#I twinged my back just sitting on the couch last week

[timptoe]

Same, man. Same.

[magpiepills]

Promises Broken

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Javier Pena x f! Reader, Javier pena x unnamed OC

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: what happens after you knock Javi up?

Warnings: SMUT, SENSITIVE TOPICS, DO NOT READ THIS IF IT MIGHT UPSET YOU. Abortion, drinking, smoking, PIV, oral- f receiving, fingering, mpreg, sad Javi, absolute nonsense. No editing no beta, nothing like that.

A word from the author: there’s no reason for this other than @schnarfer and I thinking it’s kinda funny. Thank you to the folks who read the original, Promises, Promises

Javier shifts uncomfortably in the metal folding chair. The tv plays quietly in the corner, some tv judge bangs a gavel, someone coughs, a telephone rings, a chair scrapes against the worn linoleum floor. These things irritate him. Everything irritates him. His back has a twinge and his tits are sore. You still don’t answer the phone and he wishes he hadn’t memorized your number.

He’s assigned a number at the front desk and when it is called he is handed a clipboard full of forms to fill out. He balances it on his knee and scowls, unable to let go of his irritation. He didn’t even want you anymore. He only kept calling because he hoped you might chip in on the abortion. He certainly wasn’t keeping it. Sure, for a moment he thought maybe he should. He thought of his parents, he thought of the future. But he was here, alone, and living in the present, so he had to do what he had to do.

He filled out the form, writing as neatly as he could. After a long wait in that damned chair he finally got called back. An exam, a litany of questions, a knowing look, and a package of pills that he tucked into his leather jacket along with a list of instructions.

Steve was waiting in the car across the street. The men didn’t speak until they were back on the other side of town.

“You want to get some lunch?”

Food was the last thing Javi wanted.

“Just drop me off, Steve. And let’s just keep this between us, alright?”

“Sure. Sure. I don’t know anything. Didn’t see you today.”

Javi softened, nodding as he got out of the car. “Thanks.”

Inside his apartment, he turned on the tv, switching channels until he found a channel playing reruns of Gunsmoke. It reminded him of home. He took his pill and settled back on the couch, afghan draped around his shoulders. same couch you’d fucked him on with a weary sigh, and tried to sleep. Matt Dillon never had these problems. He pitied himself, he slept fitfully, he took the next day off work, blaming a migraine.

The rest of the week passed, and Javi’s mood didn’t lift. He worked as long as he could, spending as much time away from the office as possible. Even if it wasn’t strictly necessary, he would sit in his Jeep with the window cracked, chain smoking and stewing, logging his time in thought as “surveillance.”

You’d used him. Almost made a mother of him, and you couldn’t even say goodbye. The hot tears that burnt his cheeks only pissed him off.

Javi needed a drink by the time he made it back to his apartment. He ate leftover take out, and added to the mountain on unwashed laundry beside the bed.

On Friday, Steve cornered him at his desk. “Connie wants to go out tonight,” he said, with a resignation that suggested the matter was settled.

“So take her out, you don’t need my permission,” Javi grumbled, annoyed at the invitation made out of what he assumed was pity. He didn’t want to be cheered up. He didn’t want to talk.

He thought he’d gotten his point across until a small and determined fist rapped on his door at 6:45.

Connie stood expectantly, purse on her shoulder, husband cowed just down the corridor.

“Come on. Zip up your pants. We’re going.”

Javi opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again and took his wallet from its spot on the counter and pocketed his keys, following behind his friend’s wife just as she knew he would.

The bar was smoky. Popular with locals and foreigners alike, the drinks were strong and the lights were dim and the music was loud enough that Javi found himself unable to think. He was happy for the break from his thoughts.

Steve and Connie tried to talk over the noise but little of what they said made it to his ears. Javi surveyed the crowd, recognizing a fair number of people, clocking a few of the prostitutes he knew, a few of his CIs, and among them, one pretty woman he’d never seen before. Pretty, short, brunette, smiling and dancing, and looking directly at him.

Javi ashed his cigarette and made a beeline toward her. It was an easy sell. He leaned close so she could hear him offer to buy her a drink from the bar or to make one much better back at his. He flashed his badge, and she took his hand, following him out into the night. In the cab on the way home, he kissed her, asked her if she wanted to come on his fingers or on his face first. She didn’t smell like you, though, didn’t kiss him like you did. She was great, but she wasn’t you. He tried to put you out of his mind.

He tried not to think about you when he sucked her clit hard, when he opened her with two thick fingers and when he guided her onto her knees and gripped the plush, tan flesh of her hips, burying his condom-wrapped cock deep in her pussy that didn’t quite fit him like yours did. He held back, not pounding her as hard or as fast as he would with you. He held her after she came on him with a pretty cry of his name, but the fun was over.

“I’ll call you,” Javi promised at the doorway as you gathered your purse and coat, leaving soon in the cab he called for you.

“No you won’t,” she laughed and kissed him goodbye.

Even if he knew she was right, the rejection stung a little, it hung in the air as he watched her climb into the yellow car. Regret crept up his neck.

Javi showered, body loose and tired under the hot water, he soaped himself, rinsed, and brushed his teeth. He put on the cleanest boxers he had left and turned out the lights.

Before he could get into his bed, before he could throw an old tshirt over the damp spot on his sheets, he heard another knock on his door.

“Fuck me.”

It was well after one in the morning, and if Steve was here to bust his balls over leaving early to get laid, he might deck him. His right hand was curled preemptively into a fist when he opened the door, but he quickly dropped it when he saw you, standing there, smiling, bottle of whiskey in your hand.

[kybercrystals94]

Anything

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch | Week 3 | Prompt: "Forget I asked." | Bonus Prompt: "Can you braid my hair?"

Rated: G | Words: 1190

Crosshair wakes to a snuffling sound, and turns over to find his sister standing next to his bed. “Omega? What’s wrong?” 

“I got sick,” Omega mutters, and her breath trembles. She’s crying, softly, quietly. 

Crosshair reaches over and clicks on the lamp, bathing the room in a warm glow of light. But the warmth does not extend to Omega’s face, her skin pale and eyes red rimmed. She blinks rapidly, and a tear escapes, creating another shiny track down her ashen cheek. She does not look well at all. 

Of all the times for Hunter and Wrecker to be gone on a supply trip for the island. 

Sitting up, Crosshair asks, “Got sick where?” He really hopes he doesn’t have to clean anything up. 

“I made it to the fresher,” Omega tells him, “but I still feel awful.” 

“Alright,” Crosshair says, nodding. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” 

He guides Omega out of his room, a hand on her shoulder. Even through her nightshirt, he can feel that she’s unusually warm. Not a dangerously high fever, he decides, but enough to make her feel miserable. The common room has a couch and a chair, and he gives her a gentle nudge towards the couch. “Lay down. I’ll be back.” 

Crosshair goes to Omega’s room and finds her blankets in a pile on the floor, hastily discarded in her flight to the fresher to throw up, he imagines. He picks up the thickest of the blankets and drapes it over his right arm and then grabs her pillow. He notices the red tip of Lula’s ear peeking out from under the bed, and after a second thought, snatches the tooka stuffy up too. 

When he returns to the common room, Omega is laying on her side on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest and shivering. She looks pitiful, and the twinge of sympathy Crosshair feels reverberates deeply in his chest cavity. “Here, I brought your pillow and blanket.” 

Omega lifts her head and lets Crosshair shove the pillow under her. He then drapes the blanket over her, and props Lula beside her. Omega watches him dully. “Thanks,” she whispers. 

“We have tea. It might help with the nausea,” Crosshair says. “Do you think you could take medicine?”

Omega nods. 

Crosshair retreats to the kitchen to try and find where Hunter keeps the tea. He and his brothers are typically caf drinkers; however, housewarming gifts from the islanders had supplied them with enough tea to last several clone lifetimes. He puts some water in a kettle to boil and then spends the next five minutes digging through every cupboard before he finds where Hunter stashed the stuff. Crosshair isn’t really sure what kind of tea helps nausea, so he just chooses the one that smells the best, dropping the teabag in Omega’s favorite mug. 

After letting the brew steep for several minutes, he takes the steaming beverage back to the common room. Omega smiles wanly and pushes herself up to sit cross legged, arranging the blanket over her lap before taking the mug of tea from Crosshair. “You’re pretty good at this taking care of sick people stuff,” she says, putting her nose to the brim of the mug to inhale the steam with a sigh. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Surprised?” 

“A little,” Omega admits with a grin.

Crosshair huffs and leaves to search for medicine. When he returns, Omega looks like she’s going to be sick again. Quickly, he takes her mug and she stumbles to her feet, briefly getting tangled in the blanket, before stumbling back to the fresher. 

Crosshair follows and arrives in time to find her kneeling over the toilet and emptying whatever is left in her stomach. He hesitates a moment before stepping inside and awkwardly gathering up her hair with his left hand, holding it at the nape of her neck. The long seconds drag into several minutes before Omega finally leans back. Crosshair releases his hold on her hair and hands her a towel to wipe her mouth. 

“Ugh,” Omega growls. “I hate being sick.” 

Crosshair agrees with a hum and helps Omega to her feet. She rinses her mouth out in the sink before shuffling back into the living room and collapsing on the couch. 

“Do you want to try your tea again?” Crosshair asks. 

Omega shakes her head. “Not yet.” 

Crosshair nods and sits down next to her, picking up the puddle of blanket from the floor and tossing it over her lap. Omega reaches up and brushes back her hair. “Could you…” she starts, but cuts herself off, frowning and dropping her hands. 

“What?” Crosshair asks. 

“Nothing,” Omega mumbles, “Forget I asked.”

“No, tell me. What do you need?” Crosshair insists. 

Omega sighs. “I was just gonna ask if you could braid my hair, but…” 

Oh. Crosshair had braided Omega’s hair before, back when he first came to Pabu after their escape from Tantiss. Hunter and Wrecker had gone to find Fennec Shand, and Omega had asked if he knew how. With the tremble in his right hand, the braids had been loose and messy; however, Omega had proudly worn them all day.

He stares down at his singular hand, nondominant and clumsy when it comes to more intricate efforts. Besides, braiding hair took two hands, not one and a stump. And while it isn’t his fault the simple request can’t be fulfilled, Crosshair feels like he’s failed. 

“I’m sorry,” Omega says, “I forget sometimes.” 

Crosshair doesn’t like the guilt in his sister’s voice. “Welcome to the club,” he says, hoping to ease the tension. 

It doesn’t. 

Crosshair stands up. “I’ve got an idea…but I’ll need to borrow something.” 

Omega looks at him quizzically. “What?” 

“I might only have one hand, but between the two of us, we have three. I think I can make due.” 

The girl immediately brightens. She tells Crosshair where to find her hair ties and brush in her room, and soon Crosshair is brushing through a tangle of blond locks and creating a careful part down the middle. Under his direction, Omega offers up her right hand to hold whatever strands of hair Crosshair puts in her fingers, as he sloppily weaves a braid down from her hairline. Crosshair’s snippy instructions are taken in the spirit they are delivered, Omega giggling and outright laughing as she tries to follow blindly along, acting as Crosshair’s literal right hand. Crosshair smiles at the sound. 

After nearly an hour of effort, Omega has two lopsided braids, bumps of unruly hair poking out where the coordination effort fell short. 

“Do they look nice?” Omega asks sweetly. 

Crosshair snorts. “They look like kark, but they'll do the job.” 

Omega laughs. “Thanks, Crosshair.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Crosshair says. 

“I think I’m ready for my tea now,” Omega says, “but it’s probably cold.” 

Crosshair heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I’ll make you a fresh cup. Anything else, m’lady?” 

Omega considers. “Maybe some crackers?” 

“Of course, anything for you,” Crosshair retorts, but the sarcasm is muted by a soft smile, and the reality that he really would do anything. 

END

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[earthtoharlow]

Teach Me: Fashion Baby!

Requested by the lovely @heavyhitterheaux

Series Masterlist

“Alright, lights out babygirl.” Ariel said as she walked into Jayla’s room. Jayla stood in front of her full length mirror, a pile of clothes scattered around her feet as she tried out different outfits. Recently Jayla had become mesmerized by her Uncle Urban’s stylish outfits that her interest in fashion seemed to have taken on a whole new level.

“What’s going on here?” Ariel asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Jayla looked up from her task, smiling wide at her mom through the mirror. “Hi mom! I’m just trying to plan an outfit for tomorrow. What do you think of this one?” She twirled around showing off her outfit. 

Ariel couldn’t help but smile as she watched her. “You look fantastic! I would pair that with a cool statement necklace!” Jayla's smile grew wider and nodded in agreement. 

“Mom, did you know that New York Fashion Week is coming up in a few weeks?” Jayla asked as she dug through her jewelry box.

Ariel nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Yes, I did. It’s such an exciting event, isn’t it?”

Jayla's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she nodded eagerly. “I’ve been reading about it and looking at pictures online, and it looks amazing! I wish I could go there one day.”

Ariel's heart swelled listening to Jayla talk about fashion.”That would be so cool, but who knows? Maybe one day you’ll have the opportunity to go and experience it for yourself!”

She watched as her daughter’s face lit up at the thought! “You really think so?!”

Voice filled with warmth, Ariel nodded. “Of course! I have no doubt that you’ll achieve anything you set your mind to.” Ariel helped Jayla put away all her clothes and bid her a goodnight. “Goodnight, my little fashionista!” placing a kiss on her forehead. 

***

Ariel hummed as she shifted through the mail on the kitchen counter, her eyes landed on a formal invitation to New York Fashion Week addressed to Jack. The invitation immediately made her think back on her conversation with Jayla a couple nights ago. Ariel couldn’t help but notice that the envelope had been opened and tossed aside. 

“Jack, did you see this?” She asked, holding it up so he could see. 

Jack glanced over from where he sat on the couch as he concentrated on his puzzle, his eyes furrowing in confusion. “Oh, that? Yeah I saw it. I’m not really into all that fashion stuff.”

Ariel rolled her eyes knowing that the walk in closet full of clothes and shoes begged to differ. Jack had been out of the spotlight for years now, while he’s gotten better with being around crowds he still seemed to have no interest in the hoopla of being in the public eye again. 

“Jack, I know it’s been a while since you’ve been to one of these events, but I think this would be a great opportunity for you.” Ariel said gently, sitting beside him now on the coach picking up a puzzle piece and placing it in the correct spot. “Plus, I’ve been watching Jayla these last few months and she’s gotten really into fashion. She would love it.”

Jack hesitated. He had spent years avoiding the limelight, preferring to focus on being the best father he could be and writing for other artists but he couldn’t deny the twinge of curiosity that sparked inside of him at attending Fashion Week as a family. 

Ariel continued, her voice filled with encouragement. “Obviously, I’m not going to push you, but you should definitely think about it. It would be a fun family trip and it could be a chance for you to step back into the spotlight, even if it’s just for a little bit. You might even enjoy yourself.”

Jack sighed, his resistance slowly going away but knowing he still needed to sleep on it. “I’ll think about it.”

Pressing a kiss against his cheek, “That’s all I ask.” Ariel said as she hugged his arm, and laid her head on his shoulder.

From the top of the steps Jayla’s ears perked up at the mention of New York Fashion Week and with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she hurried back to her room, a plan forming in her mind.

The next night after dinner while Jack and Ariel were talking in the living room, Jayla walked in with a determined look on her face, laptop in hand.

“Mom, Dad, can I have your attention please!” 

Jack and Ariel exchanged amused glances. Ariel leaned over to Jack and whispered, “Uh Oh. What did you do this time?”

Jack looked at her shocked, and pressed a hand against his chest “Why do you always assume it was me?”

“Because it normally is—“

Jayla cleared her throat, getting their attention again. “Right, sorry. Yes you have our attention, sweetheart.” Jack told her, sitting up straighter on the couch.

They watched as Jayla plugged in her laptop and pulled up a PowerPoint titled. “Reasons Why We Should Go to NYFW,” she began her presentation. “Reason number one: I promise not to ask for a puppy for at least a year if you take me!”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh at Jayla’s bargaining tactics. “Nice try, sweetheart. What’s reason number two?”

Jayla clicked to the next slide, which simply read, “Because I said so.” She grinned mischievously at her parents, earning a chuckle from Ariel.

“Bold move,” Ariel remarked with a smirk. “I like her style.”

As Jayla continued her presentation, Jack found himself thoroughly entertained by his daughter. After sleeping on the idea the night before about going to NYFW he had decided that it wouldn’t be that bad of an idea. He would much rather go with his girls than by himself. Plus, he couldn’t ignore the genuine passion and excitement in Jayla’s eyes, it reminded him of how he was when he was first getting into music. 

Jack turned to Ariel with a playful grin. “Well, what do you say, honey? Shall we pack our bags for Fashion Week?”

Ariel chuckled and nodded, her heart warmed by Jack’s decision. “I think we have no choice but to surrender to the power of the PowerPoint!”

Jayla immediately ran towards them giving them a huge hug. Her reaction meant the world to Jack, and made him happy with his decision. 

***

Jack watched as Jayla and Ariel shook with excitement as the stylist pulled out outfits for them to choose from to wear to their first fashion show that week, Jacquemus. He couldn’t believe that he was in New York for fashion week with his family, he couldn’t help but fidget nervously. The thought of attending a high profile event made him uneasy. 

But as he glanced at his favorite girls' beaming smiles and sparkling eyes, he knew he couldn’t let his own fears hold him back. 

“You look beautiful!” Jack said his voice filled with pride as he watched his daughter’s spin in happiness in the mirror. 

Jayla grinned back at him, her excitement contagious. “Thanks, Daddy! I can’t believe we’re really here. This is going to be amazing!”

As they made their way to the venue, Jack couldn’t shake the nerves that gnawed at him. Ariel squeezed his hand tightly, a silent sign of support letting him know she was right there with him. But as they stepped inside and took their seats in the front row, he felt a sense of awe wash over him. The energy in the room was electric, the air filled with anticipation and excitement.

As the lights dimmed and the first models took to the runway, Jayla’s eyes widened with wonder. She gasped in awe at the breathtaking designs that floated past her, her heart pounding with excitement.

Beside her, Jack couldn’t help but be swept up in the excitement of the moment. As he watched his daughter’s face light up with joy as she told her mother which outfits were her favorite, he felt a sense of pride swell within him. This was what it was all about—the shared moments of happiness and wonder that made life worth living.

As the show came to an end and they made their way back to the hotel, Jack couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. His nerves had faded away, replaced by a sense of exhilaration and joy.

Jayla skipped with happiness in front of them as they walked down the long hotel hallway. Ariel couldn’t help but tease Jack gently. “Well, it looks like someone had a good time tonight.”

Jack grinned sheepishly, his earlier apprehension a distant memory. “I guess I did. And I have Jayla to thank for that. Her excitement was contagious.”

Ariel winked at him playfully. “I told you so, didn’t I?”

Jack unlocked the hotel door with a laugh, once in the room Jayla couldn’t contain her excitement. 

“Oh my gosh, Mom, Daddy, that was amazing!” Jayla exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement. “Did you see the models? They were gorgeous, and the clothes were so beautiful! I can’t believe we got to sit in the front row!”

Ariel and Jack couldn’t help but smile at Jayla’s excitement, her joy infectious. They listened attentively as she rambled about her favorite moments from the show, her excitement bubbling over with each passing sentence.

Jayla continued, her hands gesturing animatedly as she relived the experience. “And the vibe, it was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I felt like I was part of something special.”

Jack’s heart swelled with pride as he watched his daughter’s eyes light up with passion. He had been nervous about attending the fashion show, but seeing how much joy it had brought Jayla made it all worth it.

“I’m so glad you had fun, sweetheart,” Jack said, as Ariel stood behind Jayla to take the pins out her hair. “It was a pretty special experience, wasn’t it?” 

“It was incredible! Thank you both so much for bringing me. I’ll never forget this.” Before Jayla could finish saying those words, Jack immediately pulled his wife and daughter into a tight embrace, grateful for the unforgettable experience they had shared together. 

***

AN: thank you for reading, I loved writing this! as always let me know your thoughts!

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[emkayewrites]

Another behind-the-scenes-on-Bridgerton-Season-3 moment from my Lukola fanfic....

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

Before she could respond, there was a frantic knocking at her door.

“Duty calls?” Ezra asked.

“Something like that.” Nicola replied. “I’ll speak to you later.” 

She hung up and pocketed her phone into her jeans, moving to open the door. 

She knew with some certainty that Luke would be the one stood outside.  If he had not come to visit her, she would likely be making the trip across the field to him.

In the last few weeks, they had become somewhat inseparable. If they were not due to film a scene together, they still found a way to see each other for a meal, a walk or just to decompress in one of their trailers.  This routine had started initially to manage their nerves about their scenes.  It was a relief to be able to talk every day just to practice and build trust.  As time had passed, they were both realizing they were getting a lot more from each other than just rehearsal time.  Nicola found herself looking forward to seeing him and being at the receiving end of his dry wit.  In her experience, there were few people in life that you could have such effortless banter with.  Meanwhile, Luke was open with her about being introverted and needing to sit in a semi-dark room with no human contact after a long day on set.  The running joke was that Nicola no longer counted as human, not after the many nights they had sat in his darkened trailer, eating dinner out of takeaway boxes in relative silence.  All in all, there was a comfortable rhythm to their relationship – so much so that even on a day off like today when most cast members were catching up with family and friends, Nicola had been hoping Luke would want to while away some of the hours together.  She had resisted reaching out to him though, feeling conscious he might be taking the opportunity to catch up with his parents or Jade.

Sure enough, it was Luke stood at her trailer door, dancing impatiently on the muddy grass as sheets of rain washed over the bright red umbrella he was holding up. 

“You can come in, that stays outside.”  Nicola pointed at the umbrella.

He immediately bolted inside, keeping the arm with the umbrella extended outside the tailer door.

“How do we bring it in?” He looked at her expectantly.  Nicola let out a snort of laughter in response.

“We don’t.”

“I’m not abandoning it out here, it won’t survive and it’s not mine to destroy.  I borrowed it from Kraft services.  Haven’t you got a tea towel or something?” He urged.

“Nothing big enough to absorb that.” Nicola shrugged, returning to her place on the couch.  “I’ve had enough lectures about these vinyl floors to know better.  Besides, the umbrella won’t get damaged.”

A crack of thunder erupted around them. 

“So is the rest of you planning on coming in or…” She asked, ignoring the sound of the escalating storm; pulling the blanket up over her shoulders again.

“Do you want a response to that, or can I just glare at you?” He shot her a look.

“Well, you can either stand there holding an electricity conductor and glare at me, or you could come in here where it’s safe.” Nicola quipped; one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, fuck. Good point.” He immediately dropped the umbrella with a clatter and pulled his arm inside, slamming the door behind him as he did.

Nicola did her best to hide her amusement.

“You’re the worst.” He said with the twinges of a smile around the corners of his mouth.

He unzipped his raincoat, revealing a thick script pressed against his stomach, protected from the rain. “Bought over today’s pages, thought it might be a good opportunity to go over the scenes.”

He pulled his coat off and took a seat beside her.  As he rifled through the script, she found herself absentmindedly sharing her blanket with him, pulling it across his back. 

“I keep thinking about when Penelope and the audience see him at the garden party, the cameras on him and he’s meant to just look handsome and interesting.”  Luke laughed disbelievingly, looking down at the page.  “Talk about a tall order.”

Nicola leaned over, looking at the notes with a frown.  “You’re overthinking it now.  A lot of that is going to be the hair, the make-up, the lighting, camera angles – it’s not all on you to convey that.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He looked unconvinced.  “It’s delivering the sexy smoulder in the close-up that I’m really overthinking.”

The show was famous for the way it framed its romantic heroes in a way that exuded romance, sexiness and intrigue usually all in one tight close-up shot of the face.  Nicola had to admit that the amount of face acting they had to do on Bridgerton was on par with stage plays and pantomime with the exception being that here, the shot was redone over, and over, and over.  It was no easy feat.

“I had a nightmare last night.  I’m doing the shot and Tricia keeps telling me my sexy face attempt looks constipated.  I keep messing it up and I give myself constipation from the stress.  They have to shut down production for the day and it’s on immortalized forever in the notes for the dailies: Luke Newton fit of constipation shuts down set and costs production ten million pounds.” 

“Ten million pounds? Think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” Nicola remarked with a smirk.  He gives in and laughs.

“But hey, your brains’ ability to do that – it’s a talent.  I wish I had dreams that vivid and hilarious.” She continued.

“It’s a curse.” He disagreed.

“Alright, look at me, look at me.” She insisted, tugging at the blanket to pull his shoulders closer to her.  He faced her and she realised just how close to each other they were.  They had become gradually desensitized to the level of intimacy required between them but every so often, in a moment off-set like this one, it still caught her off-guard.  They were practically nose-to-nose.  His eyes levelled with hers.

“Smoulder.” She invited.

A change came across his face.  The strain of stress around his eyes and mouth vanished, his features softened as he embodied Colin Bridgerton.  His eyes seem to bore into hers.

“Pen, it is good to see you.” His spoke with an affected tone.

“Is it?” Nicola responded with an English accent, looking down at her hands, playing the closed body language of Penelope Featherington.

“Truly. It has felt like I have been absent years instead of months.”

“Much has certainly changed in that time.” She was stoic.

“A good deal, I know.” Luke patted at his shirt with some boastful pride, a smile spreading across his lips. “But it was all the rage in Paris.”

Nicola could not help but to laugh.  “Sorry, I’m breaking character. He’s such an arse.”

“It’s alright, I was about to break anyway.” He sighed, rubbing a forefinger against his temple. “So, smoulder rating?”

“If 0 is vomit-inducing Hugh Heffner and 10 is Jason Mamoa as Aquaman, you’re a solid 9 as Season 3 Colin Bridgerton.”  She assured.

“Alright, well that’s… I would have believed you if you’d played it cool and given me a 4 but that’s – it’s outrageous.” He shook his head at her, smiling.

“Deal with it.  Hand on my granny Nelly’s bible, it’s a 9.”

“Don’t blaspheme, I’m not worth it.” He rolled his eyes at her, turning his concentration back to the script.

Just then, another roll of thunder cracked overhead.

Luke leaned back on the sofa, holding the script up in front of his face. “Alright, well you better order some food, I’m not leaving until either that outside stops or I feel sexy.”

“Oh, so I guess we’re dying here then.” Nicola stated matter-of-factly.

[the-hinky-panda]

War of the Roses Series: Part III

Warning: Mention of miscarriages and grief

At first, Bill doesn’t understand why you’ve taken him to a small courtyard that sits between the barn and the small indoor arena. It’s not a large area, just a square piece of grass with a few shrubs and flowerbeds. There is a small area surrounded by a low stone wall that has a bench and three rose bushes planted in the corner. It’s a quiet, thoughtful space that seems out of place with the barn. 

But then he remembers something from his childhood. It had been raining for three days, not out of the norm in Missouri. His mother had recently returned home from an overnight hospital stay, and he was under strict orders to keep his twelve-year-old bullshit to a minimum. He then watched his father, the toughest son of a bitch he had ever known, go out into the rain and dig a hole in the garden off the back porch. He remembers how his father’s white t-shirt clung to his back as he planted a white rose bush. He remembers how his mother couldn’t watch from the back porch, and instead curled up in the corner of the couch and sobbed. 

It’s a memorial space. 

He touches the stone wall as you lead him into the space, says a silent prayer for the sister he never got to meet and the three children you were never able to hold. The somberness saps the fire he had been feeling since watching you sit across from him at dinner. For some reason though, standing there with you, knowing what you’re showing him, it feels far more intimate than the moment you shared in the barn. 

“This,” you say quietly, “this is why he hates me.” 

“You would think with the lives we provide them, scenery like this, homes like ours, never wanting for anything, they would be motivated to do their actual fucking jobs.” 

Was this what Cal was talking about? Three miscarriages, was that reason enough to divorce someone? You gently take his hand and force him to unclench the fist he had made. “How can he hate you for something that’s out of your control?” 

You shake your head. “The world is filled with people who hate other people for things out of their control. That’s nothing new, Bill.” 

You made a solid point. “He thinks you’re doing this on purpose?” 

“He does. He only married me so he could have someone to pass everything onto when he’s too old to manage it himself.” Your thumb fiddles with his pinky ring. “That’s how it works in your world too?” 

It should make him uncomfortable that you acknowledge his true line of work but it doesn’t. If anything, it seems to pull you even closer to him. “It is.” 

“I know I’m on my way out of this marriage. He needs someone to provide an heir and I’m not that person.” You swipe at your face with the back of your free hand and he realizes you’re crying. “I can’t do that for you either. So just keep that in mind.” 

He pulls you close against his side, holding you firmly there and trying to ignore the feeling of just how fucking perfectly you fit there. “There are more important things in life than heirs and lineage. There will always be someone to take over a business, blood related or not.” He presses a kiss against the crown of your head. “You keep that in mind.” 

You release a long breath, sinking into him for a moment before standing up straight. He sees the armor being put back into places and it causes something to twinge in his chest. It shouldn’t be necessary but he understands why it is. He takes one last moment, standing in this sacred place, and kisses you gently on the lips. 

“You call me if you need anything,” he tells you. “Day or night, promise me you’ll do that.” 

You smile slightly but nod your head. “Okay.” 

He knows he needs to head back up to the house, that he’s been gone far too long and his guys will want to get on the road soon. But something is telling him to take you with him, to not leave you here. But you’ve survived for the last six years with Cal so he takes some comfort that you can survive another couple weeks before he can make it back to Tulsa. 

***

When you go back to the house later that night, you go in the back door and take all the back hallways to the master bedroom to avoid Cal. You strip off all your clothes, bury them under your running clothes from this morning and then stand under scalding hot water for twenty minutes. You reluctantly wash Bill’s cologne from your skin, wash his fingerprints from your body and it feels wrong. 

Cal doesn’t love you, he hasn’t from day one. The realization of that hits you full force. He knows of the rose bushes, the memorial garden that you planted there in the only place on the property that felt like yours. Cal hates the horses, never wants to see them or touch them. He flat out refuses to step foot into the memorial garden you planted and care for. 

But Bill, who has no stake whatsoever in your plight, came to see the horses, not even knowing you were there. He willingly went to the small garden, stood there, understood the significance of what you were showing him without having to speak the words. He shared that burden of grief with you when your own husband, the father of the lost children, couldn’t be bothered with it. 

You need a plan to get out of this farce of a marriage. You turn the water off in the shower and grab one of the towels. Your mind is racing as you dry off. You’ll need money, clothes, a place to stay, a place for your horses. The roses. Somehow you need to take the roses with you. You can’t leave them behind. Cal will forget them. He’ll forget them. You can’t let that happen. You pull on your satin pajamas and walk into the bedroom to a sight that makes your blood run cold. 

Cal is in one of the leather wingback chairs in the sitting area of the bedroom, a whiskey glass in his hand. “Did you have a nice shower?” 

Your eyes haven’t left the three suitcases sitting at the end of the bed. “Cal?” 

“I think it’s obvious our agreement has come to an end.” 

“Agreement? You mean our marriage?” 

“Is that what you would call this? Huh.” He takes a sip of the whiskey. “I was under the impression that a marriage was between two people working towards the same goal. I told you what that goal was when we married.” 

“I can’t…I don’t know…” 

“Can you finish a sentence please?” 

You take a deep breath and slowly release it. “I don’t know what you want me to do about not being able to carry a child. I can’t control that.” 

He finishes the whiskey and sets the glass down on the side table. “What I want you to do is take your shit to whatever other bedroom you wish where you will sleep tonight. Tomorrow morning, you leave with what’s packed in those suitcases. You’ll get the horses out of the barn as soon as possible because they’re going to the knacker by the end of the week.” 

Your stomach roils to the point that you bring a hand to your mouth. How are you going to find transportation and a place for your horses in four days? It’s going to cost thousands of dollars and you’re certain Cal isn’t giving you any portion of the estate. 

“I’m going to take a shower now and when I walk out of there, I don’t want to see you in this room again.” Cal stands up and walks past you. “And as far as things that you can control goes, perhaps you shouldn’t have fucked my new business partner in a fucking barn.”

[first-edition]

Wonderful life.

Arron hotchner x Fem!reader

Sum- after hailey you spend more time with Jack and hotch leading up todating arron and it has been the best, but when your friends bring up to topic of sex the relationship might get better.

Cw smut - loss of virginity-oral fem reciv-fingering- praise dirty talk if you squint- unprotected -creampie

This fic is kinda long so if you wanna skip the fluff and get straight to the smut scroll down to the emojis. Leave a like!!

Dating Arron has been the best experience of your life even though you’ve only been with him romantically for 6 months you would come around the house and baby sit Jack while Arron was gone to work.

You were well aware of Hailey and you two would often go out with a few drinks after he got home. She would always talk about her feeling words Hotch and how she felt as if she and him werent all there anymore.

You would ask her why but she never understood until she told you that he had asked for a divorce and she agreed having the same mutual feelings.

When hailey died you were around Hotch and Jack more often almost every day in fact even sleeping over a few times. Jack had immediately latched onto you as the next mother figure. You would take him out for ice cream, go to the park, Arron even found you both asleep on the couch with Thomas the train on playing in the background. Being younger also helped letting you be more agile and being able to lift Jack up play more often with him.

“Good morning how was he trip?.” You ask walking into the kitchen pushing your hair back. You’d had stayed week at his place with Jack as he had a week long case.

Hotch turns around to see you in shorts and an oversized baseball t-shirt that he somehow recognizes.

“M-morning.” He can’t help but feel a ping in his heart an extra beat when he sees you.

“It was good no one what hurt sorry you stayed for so long…is that my shirt?” He says tilting his head.

“It’s alright and uh yeah sorry I ran outta shirts last night they were all in the washer I didn’t wanna rush back to my place I hope you don’t mind?” You say

“No not at all..keep it please.” He says his eyes wandering you body in a non creepy way.

“DADDY!” Jacks voice echos through the kitchen as he runs across the tile into hitch’s arm.

From that day on Hotch couldn’t imagine anything with out you. You would cloud his judgement at work finding him self thinking of you or looking at pictures of you and Jack. He even had a picture of you him and Jack on his desk in a macaroni Frame Jack had made.

When Mother’s Day came around that’s when Hotch had made up his mind. You had taken picked Jack up from school and he came out holding a tissue paper flower bouquet with a class craft card with a crayon drawing of you him and Arron on the paper.

“Jack…thank you you didn’t have to make me this?!” You say tears welling up in your eyes.

“Yes I did…you’re my mom.” He say. Hearing him say that but made you feel more love for him but a slight twinge of pain as he dosnt see Hailey as his mother anymore.

On the drive home he talks about the dinosaur he played with durning class naming all of them and thier color.

You and Jack walk into the house only for you to see Arron there fixing the flowers and balloons. He’s obviously come from work he’s still wearing his dress pants and his shirt is rolled up to his forearms which makes you weak.

“Daddy look what I made y/n!” Jack runs up his father showing him the fake flowers and card. You walk up to them looking around at the gifts and flowers and balloons all addressed to you.

“Hey you wanna go get those dinosaurs you were talking about?” You ask Jack he smiles and runs out of the room up stairs.

“Arron?” You ask now focusing on the elephant in the room.

“Just uh..happy Mother’s Day.” He says

“I-I’m not Jack mother.” You say

“You’re not the one who gave birth to him but you are sure as ever his mother, you’ve been there almost every single day for his entire life. Y/n…” he says taking your hands in his.

You look up at him a small smile runs across his face.

“I’ve fallen in love with you. When you stayed over that week I was gone-“ he begins

“That was months ago…” you trail off.

“Exactly you can say no I know it’s not in you biggest interest to be in a relationship but I-“

“Yes.” You say looking up to him bringing your hands up to his chest.

“What…”

“Yes.” You say already knowing what’s he’s gonna ask. He cups your face pulling you into him his lips pressing against yours as you share a kiss deep and and passionate.

————

6 months later, that term or mention of sex never crossed yours or Arron’s mind, with Jack and him working a lot there’s wasn’t much time or energy. If either of you wanted sex he would always make sure you knew that you were in charge as having never had sex before is quite a scary moment.

He knows about your virginity. And respects you in every way possible. Of course there as sneaky touches here and there and make outs that are usually interrupted by Jack coming down stairs asking for water.

Out with Penelope jj and Emily you all sit at a table talking gossip about the guy who came over trying to tell you he was an fbi agent.

“So anyway y/n you and Hotch still going strong?” Emily asks

“Yes thank you very much.” You smile looking down into your drink.

“Any juciy deets you wanna spill?” She continues.

“You know that you’re talking about your boss right?” You ask

“Our boss your boyfriend. Boyfriend cancels out boss.” Pen laughs

“There’s nothing to discuss really we spend time we go out. I hangout with Jack..”

“Yeah but you don’t…you know?” Jj butts ins

“What?” You ask

“Sex?” She finishes her sentence.”

“N-no..besides I’ve never and you know that. I don’t know there not much time with Jack and his work I work from home so..” you say.

“Oh come on Jack is at science camp for another few days we don’t have a case should now be the perfect time?” Jj says

“We know you love with and we sure know he loves you in past you’ve said you’ve never gone steady becuase the guy was an ass and we can assure you Hotch is not and ass.” Penelope says.

You look over at Hotch drinking water while listening to Spencer ramble.

“Yeah…” you say

“You know what…yeah!!” You say more confidently.

“Yeah!” They all cheer making you giggle.

You get up and walk over to Hotch he looks at you with a smile placing his hand on your lower back.

“Can we go?” You ask.

The smile fades into a frown.

“You alright?” Hs asks looking over to you to the girls wondering if they’d hurt your feelings or something.

“I’m fine! I just..I wanna go.” You say looking up at him. He nods setting his cup down.

“Come on.” He says taking your hand. You wave to Spencer and your friends as you walk off with your lover.

Walking into his house has a weirder atmosphere with Jack not immediately running to say hello.

“You okay?” He asks helping you take off your jacket.

“Mhm.” You say tuning around to him wrapping your arms around his neck pulling his down to you in a kiss. He happily ablidges and kisses you back his hand gripping your waist.

💕💕💕

He groans into your lips as your hand grips the scruff of his neck. His hands move under your sweater only making you gasp out breaking contact with his lips.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Y-you’re hands are freezing.” You giggle noting at the cold night air you’d both walked through.

“Aaron…” you trail off.

“Mm.” He replies his hands roaming your waist.

“Jack is gone..” you answer

“Mhm.” He replies once again

“You don’t have a case…”

“No..” he says

“The h-house is empty.” You say a large rush of heat pushes its way up to your face.

He removes on hand pressing it to your blushed cheek looking you in your eyes.

“Tell me what you want?” He says caressing you cheek with his thumb.

“Y-you.” You say he smiles pecking your lips.

“You gotta do better than that.” He says brushing his nose against your.

“Please, make love to me.” You say. He presses his lips back on yours again this time the kiss is more passionate. You slip out of your heels dropping you height back to normal. He companstes by pulling you up into his arms your legs wrapping around his waist as he Carrie’s you through the living room and up the stairs to the bedroom.

He places you on the bed and starts with removing his own shoes and unbuttoning his shirt before moving back to you. Your hands move up his chest feeling his toned body. You rember the first time you felt his skin under yours was at the beach when you put sun screen on him he was worried the scars and mark would turn you off or scare you but not at all.

His hands wander down your sides to the hem of your dress lifting it up and pulling it off over your head. Exposing your self in your panties and braless.

Before you can react he presses his lips to your neck while lifting your thigh to sit against his hip. Quickly finding the spot from before he kisses and sucks cussing a small moan to release from you mouth.

He cups your breast in his hand massage it making you whimper. He kisses down your chest to your stomach ending at the line of your panties the simple black underwear enough to make him hard in his pants.

He kisses along your inner thigh before looking up to you his hands on your waist.

“Can I take these off?” He asks gesturing at your undergarment.

“Yeah..” you say sheepishly.

Sitting up slightly he pats the side of your thigh.

“Lift for me.” He says and takes ahold of the side of your underwater. You lift your hips as the fabric is removed leaving you completely bare to him. Subconsciously you close your eyes and your arms move over your chest.

“Y/n…” Aaron speaks as you open your eyes you see he removed his shirt completely and his belt is gone.

“You alright? We can stop.” He reassures.

“I’m okay..” you say avoiding eye contact. A pro and con about dating a profiler is they can tell what’s wrong.

“Love.” He leans over to you.

“Hey..look at me.” He says you look at him as he places his hand on your cheek.

“It’s okay we can stop.” He says pure love and worry in his eyes as he waits for your answer.

“No I don’t want to im just..um”

“It’s okay to be scared.” He finishes for you.

“I want you to feel comfortable, okay? We’ll go very slow.” He says kissing your cheek.

“Hmm?” He asks when you don’t answer. He kisses your face again peppering them making you giggle.

“Okay okay.” You say looking up at him.

“Good. If I’m doing something wrong tell me okay?” He says

“Okay.” You nod his hand moves down between your bodies. You expect him to line himself up with you and press into you like in the movies but not at all your met with a pleasant feeling of his fingers pressing against your clit.

“Ah..” you moan out only to cover your mouth muffling the sound as he swirls your clit. It feels so much better him doing it that you yourself.

He kisses your hand before moving it off your mouth.

“I want to hear you. Tell me how you feel.” He says

“G-good.” You gasp as the motion picks up. He shifts his hand to press his middle finger into you. Having used your own before but his are much longer thicker and it’s only one.

“Ngh..” you let out as he angles it up pumping it in and out. He groans at the sight of you enjoying just one of his fingers.

To lost in the pleasures of him you don’t realize his face between your legs. Only when he slips in a second finger do you notice. His lips latch around your clit as his tongue plays with you. His two fingers angling up stroking the spongy spot in you.

“F-fuck..Aaron..” you moan out as you grip the bedsheets. A buildup forms in your stomach as you squirm helplessly into the bed only giving your boyfriend better access to your core.

He groans into you as your clench around his fingers is enough to cause you to cum. The snap of the band in the pit of your stomach cuases a rush of pleasure to surge through your body. Your fingers entangled themself in his hair.

He let up on you as to not over stimulate you. Your chest rises and falls heavily. He combats with light kisses along your body praising you for how well you did. How good you were for him. Although it’s meant to calm you down if riled you back up turning you on once more.

“Do you want to stop?” He aks

“No. No please, I want you.” You say.

He nods pulling back from you making you whine a small noise which makes him chuckle.

“Hold on sweetheart.” He says as he unbuttons his pants the obvious bulge stretching his pants. He lets his pants down taking his boxers with them exposing him fully to you.

You pale out the blood leaving your system as pure worry fills your emotions. His size is way larger than you thought. Once or twice you’ve accidentally run into him after a shower and you could see the slight outline or him. But as fully erect he’s intimidating.

You prop yourself up on your elbows worry leaving you as remeber what his fingers can do to you. Honier to know what his cock can do.

He crawls back into you.

“Look at me. If you want to stop or if anything hurt let me know I’ll stop.” He says

“I know. I trust you.” You say he nods looking down to your pussy again before lining up with you you feel his head touch your core making you flinch lightly. Hotch places his hand on your thigh caressing your skin soothing your fear.

“Relax it’s okay.” He says you listen to him getting off your elbows bracing your self by gripping the sheet beneath you.

He pushes the head past your folds you feel pressure but not pain. He pushes a bit more as you feel a stretch that becomes slightly painful.

“Ngh..a-Aaron w-wait.” You grip onto his arm stopping him.

“Okay.” He says stopping his movements waiting for you it takes a few seconds but finally you give him the play to move. He carfully pulls out slightly only to push back in. He does a few more times letting you adjust to his length before pushing In further and further until he fully inside you.

Your walls twitch can around him cock warming him for a bit before you tell him to move. So he does beginning to calmly thrust in and back.

Your cunt fully used to him he’s easily siding within you.

“H-harder Aaron please.” You whine looking up to him. A particularly hard thrust cuases a squeal to leave your lips as your nails dig into his back. He groans out as the feeling of you clenching down around him.

One hand gripping your breast while the other props himself up beside you. Some how his thrust hit deeper stroking against your g-spot. You clench around him making him groan deeply in your ear.

Noticing your pleasure from his actions he thrust up into you not pulling your thigh over his shoulder roughly thrusting up into you. You moan out in pleasure as he fucks up into you.

“Aaron! Ah.” You moan out as your nails scratch down his back. Making him groan and moan into your neck.

“I love you..fuck..I love you so much!” He kisses your neck sucking and marking you up.

“Ah..i- ah.” You try to reply but you can muster are sloppy moans as you grip his hair. The familiar build up from before is quick to snap making your cunt flutter and clench down around him. Making him more full than before.

Your back arches as you climax against him. With a few more sloppy thrust he grips the bed on either side of you scrunching the sheets as he meets his own finish.

“Ngh..f-fuck” he groans into you as he empties himself into your aching pussy. Your pants ragged as you smile his lips connecting with yours giving you a few smaller thrusts before he subsides and carefully pulls out of you peppers your face with kisses making you giggle pulling him closer to you.

“Stay here.” He says before pecking your lips and getting up. He pulls his boxers up covering his lower half before walking over to his drawer pulling out a shirt. Once he turns around he sees you sleep on the bed. Walking back over to you he carefully lifts you up and places the shirt over you before getting into the bed next to you.

He pulls you closer to him you immediately gripping onto him like a koala. He kisses you head before falling asleep himself.

[americas1suiteheart]

Sick Days

Lemon and Tangerine x GN! Reader (Platonic)

Summary; You've worked with the twins for years now, and whilst they are sharp and get things done rather well, they do have a tendancy to constantly get eachother, including you, sick.

Notes; Sorry I haven't been very active. I promise I'll get to those asks soon but this popped into my head and I just really needed to write a full fic.

Warnings; Some cursing and mentions of taking over the counter medicine.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

"Achoo!"

"Bloody fuckin'-hell mate, cover your fuckin' mouth when you sneeze," Tangerine scoffs.

The three of you have been sick since your last mission in Bolivia, you're assuming that one of the twins got coughed on or something, because as always--they were the first to get ill.

And just as always, you were the ones to take care of them at first until you finally got ill.

The first week was horrible.

Tangerine's constant bitching and moaning about how he wanted to be back on missions but still complaining about how he felt like shit, that his nose and body hurt, how his throat was sore, and how terrible of a headache he had. Then he would be upset that Lemon was sitting down bundled up on the couch watching Thomas and Friends and how he wouldn't let Tangerine watch his West Ham game on the television.

Lemon wasn't as bad as Tangerine when it came to getting sick though. Lemon only complained once or twice, every now and then but it wasn't constant. Lemon would only ask if you could bring him a pot of tea if you weren't too busy and maybe some blankets. He was content and hell, he'd even admit happy that he didn't have to go on missions for a few weeks.

And then you got sick.

So now its just been constant sneezing, coughing, sniffling, and groaning. The amount of tissues and tea the three of you have been going through is insane, and you're still the one doing medicine runs.

"Piss off mate, I'll do whatever the fuck I want," Lemon says after blowing his nose.

"If either one of you bicker and babble to eachother again I will personally shoot the both of you in the face," You groan.

You hear a grumble and mutter from Tangerine but don't bother with him because it'll only worsen your already terrible migraine.

You walk to the kitchen, grabbing your favourite mug along with some clove and ginger tea, popping the teabag in and pouring the hot water you had just boiled over it into the mug.

"You did it wrong," Tangerine says, a look of annoyance on his face.

"I'm really not in the mood for your bullshit Tan. If you want it done right then you make it yourself you prick," You bite back, proceeding to the living area.

You walk to the couch Lemon was sitting on, one of his legs taking up the whole couch.

Once he looks away from the television and sees you, he removes his leg and opens up the blankets he was under, inviting you to sit with him in his cozy spot, to which you gladly accept.

You sit comfortably next to Lemon, handing him your mug so he can set it down on the tissue covered side table. I'll have to clean that up later, you thought to yourself.

"Feeling any better, y/n?" Lemon asks.

"Sort of. I've still got a god awful headache and my nose is still runny, but its better than I was a couple days ago so the medicine is working at least. How about you?"

"I'm still stuffy but its beginning to slow down now, I'm glad this bloody thing is starting to bug off already," Lemon replies.

"It's my turn on the telly, let me watch th- Achoo! Fuckin' hell!" Tangerine says, a twinge of annoyance in his voice as he complains like a child.

You and Lemon look at eachother, sighing and deciding to let Tangerine watch his game so he stops whining.

"Fine, but only if you promise to stop bitching, okay?" You say, handing Tangerine the television remote and scooting closer to Lemon to make room for him to sit with you two.

"Hey Tan, who's playing West Ham?" Lemon asks, voice still slightly hoarse.

"Man City today, tomorrow its Brentford. Why?" Tangerine responds, eyes glued to the television as he switches it to the correct channel.

Lemon looks at you with a look on his face, then back at Tangerine.

"No reason in particular,"

Manchester City just so happened to be your favourite team. The last time Man City was against West Ham, Man City won. You also happened to be watching the game with the twins that day, and let's just say that Tangerine was not happy that his team had lost and you were happy over it.

It'd been a few years since that game, but you have a feeling that Tangerine would end up being worse than the last time if Man City won again.

Sure, you like it when your team wins, but as of right now you would much prefer it if West Ham won so that way Tangerine doesn't act like a complete bellend. He's easier to anger and agitate now that he's ill.

You all sat on the couch watching the game. Cheers erupted from Tangerine and Lemon whenever West Ham got the ball or made a goal, then a groan of annoyance from Tangerine whenever Man City got the ball or made a goal.

So far it was a 3 - 3 tie with just 3 minutes left of the game, and Tangerine was getting more and more agitated every time Man City took the ball from West Ham.

Once again, Man City taking the ball, then the referee calling over a player and showing them a red card, giving West Ham a free kick for the players offense.

West Ham has the ball now, a free kick. There are 2 minutes left in the game and if they make this shot then the chances of them winning the game are high.

"Bowen takes a free kick, OH MY WORD! A DIRECT FREE KICK GIVING WEST HAM 4 POINTS TOTAL! WHAT A GOAL!"

Cheers and a few coughs come from both Lemon and Tangerine, smiles on their faces. Regardless of their heights, facial hair, voices, jobs even, they still act like children sometimes in both good and bad ways and it makes you smile.

Those last few minutes pass and the game ends, a 4 - 3 score with West Ham beating Manchester City, more cheers erupt from the twins, dopey smiles plastered onto their faces.

Tangerine gets up from the couch to go do something for a minute, leaving you and Lemon sitting on the couch together.

"That was a good game eh? Man City is pretty good too, I'm surprised we even won," Lemon says to you, covering himself back up with the blanket he was sharing with you.

"Great game really! I'm a little bummed though I will admit, but honestly one loss is better than Tan being a prick the entire day," You roll your eyes.

You get up from your cozy spot on the couch and head to the kitchen island, which had a plethora of medicines, syrups, a humidifier, and assortments of teas.

Cough syrup, Tylenol tablets, throat soothing sleepytime tea, chamomile tea, lemon scented vapor rub, allergy syrup, and a new, unopened three pack of tissue boxes.

You groan at the thought of having to drink the terrible tasting allergy and cough syrup again.

"Lem! Tan! Have you guys taken your medicines yet?" You call out to the twins, seeing as Tangerine had just returned to the living area.

Groans emit from the both of them as you give a light chuckle.

The two walk to you, tangerine grabbing the three cups for the syrups, all of your names on one of them to designate which belonged to who.

You pour the cough syrup into your cup at the 120 ml line, holding your nose as you down it to try and get rid of some of the taste, then doing the same with allergy medicine. You open the bottle of Tylenol, grabbing two of the tablets and popping them into your mouth.

You take a gulp of water from your glass then wipe your mouth.

"I'm gonna go into my room and nap, take one of these tissue boxes with you," You say, opening the pack and grabbing a box of tissues for yourself to have.

You walk to your room, opening the door and placing the tissues onto your bedside table, taking one out and blowing your nose, then tossing it into your small trashcan.

You lay in your bed, covering yourself with your blankets and sinking into your mattress.

God I hope I feel better soon.

You fall into a slumber, happy to be resting after nothing but bickering and loud cheers all day.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Sorry this took a little longer, I wasn't really planning to post it two days ago but tumblr freaked out and did it anyway even though it still wasn't finished, but it is now! I'm trying to post these fics more often and hopefully be more consistent about it. Requests are still currently closed and I'll try to get to the ones that were sent months ago.

[aching-tummies]

Hunger RP-Starter

Hunger RP-Scenario Starter inspired by recent events. Been stressed to the nines lately and went to bed last night with my stomach finally feeling pure 'hunger' rather than hunger mixed with a dash of upset somewhere. It growled quite a few times for me at that point--wish I had a partner to enjoy them with. It was too late to bother hunting down something to eat--and eating at 2AM would have likely caused an upset that I didn't want to deal with. Woke up about six hours later to more hunger pangs and more growls. While the hunger pangs were intense, it felt really, really, really nice to not have any trace of upset anywhere in my guts. Felt 'clean' and 'light' if that makes any sense.

You hurry to the couch, still-steaming bowl of popcorn in-hand and a cold drink in the other. Less than an hour ago, you were at work, counting down the minutes before you could trade your work-pants for PJs and just chill out over a movie.

Finally--date night. Considering the cost of actually going out, the two of us opted for an at-home movie night. Streaming exists as well as the countless DVDs and other formats we've each collected over the years.

As you get settled, we start the movie. I've claimed the far right side of the couch, curled over on my side of the couch. Shockingly, I've turned toward the armrest rather than toward the middle of the couch. Closed-off posture. Seems a bit odd to you, but you're hoping that I'll unwind a bit as the movie gets underway and 'date night' vibes start to hit or something. Until then, you've got a warm bowl of popcorn to warm your lap in place of me.

"Babe--want some?" You ask, nudging the bowl toward me.

"Pass. Sorry--I love the way you make it and all…but I don't really wanna pick kernels outta my teeth tonight." I explain, curling up on my side of the couch and nudging the bowl back at you.

About ten minutes into the movie, you pick up on a sound and pause the movie. I curse under my breath, having hoped that this action movie would have enough explosions and fight scenes to drown out any noises made here on the couch.

"Babe? What's going on? You okay?" You ask with a frown.

"Fine--Fine!" I stammer. A loud growl from my stomach interrupts my statement--a clear cry that the tank is empty. I blush at the sound, curling defensively against the arm-rest yet again.

"So…you're…hungry? Wasn't the plan to eat dinner separately? If you'd said something, I coulda picked up something for you on the way home--I was at McD's anyway." You suggest.

"N-No…i-it's not that." I stutter, causing a frown to replace your features. If I don't come clean with an explanation soon, it'll probably ruin date night.

I palm at my belly with a sigh. "I…My stomach's been really nasty the last few weeks. Stress and whatever. Been kinda…uhm…messed up and icky the last week or so. Y'know…s-stuff not digesting properly or quickly, guts tied in knots…that kind of thing." I begin, you nod, waiting for me to continue. "I just…t-today's the first day in a week and a half where my guts feel 'normal'. No residual sludge just sitting somewhere, no awkward cramps or twinges anywhere. No sickly, sticky bloated feeling anywhere. Nah…it just…feels like it's finally cleaned house and…w-while I am hungry…I just…I don't wanna rush into putting something in it. Kinda just wanna enjoy feeling cleaned out in case it acts up again with the next meal."

My stomach snarls angrily throughout my explanation, clearly hungry.

"S-Sorry…I-I know you really like this movie. I can take a nap or something in the bedroom if you wanna watch the movie in piece." I suggest, moving to get up.

What do you do? Pull me onto your lap? Come with to the bedroom to advance 'date night' activities? You gonna respect my desire to leave my guts empty? Is the replacement entertainment for tonight gonna be my very, very vocal tummy? You decide. Send me your best responses.

[karatekels]

TIGmas Day #10 - Guided Meditation

Sorry for the delay, y'all! My current goal is to finish meditation and have the last 2 TIGmas posts up by the 25th (y'know, three months late!). I hope that @eemcintyre's request tides you all over - I certainly had fun with it!

Summary: [CK Terry Silver] Terry is fed up with your attitude lately, and decides to help you learn how to channel your pent up frustrations through more enjoyable pursuits... for him, anyway.

TW: ddlg (without the age-play); sexual spanking; rough oral sex (male receiving); cumplay; sexual punishment; oral sex (female receiving); aftercare

[I'm back, baby!]

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Guided Meditation

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Terry’s POV:

He can tell by the way the front door slams shut that you have not had a good day.

Bad days had been happening more often than not over the past few weeks, and your normal, upbeat demeanor had been gradually replaced by a state of quiet (and occasionally not-so-quiet) irritability. You had been growing more distant this week in particular, brushing off both his attempts to cheer you up and his requests for an explanation as to what has you so upset.

He thinks he’s had just about enough of that.

Terry Silver had not yet come across a challenge or a problem he hadn’t been able to overcome by one means or another, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now. He’ll have an explanation out of you by the end of the day, so that he can set about resolving the problem tomorrow.

You come into the main living room, your eyes flicking over to him for the briefest of moments before pointedly looking away, setting down your bag on the couch furthest away from his perch on the piano bench.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” he says, trying his best not to sound patronizing. You make a non-committal noise in response, moving to the small bar in the corner to grab a glass of water.

“Come, sit with me. Tell me about your day,” he requests in a soft, soothing voice. He doubted he’d catch more flies with honey than with vinegar with you in your current state, but perhaps he’ll be pleasantly surprised.

“It was fine.”

You don’t elaborate, and he bites back a sigh. He can’t afford to let his exasperation overtake his concern for you.

“The chef hasn’t quite finished preparing dinner yet, so why don’t w–”

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. I think I’m just going to take a shower and then go to bed,” you cut him off abruptly, something you never do, and it briefly takes him by surprise.

“Y/N,” he says your name sternly, an undercurrent of warning clear in his tone. Your eyes don’t blink as you drink your water, staring him down all the while, but he does detect a twinge of regret in your beautiful orbs. Your gaze drops down to the flat surface of the bar along with your now-empty glass; you’re unable to look at him.

“Look, Terry, I just really want to be alone right now, okay? I don’t want to talk.”

“You have to eat something at least,” he requests, the pleading tone more out of politeness than a real need to negotiate with you. He’ll hold you down and forcefeed you if it comes down to it. You haven’t been eating enough lately, and it’s starting to show.

You pointedly ignore him, stalking past him and out of the room, heading upstairs without another word.

Well, now you’re just acting like a little brat.

Those he knows how to handle.

He calmly makes his way to the kitchen to have a word with the chef, asking for dinner to be packed away once it’s ready, then catches the head housekeeper while on his way to the stairs, asking them to tell the rest of the staff to enjoy a paid night off, effective now. His tone and expression leave no room for argument, and he idly watches his staff scatter with some degree of satisfaction as he contemplates the best course of action.

The two of you had done some very minor experimenting with kinks in the past, and it was clear from those experiences that you enjoyed him dominating you. Outside of the bedroom, you always wanted him to take the lead, even going so far as to order for you on occasion, but sexually… it has always been clear and consensual. You’ve quite literally begged him for it before, and he had always been more than willing to oblige; perhaps your little outbursts and bouts of giving him the silent treatment were you indirectly asking for more of the same.

He’s willing to bet that having control taken away from you entirely – mind and body – would help you find the emotional release that you are clearly in need of.

Smirking to himself, he saunters upstairs and into your bedroom, locking the door not only with the standard lock on the knob to keep anyone out, but with a key that prevented anyone from leaving the room. Chuckling to himself, he places the key on the very top of one of the bookshelves and well out of your reach. Now you have nowhere to run.

Hearing the shower still running in the ensuite, he takes his time slowly removing his watch and his rings and placing them in a small dish on his bedside table, safely out of the way. Humming to himself, he gathers his hair up, tying it back in a ponytail, finishing off the look by neatly rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. There, now nothing will get in the way of him giving you exactly what you need.

He hears the shower turn off and sits patiently at the foot of the bed, utterly still as he waits for you to emerge from the bathroom. Several long minutes later, you do, wrapped in a towel with your hair still damp. He watches your eyes pointedly skim past him on the bed, and decides to set his plan in motion without further ado.

“Come here,” he says in a firm but soft voice, staring at you with a stern, unblinking expression. Your eyes narrow in response as you stare each other down for a long moment before you break first, marching past where he is perched on your bed with your nose in the air and into the closet; he mentally considers it a first infraction, and resolves to keep count. Saying nothing, he allows you to get dressed – you’ll be out of your clothes the instant he wants you to be, and having something to strip off of you would only add to your humiliation.

When you step out of the walk-in-closet you are dressed far too warmly for the warm Los Angeles summer – regardless of the effectiveness of his home’s A/C – like you’re trying to prove a point.

“Come here, Y/N,” he commands, repeating the order, and you roll your eyes at him before brushing past him once again to the bedroom door. That’s two steps out of line so far.

He takes no small degree of pleasure watching your spine straighten as you realized that you’re locked in, your small hand twisting and turning the doorknob to no avail. After a brief struggle, you whirl around, your expression furious.

“What the fuck, Terry?!” you snarl at him, and now he’s perversely looking forward to breaking you. Three.

“Watch your mouth.”

You balk at his harsh tone, taking a reflexive step back and looking genuinely shocked at being scolded like a child, but immediately afterwards you get your hackles back up as if realizing your skittish response and not liking it.

“What?” you snap, putting up an irritated front, but he can see right through you; he always can. “What do you want?!”

He raises an eyebrow, tsking before deciding to chide you further.

 “My precious girl, I know you’re smarter than that. Do you really need me to tell you three times?”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, an embarrassed flush dusting across your cheeks as he dresses you down. You bite your bottom lip, clearly toying with the idea of saying something likely to get you into further trouble, but ultimately decide against it, slowly closing the distance between you on your shaky legs and only stopping when you are still just out of his easy reach.

Brat.

Remaining unfazed by your attempts to poke the bear as it were, he points to his right leg, bent at the knee. “Sit.”

You glare silently at his limb for a moment, but eventually give in. See? Progress already.

Huffily, you come to sit on his knee, your arms folded and a scowl on that pretty face, but he can feel your anticipation in the tautness of your posture, see it in the way your pupils dilate.

He’ll give you what you need.

Always.

Reader’s POV:

You sit ramrod straight on Terry’s knee, and he makes no move to do or say anything. Something about the strange aura he’s put on since coming up here warns you to not to get up, but you can’t help but fidget in the long stretch of silence. Growing more restless, you uncross your arms and fold your hands in your lap awkwardly, your scowl slowly replaced as your lips purse into a pout.

You feel his large hand at the back of your head, softly caressing your hair, and something about it makes the tension in your body disappear. Deep down you know you’re being difficult on purpose. Work had been stressing you out so much lately, and since you couldn’t blow up at anyone there, you’d been (somewhat unconsciously) trying to goad Terry into fighting with you all this week, just needing some way to release the pent-up frustration that had been building up inside you.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he coos approvingly, his other hand reaching down to squeeze just above your knee. “Now, tell Daddy what’s wrong.”

You shoot up out of his lap in shock, both at his use of ‘Daddy’ and at the way your body responds to the title, a flood of desire flowing through you. His hands come around your waist tightly, firmly putting you back on his lap and keeping you there.

“I told you to sit,” he hisses in a low, gruff voice. “Is there a reason why you can’t seem to do that, or would you like me to give you one?”

A disorienting haze seeps into your mind at the suggestive threat, clouding your judgement and blurring your vision at the edges; you find it hard to swallow.

You find yourself wanting more of it.

“I can see that you’re upset, angel. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” he asks softly, lifting your chin with a finger and forcing you to stare into his piercing blue eyes. You don’t think you could tell him even if you wanted to; you’re not sure you can speak at all like this, flustered and tongue-tied as you are.

Plus, you’re dying to know what refusing him is going to cause him to do.

You shake your head mutely, turning your nose up at him for the second time this evening as you stubbornly deny him what he wants.

You see a glimmer of recognition in Terry’s eyes beneath his façade before he sets his jaw, his grip on your chin tightening. It’s clear now that both of you are aware that this is something of a game, but it’s also evident that it’s somehow something more.

At the very least, it’s distracting you from your stresses at work, and that alone is enough to make you lean into… whatever Terry has up his sleeve.

“That’s five times you’ve disobeyed me since we came in here. What do you have to say for yourself?” he asks, keeping your chin in his firm grip and staring unblinkingly down at you. Terry was always able to make you feel so small…

The lusty haze that you felt coming on returns tenfold, and you fully give into it, longing to just escape the world outside your bedroom for awhile by slipping into this dynamic with Terry. You bite your lip, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes, but say nothing.

“Do I need to take care of that attitude?” he asks, and you’d recognize that dangerous tone in his voice anywhere.

Instead of heeding it, you shrug nonchalantly.

In one fluid motion, he’s got you bent over his other leg, your ass in the air. You let out a surprised shriek, your arms wildly flailing about as you try to grab something to help you straighten yourself out.

“Shhh,” he hushes you, a large hand casually stroking down your spine to the curve of your ass. Somehow, being fully clothed while he has you in this position makes you feel particularly humiliated. You let Terry slowly stroke you into submission until you’re lying limp across his knee.

“Let me take care of you like this, sweetheart,” he coaxes, though you know he’s not really asking for your consent or permission. “Don’t I always give you what you want? What you need?”

“Yes!” you whimper, your eyes shut tight and your face burning with humiliation.

“Yes what?” he presses, using that soft, dangerous voice once more. You swallow thickly, bracing yourself for another hot wash of shame and desire.

“Yes… Daddy.”

You hear him let out a deep, pleased sigh at your show of obedience, and a pleasurable thrill runs through your entire body.

“There’s my good girl. Now unbutton your jeans.”

You start to straighten out, wanting to stand and obey his instructions, but his hand on the small of your back keeps you bent over his knee.

“Did I ask you to stand up?”

“No. I’m sorry, I –” you babble, arching your back up just enough that you can reach a hand between your belly and his thigh and undo your jeans before returning to your limp, compliant position. You had always felt the need to please Terry, both in and outside of the bedroom; he had given you so much during your time together, and you wanted to return the favour at every opportunity.

That, and his praise affected you like nothing else did.

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s good. Now the zipper.”

You wriggle once more, tugging it down obediently, and he lets out a hum of approval that you can feel in your core.

“Pull them down.”

You hook your thumbs in your belt loops, tugging your jeans down to just below the curve of your ass; you can’t reach any further, and you hope that you won’t be in trouble for it. You hear Terry inhale sharply through his teeth, and you imagine you must make quite a sight squirming and bent over his knee, ass bared and in the air before him.

“My underwear too?” you ask him, your voice quavering, and he lets out a low, dark chuckle in response that has your eyes rolling back into your head. He grabs the waistband of your underwear between a thumb and a forefinger, toying with the fabric for a moment before slowly pulling it upwards, stretching the fabric between your cheeks and baring you even more to his lecherous gaze. You let out a needy whine at the feeling of the fabric being pulled taut and rubbing against your clit, but stay perfectly still.

“As much as I want to see your pretty cheeks blushing around these pretty panties, I want you bare for me,” he decides after a long moment his voice deep and gravelly. “Take them off.”

You oblige, tugging them down below the curve of your ass and trying not to tremble or tense up.

“Let me help you with that, sweetheart,” he coos, smoothly pushing your clothing down past your knees and allowing you to kick them off.

“There, that’s good. I don’t want anything getting in the way of your punishment.”

You let out a soft cry of need and anticipation. Terry had spanked you in the heat of the moment before, or playfully swatted you when you got mouthy, but had never made it the sole focus of his attentions. You’re not entirely sure what to expect, and you know that he is very aware of that fact and is relishing in it.

His fingers lightly trace patterns along your hips and up to the small of your back where your shirt has hitched up, pointedly not touching your butt, let alone your slick entrance.

“Five acts of disobedience against me,” he breathes, and you can feel the hot, moist breath on your sensitive skin, making you shiver. “I would say that such insubordination is deserving of a spanking for each offense, but I don’t think that would be enough of a punishment for you. So let’s say five minutes instead, hmmm?”

You tense up despite yourself, your anxious whining drowned out by his low chuckle.

"Relax. Breathe. Just let yourself feel,” he instructs.

“Yes, Daddy,” you squeak meekly, fighting everything within you to keep still.

“If you can’t focus, I’ll have you count them out as something to focus on. Understood?”

You nod immediately from your suspended state, and he draws out the silence, intentionally tormenting you, and you barely hear the air whistling as his hand comes down before you feel the stinging pain of his first strike. You yelp, bucking forward, but he holds you down, one hand at the small of your back while the other softly strokes your burning skin.

“Don’t move, babygirl. Take it all for me, I know you can.”

You let out a stuttering breath, bracing yourself once again, and this time he doesn’t make you wait, raining down a quick succession of several slaps across your ass, his large hand nearly covering one of your cheeks every time it comes down. Your toes try to seek purchase on the carpet as you try to keep still, but you find yourself kicking your feet in the air slightly, your shrieks muffled against his leg.

“Just like that, baby… there’s my good girl, keep going just like that,” he croons in your ear during the next brief reprieve, and you groan for all response. “Breathe and take the pain in, sweetheart; don’t try to fight it.”

“Yes Daddy!” you moan desperately, and you’re ‘rewarded’ with a firm squeeze of your ass that has you hissing.

He continues his assault, his strikes seemingly random and unpredictable, taking you right to the edge of how much pain you could take. Somehow, his apparent knowledge of your limits is better than your own, and it takes a previously unnoticed weight off of your shoulders. You’re unable to focus on anything but the pain and pleasure Terry provides, and the anticipation of what might be coming next. It’s a surprising and incredible relief.

In between the staccatos of slapping flesh, Terry groans his approval, clearly enjoying doling out this punishment and watching its effects on your body.

“I can’t stop myself, Y/N. You look so good like this.”

More slaps, now towards your hips as he targets the area he liked to leave finger-shaped bruises from gripping you tightly as he fucks you.

“Fuck you’re so pretty,” he pants, and you feel his cock twitching through his pants against your abdomen. “My pretty girl.”

You have no idea how much time has passed, but it feels like an eternity that you’ve been held facedown and made to endure your humiliating punishment. The air stings your sensitive, inflamed flesh, and you imagine that it’s hot to the touch from Terry’s thorough attentions.

"You're doing so well, Princess," he purrs approvingly. “Taking everything I give you.”

He gives your stinging bottom a break, moving his hand down to the tops of your thighs, spreading his harsh, red claim further along your body until you’re sobbing incoherently. You find yourself pressing your face into the blankets dangling off the bed, desperate to stifle your cries with something, but Terry’s free hand moves to your hair, tightening his grip on a fistful of your still-damp curls.

“Face up. I want to hear you.”

“B-But…But…” you gasp, unable to articulate your shame. Likely unable to articulate anything, even if your life depended on it.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” he says consolingly, fingertips stroking your tender, abused flesh with reverence. “You can cry if you need to.”

And you do, his permission seeming to open up the floodgates until you’re crying and drooling so much and so hard your face may as well be in competition with your pussy which is leaking your slick down your thighs at a similar rate.

“You look incredible like this,” he rasps, his voice hoarse. “Ass so red it’s nearly glowing, cunt needier than I’ve ever seen it.”

His fingertips lightly, possessively stroke across his handiwork, and you do your best not to wriggle or whine. “Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?” he asks, and you nod frantically, your eyes clenched tightly shut and forcing your tears down your face. Humming in approval, he gently guides you back up, standing you between his spread legs. Even while sitting on the bed he remains taller than you, and as you look up at him through your tears you feel small, nervous, and…

Safe.

This feeling is only reinforced as Terry takes your face in his hands, brushing away your tears and cooing at you softly as you tremble before him. Just as you start to relax underneath his touch, letting your guard down, he releases his grip, staring down at you intensely.

“Get on your knees. Now.”

Your eyes widen and you hasten to obey, the aching sting of your behind a painful reminder of the consequences of disobedience. You wince as you get down on your knees before him, and Terry looks down at you with mock sympathy.

“Oh, sweetheart. Are you sore?” he asks condescendingly.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” you sniffle, unable to look him in the eye as you stand up on your knees. He doesn’t immediately respond, prompting you to turn your gaze upward to see a glint in his eye.

“Sit on your heels. All the way down,” he instructs, and it takes a moment for your brain to force your body to respond, your stinging flesh rubbing against the rougher fabric of your socks making you whimper. Terry’s eyes are bright as they watch you gingerly try to remain in the uncomfortable position.

“Sometimes we need to experience pain to help us learn our lesson, don’t we Y/N?” he asks,  casually crossing his long legs at the ankle, his feet nearly brushing your knees.

“Yes Sir,” you reply immediately, trying to keep your face and tone neutral.

“And what lesson have you learned from this, baby?”

“N-Not to hide things from you.”

“And?” he presses, clearly savouring your obedience despite your discomfort. This is what happens when you try to push Terry into something, your inner voice scolds you. He gives you what you want and then some. And then more than you can handle.

“To listen to you. And do what you say,” you force the words out meekly, feeling the flush return to your cheeks as you’re put in your place, on your knees before him. As you should be, that inner voice purrs with conviction.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, and another shiver of desire courses through you. You try not to squirm on your feet, not wanting to aggravate your aching skin further.

“Do you want me to tell you what’s wrong?” you ask, looking up at him with teary, pleading eyes. Anything to get you off your heels.

Terry smirks down at you with glittering eyes, taking the side of your face in his hand and gently stroking your cheek, and you just know you’re in for it.

“Not yet, sweet thing. There’s something else that pouty mouth needs to do first.” His free hand moves to his belt, deftly undoing it and pulling it free, his eyes never leaving your own.

You start to fidget in your apprehension, but stop immediately when it irritates your sensitive skin. “B-But I –” you stammer, unsure if you can be coherent enough to service him properly.

“You will do what I say,” he says sternly, unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down enough to free his throbbing, leaky cock before sitting back down on the very edge of the bed. “Isn’t that right, little doll?”

“Yes, Daddy.” At least you’d have to stand up on your knees to blow him if he sat like that, and you yearn for some relief.

“That’s right, babygirl. I’ve given you your punishment, and now it’s time for you to thank me for doing so.”

You nod at him silently, accepting your fate but not having the wherewithal to respond with words. You’d probably just say something that would get you into even more trouble.

“I won’t be repeating myself, so be a good girl and listen,” he tells you firmly, and God, the way he talks down to you never fails to drive you wild…

You nod again, your body tense with anticipation.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue” he growls, and you immediately obey, relaxing your jaw, your pink tongue out and resting against your bottom lip.

“Eyes on me the entire time, do you understand?”

A third nod, and you keep your tongue out and your mouth open as you bob your head up and down, and Terry clearly enjoys the sight. He reaches down to your face slowly, lightly pinching the tip of your tongue and tugging on it before sliding two of his long, thick fingers into your mouth. You immediately start to suck, twirling your tongue around his digits, and he lets out a groan of approval.

“Such a responsive little thing,” he purrs. “But you lips won’t be able to reach me from all the way down there. Let me help you,” he offers with mock sincerity, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he tucks himself back into his pants, stands and walks past you to retrieve a small ottoman from your sitting area and placing it at the foot of the bed next to you. He retakes his seat on the bed, a foot to either side of the ottoman, and frees his cock once more, stroking it slowly with one hand and pointing down between his legs with the other.

“Come. Sit. Same position.”

You crawl up onto the ottoman and try to gently sit back on your heels, but it’s useless – you’re going to be hurting for quite awhile, you imagine. You’re now comfortably eye level with his abdomen, though you keep your eyes on his and your tongue out, as instructed. You’re so wet you think you can feel it through your socks, and fight the urge to wantonly grind against yourself, not wanting to earn further punishment.

Terry guides his cock to your wet and waiting mouth, tracing the curve of your upper lip with the thick head with a feral expression before laying his heavy length along your outstretched tongue.

“Pleasure me,” he demands in a low voice, eyes locked with yours as he eagerly awaits your response. Biting back a moan at his salty, musky flavour on your tongue, you set to work, sealing your lips around him and sucking the first few inches of him into your mouth.

Terry’s eyes start to roll back in his head and you watch him struggle to keep his eyes on you, feeling an overwhelming sense of power and pride as he immediately starts to come apart for you. Encouraged by his response, you bob your head with even more enthusiasm, wriggling your tongue along the underside of his cock the way he likes.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Show me how grateful you are,” he groans, body tense as he tries to maintain his composure and keep from thrusting into you. Wanting to give him a break, you take his cock in hand, stroking it languidly as you lick him all over, gently taking his balls in your mouth until he tosses his head back, the silver locks starting to come loose from their ponytail.

“You know just how I like it, don’t you?” he hisses through gritted teeth, thrusting into your palm. “I love how hard you try to please me, my dirty girl.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you purr coyly, batting your eyes up at him and he snarls, fisting a hand in your hair and guiding your greedy mouth back to his cock. Clearly you weren’t meant to be taking the reins quite that much while in this dynamic with him.

“I’m going to count to three,” Terry growls as you take his length between your lips once more, “And by the time I get there you’d better have all of me down that pretty little throat.” His grip on your hair tightens in warning, making your scalp sting.

“One.”

You bob your head, taking slightly more of his length into your mouth every time, approaching your gag reflex.

“Two.”

Before he can get to ‘three’ you force yourself to relax your throat, pushing yourself forward until your nose presses against his firm stomach, your eyes watering as they try to keep looking up at him; you don’t want to disobey him now, not after all this. Terry lets out a filthy groan, one hand coming up to gently caress the back of your head, keeping you in place.

“Christ, you take me so well. Keep me inside, baby girl. You can do it.”

Your hands are balled into fists as you force yourself to deepthroat him, drool escaping from the corners of your mouth in rivers as you fight to hold your breath. Terry stares down at you with reverence as you push yourself past your discomfort in order to please him, fiery pleasure coiling in your belly.

Just as your vision starts to darken around the edges he pulls out, watching you gasp for breath between his legs, fighting to keep your tongue out and your eyes on his. He stares down at you for only a moment to enjoy your struggle to obey before stroking the side of your face.

“Take a minute to recover, precious girl, it’s alright,” he breathes, and you nod, resting your forehead on the edge of the mattress and taking deep, calming breaths, wiping your tears and drool off your face the best you can, but Terry’s hand comes down under your chin, tilting your head back up.

“Ah ah ah, none of that,” he chides you, batting your hands away. “You will not deprive me of the sight of you looking like a well-used fucktoy.”

You whimper at the degradation, and Terry gives you a toothy grin, cradling your face in both hands.

“I’m going to use you now,” he informs you seriously, and a shudder runs through you at his tone. “And when I come you’re going to keep it in your mouth, understood?”

“Y-”

Before you can even respond he’s thrusting himself back into your mouth, holding the sides of your head tightly as he takes his pleasure in your body. All you can do is hold still and do your best to breathe when you’re able, moaning as he uses you hard and fast.

“Perfect tight mouth… take all your slutty holes… all mine,” he grunts savagely as he fucks your face, coming down your throat with a growl of your name. You fight the urge to swallow, his cum heavy on your tongue, hoping that this would be the end and you could finally rest.

Terry’s POV:

He stares down at you as he tucks himself back into his pants, watching you trying to catch your breath through your nose as you keep his cum in your mouth, crying and red-faced.

Gods above, you are a perfect creature.

He quickly takes his phone out of his pants pocket, snapping a few photos of you (it helped that you were unable to protest even if you wanted to, what with your mouth being full) to immortalize the moment.

“Alright sweetheart, you can swallow,” he says soothingly, waiting for you to do so before scooping you up and placing you back in his lap and feeling you tense weakly as his pants rub against the sensitive flesh of your ass.

“My brave, brave girl,” he coos, wrapping his arms around you tightly and peppering your face with kisses. “You did so good.”

“T-Thank you Daddy,” you whine, turning to bury your face into his chest.

“Ssshh, no more of that, sweetheart,” he croons, helping you out of your shirt before lifting you as he gets up off the bed and lightly laying you down on your stomach, arranging the pillows around you comfortably. “I’m going to take care of you now.”

“Mmph,” you mumble incoherently into the silk sheets, and he chuckles as he moves to retrieve a bottle of lotion from the dresser across the room. You lift your head slightly to repeat yourself.

“I’m too tired, Terry” you sigh, though your body seems to suggest otherwise, arching slightly as he lightly runs his hand along your calf.

“You don’t need to do anything, babygirl, just relax and enjoy,” he purrs, climbing onto the bed next to you. He quickly braids your hair, moving it out of the way before getting to work. He starts with your butt, still covered in a mosaic of red handprints, liberally applying lotion as he tries to relieve some of your pain.

He needs to take care of you well this first time if he’s going to coax you into repeating it again, and based on how you both responded to the spanking he’s definitely going to be insisting on a repeat performance.

By the time he finishes his gentle massage, your thighs are constantly quivering and twitching beneath his touch, the smell of your arousal permeating the air. Biting back a smug grin, he pretends to ignore the tempting sight that you present, sliding up your body to continue your massage.

"All mine. You're all mine, Y/N,” he murmurs, over and over again as he thoroughly massages your neck and shoulders, moving down your back until he’s reached the curve of your ass again. Moving past it, he kneels at the foot of the bed, rubbing your feet and fighting the urge to tickle them as he hears your muffled giggles through your little fort of pillows and blankets.

As soon as he starts working up your calves, the laughter stops and his smile turns into a predatory grin.

“I’m still so proud of you, sweetheart,” he says conversationally as he slowly works his way up your legs. He hears a soft moan from further up the bed and smirks at the sound, keen on pulling out more reactions from you. It’s the least you deserved after all of your obedience.

“You took so much for me, babygirl. I knew you could do it,” he praises as he spreads your thighs apart slightly to massage them, licking his lips at the sight of your dripping pussy peeking out at him from the apex of your thighs.

"Are we going to be a good girl from now on?" he asks teasingly as his fingers toy with the delicate skin of your inner thighs. He can’t make out your muffled response, and can’t resist goading you once more.

“Use your words, Princess,” he purrs, squeezing your thigh in warning, and you squeak as you lift your head up to answer him.

“Yeeeess, Terry!” you whine, clamping your legs together around his hand. “I’ll be a good girl, I promise!”

“Good,” he says approvingly as he turns you over gently onto your back, taking one of your hands and rubbing it with his thumb before moving up your arm. “Now, what has you so upset lately?”

The story spills out of your pouty, swollen lips immediately, and he remains outwardly focused on your massage so that you don’t dwell on your words. Internally he snarls as the names of your manager and a particularly aggravating coworker are identified as the source of your recent stress; he so wishes you would just take him up on his offer to have you never work a day in your life again, but you were adamant about your independence and on never having to solely rely on him.

He can respect it, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.

He appeases himself with thoughts of how to address the situation, everything from framing the perpetrators for embezzlement to them having a tragic ‘accident’ crossing his mind, but you had too big of a heart for that. He’ll have to settle for indulging in the thought alone.

“…and it’s just frustrating that I can never say anything back to them, no matter how angry I get,” you finish, sighing exasperatedly as you stare at the ceiling. “I just wish I could let out some of my frustration at the source of it all, you know what I mean? Well, I guess you wouldn’t,” you say teasingly with a slight laugh, and he kisses the back of your hand as he positions himself further down your body to the tops of your thighs.

“I’m sorry, Terry,” you sigh, your eyes gently closed from either the relaxation or your chagrin. “It wasn’t fair of me to take out everything on you. I’ve been awful lately,”

“Now now,” he interrupts, clucking his tongue at you. “None of that, darling. Besides, you’ve more than made up for it this evening, wouldn’t you say?” he adds, leering at you once you open your eyes to look at him and making you giggle.

“Are you suggesting I should be a brat more often?” you ask with a cheeky smile.

Instead of replying, he spreads your legs wide, diving in and finally giving into the desire to lap up your musky, sweet nectar. You shriek in surprise at the sudden movement, and he quickly takes hold of your hips, trying to keep them in place without pressing them into the mattress too hard. He thrusts his tongue inside, savouring your taste, and can tell that you’re already close. Somewhat reluctantly, he decides to take it easy on you, honing in on your sweet pearl and sucking on it until you’re coming hard for him, your fists gripping the sheets as you try to arch upward, crying his name.

“If you feel the need to keep up the pretense, darling, feel free,” he hums, idly toying with your slick folds as he laves kisses across your bare chest. “I’ll be doling out the punishments and rewards as I see fit regardless.”

“Oh, poor me,” you reply snarkily, twining your body against his and trying to cuddle him. Not one to be outdone, Terry detangles himself from your limbs to quickly undress once more, pulling back the blankets and watching you slide under them before joining you, rearranging you just how he likes. He’ll slip away once you’ve fallen asleep to bring you up something to eat along with some painkillers to help take the ache away; you weren’t accustomed to sex quite this rough. Not yet, that is.

“Poor you?” he repeats quietly into your hair, amused as always by your sass. Kissing the top of your head, he clutches you to his chest possessively. “Not a chance. Not ever again.”

[No, the gifs scattered throughout have nothing to do with the events, but the tone they gave off seemed appropriate (or at least hot)]

[ignoremyworld]

ACCIDENTAL DATE

PART 4/4

CHAPTER FOUR:KISS

NOT PROOFREAD

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Steve thought he and Eddie were getting along great. They had nights where they’d sit and laugh at shitty movies together, nights where they’d sit and talk about all the shit going on in their lives. They were friends now. But Steve couldn’t ignore the growing admiration for the man.

It had been almost two weeks since Eddie was discharged from the hospital. Steve had made sure that Eddie was resting, eating the right foods, and drinking plenty of water. They sat on the couch together as they ate lunch. Steve made Eddie’s favorite, grilled cheese.

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie blurted out. They were watching a movie, the never ending story, one of their favorites.

“Yeah of course.” Steve said, turning to see Eddie “what’s wrong? You’re kinda red in the face.” Worried, Steve scooted closer and put his hand on Eddie’s forehead.

Eddie laughed “I’m fine Steve. This is just an embarrassing question.” He said, taking Steve’s hand off his forehead.

Steve couldn’t ignore the butterflies forming in his stomach. Why was he feeling this way over Eddie? They were just friends. Right?

“Okay. Go on, I’m all ears” Steve said, laying back against the couch.

Eddie took a deep breath. “Have you found your soulmate?” He questioned.

Steve looked at him, a little shocked. Eddie was looking down at his hands and playing with the hem of his pants with his free hand.

Steve couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “No. No I haven’t. Have you?” He said, moving a little closer to Eddie.

“I haven’t either.” Eddie replied. Still looking down.

Steve could see the embarrassment and the slight twinge of hope in his eyes just fine though. To Steve, it felt like he knew what Eddie was feeling without asking. It felt like they had a connection of some kind.

Steve looked down at his soulmark ‘E.M’ In black letters on his wrist. There was the slightest bit of hope. Hope that the letters on his hand were for Eddie.

Steve turned back to Eddie. “Why do you ask?” He said.

“I just wanted to know. Just pure curiosity. Nothing else. Totally” Eddie said quickly. He was panicking a little. Steve could tell but he wouldn’t pry. He didn’t want to make Eddie uncomfortable.

“Okay. Now it’s my turn to ask you something” Steve said. Watching as Eddie lifted his head to look Steve in the eyes. “What initials do you have?”

Eddie smiled. “It says ‘S.H’ but it’s on my bad arm so you’ll have to wait to see.” Eddie laughed. Bringing his good hand to his cast and rubbing the bit around the wrist.

Steve laughed with him before settling down a bit. He could tell Eddie was thinking of something. Being pretty sure of what was going through Eddie’s mind, he said “mine is ‘E.M’. I remember freaking out when I got them”

Eddie’s head jerked up quickly. His eyes wide, full of hope. They said nothing. Just looking at each other.

“Can-can I ask another question” Eddie said. Not pulling his eyes away from Steve.

“Yeah…?” Steve said. Unsure of why Eddie was so shocked.

Eddie moved closer to Steve. Their knees bumping into the others. “My last name is Munson. What’s yours”

Now it was Steve’s turn to feel shocked. It was strange. He never thought he’d actually have this conversation. As a kid he worried that his soulmate would ignore the path that the universe had set out for them and walk away with someone else.

“My… my last name is Harrington.” He said, eyes blown wide and mouth agape.

Steve was able to move his eyes from Eddie’s to glance at his lips. Eddie must have noticed because he leaned in and kissed steve. It felt right. The way their lips pressed together and their hands starting to intertwine.

They pulled away from each other. Hands still interlocked, they smiled and started to laugh. Steve jumped forward to hug his newfound soulmate. They lied there together on the couch in silence before Eddie spoke.

“Do you mind if we take things slow? I don’t want to lose this by going to fast y’know”

Steve looked up at him “of course!” He said smiling “I’m not expecting us to get married on the spot” he joked, enjoying the way Eddie laughed.

“Thank you Steve.” Eddie said, kissing his soulmates head.

Steve smiled and moved back down so his head was on Eddie’s chest. He heard Eddie wince and shot up.

“Oh no I’m so sorry i forgot about your arm!” He said, checking to see if there was any bad damage.

“Steve it’s okay!” Eddie laughed “it was just a little throb of pain okay?” He said

Steve looked at him with worry. “Okay but you’re gonna lay on me now. I don’t wanna risk anything” he said, sitting back with open arms that Eddie jumped right into.

“Don’t gotta tell me twice” Eddie said rubbing his head on Steve’s chest.

Steve knew he’d get a scolding from Robin for not telling her sooner. But he didn’t care right now. He just wanted to be here. With his soulmate.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Okay! That’s the end! I hope you all enjoyed this little fic. I’m hoping to write more multi chapter stories in the future!

As always advice and constructive criticism is appreciated!

I know I didn’t really involve Eddie being a rockstar in this much but I’m hoping to get better at that in the future!

[readercognito]

A Nearly Sleepless Night

Modern!Sherlock x Reader

(yes, it's got a truth potion plot point.)

(Y/n)’s peaceful slumber was rudely interrupted by the telltale ringing of her cell. Blindly reaching to the charging device she barely managed to get a look at the caller ID before she groggily slapped it against her ear. 

“What on earth are doing calling me at-” I lift up the phone, eyes tearing up due to how bright my screen was. “-2 A.M. John?” I mumbled into the receiver.

“It’s Sherlock, he needs you.” Johns voice crackled over the line, a worried twinge entering his voice at the last two syllables.

But I was too fogged with sleep to notice “Unless he’s dying, he doesn’t need me.”

“I’m really sorry to wake you up (Y/n). But he won't. Stop. TALKING. I'm at my wit's end! He was out on some mad errand and now he's at my home and divulging anything that's come across his mind!" Said John.

"Oh, dear." I said the claws of sleep slowly loosening it's grasp on me. "Tell me poor Mary wasn't anywhere near him…"

"No, thank God. She's asleep, but he's getting louder, and in all honesty I don't know how long this will last." John that thread of worry turning into a full blown tapestry.

I sighed, knowing just what I was going to sacrifice. Just what my dear old friend was alluding to. But I had to give a good night's rest one last try.

"John, do you love me?" I asked pitifully.

"Not that much I'm afraid." Said John, an air of relief in his teasing tone.

I huffed "Fine. Bring the twat over! You owe me a great deal for this."

And just like that, my night was sleepless.

John brought over Sherlock in less than ten minutes after the call. He was unceremoniously shoved into my home without another word, John left. That is where the fun began.

“Sit down on the couch Sherlock so I can look you over”, I commanded.

And like a puppet on strings he rather oddly walked over to my couch and sat down. I shook it off as soreness from a beating he surely had gotten.

His button up and jeans were wrinkled and dirty. Any semblance of his usual leather jacket was nowhere to be seen. He had a split lip, and what looked like a developing shiner. His hair was ruffled and looked a little burnt. All in all he looked like hell. But what really startled me is what came out of his mouth next.

"You look very pretty when you're concerned. About me that is." He blurted.

To be perfectly honest he looked as surprised as I felt. Afterwards he rather promptly (and childishly) slapped his hand over his mouth. A series of muffled mumbles following.

"Aside from that Sherlock, what on earth happened to you? I thought you weren't taking that case with the mob ties." I said, a little disappointed he went against my back for this.

"I lied, I didn't want you getting involved. I can’t stand seeing you-” And back went the hand, a slight blush painting his pale freckled face.

I was getting a little upset by all the mystery right about now. “Shirley if you don’t explain yourself I will tie your hands together behind you! Now stop muffling yourself, and speak to me clearly!”

Then Sherlock did something I really wasn't expecting…

He did exactly as I said.

Sherlock's hand shot from his mouth as if burnt by a hot coal. 

“I can’t stand it when you get hurt. Especially when it’s because of a case I’m on.” He blurted the faint pink of his cheeks starting to redden.

I was shocked to say the very least. Only able to mumble a faint “what?” In my own shock, failing to notice Sherlock desperately trying to cover his mouth. His hand only hovering in front of his mouth. Honestly with the way he treated me most of the time. Well lets just say near constant aloofness, and dismissal of one's general opinions and ideas isn’t really grounds for growing affection. But then again, more recently he’s had moments of a strange gentleness and being unusually thoughtful.

Just last week he had fixed my beloved locket when it broke. It was honestly the most thoughtful thing I had ever seen him do. Which got me thinking thoroughly of our time together, and how protective he’s gotten over the last four months. Getting less and less forthcoming with his exploits, trying to keep me out of entire cases on occasion! Which honestly is more infuriating than anything else, he did hire me to write about his exploits after all. (Since he wasn’t really fond of the paper constantly getting details wrong.) 

I looked at Sherlock, he was unusually quiet and rather fidgety. He sent an nervous glance, and though he was trying to hide it he looked very tense. But strangely still on the exact spot of the couch that he sat on when I asked him to sit on my couch.

Sherlock being the sort of person he is, usually paces or shifts from chair to chair, often room to room. Usually by this point in the conversation we would be in the kitchen or even my bathroom by this point. But here he was still as a statue, on my couch. 

“Sherlock, please don't keep secrets from me. You look like you’ve been through the ringer, and you’re acting weird... Well, weirder than usual.” I said sitting next to him. 

Sherlock winced, then spouted.

“It wasn’t just tied to the mob. It was a trap, I was so stupid! How did I not see something so obvious!” Sherlock puts his head in his hands. Looking defeated and frustrated.

I put my hand on his shoulder, in an effort to comfort him. I knew he hated feeling outdone, or worse out thought…

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" I asked softly.

It turns out that the “missing” man wasn't missing at all. He was a murder victim of The Vipers, a new and ruthless gang. The police had been trying to find the gang’s hideout but everytime they got close the Vipers moved and the police had to start from square one. Sherlock had been asked to be brought in, but refused because the case didn’t sound “exciting enough”. He thought that the mysterious murder he took up was related to the Vipers. He got more interested and even found the Vipers Current hideout. Unfortunately, that was exactly what the Vipers had wanted. After a heated scuffle, he was knocked out, and when he had come too there was the Viper leader. Gage Boyd, spent ten years in the clink for the murders of three fifteen year-old girls, though the police (and Sherlock, who had actually put him behind bars) believed there were more. 

Gage bragged about the supposed "obedience serum" saying that he would make Sherlock tell all that he knew. Which Sherlock being himself, meant an awful lot.

"Is Steven safe?" I asked, worried for our mutual friend.

"Yes, his cover is intact. I was able to make my escape before any truly important information was wrestled from me. But it seems that their 'serum' has quite a long lasting effect…" said Sherlock, his hands fidgeting with the remnants of this shirt.

"Oh, so what you said…" I trailed off.

"Yes, it was due to the serum." He said. Refusing to look me in the eye.

"Sherlock, what were you saying before about me going on cases?" I asked, sitting next to him.

The redness in his cheeks returned full force and fidgeting but seemingly unable to move from his spot on the couch. 

"W-well with what ha-happened with the last case we were on I-" He stopped for a moment, seeming to reminisce…

Ah yes the last case I was on… let's just say some nasty men got a little too close to me for comfort.

"I don't want to have you in that situation ever again. I-I don't know what I'd do with myself if you really got hurt. I lo- I love you too much for that…" he said pulling at his shirt collar, as if trying to hide the furious blush creeping down his neck.

I'm not going to lie, I was shocked. Not in a bad way mind you, because I had been harboring feelings for the scruffy detective for the last two months.

"You might not believe me Sherlock," I said then grabbed his hand, shocking him out of his crimson stupor. "But I might just love you too…"

Sherlock turned to me, a soft smile adorning his face. I nearly recoiled, this was an expression I haven’t ever seen my shrewd detective wear. But honestly it was something I could get used to. 

I then remembered what time it was, and my first "order".

"Oh Sherlock I'm so sorry! You can move however you like now… and you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I'm so sorry for forcing any of this on you..."

Sherlock stood slowly, as if getting used to having legs all over again. After getting used to gravity again, he turned and fixed me with the softest look I had ever seen from him.

"It's… alright. I don't blame you for any of it, you didn't-couldn't have possibly known of my condition. In all honesty, I had thought the toxin would have worn off by now…" he said that defeated tone creeping in towards the end.

"Now Sher-" I was about to say 'now Sherlock don't worry about that' but to avoid ordering him around. I said "Whatever happens we'll get through this."

And so ends a nearly sleepless night.

[tired-of-being-nice]

rude awakening

sooo um...turns out posting that little snippet earlier was just the motivation i needed to finish the whole thing! finally! the direct follow-up to what i posted at the end of february (geez.) enjoy :)

cws: past injury, general disorientation, assumed kidnapping, whumpee going back on purpose(?)

Coren wakes up slowly and painfully. It cracks open an eye and the light that floods its vision immediately creates a pulsing ache at the back of its head, so it closes its eyes again and tries to put together the pieces. 

It's not at home, it knows that much. The surface it's lying on is much too soft and comfortable to be it's little nook back at home. So where is it, then? And how did it get here?

The last thing it can remember clearly is sitting in the rain, staring at its hands. After that...everything gets blurry, fuzzy, distant. They remember Milo showing up, and vaguely recall being given water, or something, and the sensation of warmth and of someone holding their hand tight, but it all feels like maybe it happened to someone else.

Right now, though, it's definitely fully aware of what's happening to it, and it really wishes it wasn't. Still, though, it forces itself to run a diagnostic check.

Ankle: hurts. Sprained it a few weeks ago and never gave it the chance to heal up properly, so now it just twinges incessantly. Legs: ache. Stomach: feels like it's trying to eat itself alive. Arms: ache. Hard to move. Throat: dry. Eyes: sticky and weird. Head: oh god, hurts a lot. General status: It feels too drained to move, and its mind is begging it to pass out again, but that won't do it any good. Conclusion: get up, idiot, you're fine.

Coren makes a small, pained noise as it forces its eyes open again and squints into the sunlight.

Wait. Sunlight...

"Oh, you're waking up?" an unfamiliar voice says cheerily, and all other thoughts leave Coren for a moment as a surge of adrenaline rushes through it, forcing it up and onto its feet as it struggles to process who's standing across from it.

It doesn't need to process much, thankfully— just that it doesn't know them, and it's morning, and last it remembers it was night, and that means it's probably late for work, and that's all it needs to know to know that it needs to run.

"H- hey, wait!" the stranger calls after them as they turn to flee. Normally they'd be able to outrun anyone they know, but they're still so weak—head fuzzy, limbs not responding as fast as they should—that the best they can manage is a kind of rapid stumble. "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere! None of your business!" Coren spits, fumbling for something nearby– some kind of weapon, anything– there, that works. They grab it and brandish it in front of them in their most threatening manner. "I don't know what you did to me, but– I'm going, so stay away from me!"

"I didn't do anything to you," the person says with a very insulting look of amusement. "I just let you sleep on my couch for a while. That's my spatula you're holding, by the way."

Coren glances at the...spatula in their hand, glances back at the person, and then turns around and half-flings themself out the door.

"Wh– hey! Get back here, y- MILO! Milo, wake up!"

Coren freezes momentarily. Milo's here? That's–

That's another good reason to run. Yes. Right. They start running, and after a mere few seconds are forced to reduce it to a sort of rapid walk, and then to a slower walk, and then considering the spots in their vision and the pounding in their ears they're lucky to be moving at all. But they are moving, they're still moving, even if they have to have one hand on a wall to hold them up, and no one's caught them yet, and once they get back to their headquarters they can explain what happened and apologize for missing work and hopefully they'll be forgiven and they'll be put in the room with the noise and everything will be okay again. Yes. Everything will be okay. They just have to get there.

taglist: @whumpsoda, @snakebites-and-ink

[bigmetalbastard]

This election has done something to me that I find odd but somehow exactly right. It has kicked my compassion into overdrive. I like to think that I'm a good person most of the time, that I truly do care about people and the world around me. And I definitely do. But my ability to empathize with and care for others has become immeasurable in the last two weeks.

I went to the mall after my craft show ended today, and while sitting in the food court eating my lukewarm Popeyes chicken sandwich I was so overwhelmed with the beauty of life around me. This place was packed to the gills with families, and friend groups, and people of all ethnicities and cultures. All of them just enjoying their time.

It made me so happy and at the same time I felt just a twinge of sadness. A drop of bittersweet melancholy in my little pool of joy. Seeing everyone there made me wonder how anyone, at all, could look at a scene like this, where people were laughing and in good spirits, taking care of one another, and being with one another, it made me wonder how they could hate something like this.

Why are these people deserving of your anger, your hatred, when all each of us truly wants is to live? What about these people living simple lives and loving it makes you so afraid of them? Why does your happiness hinge on their suffering? Why can't you just live and let live?

I know you're afraid of losing control, but that's the way of things. We don't always control everything, and sometimes that's for the best. I know you're scared, I know what it's like to see the world change around you and not be able to react. And electing this dunce was your way of fighting back, and for that I pity you.

This is the thing you fear most, that despite it all, through the rage, and hate, and war crimes, I will never hate you the way you hate me. I feel sorry for you, and no matter what you do or think of me, only death would stop me from being kind to you and giving you grace.

I know it's funny to romanticize a foodcourt like this but when the world feels so dark I'm going to squeeze every last ounce of beauty and joy from anything I can find. It was a beautiful day today. I made 300 bucks that I didn't have yesterday. I made some new artist friends. I got a reasonably well made Popeyes combo meal and walked around a crowded mall filled with laughter and joy. I watched a movie on my couch with my cat on my lap.

I spent my day filled with love, and hope, and compassion, and I'm going to do the same fucking thing every day I get the privilege of waking up.

[greghatecrimes]

Once again I am yearning to write but have very little energy. Have a snippet of Chase's thoughts on him and Thirteen being like siblings from a few weeks back. Post After Hours, hopefully to be continued into a full one-shot.

He’s struck by how eerily this feels like a moment from another lifetime. A lifetime where his mother had never fallen down the bottle; a lifetime where his father might have stayed. Where he’d never been forced to grow up too fast and then felt the overwhelming need to run, abandoning his sister for the seminary, and then for the States. In another life, his sister would be sitting where Thirteen is, Princeton would be Melbourne, and they’d be sitting on his sofa after work, just like this; watching crappy movies with pizza and cheap wine and taking comfort in each other’s presence.  He thinks back to the last time he spoke to her, after he found out that their father died. Had he told her that he missed her? That he loved her? That he was proud of her for straightening out, living her life for something other than the numbing haze of alcohol and the bitter thrill of spite?  Chase glances at Thirteen on the couch beside him, legs pulled to her chest, chin resting on her knees. The dark circles under her eyes have only gotten more pronounced as they both approach thirty-six hours without any sleep, nearing the same shade of purple as the bruise he’d left on her neck. There’s still a twinge of guilt when he remembers what it had felt like to throw her to the ground after it became clear she wasn’t going to stop fighting, her blue eyes wide with shock and hurt and betrayal. But he’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? He’d just been looking out for her; he'd just wanted to stop her from doing something she couldn’t come back from. It’s what he would have wanted someone to do for his sister. Would Thirteen's brother have done the same?  Had she gotten to have one last conversation with him before she pushed the plunger, or had the Huntington’s stolen too much for him to say any more than those two words? (It’s time.) Did she know in those last moments that her brother would miss her? That he loved her? That he was proud of her?  Chase decides that she needs to know. She needs to hear it from someone, even if he's not the brother she needs him to be. “You know,” he says evenly, breaking the silence. “You remind me a lot of my sister.” That grabs her attention. She glances away from the TV to look at him curiously. “…You have a sister. That’s new.”  “We don’t… talk much. Not since she was small.” He admits. He just needs to tell her and be done with it. He’s starting to fumble his words. “But I was thinking and, you know… you remind me a lot of her. Too clever for your own good. Stubbornly brave. Compassionate.” He takes a breath and goes straight for the heart of it before he can lose his nerve.  “I’d be proud if she had grown up into someone like you.” Thirteen stares at him for a moment, processing. After a second of hesitation, she forces out a stunted, awkward laugh. “You… can’t actually mean that.” When Chase doesn’t refute, she furrows her brows and frowns at him in disbelief. “I have Huntington’s. I went to prison. I euthanized my brother.” She shakes her head at him. “...The only reason you’re able to say that is because you’re as fucked up as I am.”  “No,” Chase insists. “I really would be. You’re a good person, Remy. You’re a good doctor.” he swallows and finds that, for some reason, he can’t quite look her in the eye. “After everything today… sure, we fucked up, but we worked together and made it through. I’m proud of us.”  There’s a long pause, and Chase briefly wonders if he should have said anything at all. When he glances back up, Thirteen’s got her eyes trained on the TV, careful not to look at him.  “…Thanks,” she finally says, choked up. “…Thank you. I mean it.”  He moves a little closer to her and rests one arm along the back of the couch, just behind her shoulders. “I do, too.” he tells her. Thirteen heaves out a quiet sigh. She allows her head to fall softly against the side of Chase's shoulder, and for the first time all evening, lets the weight of exhaustion pull her eyes closed.

[swanhurrem]

Part 2

Embry Call x Swan FemReader (not use of Y/N)

Summary: You love your sister till your last breath, but never realized how far her lifestyle will ever affect you.

Warnings for the entire fic: Depression, angst, death and it’s a little bit fluffy till it ain’t. Sad ending.

Twilight masterlist.

This fic masterlist.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3>

"Bella still the same, what about you? Are you feeling better?" You asked Embry, lately he had been feeling very strange; He told you that he had hit a sudden growth spurt that his mother always made him notice, spells of very high fever and drastic mood swings, which was completely unnatural for him. It was for those reasons that he wouldn't let you go see him. He forbade you to get close to him in that state, so you only kept in touch via calls.

"Better actually, today mom will take the afternoon and evening shift, so I'll stay all day watching those ridiculous movies that you like"

You had your mouth full of food, but that didn't stop you from replying "Hey! Don't you dare call the Star Wars movies ridiculous, unless you want me to dump you, because in which case you do a good job"

You had forced Embry to watch all the Star Wars movies one weekend when you were staying at his house. He didn't look particularly bored with them, just that it was a no-brainer that he'd rather spend his time on something more interesting; spending the whole night pestering you with neck kisses that soon turned into something else, causing both of you to leave the subject of movies for the following weekend.

You heard Embry's shrill laugh on the other end of the line. "Okay, sorry, I'll stop calling your beloved Jedi movies ridiculous."

"Okay, so you're still in a relationship. HEY! You still haven't told me what you plan to do for your birthday" he had to move the phone away from his ear when he heard your little accusatory cry.

His birthday was coming up soon and you were very excited about the event. You had planned the gift of him weeks in advance and you were already very anxious to give it to him.

"Just a little celebration with Jake, Quil and you, of course, here at home"

"Great, I'll give you my gift and you'll love it" you affirmed with a smile.

There was a rattle across the line as if he was setting something up "If it has to do with food; hand it over to me when Quil's not around, we both know he'll steal everything" You guys laughed at that, Quil always eat all the boys food, and you didn't know if their appetite was due to gluttony or the simple desire to annoy their friends.

You were sitting at the kitchen table with your eyes on the empty bowl before you, when your father peeked through the door and waved for you to go to the living room, you nodded towards him and quickly he walked away "Honey… I have to go now" you said with a little twinge of guilt.

"Will you call me tomorrow?" he asked.

"Of course I do" you said "I call you practically every day"

He laughed "Okay, bye love"

"Goodbye"

You ended the call and walked to the room where your father was waiting for you on the couch. You sat softly next to his as you watched him with his elbows resting on his knees, supporting his chin. These past few months he had been so tired from work and Bella's depressive state that when he found a little moment of rest at night, he was pulled out of it by your sister's screams. He was immersed in a state of excessive and constant worry, depriving him of sleep and other basic necessities during the day.

Your father snapped his fingers as he sat up straighter. "I'll tell Bella to go back to Jacksonville," he snapped, and despite saying it as a statement, his face was more of a question.

"I don't think she wants to do it dad" you said softly. Bella really hoped that Edward or some other Cullen would come back, if she went with your mother there was no way any of them would go looking for her there.

"It's just that… He won't come back, and I don't know what to do anymore" he ran his hands roughly over his face, his dark circles and disheveled hair were a clear indication of the exhaustion, not only mental but also physical that he was going through "Your sister is not improving and she is absorbing you"

"Dad, she's not abs-" you tried to speak but were cut off by him.

"She does it" all his body language changed from him; He sat up facing you, his fists clenched, intense eye contact, a frown and a slight rise in his voice, "You stopped dating everyone you knew, your grades dropped because you focused on Bella and you make the time to shower her when she hasn't showered for days. You just molded your life around hers."

You didn't know what to say, it was completely true but you hadn't even realized that until your father marked it. You made an effort to satisfy Bella in everything and especially in those things that she couldn't do for herself; You didn't want to upset her or do something to add to all the pain she was feeling, even at your own expense.

Your father seemed to realize that it was a bit harsh, so he walked over to you and put his arm around your shoulders "I'm sorry about that… but this is getting too much for everyone, your mother will know how to handle this situation better"

You rested your head on his shoulder "I'll support you in any decision dad, but I honestly think it will get better here and not in Jacksonville. Give her a little more time, let her see for herself that Edward won't be back" your father took your hand "Tell her anyway, listen to what she has to tell you"

__________________________

You heard Bella's truck pull up so you hurried down to meet her. When you caught up with her, she stopped you and handed over the keys to her truck.

You took them in your hand with a frown. "Umm, do you want me to park your truck?"

"I'm going shopping with Jessica, I told her to pick me up so you can take the truck and see Embry" Bella tried to smile at you.

"Bella…are you sure? Not really-" she cut you off.

"Go, I'll be fine"

"But…you hate shopping." You made a face at her.

"I'll be fine, I'll buy you some things too" You got so excited that you rushed over to Bella to hug her.

"I love you so much Bella" you kissed her forehead, before running upstairs to put everything you'd need in your bag.

When you got out, you asked your father for permission and ran to the truck as soon as he said yes, throwing the things on the passenger seat. After a long drive, you parked outside Embry's house and grabbed your things before heading out, watching the living room lights on from outside.

The door to his house opened and there he was, looking surprised even as he ran to hug you; lifting you off the ground and spinning with you in his arms.

"What are you doing here?" He asked with his face buried in your neck.

"Bella told me to come see you, she handed me her truck and everything, she said she would be fine for today"

Embry broke away from your embrace and placed both hands on your face. You closed your eyes as you absorbed the sensation of his touch and the scent of wood from him. You had begun to forget these little details about him, things so insignificant that made you feel calm, happy. You didn't want to forget those things anymore.

When you opened your eyes and met his soft gaze, feelings of fear, uncertainty, and anger hit you. With Embry you felt an immense joy that you had set aside due to decisions of others, responsibilities that were not yours… But you feared that you had given your whole heart to Embry just as your sister did with Edward, you feared to share all the good and bad things about you with him, only to be abandoned afterwards. But you also didn't want to deprive yourself of the love he had for you, so you just let all your doubts go.

And that became your favorite day; the scent of him, the way he held you protectively even if there were no dangers around, the sound of his heart as you rested your head on his chest, his lips on yours, his hands on your waist That night they told each other that they loved each other for the first time.

That night, your favorite… was the last you would have in a long time.