader. (Part 2)

 So this mini series will have mentions of death, blood, murder, smut, smut with a criminal, mentions of gangs. A. LOT. OF. VIOLENCE. This isn't for the faint of heart...so with all that said, please proceed with caution. I will even include a read more break just incase you don't want to read it all.

READ PART 1 HERE

Leggo

...

You sat across from Levi, arms crossed as you waited for him to speak. You wound up following him to what you assumed was his VIP section. You straightened out your back, refusing to break eye contact as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. The first sign of a lie, you were gonna shoot him right there. 

“You sure are dedicated aren’t you.” he huffed. 

“Only when I’m on a mission.” you replied flatly. 

“Tch! Of course. As annoying as you cops are, I respect your diligence.”

“I’m not a cop! I wouldn’t be caught dead working with one of those useless toads in uniform.” you instantly corrected. “I’m here for answers, not to have my time wasted.”

“Feisty. I like a feisty cadet.” he leaned back, a sadistic smile gracing his lips. “One of mine got hit last night.” he cut right to the chase. 

“That’s your excuse? Really?” you raised an eyebrow. 

“That’s not all. I wasn’t even here last night, I was taking care of business. Got into a pretty bad fight and managed to rip this off the asshole.” he dug into his pocket and pulled out a cloth patch. On it was a red snake with white eyes.

“That’s the symbol that was found on the body last night!” you realized. “You said you were fighting somebody?”

“Yep, and this isn’t my symbol. I don’t do snakes.” he threw the patch on the table. “All I know is that I wanna find the asshole who did this to one of mine so I can put a blade through his head.”

“Well I wanna bring justice to a woman who lost her husband behind petty violence.” you uncrossed your arms. “People like you piss me off you know.”

“People like me make the world go round, cadet. I say the only way for you to get your guy is for us to work together.”

“Me...work with you.” you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, that’ll happen.”

“Think about it. With me, no one will even think of messing with you, Detective.” he leaned forward, a smirk painted on his lips. “Plus, you could help me get rid of a few headaches of my own.”

“So you want me, a detective that makes a living of bringing assholes like you in to help you?”

“I’m the best lead you have so far and probably only source of evidence you have so far, cadet.” he winked. You despised that stupid pet-name he for some reason coined for you. “Your choice.”

You’d rather die than get help from a criminal like Ackerman...but he was right. He was the most helpful source you had right. “Fine.”

“Eh?”

“You help me...I take down my guy and help you catch yours. Deal?”

“I had no idea your were a dirty cop, cadet.”

“Only when I want something.” you replied. “Like I said, I’m not a cop. What do you say, Ackerman?”

“Hm, I like you Detective...when do we begin?”

...

“You’re working with a criminal!”

“Ryan, do not start with me.” you groaned. “I’m doing this for Mrs. Johnson.” You stood outside a hotel, shifting on your toes as people dressed like you walked up the grand steps. Ryan was basically yelling at you on the phone.

“Joining forces with that guy?! Have you lost your mind?!” you could just hear him exploding on the other end of the line.

“I said don’t start!” you glared down at your phone screen. “He has information, he has ties, I need both.” you adjusted your dress.

“I get that, but being his plus one to a gala full of criminals? Black market much!? He could be tricking you!”

“Probably.” you replied, shrugging. Even thought he couldn’t see,  “But there’s no reason I can’t check it out.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed. This guy could be tricking you.”

“Maybe.” you stood up. “I’ll be ready for him though.” you straightened yourself up.

Levi was invited to what he called a ‘black tie affair’. He told you that you were going to be his plus one. Every bigshot would be there, rich men and women, CEOs, Businessmen and most of all...the worlds richest lawbreakers.

You hung up your phone without saying anything, shoving the device back into your clutch. It’s now or never.

“I didn’t think you’d show up.”

You turned your head to see Levi walking up. “I was beginning to think you had rethought out deal.”

“Please.” you scoffed. “Let’s just get this over with.” you dug your nails into your clutch, stopping yourself from insulting him.

“Shall we, cadet?”

Instead of snapping at him to stop calling you that god-awful petname, you linked arms with him and allowed him to lead you up the stairs.

You were soon in a huge room with blaring orchestral music. As you suspected, rich bastards and bitches from all walks of life were there, talking as if they were friends. You knew the police force was corrupt but to see just how many, it put you off.

“Everyone’s staring at you.” Levi leaned over and whispered into your ear. “Do you know how many woman would kill to be near me right now?”

“The same amount of fucks I give about how many women would kill to be near you right now.” you answered, clearly uninterested in the amount of people who wanted to fuck this guy.

“Just stay close, princess. The minute you’re left alone, they’ll be waiting to dig their claws into you.”

“How reassuring.” you rolled your eyes. 

... (One hour later)

“Shit, where are we?” you asked as Levi led you down a brightly lit hallway.

“Technically under the hotel.” he answered. “He went this way.” he had a firm grip on your wrist. “Stay close.”

“The world is getting more and more corrupt. Illegal auctions at hotels?” you shivered in disgust. “Whatever, let’s find him and demand answers so I can leave.”

“As you wish, princess.” he laughed. “He should be heading this way. We just have to watch out.” 

“Let me guess, we aren’t supposed to be here.” you scoffed. 

“No, not that. It’s just I don’t want anyone thinking you’re part of the auction.” he winked. 

“Okay EW!” You felt your stomach turn. “Please never say that again.”

Just as you were about say something else, someone came around the corner. You didn’t have time to register panic because Levi suddenly pinned you against the nearest wall with a thud. 

“What are you-” you were cut off by Levi holding onto the back of your neck and pulling you into a feverish kiss. He balled up your dress in his fist and he held you up against the wall. You could tell whoever turned the corner was surprised to see you in such a compromising position. 

You instantly caught on and kissed Levi back, wrapping your arms around his neck. His fingers ghosted over your exposed thigh from the slit in the dress. His free hand rested on your cheek as he slid his tongue into your mouth, really selling it.

To make it look even more compromising, you held onto his blazer pulling him against you.

You weren’t sure what it was, but Levi released a low groan against your lips. You weren’t sure if he was acting anymore. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize-” a scared voice caused you both to glare in the direction of whoever was talking. You instantly took note of the red snake tattoo on his forearm. One quick gaze at Levi and he instantly understood.

Levi instantly zipped over and grabbed the guy by the throat, holding him up against the wall. 

“Listen here you worthless worm, you’re gonna tell me everything I wanna know.” he snarled. You stood behind Levi, digging the patch out of your clutch.

“Who does this belong to?” you asked, holding it up to his face.

“I don’t know, I swear!”

“Wrong answer.” Levi tightened his grasp. “Every time you bullshit me, I get closer to suffocating you.”

“Okay okay!” the guy cried. “Please don’t kill me!” 

“Tick tock, buddy.” you impatiently crossed your arms. “We don’t have all day.” 

“My boss is gonna kill me.” the scared man shook in his shoes. His feet were barely touching the ground at this point. “It’s a patch off of a jacket belonging to the White Snakes.”

“Were they at a nightclub two nights ago?” you asked. 

“Yes.” he nodded frantically. “Please...don’t kill me.”

Levi dropped the young man, who fell to his knees. “You’re gonna tell us everything we want to know...starting with this little boss of yours.”

... (Another hour later)

You were back in your apartment, looking through the results Ryan had come back with. Levi had insisted on following you incase anyone was dumb enough to follow you home.

“So what’s the verdict, cadet?”

“If Ryan’s conclusions are right, and they usually always are. Then that guy was right.” you sighed. “I’m gonna be on a man hunt.”

“You mean we.” he corrected. “I have someone to catch too.” 

You took a good look at Levi. You knew he used to be a former captain or something. It probably came in handy when it came to talking to his gang. Your mind instantly wandered back to that kiss. You could still feel his fingertips against you. Part of you wanted him to do it again. 

“Alright.” you knocked yourself out of it. “I have a meeting in the morning so-” you took one step and nearly tripped over your own two feet. Stupid dress! 

“Woah!” Levi caught you, holding you in his arms. “Be careful.”

“Sorry! It’s this-” you gazed up at his face. “Dress.” you realized how close he was. 

Damnit! You were a P.I! This was a criminal! Why were you feeling this way.

“Um...w-we’ll meet up tomorrow.” Levi helped you stand up straight. “Be prepared.”

He left without another word, his face bright red.