#I’ve received far more hate from them than they’ll ever receive from me

[piqued-curiosity]

As a cis woman, scum like you make me sick. I hope your stupid transphobic ass gets taught a lesson

Kissing the feet of the trans community is only harming yourself and other women in the long run. You may think sending these kinds of asks make you safe and position you as a Good Cis Woman…but they don’t. One day you’ll do something they don’t like. Maybe you’ll defend a victim of SA who doesn’t want to be around males. Maybe you’ll defend a lesbian who’s being pressured to like penis. Maybe you’ll refer to periods or pregnancy as a women’s issue. Maybe you’ll talk about women’s rights a little too much.

Speaking from experience, literally all it takes for you to be branded as a “terf” is to step out of line once. And the line is so thin, it’s so easy to step out of. You’re a woman, so you’re going to be judged for every tiny thing you do. You’re always at risk of being called a “terf” unless you carefully watch your every move and word to make sure you’re properly obeying the demands of the trans community.

So put down your fellow women as much as you want. Just know that one day, you’ll probably be on the receiving end simply because you’re a woman. Good luck.

[soullessjack]

oh my god I know I’ve mentioned it before but I rlly cant stop thinking about it. don’t go into the woods is literally the pinnacle of autistic representation (to me). bear with me because I have a migraine and am struggling to stay conscious but. There are just so many various autistic experiences shown throughout the episode and what happens to jack in it. Like it’s borderline upsetting (for me) to watch because of how resonating they are.

firstly, jack actively wants to try and put himself out there. He wants to make friends and have normal human experiences even if he can’t exactly stop being ‘special.’ (Also, he does specifically say that he is “himself” again once his powers are back, so it’s like, yes that is something he more or less sees as an inherent part of himself, but I think the part he struggles with is the consequential nature of his powers and who he is. as I’ve said before, it’s one thing to simply be different than it is to be treated differently. )

furthermore, once jack realizes the kids are basically ‘safe’ to be honest with, as they’re aware of monsters, he’s the exact opposite of shy about his powers. that’s one thing about him I really love . Like he LOVES to show off and impress people and be praised/appreciated by others.it’s such a silly trait I wish was characterized more often. He also just instantly starts unmasking and info dumping Twice about Haitian zombie law (to Sam and Dean) and how to kill monsters god he’s so special you don’t understand. He is not a gatekeeper you WILL be forced to know about his special interests.

however even tho jack is shown to be very proud of his abilities and hunting knowledge the very Minute that he senses the other kids think he’s weird (Reminding everyone that they were judgy from the start and did not in fact invite him over because they like him) he just Cannot Stand It . That’s the consequential part yknow. Like jack does see and feel his powers as just an inherent part of him (which they Are), he’s literally said they feel like breathing. It’s just Who He Is yknow. but the consequential part of it is that people are either afraid of him, they hate him, or they think he’s weird. And jack doesn’t like any of that shit. He doesn’t like being cast out or defined by the thing that makes him a little more different.

‘he’s back to being the oddball.’ back to it, like that’s just the unfortunate default he’s stuck filling. (Also on another note I think it’s really sad on that he can already recognize the particular facial expression for “We Think You’re A Freak”). It’s like he can just sense the rejection and isolation before he even actually receives it, and the mere perception of that is enough to totally throw him off. Totally not an experience any autistic person has ever felt before. Totally not similar to a particular co-morbid form of dysphoria that commonly plagues autistic individuals. Not at all.

This episode has probably the most bleak ending to me? Not in a competitive sort of way, the show has gotten far bleaker I am aware. But in both the original script (that got entirely changed) and the actual episode, it ultimately ends with Jack just not having friends. We’ve all seen the episode I won’t recap that far. Head still hurts bad. But In the script, Jack only ever shows the kids various combat moves with an angel blade, and the accidental stabbing is by Eliot, and Jack healing Stacey is basically the Big Reveal of his powers and , as the script above shows, what he Really is. ?.

I guess all of the combined stress and just shock of the monster world (Eliot is previously shown to be basically paranoid of things out to get him earlier in the script) is enough for the kids to very gently let jack down and say they’ll see him again or something, but it literally ends with jack’s inner monologue that he knows he’s never gonna see them again, and going “so much for having friends.” The End.

And idk. To me It’s just so. Isolating. Like. You try and make friends and be a little normal and belong somewhere else for once but the entire time you get the vague sense that you’re still too weird and out of place, that everyone else also thinks you’re weird and out of place. You’re so used to rejection that the impending sense of it starts looming over you, but you still wanna put yourself out there! You still want to at least try! And then you get the pile of bricks dropped on your head. The Impending Rejection. Everyone leaves you alone again and you’re left with the solidified knowledge that you are in fact, too weird and too different to belong anywhere else, to have friends. You can’t be normal or accepted, you’ll always be alone and isolated and rejected.

Autism 101 yay

[harnessingwisdom]

I have let myself down so much that I hardly know where to start when it comes to imagining myself somewhere else.

Somewhere along the way, the price of love became too much.

So I gave it to my dogs, even taking half of what I had for my cat. My dogs loved me unconditionally.

My cat I am currently figuring out how to love the wounds from “oldest daughter” syndrome.

So far, I have forgiven my parents more than I have forgiven myself. She’s currently winning.

My world got smaller and smaller on the physical scale. And as I closed myself to the outer world, the online world got bigger.

I could control who I listened to and for how long.

I got to choose what subjects I learned and how in depth I went.

If one person wasn’t catching my attention on a subject I wanted to know about, all o had to do was find the one who could explain it in a way I could receive it.

There was a whole new world that I immersed myself into. Time became obsolete. Nobody telling me I HAD to be here or there. No games, no work politics, no bullshit.

I convinced myself that is was still adding value by contributing my time to view others art, content, and efforts. I still believe that actually.

What happened after a while tho, the days physically all started to look the same. It got harder and harder to tell myself that I was healing.

After two years, I could finally say, I isolated myself because I couldn’t bear another broken heart. I wasn’t sure I’d make it through.

Everyone always understands until they don’t.

The high functioning part is what makes them think they’ve fixed me or that I’ll eventually fall in line.

If they can do things they hate for years and years then I too should be able to muscle through. I wish it were so easy.

It’s more than stubbornness, but it’s not far from delusional, I’ll give them that. But I have already accomplished amazing things that those people never have.

I’ve been to the top and I know how to get there. This is always just the part of starting over that nobody ever wants to see you through.

They’ll all like and comment “congratulations! I always knew you could!” But that’s the part a champion never forgets.

Who was there and who was not during the boring, the mundane, and the unusual non conforming routines it took to get here.

I know where your road ends. And I’d rather be lost on my path of unknown and fail than stay on yours and end up doing the same thing forever.

This is a choice.

Does it matter if nobody else gets it?

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

167 of 2023

More random secrets from random people! [True or False]

Created by joybucket

These are all random secrets from random people that I found posted on the Internet. Put an X by the secrets you share, and elaborate if you wish. I really enjoy these surveys, and I hope you do, too. Have fun! :)

I keep feeling like I'm not good enough. I wish I were somebody else. I am at my breaking point on so many different levels. I'm seriously considering quitting my job. I'm so deeply lonely. I am secretly in love with someone who is thirty years older than I am. I am struggling. I'm finding it hard to cope lately. I want to talk to a therapist, but I honestly don't know how. I don't think I've ever been in love. I don't feel like I'm worth being helped. Sometimes I find it hard to be left alone with my own thoughts. I'm so impatient and easily discouraged sometimes. If something doesn't work out the way I want it to on the first try, I just give up. I was surprised, but it came as a huge relief when I finally decided not to have kids. I get angry at every mother who doesn't love her children as much as I would love mine if I could have them. I think it's thrilling not to know what comes next. I believe in God, but I haven't mentioned it to anyone in my family because I think they'll judge me. Fear of Hell once kept me from committing suicide. My daughter is what keeps me from committing suicide. All I want is to sit down for ten minutes and not worry about a single. damn. thing. I feel lost and really afraid. I'm in love with my friend, and he doesn't know it. I adopt due to depression. I don't want to give birth to my own flesh and blood. I've never doubted the existence of God. We're all a part of something, and it's big and important and magical. I wish I could have watched her grow up. My dreams seem so far away. I'm jealous of the people who are close with their siblings. There are so many mistakes I wish I would have made while I had the chance to. I refuse to let people get close to me in fear of getting hurt. Deep down, I always feel as though people don't really like me. I am quite worried about not being able to find work during this COVID pandemic. I seem to be in a very negative state of mind lately. Every time I wake up, I want to sleep again so I won't have to feel anything.... I'm starting to believe true love is only for thin and beautiful women. I'm struggling so much more than I could ever admit. I don't know how to pull myself out of this. I am deeply unhappy, and I don't know what to do about it. I believe in God again. I stalk myself on Instagram just to see what other people see. I'm a closet Catholic. I feel like people are lying every time they tell me I'm beautiful. I know I am capable of so much more. I play the lotto so I can afford to adopt a child. I would genuinely cut all the fat off my body if I didn't think I'd die of blood loss. I hate being the ugly friend. I'm nervous about having sex, because I'm scared my partner will judge my body. (in the past) I felt really ignored when I felt horrible. I asked for help, and I didn't receive it. I want to tell someone I'm suicidal, but I'm afraid they'll treat me like I'm lesser than them if I do, which is the reason why I haven't yet. The man I married raped me before we even dated. I am not actually a lesbian. I am afraid of men. I like someone; I really do...but I am scared. I keep feeling as though I don't know myself. I fear I will spend my life waiting for a love story that doesn't exist. I feel like I'll never fit in anywhere. I have a happy personality with a sad soul. I thought I would feel better after the divorce, but instead I just feel absolutely pathetic for being divorced when I'm so young. I want my old life back. I have been going through so many life changes lately, and I haven't been myself. I am getting tired of not being ok. I'm growing increasingly concerned about my job security. I'm single, because I would rather be alone than with a guy who makes me feel alone. I really need to start therapy, but I'm stubbornly procrastinating taking the next steps. I think I need therapy again. Since losing my virginity, I haven't been able to call myself a Christian. I think my biggest secret is that I'm going to be ok. Life has been getting better than I thought. Today I will make a vow: I will NEVER settle for a boring life. I feel like we're at a really amazing point in history & it's amazing to be a part of it. I have more power than I know. I'd rather play board games on the living room floor than get wasted at parties. I wasted my childhood trying to be grown up. I finally discovered that my greatest fear is not being alone; it's being vulnerable. I'm sorry for not saying all the things I should have said. Everything is amazing and nobody is happy. I am nostalgic, but I am also strong. Maybe this world is another planet's hell. I wonder what it feels like to look at yourself without wishing you looked like someone else. I often wonder if life is easier for other people or if they're just better at faking it. I'm not brave enough to take the risks that would make me truly happy. I married my husband because he reminded me of the man I loved. My creative gifts are worth the mental illness I've suffered for them. Christmas time is my favorite time of year....and I am an Orthodox Jew. My shyness has cost me everything that mattered to me. I always wonder if I've met the person I'm going to marry yet. I wonder how many times my life has been saved because I was running late. All I want is a real conversation with another human being about something that actually matters. I was happier on my graduation day than I was on my wedding day. 👩‍🎓 I love my autistic brain. It makes me who I am, and I love me! I'm afraid I am missing opportunities to meet someone because we are all wearing headphones! 🎧 I wish I had never become a mother. I knew it was a mistake as I walked down the aisle. 💒 I love my family, but most of the time I prefer solitude. I'm fairly certain my wife would be more distraught over losing her phone than losing me. I found my soulmate after my wedding. I cannot clap on beat. 👏 I have a drunk alter-ego that has her own name. I pretend I hate it, but I actually love my body. I remember every time someone called me fat. I thought I'd be happier and more excited to be his girlfriend.

[k-s-morgan]

Our military say there is a big chance of another massive air-raid happening tomorrow — it can be the biggest so far, meaning that I can be offline for a week or longer. We received advice from the government today that we should avoid using our bathrooms in case of a lengthy black-out, meeting our needs by using special packages and then burying them outside. Obviously, there will be no heating, no water, no shops accepting credit cards, no chance to work because it’s impossible without Internet and cell connection. We won’t hear air raids alarms. We’ll be cut off from the rest of the world, plunged in total darkness, in more ways than one.

That’s why I decided to make my monthly post earlier. I want to address it to Ruzzians (people who support the war) — not because I want or expect them to reply, or even care, but just because I feel like doing it. Because I’ve been watching my strong city, my strong country fight for survival for months; because today is my father’s birthday and I can’t be with him - I spent 9 months separated from him, and I want to voice some thoughts that have been living in my head.

So, Ruzzians… do you know that when you cheer upon hearing about your terrorist government hitting Ukrainian critical infrastructure, you’re being happy over a genocide of the most vulnerable and the least protected slices of population in particular? People like me, they’ll be fine — unless your missile hits our apartments again, whether by itself or from being intercepted unsuccessfully. The young and the able will find heating centers. They’ll find a way to survive, to make fire, to cook food, and naturally, they’ll hate you and your country with every fibre of their being. No one is going to protest against our government — the only protests will start if it decides to make peace with you because you don’t make peace with terrorists. Ever.

Do you know who’ll suffer most? The elderly and the disabled who live on top floors, especially those without families nearby. The elevators won’t work, there will be no chance for them to call someone. These people will be trapped in their cold apartments, unable to care for themselves, unable to leave. Some of them will end up crawling to their windows and throwing themselves out, like it happened in Mariupol.    

Do you know who else will suffer? People who need electricity to survive. This includes people in hospitals, people who use chargeable medical devices, people who need constant supplies from drug stores. The same applies to vet clinics. I have a sick pigeon. I have a cat who needs surgery. I am unable to help them because your terrorist attacks have led to numerous black-outs that damaged the necessary equipment.  

Do you know whose deaths you’re cheering on? The death of countless homeless animals who rely on heating in the buildings to stay warm. These are cats. These are birds. These are dogs. You are also enthusiastically supporting their starvation since during the black-outs, most shops cannot work, and those that do quickly become empty. Few people are going to be able to feed these homeless creatures when there is nothing to buy.

Do you know that you are encouraging the poverty and the loss of jobs for people like me? People whose works you might enjoy, who only want to live normally and be left alone? I’m a Russian-speaking Ukrainian. And I hate you. I want to have nothing to do with you or your country, like millions of other Ukrainians, including those who were loyal to Russia in the past.

Your support of these deaths and this suffering made you as complicit as your government. It made sane Russian people feel scared for their safety, preventing them from voicing their thoughts openly. The hundreds of thousands of your soldiers who mindlessly come to another country to kill its people, bomb its cities, torture its animals, destroy everything people have worked-for for their entire lives, tear families apart, steal years of life from the survivors because of all the mental traumas — they represent you. And this representation is monstrous.

You are not even fighting the military. You are fighting civilians first and foremost with your missile terror attacks. You are especially fighting the most undefended groups of people. You delight in taking the smallest bits of comfort and joy from our lives, leaving thousands of ugly, happy messages celebrating our pain and fear. I don’t know what you are. In my mind, to be a human, you need to have at least some humanity, and I don’t see any of it in you. You remind me of bloodthirsty, emotionless robots who can only be happy when others are suffering.

This post is not for you. It’s for me. Because I love life and yet you make me want to die sometimes just so that I could escape the world that I’m forced to share with you. Instead of doing that, I decided to express my thoughts and feelings because writing always makes me feel better. The day you pay for what you’ve done and supported is the day I want to live to see.

 And now about all the wonderful people who support me, who have been helping me keep my sanity throughout this horrible year: thank you. You’ve done so much for me that I will never be able to feel grateful enough. Thank you those who comment on my fics, who ask me questions, who leave words of support and who message me; thank you those who support me financially on Patreon — I especially appreciate it now, when I might go days without a chance to do my job due to black-outs.

If everything becomes unbearable, I will leave my city, but this is my home. I have obligations here. I have homeless cats and my lovely wild pigeons to feed. I have two fathers and a brother who I don’t want to leave behind, so I’ll stay for as long as I can.  

[honeypiehotchner]

Version of You (Hotch x Fem!Reader) — one shot

Call 1-800-799-7233 if you think you are in danger/a victim of domestic violence, or visit this website for resources, live chat, and more (for the USA). This is a link to the wikipedia page that has international resources. 

(I wanted to put that first because this fic deals with an abusive relationship and some scenes show the abuse. If you relate to any this, please seek help via the resources above. I want desperately to say my DMs are open, but for my own mental wellbeing, I have to let you know that the resources that I give above are about all I can do to help. You’re welcome to DM me if needed, but please know that it might take me a minute to reply, and I still will point you in the direction of resources that can better help you. I love and support and am with every single one of you, but I can only do so much through a screen xx.)

This is 100% a comfort fic, but I am safe and okay, I promise 💛 (Truthfully, this was really therapeutic to write.)

Small note: mental and verbal abuse is depicted here, not physical (though it does come close), but I wanted to remind you that just because abuse isn’t physical doesn’t mean it’s not harmful or real. Mental and verbal abuse is still abuse.

Summary: Hotch helps you find the courage within you to end your abusive relationship for good.

Warnings: depiction of an abusive relationship, verbal/mental abuse, violence (domestic and otherwise), angst, happy ending

Hotch Masterlist

Aaron is stunned and disappointed to find you’re still at your desk when he walks out of his office at the grand hour of 8 p.m.

You don’t even hear his office door open or close, but you do hear his footsteps on the stairs. By the time he reaches your desk to say goodnight, you’re already attempting to cover up any traces of emotion on your cheeks.

But Aaron is a profiler. On top of that, though, he’s one of your best friends. He’s known you for six years now, and given how much time the BAU members spend together on cases, he’d argue he knows every single person here better than they know themselves.

You’d agree. You hardly know who you are anymore. But somehow, Aaron knows. Aaron can see.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, already setting his bag down, already pulling a chair over, already sitting next to you.

You’re ready to tell him it’s nothing, to tell him to get home to Jack, that it isn’t important — but it is.

You’ve been with your current partner for almost eight years. Anyone would hear that and ask if marriage is on the horizon, or children, or something of the sort. But not Aaron. Because Aaron can see the pain in your eyes.

Truthfully, he’s seen that pain in your eyes for the past two years. Maybe more.

But recently, it’s gotten worse. A lot worse.

You’re on a “break” with your partner. Whatever a “break” even means, because you still receive phone calls and texts from them all day. You send the calls to voicemail unless you absolutely aren’t doing anything, and the texts you reply to with one word.

Going home is fine because your partner is gone — for now. Work called them away, so you’re home alone for at least another three days, but you expect they’ll want you to pick them up from the airport.

You’ve never longed for a case the way you’re longing for one right now.

This “break” has been easiest because your partner has been gone. You know if they were here, it wouldn’t have been a break at all.

“It’s made me realize that I...I want a break. A real break.”

“You want to break up,” Aaron says it for you, knowing you’re too afraid.

Your hesitant nod confirms this for him. “I do. I think I really do.”

Aaron has known the relationship hasn’t been the healthiest. You don’t open up about your personal life that much at work — you never have — but it has always been telling that you never go out for drinks with the team. And when you did, you’d have to answer texts every ten minutes. Your partner never accepted an invite to join the team for drinks or dinner, but would often get angry at you for being out, as if you hadn’t tried to invite them.

Raised voices, broken glass. Not a single hand was ever laid on you. No, instead, it was a wine glass your mom gifted to you when you graduated college when your partner was angry that you had gone out for drinks with the team after a difficult case. A coffee mug you gifted your partner for their birthday faced the brunt of their anger when you didn’t reply to a text message fast enough — because you were parking your car in the garage. Plates, picture frames. A coffee table once, three years ago. It had been a house warming present.

But they’ve never hurt me, you always argue — only with yourself. No one knows the truth, that you clean up after their outbursts, that you’re grateful to have some knowledge of first aid so you can tend to your cuts from the broken glass, or so that you could stitch up your partner’s hand with ease, because hospitals are expensive and the excuses you’d have to fabricate even more so.

They always apologize. Which is true. Apologies are frequent in your house. Sometimes verbal, sometimes in the form of flowers either on your desk at the BAU (that only Hotch seems to notice with a sad smile) or left on the counter at home. Sometimes, rarely, a fancy dinner and some gift, usually a necklace.

“If you need any help at all,” Aaron says, looking you in your eyes, carefully, intently. “I’m here. For anything.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. Your stomach rumbles loudly in the silence, making you chuckle awkwardly.

“Hungry?” He jokes, but is half serious. “I was planning to get something on the way home, if you’d like to join.”

You think it over for a moment. Your mind immediately jumps to say no because you think your partner is home...but they aren’t.

“Sure,” you say. “Why not. What’s on the menu?”

You gather your things and Hotch waits patiently, rattling off some ideas for food to eat until one grabs your attention.

Your phone buzzes with a text. Where are you?

Aaron notices your change in posture with a sigh. “Is that them?”

You nod slowly. “Asking where I am.” You quickly type back, Still at the BAU.

The reply is almost immediate, as always. Just checking. Love you.

Relief washes over you as you type back, Love you too.

Aaron doesn’t like what he sees. The panic that surges through you just from a text message, making you stand up straight, hold your breath, clench your jaw. Then the relief that relinquishes you when a reply comes and it isn’t negative for once. The sudden changes, the way your emotions are yanked back and forth. He hates it.

But he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he says, “Ready?” And waits for you to smile.

+++

Hotch really doesn’t mean for dinner with you to turn into somewhat of a routine. But it does.

It’s brought more smiles to your face than Hotch thinks he has ever seen in the past six years. And for that, he doesn’t regret the dinners.

Neither do you, until the worst thing that could possibly happen ends up happening one night, three weeks since the first dinner.

Your partner is going out with friends, so you think you’re in the clear to get dinner with Aaron. And when your partner asks where you are again, you say you’re still at the BAU. You were, but you and Aaron were in the elevator to leave when you sent that message.

The two of you grab dinner at one of your favorite spots, at a table outside because the weather is perfect, the sky is clear, and stars are beginning to show. It’s magical. Until it’s a nightmare.

“Well, well, well.”

The voice sends shivers down your spine. They’re supposed to be out with friends.

Aaron automatically stands, shoulders squared and face set. He’s wearing his gun, and you are, too, but you’d never use it on your partner. You can’t say the same about Hotch, though, and that terrifies you.

“Babe,” you say with a smile, and Hotch tenses, hearing the pet name fall so easily form your lips. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going out with your friends?”

Your partner crosses their arms over their chest. “And I thought you were still at work.”

“We are,” Hotch speaks up, startling you. “We’re discussing a case.”

Your partner looks around, raising their eyebrows. “I don’t see any papers.”

“Because we went digital five years ago,” Hotch replies coolly. “But aside from that, a federal investigation is none of your business.”

You swallow thickly, waiting for your partner’s reply.

But to your surprise, they only nod. “I understand, sir. I was only checking.”

Hotch holds back a scoff, but instead returns the nod. “If you’ll excuse us.”

Your partner holds their hands up in surrender. “Of course.”

“I’ll see you at home,” you say quickly. “Love you.”

“See you at home,” they reply, making you frown as they turn and walk away.

When you look back at Hotch, you nearly scream. It takes everything in you not to make the hugest scene right there, outside this nice restaurant, underneath these stars.

Your phone buzzes. One hour. Do not be late.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you say quietly. “Just. Don’t, Hotch.”

+++

The next day, you knock on Hotch’s office door, twenty dollar bill in hand to pay him back for your dinner last night. You left in a hurry and didn’t get to pay. Thankfully, at least, arriving home with forty minutes to spare saved you from an even worse reaction from your partner.

“For dinner last night,” you mumble, sliding the twenty across Hotch’s desk. “Thank you.”

As you turn on your heel to leave, Hotch calls out to you. “I’m sorry.”

You sigh. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Aaron says, making you turn back around. “I hope you’re...alright.”

You’re so very far from being “alright” that you almost laugh. Instead, you shrug. “It’s been worse.”

“Did they hit you?”

You’re too shocked to move. “What? No! Why the hell would you even say that?”

“Because I’ve been worried about you.”

“They have never laid a hand on me,” you snap. “Ever.”

“But they’ve come close,” Aaron says gently. “You know they have.”

You only scoff. You feel hurt. Insulted, even, that he would assume something like that. Your relationship with your partner is rocky, of course, but never physical abuse rocky. Never that bad.

But has it come close?

Sure, maybe you’ve felt the wind off a beer bottle when it grazed by your head on its way to the wall. Maybe you have had to duck to avoid getting glass to the face. Maybe.

Maybe they have come close. Closer than you want to admit.

But they’ve also loved you. Held you while you cried. Rewarded you after you cleaned up the broken glass. Left you flowers and jewelry and love notes.

They love you. Don’t they?

“It’s fine,” you whisper, blinking back the stubborn tears that have jumped to the front of your eyes. “They love me.”

“Love isn’t violent,” Aaron replies gently. “Love shouldn’t make you as terrified as I saw you when you left last night.”

“I know,” you choke out. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Hotch is rounding his desk and gathering you in his arms before the first tear slips down your cheeks. He holds you while you cry, letting you get it all out.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispers, resting his chin on top of your head. “Don’t worry.”

+++

It all comes to a head a few nights later when your partner springs a question on you. The question.

There, standing in the bathroom, you’re too stunned to speak.

“What d’you say, baby? Let’s get married, you and me.”

You don’t reply. You toss the makeup wipe in your trash can, flick the light in the bathroom off, and walk out into the bedroom.

“Baby?” They ask.

You’re facing the dresser, halfway to setting out a pair of pants for work tomorrow. “I...I can’t.”

“What?” Their reply is immediate and angry. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t,” you repeat, refusing to change your answer. “No.”

By the time you turn around, they’re standing up from the bed, arms crossed over their chest. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said no,” you say firmly. “I’m not marrying you.”

“And why not?”

“I—”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“What?”

“Your boss? Are you fuckin’ him?”

“No!”

“Then why won’t you marry me?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

You’ve never raised your voice back at your partner. They’ve always been the one to raise their voice, and you stayed silent, tried to talk them down, be the quiet voice of reason.

But not anymore. You’ve had enough.

“You don’t want to?” They scream. “It’s been eight years and now you don’t want to. You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” you say through gritted teeth. “But I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“Baby…” They sigh, stepping closer, lowering their arms. “Why not?”

“Because,” you reply slowly, backing up. “Just because.”

“That’s not a good enough reason and you know it.”

“It’s good enough for me,” you say. You step to the side and keep backing out into the hallway, getting ready to run if need be.

“Where are you going?” They all but growl. “What’s wrong with you?”

You’re scaring me, you want to scream, but you don’t. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine? Well I’m for damn sure not fine, I’m heartbroken,” they seethe. You see the tell-tale signs that they’re about to get angry — angry enough to start throwing things. You realize in a moment of horror that a paperweight is within their reach.

And they reach for it.

“Don’t,” you murmur, freezing when their fingers wrap around the glass. “Put it down.”

“Why?” They ask, calm as ever. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve just done to my heart?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, no!” Your reflexes have gotten better since being at the FBI, and you duck right in time. The paperweight crashes against the wall behind you, shattering, denting the wall, and covering the couch in fine pieces of broken glass.

“See what you’ve done!” Your partner screams. “This could’ve been easy! You could’ve said yes!”

You spot your car keys on the counter next to you, and when they turn their back to you to grip at their hair, you slide the keys off and into your pocket.

I have to get out of here. It’s a thought that you never have. Normally by now you’d be vacuuming up the glass on the couch, apologizing every five seconds, pouring them a glass of whiskey or a beer or something. But not now. Not anymore.

You’re a few steps from the door when your partner notices. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Nowhere,” you freeze. “Go take a shower. Cool off. I’ll clean up this mess and then we can talk about this again, okay?”

They almost don’t accept your offer, but after a second, they nod. “There better be a beer waiting on me when I get out.”

“Of course,” you smile.

Your smile makes them suspicious, but they turn and head into the bedroom without another word.

Shaking, you turn to the closet to grab the vacuum, turning it on and beginning to suck up the glass off the couch.

But when you hear the shower curtain pull closed, you escape, leaving the vacuum running.

+++

It’s pouring down rain, you aren’t wearing any shoes, and you’re knocking on your boss’s front door. Can your life get any more pathetic?

When Aaron opens the door, he’s practically hauling you inside and out of the rain.

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks, already leading you down the hall toward the bathroom. “You’re shivering, we need to get you out of these clothes — you aren’t wearing shoes, fuck, Y/N, what happened?”

“They asked me to marry them,” you choke out. You aren’t even crying. You haven’t cried yet at all. “I said no. They almost hit me.”

Aaron feels a dangerous surge of anger course through his body. “Did they hit you?”

You shake your head, and it turns into a full-body shiver.

“Okay,” Aaron says, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “Okay, let me get some clothes for you. Do you want to take a shower?”

You shake your head again.

“Okay, that’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

You sit, shivering, on your boss’s toilet for a few minutes before he returns with clothes. A t-shirt and pair of sweatpants of his. Old ones, he says, they don’t fit him anymore. You smile slightly when you realize the shirt is from his college, the sweatpants from his law school. No wonder they don’t fit him anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” you say. “I—I think I left my phone there.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just get changed and get warm. Do you want some tea? Anything?”

“Just some water, please,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiles.

After he leaves, you change out of your wet clothes and into his shirt and sweatpants. You carefully hang your wet shirt and shorts over the edge of the bathtub, hoping that’s okay.

You venture out of the bathroom and follow the noise into the kitchen where you find Aaron putting up dishes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, straightening up. “Do you want ice with your water?”

“Um, sure.”

The sound of ice clinking into the glass makes you flinch, and you’re grateful Aaron’s back is turned away from you.

“There you go,” he hands you the glass.

“Thank you.”

You sip it quietly while he goes back to putting up the rest of the clean dishes in the dishwasher. Once he finishes, your heart is still racing, now with guilt from coming here unannounced. What if he was on a date? What if Jack was here?

“The guest room is all yours,” Aaron says softly. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You nod slowly. “I don’t know what to do.” You pause, rubbing your thumb over the condensation on the glass. “But I told them I’m not marrying them. But I...I didn’t tell them I was leaving. Or where I was going.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not. They’re gonna be mad. I can’t— Oh my god, I can’t go back. Not alone, they’ll—”

“Hey,” Aaron shushes you, walking around the counter to get to you. “Don’t worry about it right now. We’ll figure it out. I’ll go with you. You won’t be alone.”

“Thank you.”

+++

The next morning, you and Aaron head into the office early so you have time to grab your go-bag and change into your work clothes that you left in there.

Thank God for having a job like this where it’s normal to have a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, deodorant, and anything else you need in a duffle bag under your desk.

You and Aaron are the first people in the BAU, so you’re able to grab your bag and head to the bathroom to change without any questions. Once you return, you stuff the bag back under your desk and sit down, ready to bury yourself in reports for the day.

But before you can, Hotch calls you into his office.

“What’s up?” You ask when you step into the doorway.

“We didn’t eat breakfast,” he says, and that’s when you notice the two coffees and muffins sitting on his desk.

“Oh,” you chuckle. “I completely forgot.”

“Me too,” he smiles. “Here, sit.”

The two of you eat the breakfast in silence, but somehow you don’t mind it. You’re not in much of a talking mood, anyway.

Rossi arrives next and stops by Hotch’s office, not at all surprised to find the two of you eating together, though he does join with his coffee a few minutes later. The silence vanishes with Rossi, leaving laughter in its wake as he tells old stories about Hotch.

When the rest of the team arrives, they follow the noise to Hotch’s office, and soon you’re surrounded by your family. Your real family.

Once eight-thirty rolls around, you all begin to disperse, back to your respective spaces to start working for the day, and everything feels normal.

And then, in a matter of seconds, it isn’t.

The second your eyes land on your partner standing down in the bullpen, you fall to your knees, scaring the shit out of Hotch.

“What happened?” He blurts, kneeling down to you. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you shake your head. “No, no, no...No, Hotch, they’re out there.”

Hotch doesn’t need their name. The fear on your face is enough.

About this time, you hear Derek’s voice growing in volume. The most you can make out is, “Put...down…!” And that’s when your blood runs ice cold.

You pat your right hip, hoping, praying, your weapon is magically there, even though you know it’s not. You put it in the safe when you got home last night. You didn’t have time to grab it before you ran out and drove to Hotch’s place. You left it there, in the safe, because you never think twice about it since it’s locked away.

But now…

“Don’t do this, man,” Derek yells. “Put. It. Down.”

“Where is she?” Your partner yells. “Tell me where she is!”

“I’m not telling you shit until you put the gun down,” Derek says, firmly. You’re frozen in place, on the floor next to Hotch’s desk as you listen.

“They have my gun,” you whisper to Hotch. “I didn’t think they— I don’t know how they knew the code, I change it every week, I thought—”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” Hotch shushes you. “You stay here. Do not move. Try to get under my desk if you can.” He pauses. “There’s an extra pistol underneath. I want you to grab it just in case.”

You nod, but then a memory of last night grips you. “No! You can’t go out there!” You hiss, gripping Hotch’s arm.

Outside, you hear Emily’s voice adding to Derek’s, trying to talk your partner down. It’s a scene out of a horror movie. Straight from your worst nightmare.

“They already feel threatened by you, they’ll just shoot you the second they see you.”

“Not when they already have five guns on them.”

“Let me come with you,” you offer.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Aaron, I have eight years of experience talking them down. I know what I’m doing.”

Hotch doesn’t like that you’re right.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

You nod. You’re shaking all over, but you still nod.

“Okay. Crawl over and grab the pistol from my desk. Tuck it in your waistband, on your back. Go now.”

You stay low as you crawl over, finding the pistol strapped underneath his desk on the right side. Once it’s tucked in your waistband, you stand, facing the window. Hotch stands too, with his back to the blinds, and thank God they’re closed.

“Is she in there?” You hear your partner scream. “Is she with him?”

“Shit,” you mutter. “Shit, shit, shit, they’re gonna fucking kill me.” You hate that the possibility is very real. They have your gun. They could shoot you the second they see you. You’re not wearing any protective gear.

“No,” Hotch replies. “I’m not letting that happen.”

“Come out here, you lying bitch!”

Hotch looks ready to kill your partner himself.

“Babe?” You call out, putting on a false tone, the same one you always use when talking them down. “Babe, what are you doing here?”

You step into the doorway, feeling another frozen chill of fear shoot straight down your spine. They look crazed. Insane, even. Worse than you’ve ever seen, worse than last night, worse than the last eight years.

“Don’t babe me,” your partner seethes, but the gun is still trained on Derek.

You know it makes no sense, but you want them to turn the gun on you. Not Derek. Derek can’t be hurt because of you, not like this.

“Put the gun down,” you say, trying to stay calm and sweet, the way you usually have to be at home.

“I’m not listening to a damn thing you say,” your partner yells, and then the gun turns on you. “There he is.” The gun isn’t aimed at you. It’s on Aaron.

“Put it down,” Aaron’s level voice floats through the terror roaring in your ears. “I won’t ask again.” He shifts and you realize then that he has his own weapon trained on your partner.

“You won’t need to. Come out from behind my fiancé you coward.”

“She’s not your fiancé,” Hotch says. “And you won’t shoot her.”

“Want to bet on it?” Your partner lowers the gun slightly, now pointing it straight at your chest. Strangely, you don’t feel any panic surge through you. It’s telling. That even now, your head is telling you, they won’t hurt me, they never hurt me before.

“Don’t do it,” Derek yells. “I will shoot you, man. Don’t do it. You have six guns pointed at you right now. Do you really want to do this?”

The metal of Aaron’s pistol bites into your lower back when you shift on your heels. Your arms are frozen by your side, too afraid to reach for the gun.

“Put it down,” Rossi yells.

“You’ve got five seconds,” Derek adds. “Don’t make me get to one. Five. Four.”

Your partner’s fingers twitch on the trigger. Aaron catches the movement. Nods once when Derek says three. And on two, Derek pulls the trigger before your partner can do it first.

A broken scream rips from your chest when the bullet lodges itself in your partner’s side, your gun clattering to the ground. Derek steps forward and kicks the gun further away, out of reach.

Hotch lifts you around your waist and pulls you back into his office, kicking the door closed with his foot.

You’re numb to everything as he sits you down on the couch, wrapping his arms around you as you finally sob, letting out every scream that you’ve been holding in.

+++

Your partner is taken to the hospital to be treated for the gunshot wound.

Hotch tells you they won’t stand a chance at being acquitted, too many charges looming over their head already without the addition of domestic violence. You hardly hear his words, but you nod like you do.

He takes care of you while the commotion outside struggles to calm down. A blanket is wrapped around your shoulders, you hug a pillow to your chest, sniffling every few minutes as fresh tears cascade down your cheeks. Spencer brings you a mug of steaming tea that you barely manage to thank him for. Hotch thanks him properly for you before softly shutting his office door.

For months, you’ve been thinking about leaving them. For so long, you’ve wondered what life might be like without them. Now, you don’t know a thing.

You don’t know what to do. Where to go. Will you have to testify in court? If you do, will you have to talk about the...abuse? The abuse that you can barely bring yourself to label blatantly as abuse even though Aaron, your brain, everyone screams at you that that’s what it is — abusive behavior.

When you were a teenager, and even in your early twenties, learning about signs of abusive, unhealthy relationships, you never thought you’d end up in one. You thought surely you’d recognize the first signs and get out of there.

But instead, you did exactly what they said most people do. You brushed them off. You thought, oh, they just love me deeply, that’s all. They want what’s best for me, that’s all. They want me to be safe and protected, that’s all.

And that’s lovely, but there’s a difference. Between caring and controlling.

You never thought the difference would be so hard to see.

“Come on,” Aaron’s soft voice pierces through your thoughts. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You blink. “Where?”

“Wherever you want to go,” he replies gently. “Your apartment?”

Immediately, you shake your head. But then you pause. Because aside from your apartment and the BAU, you have nowhere else to go.

“Would you be comfortable going back to my apartment?” He asks. “I understand if it’s uncomfortable. I’m sure Garcia or Prentiss would be happy to let you stay with them, and I’ll gladly send them home with you.”

As much as you love Garcia and Prentiss, you strangely feel more comfortable with Aaron. After all, Pen and Emily don’t— or didn’t know about your partner’s behavior. Only Hotch knew.

“If you don’t mind, I’m...I’m okay with your place.”

“I don’t mind at all,” he smiles. “The guest room is yours for as long as you need.”

That makes you smile, though the expression feels foreign on your lips. “Don’t you have to stay?”

“It can be dealt with tomorrow,” he replies. “The paperwork will still exist tomorrow at eight a.m.”

“Okay,” you accept defeat. “Can I take this blanket?” You don’t like the idea of this weight leaving your shoulders.

“Of course,” he says.

You fall asleep in the car.

You didn’t mean to, but you were exhausted. And by the time you woke, Aaron had already carried you into his apartment. Startled, you gripped his arm a little too tight, but he shushed you carefully, letting you know you’re safe, he just didn’t want to wake you because you were sleeping so soundly.

He set you down on the guest bed where you tried and failed to get some rest last night, but now, you sleep like a baby.

+++

Months after the incident, the guest room at Aaron’s apartment has become your temporary home.

You still haven’t been back to the apartment you owned with your partner — even though their name is on the lease, not yours. You went once with Aaron to pick up your clothes and anything else important, but it was a quick trip. You were desperate to get out of there.

Aaron didn’t like what he saw. The broken glass, the dents in the walls. The way your body language changed immediately. Your unwillingness to return there is fine by him.

It’s a slow, uphill battle as you begin to heal. Your partner still sits in jail, awaiting their trial date. You know you might have to testify, but you know your team might have to be there as well, so that makes you feel better.

Aaron has been incredibly respectful of your space. You were the one who brought up the idea of carpooling to work, one of you driving every other day, to save on gas for the both of you. He had assumed you wanted to drive on your own and always have your car — which is true, but you didn’t mind riding with him.

He’s the only one your terrified brain doesn’t seem to be scared of.

And you’re not complaining. You’re grateful to feel a small ounce of safety after feeling every sense of unsafe for the past eight years.

+++

Your ex-partner’s trial comes and goes in the following three months. You did testify, along with the rest of your team, the verdict is guilty. Life in prison.

You wept on the steps of the courthouse from the sheer relief of it all.

“They’ll never hurt you again,” Aaron had told you and you didn’t believe him for one second.

Still now, as you know for a fact they are sitting in a prison cell, you have a small fear. But you think you always will.

You continue “rooming” with Aaron — that’s the best way you can think to put it — and you’ve come to really enjoy the weekends when Jack comes over. At the start, Aaron would try to take Jack out to the park to give you time alone, or you’d go spend some time with Penelope, but after a while, you started staying. And after a little while longer, Jack started warming up to you, and expecting your presence.

One weekend, you hear Jack and Aaron playing in the living room while you’re in Aaron’s office, trying to get some work done. And halfway through signing your name on a piece of paperwork, you hear Jack “whispering” to Aaron about you.

“Do you like her?” Jack whispers, but it definitely comes across as more of a soft shout.

Aaron’s eyes widen, and he presses his index finger to his lips. “A lot,” he says, but you don’t hear him — though you were straining pretty hard.

“Me too,” Jack giggles. “Is she your girlfriend?” He teases, poking his dad with his Lego sculpture.

Aaron pokes his son back with his own design. “No, buddy, she isn’t.” Again, you can’t hear him, but Jack’s question made your heart hammer in your chest.

You know you’ve had some feelings begin to develop because truthfully, they were blooming months ago, back when you began having dinner with Aaron. But then everything happened, and you still loved your ex, and things got too complicated.

Now, though, seven months out from the start of it all, the feelings are still there.

Aaron hasn’t made any moves, so you’ve kept silent. You don’t know how much of his good deeds are simply out of his own kindness. And you certainly don’t want to mistake it for something it’s not.

But kids pick up on things adults try hardest to hide.

You continue with your paperwork, listening to them continue to play.

It’s not until after Jack goes home to Hailey that his question is brought up, and it’s only because Aaron asked what was bothering you.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “But I’m here if you do.”

He’s always here. That’s what made you have a crush on him in the first place, years ago. He’s always there for anyone who needs him.

“I heard you and Jack earlier,” you start. “When he asked if I’m your girlfriend.”

Aaron sighs. “I’m sorry. I think it’s just confusing for him because to him, living together equals relationship since all he’s known is me and Hailey—”

“I’d like to be,” you interrupt his nervous rambling. “If that’s something you’d like, too.”

He blinks a few times, then smiles. “You…” He pauses. “Are you sure?”

“Aaron, I’ve liked you for so long and never said anything—”

“I’ve liked you for so long and never said anything,” he counters. “You’re serious?”

“Very,” you whisper.

When he kisses you, it’s what you’ve longed for all this time. It’s exactly what you’ve been yearning for. It’s exactly the kind of love you know now that you deserve.

Recovery has been messy, and will continue to be messy for some time, but you’ll have Aaron next to you every step of the way. Always.

[skiller0dani]

Sinful | Spencer Reid

M A S T E R L I S T Criminal Minds Masterlist

smut | sub!spencer x bau!reader requests info summary | when spencer decides to let the witness flirt with him, you decide to have some fun of your own with derek. it becomes obvious that it's a mistake.

this was sitting in my drafts unedited!! I'm still trying to finish up Amortentia part 2 & the Ethan AU. They'll be up I promise, until then.. enjoy Sub!Spencer! This is my first real stab at a dom reader so I hope I did okay. I've read fics about face slapping as a kink and I just wanna let you guys know that I am not comfortable writing that so I probably never will include that.

Also I hate saliva so I probably wont write about spitting either. Sorry lololol

thanks @imagining-in-the-margins for the inspiration! (was totally inspired by "messy lessons" if you guys haven't read it...you should!)

At first you doubted he knew what he was even doing.

At first.

Maybe he wasn't trying to get in her pants, and maybe he wasn't trying to lead her on. But he was still letting her shamelessly flirt with him. You'd been with the FBI for years and made the silly mistake of assuming that working in the same department as your boyfriend would make things easier on you. Being able to see him everyday is a definite plus, seeing him in danger every time you're in the field is definitely not a plus. Watching a busty blonde witness flirt with him is certainly not a plus, especially when he lets her throw herself into his chest. Supposedly "distraught" but you see the cheeky smile peeking at the corner of her lips.

You see the thing about Spencer that nobody except for you knows, is that deep down he's a very naughty boy. The little mischievous glint in his eyes when his eyes meet yours from across the interrogation room proved that. You were professional however, so you were forced to stand by and watch him comfort her. Bitch.

"C-Could you get me some water?" Her voice was shaky, you still didn't buy it.

"Sure, Doctor-"

"Agent Y/L/N if you wouldn't mind?" Spencer's much more dominating voice cut through yours. Your eyebrows flew up as you shared a millisecond stare down with him. You could see the playful look in his eyes, flashed by the brattiest smile you'd ever seen grace his lips. Your lips stretched in a tight smile before you nodded and turned out of the room.

When JJ joined you near the kitchenette she opened her mouth to say something, but once she'd noticed you white knuckle gripping the faucet handle she changed her mind. She continued with whatever she was doing, not looking at you. It was a tense few minutes until she turned out of the room. While everyone in the BAU knew you and Spencer were together, it was easy for them to forget seeing as you never acted as a couple at work. For obvious reasons. Only in moments of danger, like when Spencer's helicopter went down and there were panicked tears streaming down your cheeks did they remember that you were in fact, together.

Apparently your usually good boy seems to have forgotten who he belongs to as well. The sight you returned to left tendrils of anger licking at the pit of your stomach.

"Oh really, that is so cool! I'll bet you're so strong!" The witness had perked up considerably since you'd left the room. Her hand reached up to curl at his bicep, and he didn't stop her. What a brat. Spencer sat next to her rather than across from her at the table, presumably to console her. Spencer beamed at her praise, an action you did not miss.

"Yeah, actually FBI agents are required to pass a variety of physical exams to insure they're physically healthy enough to chase down an unsub if need be-"

"Here's your water." Your voice was tense and you had to resist the urge to "accidentally" spill the water on her as you set the glass down. You didn't meet Spencer's eye as he stood to follow you out of the room. You could see the naughty façade fading as soon as he'd left the room.

"Y/N?" His voice was soft and his big brown eyes wide when you turned to glance at him. Your heart melted at the sight of those sad puppy dog eyes but you're not going to give in when baby boy broke so many rules.

"Shush." Is all you say, your voice sharp. You're not going to hide the fact that you're mad at him. And you're going to stay mad at him, no matter how cute he is.

"Yes ma'am." Spencer mumbles as he follows you towards the room Hotch is waiting in with the whiteboard. You try your hardest to focus on whatever Hotch is saying but all you can think about is that stupid witness pressing her chest up against Spencer, and the fact that he was practically bathing in the attention she gave him. You hated the fact that Spencer was getting exactly what he wants, he lives for your punishments. In a way, punishing him was also rewarding him but it was rewarding for you too.

After vaguely remembering Hotch asking for Spencer, you watched him scramble forward. You don't miss the fact that he nearly stops to ask for your permission to do so, you have him trained so well. A smile quirks at the corner of your mouth and you almost feel like forgiving him until Hotch speaks again.

"Reid, I want you to take Allison Calloway home..." he lists off where the rest of you will go but at that point you're no longer listening. You hear Hotch pair your name with Derek, which sparks a wicked idea in your head. He's having Spencer take the witness home? Is the world punishing you? You see Spencer steal one nervous glance at you before rushing to get Allison. You tongue your cheek before reluctantly following Derek out of the precinct.

//

You and Derek were apparently instructed by Hotch to go investigate the second crime scene, where a young man with his hands missing was found earlier this morning. You peek at Derek out of the corner of your eye, Derek is one of your close friends and he knows more than he should about yours and Spencer's...extracurricular activities. He seems to be in a good mood today, and he's unlikely to think anything of it. He'll definitely tell Spencer about it, which is sort of what you're hoping for. While this is hardly the place for you to "come on" to Derek, you're willing to do it. Spencer needs a taste of his own medicine.

"Odd, that the unsub removes the hands but repositions the watch around the victims ankle." Derek muses, his hand coming up to scratch at the stubble on his chin. Luckily the officers sent to patrol the crime scene are nowhere nearby. You circle Derek, trying to formulate the perfect sentence in your mind. It can't be too much, but definitely enough for him to inform Spencer. Derek is used to more lewd phrases coming from yours and Penelope's mouth, so surprising him enough to tattle to your boyfriend will be a challenge.

It can't be anything that would hurt Spencer however.

Derek views Spencer as his little brother and would never hurt him, and you wouldn't want to hurt Spencer either this is all in good filthy fun. It has to be a little risky, but not so risky that Derek would prefer keeping it from Spencer to protect him. If its too much Derek will approach you directly about it which would be humiliating and would entirely miss the point. This is a very delicate operation.

"Oh Derek, have you been working out?" You decide to take the easy route, adding a dash of sultry to your tone.

"Occasionally." Derek doesn't turn his head towards you, you haven't quite captured his attention yet.

"Firm is a good look on you." You tease, you'll need to ease him into it because he's going to have the wind knocked out of him when you finally lay it on him.

"Easy girly, you're venturing into dangerous territory." You hear the lilt to his tone letting you know that he's joking. You need to push it further.

"No I'm serious," you need to tread very carefully. You don't want to ruin a friendship you still want to keep, "it's a really good look on you."

Derek turns to you then, an eyebrow raised as he watches you trail your eyes down his body. While Derek isn't a bad looking guy, he doesn't even come close to comparing to your beautiful boy. Spencer is easily the cutest and sexiest man you've ever had the privilege of standing in the same room with.

"What's with you?" He asks, keeping the smile on his face so he doesn't alert you that he's concerned. You're on the right track but if you leave it here Derek will let it go. You need to drop that mini bomb on him, just a little more. You trail a finger down his shoulder, towards his bicep.

"Nothing, just admiring the view. The big, strong, sexy, view. What I wouldn't give to have you in bed Derek Morgan." There's the bomb. Your words have an immediate effect over him. The half-lidded sultry look in your eyes is enough for him to raise his eyebrows in surprise. Usually he can tell if you're joking but now he really can't tell. He's speechless, which doesn't happen to Derek Morgan very often.

"Y/N..."

"Call me if you wanna take me up on my offer." You send a wink at him before turning to head towards the black SUV. That should be enough for him to tattle.

//

When you return to the precinct, you watch with pleased eyes as Derek immediately pulls Spencer into a side room. Derek briefly glances at you, and you send him a smile but do not receive on in return. You don't think anything of it, Derek will get over it eventually with an explanation. You watch carefully as Derek begins to speak and an unreadable expression crosses onto Spencer's face, you expect he's just absorbing what Derek is telling him. Any minute now that look will cross onto his face, those dark eyes that warn you that you've officially annoyed him.

Derek keeps speaking, you can see his lips moving. What are they talking about? It shouldn't be taking this long. You're too far away to really make out their faces, so you subtly sneak closer when Spencer's eyes flash to meet yours and you gasp. There is no anger on his face, no playful annoyance, instead you see pain. Hurt. Betrayal. Derek tries to reach out to grab Spencer but the door to that side room opens and Spencer comes rushing out of it. Not bothering a side glance at you as he makes his hasty exit.

"I was only kidding." You explain quickly as Derek emerges. He doesn't look amused.

"It was too far Y/N. He's crushed." Derek snaps, brushing past you. Immediately you turn and exit the precinct, quickly finding Spencer tucked away in a secluded corner. He's sitting against the building, his head tucked into his knees and the absolute worst part is the fact that he's softly crying. You kneel in front of him in an instant, although you're not sure what to even say.

"Oh baby boy, I was only kidding. I didn't mean it, I said it because you flirted with that blonde witness!" You explain in a hurry, trying to reach out to take him in your arms. Spencer resists, instead lifting his head to look at you. His eyes are glossy and red rimmed, "kidding?"

"Yes precious, I was kidding."

"But Derek is more...attractive then I am." Spencer whimpers softly. You reach forward to firmly grasp Spencer's chin, ensuring he looks at you.

"Spencer Walter Reid you look at me," You order, and hesitantly Spencer lifts his watery eyes to meet yours. "There is not a single person who is more attractive then you are, you are flawless."

"But deep down you want Derek-"

"I was kidding Spencer. I only want you, my good boy." You purr, and you see a shiver run down his spine. You lean forward to press your lips to his before your thumbs come up to swipe away your tears.

"I'm not a good boy, I don't deserve it." Spencer whimpers once you help him stand up. Even though you're looking up at him, it's still very clear that you're the one in charge. "I flirted with Allison."

"You're right, you haven't been very good have you? I'm sure you'll make it up to me in the hotel room." You smile pressing a kiss to his flushed cheek. He nods immediately, it warms your heart.

"I love you." Spencer whispers after he catches your hand as you're about to open the door. You press a kiss to his palm, "I love you precious."

//

You could feel the nerves rolling off of him when you opened the door to your shared hotel room. The door shut with a soft click as you kicked off your shoes. Spencer remained at the hotel room door curled in on himself and wringing his hands together. You have to hide the smile as you shed your jacket from your shoulders, beginning to reach for your jeans when you pause. You take a seat on the bed, watching Spencer eye you carefully from his spot by the door.

"Come here." There isn't a question in your tone, it's more of an order. An order Spencer hastily obeys as he scrambles to stand before you.

"Undress me." You instruct, and Spencer kneels immediately to grab at the hem of your shirt. He carefully lifts the fabric off your body and tosses it aside before reaching around your body to unclip your bra. "No touching baby boy, you were naughty remember?" You snapped, and you saw him turn his head down in shame before turning his attention towards your pants. He unbuttons your jeans and helps pull them down your legs. Spencer's breath gets caught in his throat when his eyes land on your clothed pussy.

"Like what you see precious? Maybe if you were a good boy and didn't let that woman run her hands all over you, maybe I'd let you touch." You purr watching the disdain in his eyes when he realizes what his punishment is going to be.

"Tell me the truth baby boy, did you let her touch you in the car?"

He nods, but that's not good enough for you. You reach down to roughly palm him through his slacks.

"I said did you let her touch you?" You punctuate every word with a gentle squeeze around his cock. Finally, Spencer seems to find his voice.

"Y-Yes!"

"Where? Show me where she marked what's mine." You hiss, not even attempting to disguise your frustration. Spencer lifts one hand to his chest and trails it down his stomach, dangerously close to the hem of his pants before thankfully he stops.

"You let her touch you, this close to your cock?" You snap, tearing your hand away from him.

"I-I'm sorry!" He stammers, his eyes wide and his hands resting on the tops of his thighs. Boy does he look pretty on his knees before you. Not pretty enough for mercy however. There's a pleading look in his eyes, and a desperation. A desperation to please you.

"Make it up to me." You snap and as soon as the words leave your lips, Spencer's fingers are curling around the waistband of your underwear and tearing them off your body.

"Y-Yes ma'am." You lean back on your elbows as Spencer lowers his head between your legs, his eyes flickering to yours briefly. With a nod of your head, Spencer is delving between your legs with the enthusiasm of sex deprived teenager. Your head tosses back immediately as you feel his tongue licking thick stripes over your entrance. He continues to lap at you, his tongue teasing your entrance before he returns to his heavy licking. You moan softly, your fingers digging into his curls and pulling his head closer.

"Just like that, you're being such a good boy." You praise through breathy moans, and Spencer can feel his chest swell with pride. He loves being your good boy. But he isn't your baby boy all the time, sometimes, with a bit of coaxing, he becomes daddy. Spencer reaches up to prod a finger at your entrance before he's sinking in knuckle deep, his mouth curling around your clit. Spencer pumps on finger, to stretch you a little before slowly working a second finger into your suffocatingly tight heat.

"Yes Spencer, don't stop." You beg, feeling yourself climbing closer to reaching the peak, especially when his tongue flicks expertly against your clit while his fingers pump steadily into you. "Oh God, my good boy-" You praise again, and this time Spencer moans against you. Your toes curl as the vibrations send a course of pleasure through you, you've got to make him do that again.

"Do you like being my good boy Spencer? My good, obedient boy. So eager to please me, to make me feel good. And you do, you make me feel so good because you're such a good, good, boy." Your heavy praise causes Spencer to release a low groan, and the feeling is enough to launch you over the edge. Spencer keeps pumping is fingers into you, his tongue swirling soft circles over your clit to help you through your orgasm. Once your body has stopped jerking, you finally pull him off you.

"I forgive you precious, but unfortunately I still have to punish you." You inform him as you pull him back up to his feet. You hear him whine as you push his chest to lay him back against the bed.

"Do you have to?"

"Are you talking back to me baby boy?"

"N-No!" He squeaks instantly, his cheeks painted red. You stand over him, laying beneath you and you can't fight the soft moan that escapes your lips upon seeing him. His hair is disheveled from you raking your fingers through his, his brown eyes are wide and innocent as he looks up at you, and his cheeks are dusted such a beautiful shade of pink.

"Take off your clothes precious, I want to see all of you." You instruct, and you love the shy look on his face as he reaches up to remove his shirt. You let your eyes shamelessly roam his body as he slowly exposes more skin to you. Despite having been together for a few years now, Spencer is still incredibly insecure. Deep down he's worried you'll grow tired of him. Worried that you'll seek out other men despite being with him. Spencer is worried he's not enough to keep you interested. Which is wildly untrue, it's already been over 3 years and if anything you become more interested as time goes on.

"So beautiful baby boy, your body is a work of art." You breathe under your breath. Spencer blushes even deeper then he was before as he nervously fidgets underneath. You swing your legs on either side of his waist, your palms on the bed next to his head. "Your punishment, precious boy," your hands drift to his that are resting on your hips, "is that you can't touch me." You finish, moving his hands to the bed.

Spencer's eyes widen as his head drops back. A whine escapes his lips, but like a good boy, he grasps tightly at the sheets. You reach between your bodies to grasp his cock, pressing the head against your entrance before you teasingly lower onto him. Spencer's eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of your velvety walls around him- it's almost too much for the poor boy. It doesn't help that it's been a few weeks since you two last had sex, meaning you're tighter then you normally are. In fact you're so tight that Spencer can't even breathe properly while he's stretching you open.

"Oh baby boy, you feel absolutely wonderful. Your cock stretches me open so good." You purr, your hands landing on his chest for leverage so you can bounce on him faster. Spencer whimpers softly, the feeling is overwhelming, you can tell he's struggling to contain himself. Your hair drifts down your back when you throw your head back, his cock hitting places deep inside you.

"Getting close," You moan and Spencer knows that's his cue to reach down and begin rubbing circles over your clit. As soon as his thumb makes contact you're moaning loudly, your free hand digging into his hair to hold onto tightly. "Yes Spencer, yes." The phrase becomes a chant you repeat in your head over and over again. Spencer continues to rub you, desperate to help you find your release. When you slam down on him again, his cock hits the place deep inside you that makes your toes curl. You cum instantaneously, your body nearly falling top of Spencer's from the sheer force of it. Spencer's arms come up to steady you, offering shallow thrusts into you to chase his own release.

"Y/N...c-can I?" His voice is wrought, and you smile weakly.

"Yes precious, you can cum." As soon as you give him permission, he's cumming in hot gushes into you, his face buried in your neck. You run your hand down his back as his heart rate slows back to normal, and Spencer's arms stay curled around your waist.

"Spence?"

"Hm?" You can hear the lazy drawl in his voice that lets you know he's getting very sleepy.

"Don't ever break my rules again, or your punishment will be much worse."

"Yes ma'am." You press a kiss to his lips before pulling off him, and curling yourself into his side.

[pencilofawesomeness]

htryds: Retirement

September X780

He knew the tea was a trap. Or at the very least, that there were strings attached, because Porlyusica had been uncharacteristically vague about why she wanted him to come, but really, he should have seen this coming.

“I’m retiring.”

Acnologia set his tea down slowly. “Didn’t you already retire?” he asked tiredly.

Porlyusica huffed. “I tried to, but those fools of Makarov’s always needed me for something, be it some injury or magic ailment. As Magnolia doesn’t have a competent doctor of its own, I begrudgingly continued as a part-time physician for Fairy Tail. I never intended for this to last, however.”

“What, have you been training an apprentice all this time?” he asked, but it was more of a teasing statement. “I didn’t picture you as the type.”

Her scowl was expected. “Of course not. I don’t have the patience to train some human in my ways. But I don’t have to, now that you’re here.”

The words registered slowly, but he saw where she was going all the same. “No.”

“Acnologia,” Porlyusica scolded. “I know you don’t have the equipment I do, but beyond being a practitioner of healing magic, you are knowledgeable in medicine and ailment, despite pretending not to be.”

“I’m not pretending about anything. I haven’t practiced medicine in…” Shit, how long had it been? It was the 700s now, and it had been the 300s… “—in four hundred years!” It had been strange enough reawakening his healing magic, but that was only a matter of what amounted to muscle memory. Still, the nature of healing magic was simple; it was good for cleaning and closing wounds faster than the body could do on its own—but it only mimicked the body. It wasn’t medicine, or the study thereof. That was much more complicated. Porlyusica knew this. So, when he said he was rusty, he meant it. What little that he’s reviewed through readings barely scratched the surface of it.

Porlyusica could not produce magic, but she could still attempt murder with her eyes. “You’ll learn,” she countered, and it might as well have been an order.

Acnologia was in between a boulder and a canyon. She was persistent, but she was also out of her mind if the woman thought that he magically acquired people skills better than her own. (They were both hopeless.) Not to mention, for the first time in centuries, he was busy. “I understand where you’re coming from, but I can’t do anything full time either. Sure, I help out where I can, but between the emergency S-Class jobs and the kids, I don’t have that kind of time to dedicate. Besides, with my sleep schedule the way it is, somebody is going to die—and I tried re-syncing to a human sleep schedule, believe me: it didn’t work.” It took longer for dragons to reach the resting heartrate of deep sleep, and they stayed in it far longer. Toying with that cycle, back when he was afraid someone was going to totter off of a cliff or starve to death had been…possible, but stressful.

His (very logical) reasons didn’t persuade her. “And you think I dedicate my life for these reckless humans? I’m not asking you to change careers—just to let me retire in peace.”

“Porlyusica,” he argued. “I honestly don’t know as much as you do. Besides, I’m not even licensed anymore.”

He was fine playing medic and healing wounds, but there was something terrifying about truly being a doctor again. He… He couldn’t. Shouldn’t, even.

“If you have questions, ask. I’d much rather deal with you than some human brat,” she countered easily. “And you were licensed, so it wouldn’t be an issue stepping back up.”

“Yes, I was,” he pressed, emphasizing the past tense of it. “Four hundred years ago! Medicine advanced leaps and bounds since then. Not to mention everything I’ve forgotten.”

“Just as much as it devolved. Healing magic isn’t even practiced anymore. It died with dragons, gods, and prideful humans. Time doesn’t matter that much. It’s fleeting anyway.”

Acnologia clenched his teeth, trying not to stare at his palm. Saying he was “licensed” at all was a stretch. Back in the Minstrel region of a few centuries ago, doctors wore a badge—a tattoo on their left palm. It was something that had to be received from another individual with the brand, and nobody knew how the tradition started. He wasn’t even sure if people did that anymore, down there. The title came with the promise to do no harm and to help whenever possible; it was a creed he threw away when he chose violence. It was just as well that when the dragonization process transformed his body from the inside out, it removed that mark along with all of his old scars.

“Porlyusica, please. I get that you want to retire, but I don’t know what you expect from me.”

“To keep living,” she snapped. There was a note of desperation in her voice that Porlyusica rarely let show, so Acnologia wisely shut his mouth. “To be there. Acnologia, you know I’m aging. Quickly, even. I don’t know how much longer this body will last. This world may not be mine, and these humans aren’t my people, but I’m not so callous that I would abandon those sentimental fools that took me in.” Porlyusica sucked in a breath, swiftly turning so she was no longer facing him. “You’re still young. You’re understanding them faster than I ever could. You would be better for them.”

Damn. Acnologia wasn’t sure what he could possibly say to that. He…understood where she was coming from. It was hard enough to manage yourself when everything around you was a new and difficult concept to grasp. Honestly, he was amazed by the fact that he was interacting with people at all—with some understanding, even. Though Porlyusica gave him too much credit in that matter; he never would have managed it without the kids. Turned out, suddenly caring for time-displaced dragon slayer children presented the opportunity to learn things fast. Sometimes, his head was still spinning.

Not that it made him any more comfortable with the idea that Porlyusica presented. However, it was…true, what she said, about lifespans. Acnologia now aged like a dragon, like Porlyusica now aged as a human. Though he wouldn’t label her as about to kick the bucket, no matter how she spoke. It was also true that he was technically around everyone more often; if he was there, he would deal with a situation before somebody had to go get Porlyusica. He was begrudgingly more efficient, and Acnologia never minded until the notion that he really was the first line of medical defense slammed into it.

“Fine,” he relented softly. “But they’ll still have to bother you first in the winter.”

Porlyusica looked far too smug as she finished off her tea.

He…had a lot of reading to do. Acnologia focused on that, and not the unsettling realization that this was somehow…official now. Though, maybe he should be trying to give himself some more credit; if a killer could be trusted to raise kids, then maybe this wasn’t all that different.

---

One of the reasons I can’t hate the anime is that the bit they added about Acno being a doctor pre-war is just so golden for juicy contrasts and conflicts of character. Also, I know this is not a Frosch piece like I thought, but inspiration came to finish this so at least y’all get something this week.

[choicesenthusiast]

Representation at Pixelberry: The Follow-Up

One year ago, on June 15, 2020, Pixelberry released a statement regarding representation at the company. Here is the LINK to the original blog post, and here was MY RESPONSE. Oh, how naïve and optimistic I was. It contained a list of goals and promises they hoped to accomplish within a year. Well, a year has passed, and here is my attempt to hold PB accountable. I'll be going over the five main points of their representation plan and if they achieved what they promised. All criticisms are about content released after June 15th. Long post beware, but I'm not putting it under a read more because I feel like it's important for all to see.

1. Commitment to diversity of Love Interests - FAIL

We’ve already been moving towards having Love Interests have customizable skin tones. We will continue to do this with some stories, while also having some characters with clear ethnic identities. At the same time when we have multiple love interests of different ethnicities, we are aiming for those Love Interests to have equal game time.

"LIs with customizable skin tones" mean they come in three flavours: white, black, and ambiguously Asian/Latinx interchangeably. So far I have rarely seen an LI as connected to their culture/ethnicity as Rafael Aveiro, and he just talked about his Vovo's food if he ever were on screen. They had many chances with the other OH LIs as well. Even Ayna Seth and Tatum Mendoza were confirmed to be Indian and Filipino, respectively, though FA gets a little leeway, as it was set in a fictional west-European continent.

As for equal game time? I'm sure the biggest example we can all think of was the mess that was Open Heart 3, which was written during the hiatus (which only existed because they were going to straight up kill Rafael in Book 2). Game time was not equal among LIs, and the white male LI was heavily favoured. PB also continues to pay female LIs dirt by giving them no screen time. In addition to that, LGBT+ players, who are consistently underrepresented, receive one (1) unprepared pride month survey, prpbably only because someone asked them about it on Twitter.

This is the meat and potatoes of everything because it's what they're outputting to their audience. It's what the people see. Given that things haven't been going so well lately in this department, consider this promise a big fat fail.

2. More authentic and diverse hairstyles for people of color - QUESTIONABLE

Our team will focus on providing more authentic and representative hairstyles. We are prioritizing these hairstyles outside of our normal book processes and will introduce them in new books as they are ready.

While, yes, they have added two new hairstyles in WEH, they also just took Jade Bonet's hair and recycled it for LoA F!MC. PB recycles all their hair more often than not.

3. More diverse book covers - QUESTIONABLE

This is an initiative we started in January of this year. As a result the number of Black, Latinx, Asian, Native American, Pacific Islander, mixed, and other characters on new book covers increased from 35% of characters in 2019 to 60% characters in the first half of 2020. However, the number of black characters is still not high enough this year. More are already scheduled for books later this year. We will make sure that Black characters are well represented on our covers in the future.

"Diverse" does not just mean by race, but also gender, sexual orientation, etc. FA has the only recent MLM cover. And don't tell me that the FA and LoA covers are any different from each other. The only black characters on covers are Zoey Wade (QB), and Black!Gabe Ricci (LoA) and Bastien (WB), which aren't even their canon races unless you choose them to be. This is the case for many single-LI books, such as Cassian Keane (W:ABR, which technically premiered on Mar. 16, but the sentiment is the same), Sam Dalton (TNA), and Dakota Winchester (WEH). Not to mention the customizable/multi LI books like DS, RT, BaBu2, MTFL, etc. Majority of these covers are just cishet couples delicately cradling each other's bodies or whatever. And we're not even gonna get into how PB literally put the Open Heart LIs in order of their favouritism on Book 3's cover.

4. Writers/Staff - QUESTIONABLE

We will be engaging in professional training on historical and current racism for our writers to ensure more of them have a better understanding and more context for views of diverse characters in Choices. We will also create a program that gives more authority to people of color in the studio to advise writers and artists on more authentic portrayals in both writing and art of black, brown, and minority characters.

A story with a Black-led cast is something I have asked for in the past, but failed to follow-up on. We will very likely start this with a Black-led cast story led by Chelsa, one of Pixelberry's Black writers.

We will increase the number of diverse writers we source for new stories, starting with hiring more Black and Latinx writers to lead the charge.

For all teams at Pixelberry we will actively work to bring in more Black and Latinx candidates with the goal to increase the number of Black and Latinx employees at Pixelberry. Although Pixelberry is over 50% female, on teams where females are not at 50% we will actively work to source more female candidates.

This promise seemed like a copout from the start because we have no way of knowing who works on what at PB unless we very meticulously stalk their LinkedIn or Twitter or whatever. We have no solid statistics except for what they feed us. I do know, however, that they recently let the Ms. Match writers go and were hiring for external writers, but there really is no way of knowing what's going on behind-the-scenes with their 112+ employees, and of course there would be NDAs involved. We are yet to see a book with an all-Black cast, and receive rare development updates with new books. Actually, I think a really good way to promote diversity is to do staff showcases on their social media. Just a way to show the public who's responsible for what. Writers, game devs, the art team, etc. Don't think it'll happen, but it's always a good idea.

5. Donations - QUESTIONABLE

Pixelberry will also be making $100,000 in donations to Black Girls Code, the Black Writers Collective, and the Latinx Writers Collective at Techqueria. Rather than as a lump sum, we will be making these donations over the course of a year to remind us that we are not making short term changes, but are committed to long term sustainable actions. We’ll also be donating up to an additional $100k from profits for this week, 6/15-6/21.

There has been no proof, no receipts, no evidence from PB that they have donated anything to anyone, and as far as we're concerned, their word doesn't mean anything. No news or updates news about it. I would love to believe that they did something, but as you can see, I've become quite the pessimist. BWC still uses PB's old logo (like, pre-Choices) on their sponsors page, and the last interaction they've had with BGC was in 2013. They don't even follow each other on Instagram. In fact, BGC received a huge donation from MacKenzie Scott, formerly Bezos last July. Yes, that billionaire Bezos, and that got coverage from them. Obviously donations don't need to be for publicity, but in this case I think it's important there should be proof. Again, it's really hard to tell with these behind-the-scenes things, but given how PB loves to gloat and hates to keep promises, we can assume that none of this happened.

~~~

So, what's the takeaway? That PB's fallen down the drainhole of shitty content and empty promises and has no intention of climbing out as long as they still make that bank? Seems counterproductive, because good representation gets good feedback and income. They pump out bad books with barebones "representation" if you can call it that, then drop their precious merch and pretend all is fine and dandy. But just as I suspected one year ago, none of this matters, because people forget things, and people move on, and shit gets swept under rugs. Yet, here I am, yelling at a company in a post I for sure doubt they'll see. Because if not me, then who?

@playchoices Your move. It's been your move for a year now. When will you actually make it?

[rafael-silva]

we remain: a tarlos fic

Missing scenes from 2.12. Takes place after Carlos and Gabriel’s phone call. 

*

“He on his way?”

Carlos nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so upset before.”

Gabriel’s arrival after the fire leads to him taking Carlos and TK home, where Andrea is waiting for them with some much-needed motherly comfort. Reeling from the fire and its damage, Carlos feels heavy and lost. He leans on his boyfriend and TK is there to catch him. Carlos comes to a realization and with TK’s help and guidance, Carlos finds his footing again.  

missing scenes, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, carlos needs a hug, kisses, sharing a bath, soft tarlos

4.5k | rated T | on ao3

*****

“He on his way?”

Carlos nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so upset before.”

Carlos had zoned out of the conversation jumping between Judd, Owen, Tommy and Billy as they all stood by the opened ambulance doors. He’d hear TK’s voice whenever the young paramedic would say a word here or there, but Carlos’s eyes kept drifting back to what remained of his, and briefly his and TK’s, home. The stench of smoke and burnt wood hung heavy in the air around him. He almost felt lightheaded as he surveys what little remains of the life he built for himself over the past few years. Carlos feels like he’s free falling, the only thing keeping him from crumbling is TK’s hand in his, strong, supportive and there. Carlos holds onto his boyfriend with everything he’s got, both needing the support and needing to know that TK is really here and next to him.

He looses track of time, but soon, his ears pick up on a worried voice calling from behind, a familiar voice. But it seems so far away, so distant, like he’s underwater and someone is calling for him from above.

Carlos slowly turns around, his hand still clasping TK’s, and it’s then he registers his father rushing towards him.

“Carlitos,” Gabriel calls again, his voice coated with concern and his eyes blown wide.

“Dad,” Carlos whispers, his voice hoarse as he breaks away from TK’s side and takes a couple of steps to meet his father.

“Hey, son,” Gabriel breathes out and wastes no time in wrapping Carlos in a hug.

Exhausted, mentally and emotionally, Carlos falls against his father, closing his eyes as a tear falls down his ashy cheek. He gravitates closer to Gabriel and the older man tightens his hold him.

Carlos can hear Gabriel murmuring words of support and comfort and Carlos soaks it all up. But it doesn’t stop his body from shaking in his father’s arms.

“It’s okay, son, it’s okay,” Gabriel continues with his reassurances, and after a glance towards the ambulance and seeing TK standing near Judd, looking shaken but otherwise unharmed, he adds, “you’re both okay.”

Gabriel’s hold on Carlos doesn’t falter until Carlos starts to calm down. The officer draws in a breath and is about to say something but those words are interrupted by a rough cough tearing through his throat.

Gabriel frowns and he’s the one who pulls back slightly, eyebrows drawn together and closely watching his son’s face as the coughing fit continues.

“Carlos,” Gabriel says once his son can answer, “are you sure you don’t need to be in the hospital?”

“It’s fine,” Carlos replies around a grimace, pausing to suck in some air and swallows against his parched throat. “I got checked out, we both did, and it’s just minor smoke inhalation.”

“Son…” Gabriel tries again.

“We’re okay, dad.”

Carlos’s shoulders are hunched downwards like they were carrying the weight of the world and then some and Gabriel sighs, hating how worn out and tired his son looks. Carlos looks so deflated, so small and it breaks Gabriel’s heart.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, that you both are,” Gabriel expresses, his eyes not leaving Carlos’s. “I was so worried.”

Carlos nods, sniffing. “For a moment in there, I…I thought we weren’t going to make it out…the fire was everywhere, the whole house was…even in the bedroom. We were about to jump out of the window when Owen…” he trails off, his voice breaking. He bites down on his lower lip as fresh tears build in his eyes, as he recalls those terrifying moments. As he recalls the words he stumbled over, the fear echoing as he spoke, thinking it would be the last time he’d ever talk to TK.

Gabriel momentarily shuts his own eyes, his soul shattering at the mere thought of his son not making it out of the fire, and knowing that that was a very real possibility shakes him to his core. And even more so, knowing that he was partly responsible for this disaster, that his actions could have inadvertently caused his son to get hurt or worse, or caused his son to lose the man he loves. Gabriel knows he’s never going to forgive himself for this. His mind drifts back to the frantic call he had received from Owen less than an hour ago.

Gabriel had frowned slightly when the caller ID lit up with Owen’s name. Something stirred in the Ranger’s gut then, telling him that something was wrong.

“Owen,” Gabriel had picked up.

“Gabriel,” Owen replied, his strained voice confirmed Gabriel’s instincts. “Have you heard from Carlos recently?” He asked, forgoing any pleasantries.

The question made Gabriel sit up a little straight, any remnants of fatigue from their long day immediately evaporated from his bones. He took a quick glance at Andrea, who was moving to get into bed next to him, before he answered Owen.

“Not for a few hours…why?”

“Raymond, we know he wasn’t done. Remember what he said? That he’s going to take everything that’s important to me? I thought he was talking to me,” Owen paused and Gabriel heard the sound of the car accelerating.

Dread had begun to build in Gabriel’s gut as he waited for Owen to continue.

“I thought he meant the 126. But the fire at the station wasn’t what he was talking about. At least not completely. Gabriel…I didn’t realize it sooner but he was talking to us both.”

Gabriel’s blood ran cold and his heart dropped into his stomach when Owen’s word sunk in and he realized. “The boys…”

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to reach TK but it keeps going to voicemail.”

“Hold on,” Gabriel said as he turned to his wife. “Call Carlos.”

It was Andrea’s turn to frown, confusion morphing on her face but the urgency behind her husband’s words had her instantly reaching for her phone and calling their son. She shook her head a few moments later.

“Voicemail,” she informs Gabriel, her voice thick with worry now.

“Try again.”

“You’ve reached Carlos, leave a message and I’ll call you back.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Carlos’s phone keeps going to voicemail, too.”

“I’ll keep trying TK, I’m on my way there now and we called it in,” Owen said.

“I’ll meet you there,” Gabriel replied as he got out of bed.

He turned to Andrea again once he hung up the phone, the feeling of helplessness sinking deeper into his body and he could see his own fear reflected back at him.

He didn’t really know where to begin, but he settled for, “the boys are in danger.”

He wasted no time in getting dressed and driving towards the condo, sending silent prayer after prayer that the boys were okay, that Owen would get there in time. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he gets a phone call with his son’s voice on the other end five minutes before he arrived. Relief washed over him, and the surge of emotions was enough to break his usually strong composure, making his hand shake as he gripped the steering wheel.

He breaks from his thoughts when he hears Carlos shakily exhale and a hand goes to cup Carlos’s face, Carlos instinctively leaning into his father’s palm.

“You made it out, son, you’re here and that’s the most important thing. We’ll figure out everything else, okay?”

Carlos nods again and starts composing himself, his hands going to hold at the blanket around him and adjusts it over his shoulders.

Gabriel gently pats his cheek and gives him a sad smile before withdrawing his hand and they make their way over to TK and the others.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Gabriel tells TK, lightly clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, sir,” TK responds, moving back to Carlos’s side.

“Owen,” Gabriel then extends his hand towards the fire captain, “thank you.”

Owen nods and shakes Gabriel’s hand. “It wasn’t just me, though.”

Gabriel then looks at Judd, Tommy and Billy. “Thank you all, truly.”

“Don’t mention it,” Judd replies. “Carlos is family and we do anything for family.”

Gabriel’s heart swells at Judd’s statement and at seeing that there’s a village of people looking out for his son.

Gabriel nods his thanks at Judd before turning to Tommy. “Captain Vega, thank you for being here.”

The Paramedic Captain nods. “Of course, I wanted to make sure the boys were okay for myself.”

“They’re going to be okay?”

“Dad…” Carlos groans.

“This is for your mother,” Gabriel turns to look at Carlos. “She made me promise to make absolute sure that you’re okay, from everyone.”

“They’re okay,” Tommy confirms. “I checked them both over myself, they’re going to be a little tired and weak for a few days, so they have to take it easy,” she pauses to look directly at TK, who shifts on his feet under the attention and leans into Carlos, “but they’ll be recovered in less than a week,” she continues. “They just need to rest.”

Satisfied, Gabriel nods. His eyes move back to Carlos, who’s looking at the few scorched frames that are still standing. Gabriel feels the guilt start to build again, both at seeing the ruined house and the broken look on Carlos’s face. He knows he’ll have to talk to Carlos about this, to tell him what caused this. He’s worried it’s going to cause another rift in their relationship they’ve only started to mend, but he knows that he’d deserve that if it happens. He kept information from his son and his son lost his home, his son almost didn’t make it out. His guilt is only increased at missing the true meaning behind Raymond’s threat. It was right there, right in front of him, but he missed it. He can’t help but wonder if only he had caught it before, if he had realized, maybe this tragedy wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Carlos wouldn’t look so crushed right now.

But he missed it, and it almost cost him his boy. It almost cost his son the man he loves. He’s standing in these ruins and his heart clenches in his chest. Those are things he’s going to have to live with for the rest of his life. And he’s going to do whatever it takes to earn his son’s forgiveness.

Seeing how heavy and worn-out Carlos looks, Gabriel decides to keep an eye on his for the time being, to make sure he’s okay, and here. To make sure both he and TK are okay. It’s the least he could do.

Feeling his father’s gaze, Carlos turns to look at him and Gabriel responds with placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you ready to go?” Gabriel asks.

Carlos’s breath hitches a little, looking back at the house and then at TK. He knows there’s nothing to be done, the house is gone and he can’t do a single thing about it.

Besides, what remains of the house is still swarming with firefighters so he can’t go back in even if he wanted to. But still, it feels like his feet are nailed to the ground and he can’t move an inch, fixated on the burnt ash lying ahead of him.

TK appearing in his line of sight breaks Carlos out of his haze.

“Babe,” TK starts, both hands going to hold Carlos’s face. He caresses Carlos’s cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, not breaking their eye contact.

Carlos focuses on TK, on his green eyes that stand out against the black ash painting his face, and it helps calm the officer.

TK suppresses a cough before he continues. “I think you should go with your dad,” he voices. “I know being close to your parents tonight will help, baby. And I’m sure your mom wants to see you. I’ll be fine, I just want to make sure you’ll be okay.”

Carlos shakes his head at the implication that he and TK would be spending the night apart. It’s true, he knows being close to his parents will help him and his parents feel a little better, but he can’t be away from TK, not right now, not when he’s still picking up the pieces of his broken heart, when he can still feel the smoke getting thicker around them, when he can still feel the dread in his gut at the realization that this could have been the end for him and TK. Not when the fear is still coursing through his veins and the roar of the fire hadn’t completely quietened in his ears.

Carlos knows TK doesn’t want to impose and assume he can go home with Carlos to Gabriel and Andrea’s. He knows TK wants to give him what he needs. But the bottom line is, he needs TK. He won’t go anywhere without him.

Gabriel picks up on Carlos’s hesitation and jumps in. “TK is more than welcome to come with us. And he’s right, your mother is eager to see you, son. And I know she wants to make sure that TK is okay, too.”

Carlos relaxes ever so slightly at that, a little of tension in his shoulders fading away. He swallows and nods. Being apart from TK right now would have felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

With a look between TK and Owen, TK’s eyes saying I can’t leave him and a nod from the older man, it’s decided.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here,” TK promises and wraps Carlos in a hug, holding him just like he had earlier.

Carlos buries his face in TK’s neck, and underneath all the soot and sweat and ash, he could still smell the scent that is TK and it helps soothe his hammering heart.

“My phone, well,” TK tells Owen after he and Carlos separate, gesturing to the nearly empty space behind them. “I’ll text or call from Mr. Reyes’s phone.”

“Okay, son,” Owen nods, making a mental note to get TK a new phone and pulls him into a hug. “Take care of each other.”

With quick goodbyes to Owen, Tommy, Judd and Billy, the three men walk to the Ranger’s truck and climb in.

Carlos doesn’t have the energy to look back, but he steals a glimpse of what was once his home through the right side mirror. His heart feels heavy in his chest as the remaining structure gets smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing out of view. And it’s just then, it truly sinks in that almost everything he’s built for himself, is gone.

He sighs, leaning his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. He feels the pull of sleep but there’s still residual adrenaline pumping through his veins, keep him on edge. He settles for resting his eyes and hopes it will ease the sting from the smoke.

The drive to Andrea and Gabriel’s house is spent in silence. Carlos only opens his eyes when he feels the truck slowing and comes to a stop a few moments later, followed by Gabriel turning off the ignition to indicate they’ve arrived.

Carlos takes a moment to look at his parents’ house through the window before moving to get out of the truck. The front door is torn open and he spots his mother quickly walking towards him before his feet hit the ground.

“Ma,” Carlos whispers and a second later, he’s being held in his mother’s embrace.

“Oh, Carlitos,” Andrea sighs, taking on most of Carlos’s weight as he slumps against her.

There’s a considerable height difference between them, Carlos having to lean down to hug his mother, but in this moment, in Carlos’s current state, he feels like a small boy in her arms as he further curls against her and she feels like a giant holding him close.

She doesn’t let go of Carlos, a steady arm on his back, but she extends her other to TK when he appears behind her son. He reaches out to her, their hands connecting and she gives his hand a supportive squeeze, which TK responds to with a nod. He has missed a motherly touch.

“Let’s get you boys inside,” Gabriel’s voice breaks the silence, noticing how Carlos and TK are standing on wobbly legs.

Andrea nods and reluctantly pulls back from Carlos, her eyes still glued to his face and her heart breaks some more at noticing the black botches littering his skin and the redness sitting inside his eyes.

“We’re okay, Ma,” Carlos reassures her, his voice still scratchy and low. He gives her the best smile he could muster, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

She nods again and returns the smile, unshed tears shimmering in her brown eyes. “Come on, like your father said, let’s get you inside. I made some soup and fixed up your old room for you boys,” Andrea announces as she leads the men inside.

Carlos is engulfed with memories of his childhood as soon as he walks through the door. He feels his heart lighten a little and TK was right, being here does offer some comfort he so desperately needs.

TK immediately senses that through their cosmic connection, and squeezes Carlos’s hand. Carlos glances over his shoulder and gives TK a small smile.

“I knew you’d be coming here,” Andrea continues. “Call it mother’s intuition, but I knew.”

Carlos nods and looks back at TK and they have a silent conversation then, their eyes meeting and speaking a thousands words and thoughts through brown and green gates. Concern, reassurance, love, all radiating between them, an invisible string always connecting them.

“There are some fresh towels on the bed, and I’ll reheat the soup so it’s ready when you’re done cleaning up and getting changed.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Carlos gives Andrea another hug, drawing strength from her.

She kisses his cheek when they separate and then moves to hug TK. “Thank God both of you are okay.”

Andrea and Gabriel watch as Carlos slowly leads TK up the stairs and only when they disappear down the hall does Andrea turn to her husband.

“I’d feel better if they stayed here for a few days,” she says.

Gabriel nods. “Me too.”

“They’re shaken, but they’re going to be okay, they have each other and they have us and Owen, TK’s team…it’s going to be okay,” Andrea expresses.

Upstairs, TK follows Carlos into the room and closes the door behind them. Carlos takes TK’s shock blanket and discards both blankets into the laundry bin next to the door. With a heavy sigh, he drops on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and places his face in his hands.

TK wants to look around the room, to catch glimpses of Carlos’s childhood and teen years in the books and comics lined up on the shelves, in the posters hung on the walls, in the certificates proudly framed and the medals and trophies neatly organized together. But he pushes that to the side for now, he can do that later. Right now, Carlos needs him.

TK moves towards the bed and sits on Carlos’s left. He wraps an arm around Carlos’s hunched shoulders and draws him close, the officer easily going with him. Carlos removes his face from his hands and settles against TK’s chest, closing his eyes when he feels the kiss TK drops to the top of his head.

Carlos’s hair smells of smoke and ash but TK can smell his boyfriend’s mint-scented shampoo underneath it all. In more ways than one, that mint scent has become TK’s home.

There are no words to be said, not really, so they just stay like that for what seems like hours. TK holding Carlos, running a hand up and down his arm while Carlos listens to TK’s heartbeat as it echoes against his ear, strong and steady. And in its own way, this moment says everything that needs to be said.

TK is the one to break the silence.

“We should get cleaned up, babe,” TK whispers, not wanting to completely shatter the quiet. “And then we’ll have some soup and we’ll sleep.”

Carlos untangles himself from TK but remains close to him, their thighs and sides still touching. He knows sleeping won’t be easy, that there are likely a few nightmares awaiting in the dark, and he knows TK knows that too, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead he nods, eyes drifting to the towels next to them.

“Don’t worry about those, I’ll get them,” TK says, breathing through the urge to cough but a couple of cough escape through his lips. “Do you want to shower alone or together?”

“Together,” Carlos immediately replies, and a light blush colors his cheeks.

The blush draws a light, playful chuckle from TK, and the sound brings a small smile to Carlos’s face.

“Okay, babe,” TK nods. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

They navigate to the bathroom hand in hand, hearing a soft hum coming from downstairs as Andrea and Gabriel watch tv. TK closes and locks the door behind them, and they both start to undress. Their soiled clothes meet in a pile on the floor and Carlos’s eyes linger there for a few moments. As far as he knows, this is everything of theirs that survived the fire. A shirt, a hoodie, two pairs of sweatpants, two pairs socks and two pairs of shoes. That’s it. That is what remains of the life he, and then he and TK, had built. It sends a painful pang echoing through his chest.

The sound of the water spray hitting the marble brings him back from his thoughts, his head snapping up to see TK adjusting the water temperature.

He takes TK’s offered hand and they both step under the water, letting it run down their skin and wash away the physical evidence of the fire.

They take turns caring for each other, lathering up shampoo in their palms and running their fingers through each other’s hair as they wash away all the soot and ash and dirt. They brush soft kisses to each other’s body as they go along, kisses to shoulders, cheeks, hands, necks. Little reminders that they’re okay. They melt against each other, needing to know they’re both there, both giving and receiving in every way they can. They step out when the water starts to run clear and it gets a little cool, drying up with the towels and retreating back to Carlos’s bedroom.

Carlos opens the closet and retrieves some of the clothes he leaves there and lays them on the bed. Two pairs of sweatpants, an old police academy t-shirt for him and a similarly old police academy hoodie for TK.

TK gives him a smile when he notices the hoodie.

They change in silence and TK is about to head out but Carlos’s holds his hand to stop him. TK turns to face his boyfriend and moves back towards him.

“I just…I just need a moment,” Carlos explains, pushing out a small cough.

“Yeah, of course,” TK nods. “Whatever you need.”

Carlos hovers by the foot of the bed for a few seconds, shifting his weight between his feet and swallows. His hands begin to shake on their own accord and his head falls forward. TK instantly takes Carlos’s hands in his and applies a reassuring pressure to them, giving Carlos something to focus on and to help ground him.

“Baby, look at me,” TK pleads.

Carlos slowly lifts his gaze to meet TK’s beautiful eyes. He sees tears swimming against the green irises, sees the concern TK is carrying for him, sees TK’s own pain and fear.

“We’re okay,” TK vows. “I know this won’t go away overnight, I know there’s a lot for us to deal with, I know there’s a lot to feel. But I also know that we have each other, and we’ll rebuild our life together. I promise you. I’m not going anywhere. I swear it to you, Carlos, I’m not leaving your side. And everything you need to feel, feel it. I will be here to catch you.”

Carlos blinks, sending a tear rolling down his cheek. “I thought…when I thought we weren’t going to make it, I started missing everything we would be, everything we had yet to do together. I could see it so clearly, a flash of what we’d become together and then it was gone. I felt that loss, I felt the loss of us and it…” he shakes his head, “it hurt so much.”

TK plants a kiss to Carlos’s forehead. “I know, babe, I was scared too, because there’s still so much we didn’t do together and I was terrified we’d never get to do all those things, that it would be over when it’s only just begun for us…but we’re here, we’re alive, and we have each other,” TK wipes at Carlos’s fallen tears.

Looking into TK’s eyes, feeling and seeing his love and his passion, and feeling the love and passion he has for TK flutter in his chest in return, Carlos reevaluates an earlier thought.

Those clothes aren’t the only things that survived the fire. They survived. Their love survived.

They lost their home, yes, but Carlos realizes then, maybe home is a person. And he knows in his heart now that he found his home in TK.

TK cards his fingers through Carlos’s wet curls and touches his forehead to Carlos’s as they breathe together.

TK leans in, brushing soft kisses to each side of Carlos’s mouth and then one to his lips. Carlos moves in for another kiss when TK starts to pull back.

“Ready?” TK asks when they eventually separate after a few more exchanges of gentle kisses.

Carlos takes TK’s hand and nods, feeling the warmth of TK’s touch seeping into his skin.

“Ready,” Carlos replies and lets TK lead them out of the room and down the stairs where Andrea and Gabriel greet them with soft smiles.

And watching the love of his life engaged in a light conversation with his mother as she serves their food, and feeling his father’s reassurance presence at his side, Carlos nods to himself.

His eyes move back to land on TK, who softly laughs at something Andrea said and Carlos’s own lips curl upwards into a smile at the sight.

Carlos knows it’s going to be a tough road ahead, but for the first time since discovering the fire, hope starts to blossom in his chest.

Sensing his gaze, TK turns, easily finding Carlos’s eyes. For a moment, the rest of the house disappears and it’s just the two of them as they exchange the smiles that are reserved only for each other.

TK turns to Andrea when she says something and with his eyes still focused on TK, Carlos thinks, yeah, we remain.

[pascalpanic]

“You can call me whenever you want… Even if you don’t have a reason to.” with Javi 😩 OR marcus moreno bc I think it fits him too

Personal Number (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: You’re lonely working as the American ambassador’s secretary. You miss the days of being down with the agents as a receptionist. At least you get to talk with Javier Peña on the phone somewhat often.

W/C: 1.5k

Warnings: language, brief mentions of sexual content. this is pretty tame.

A/N: I LOVE JAVIER. can you tell?? thank you for this idea Thea!!! I love it so much and I hope you like it too. Also, can you tell I like writing phone calls? I just think it’s so fun and a medium that isn’t covered super often.

it’s definitely not because I like not having to write about body language or action.

Javier Peña was a flirt. You knew that from the start, from the stories you’d heard from the other women around the embassy. He was cute, you admitted. Tight shirts and equally slim-fitting jeans, dark hair, lean and strong. He walked with power in his stance.

You liked him. He was a nice man, respectful. He flirted with everyone, but he never went too far. Sure, he’d slept with a solid chunk of the women who worked here, but he was supposedly a wonderful lover. His methods were unorthodox in the field, but he got what he needed. He was incredibly clever, setting up traps and getting information by any means necessary. You talked occasionally, when he’d stop by because you had a message for him at the receptionist desk. He was good for conversation. He liked the cinnamon candies you kept on your desk.

The other women talked with you more than he did. You and the other women chatted, ate lunch together. The rare female presence was much appreciated in such a testosterone-laden environment. You all got along well. Even compared stories of sleeping with certain agents, how their skills at finding the clit ranked, how snuggly they were after, how receptive they were to certain acts. It was fun.

Javier was a busy man. The phone on his desk rarely rang. If someone needed someone around the embassy, they went and talked to them in person. It was an excuse to get away from your desk, people figured. You rarely used the phone too, even as a receptionist. You’d answer calls when they came, but they were usually directed other places, with specific extensions. People here were more direct.

That was before you’d been appointed as the ambassador’s secretary. It was an honor. It meant you were good at your job. You’d taken it, bragging to the other girls over lunch. Everyone was excited for you.

The job, you found out, was dry. It consists most days of making phone calls. Stechner, Ambassador wants you. Ambassador? Stechner’s here. Yep. I’ll let him in. Hi, we’ll take three orders of arepas- sorry, yes sir? Scratch that, he wants four. And can you throw in a coffee- one second, yes sir? Got it- with four creams and two sugars.

You doodle on a notepad many days. You read newspapers or reports. You proofread memos for the ambassador before he sends them off to someone important. It’s draining and dry and you have to admit you hate it.

“Peña,” a voice answers the phone.

“Hi Javier. Are you busy?” You ask.

He smiles a little as he hears your voice, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “When am I ever around here?” He asks, and you chuckle.

“I know the feeling.”

The two of you had talked a few times before. He was nice enough, if curt. Usually, he was busy. People only came to you when they needed something as a receptionist, and now even more so as a private secretary.

“How’s the promotion treating you?” He asks. He’d heard word as he talked with others. Noticed your spot was empty for a day or two before being replaced by another woman. He missed the little candies you kept on your desk. You always kept cinnamon disks stocked in a separate jar from the seasonal candies for him.

“It’s… good,” you nod, drawing a little fish on your notepad. “Kind of feels like a demotion sometimes. It’s boring up here. And lonely. I miss being around to talk with people.”

“We miss you,” he admits with a smile. “You still keep those cinnamon candies on your desk up there?”

You shake your head, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder. “No. Ambassador doesn’t like them, so I switched over. I did get some new fun caramel flavored stuff though.”

“Damn,” he chuckles.

“Would it make you come up here if I had them?”

“I may have to visit the ambassador more often if you did,” he teases, and you chuckle softly. “Poor little social butterfly, cooped up on the highest floor, away from humanity.”

“I do feel like Rapunzel some days,” you sigh, still smiling. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I was supposed to ask if you were busy for the ambassador, not for myself. He wants to see you if you have a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Right now?”

“Right now.”

You can hear shuffling on the other end. “Let me put my signature on one more paper and I’ll be up.” He hangs up and you sigh. There was the most interaction you’ll get for the day.

-

It seems that the closer the men get to Escobar, the more the ambassador needs to see Murphy and Peña. You don’t mind. The two men are funny, and the way they interact makes you smile.

Peña talks to you more than Murphy. Steve is more likely to go outside to smoke, while Javier smokes at his desk. That means you dial him more often simply because there’s a higher probability he’s at his desk. Not because you enjoy talking with him more.

The two men had picked up on calling you Rapunzel. Your energy and excitement was draining day by day, and they compared your new position outside of the ambassador’s office, high on the top floor of the embassy, to Rapunzel’s tower.

You playfully called them Javi and Stephen in return to annoy both of them. It didn’t work on Javier. It turned out he liked that, and you could tell by the way his voice softened. So you kept that.

“Peña.”

“Guess who?” you ask dryly, tapping your pen against your notepad.

The man chuckles. “You must be having an exciting day up there. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Ha.” The word is humorless and flat. “Ambassador wants to see you two.”

Javier groans. “Kind of busy.”

“Well, I’ll tell him that,” you nod and write down on a legal pad- separate from your doodling pad- Peña busy. 11:30. “How are things going down there today?”

“Annoying. Steve is a pain in my ass- hey, shut the fuck up,” you can hear him say even as he removes the receiver away from his phone. You giggle at that, smiling as he speaks again. “Sorry. Can you guess who that was?”

“What was he saying this time?” You ask, twirling the cord to the phone around your finger.

“Nothing,” he insists, but you can hear Murphy shouting. Some message he’s trying to get to you.

“Well, alright. Call up when you’re less busy,” you ask him and hang up.

You really want to know what Murphy was going on about. You dial his desk and he picks up. “S’this Rapunzel?” A southern accent twangs.

“Of course,” you chuckle. “What were you shouting into Javi’s phone?”

“Oh, nothing. Oh, hey, wait,” he says, pulling the phone down and pressing it to his chest. You can hear the muffled voices of the two men, but not what they’re saying. He puts it back to his ear quickly after. “Anyway, it’s nothing. We’ll call you back when we’ve got a minute to come up.”

Odd, you think, before going back to your work on your desk.

-

The phone rings again an hour later. “Ambassador’s office,” you say with a gentle lilt to your voice.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” a kind but rough voice speaks through the phone. Javi.

“Hey,” you chuckle a little. “You guys ready to come up?”

“Uh, no, not yet. But I do want you to write something down for me.”

“Anything,” you nod, priming your pen above the piece of paper.

Javier rattles off ten numbers, and you diligently write them down on the paper. You repeat it back and he affirms that it’s correct. “Got it. What is it?”

“It’s my personal phone number.”

“Javi, the ambassador already has your phone number.”

“No, I know. It’s for you.”

Oh. Your heart flutters excitedly in your chest, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

“I like talking with you. Our phone calls are the highlight of my day. You can call me whenever you want… even if you don’t have a reason to. I just… like hearing your voice. I like you.”

You clutch the paper, grinning ear to ear. “Well, I like you too, Javi. I’ll be using this,” you assure him, looking down at it and beaming. “Now, you said you’re busy. Get back to work.”

“Yes ma’am. See you in a bit.”

Click. Dial tone. Your heart fills with sparks and little fireworks, sending you into a loud laugh of excitement.

The thick oak doors swing open. The ambassador looks at you with concern. “Everything alright out here?” He asks you.

You nod, biting your lip and looking down to hide your grin. “Yeah, yeah. Great, sir. Peña and Murphy aren’t ready yet. They’ll be up later.”

The man gives you a nod and closes the door behind him.

The grin returns. You trace the freshly-dried ink, the nine numbers that will connect you directly to Javier at any time you want. You pull your contact book from your purse, sitting beneath your desk, flipping to a clean page.

Javier Peña, you write.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

personal number

You go back and draw a small heart next to his name.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 30

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L  Warnings: Language, angst, meeting new characters Important Question: do you guys prefer shorter or longer chapters? also, I listened to first love / late spring by Mitski for this ch if anyone else wants to listen along!

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 30: Like a Tall Child

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Remus was alone for the trip back to King’s Cross; not wanting to be stuck with James or Peter who would only pester him. He mulled over his thoughts as his head rested against the window, watching the scenery whip by. But the more he had time to think, it caused more guilt to build; they were only trying to be supportive. They cared so much, still willing to associated with someone like… him. And all he did was push them away. He didn’t deserve real mates like them.

Remus tried to distract himself: knitting, drawing — reading next year’s material, but settled on pulling out his cartridge of cigarettes. About to light one, his attention was drawn to the soft knocking on the carriage door. Lily was there, waving before coming in.

“Hey,” she said, closing the door and sitting down. “I wanted to say bye for the summer.”

He exhaled, now itching for the rush of nicotine while Lily fidgeted in her seat. He already knew why she was there.

“Sev — Snape — came to me a couple days ago…”

It was impossible to escape, wasn’t it?

“They’re mad, his theories… He’s been telling me the entire year and kept going on about this one story… wild story of you and Y/N and the other Marauders…” Lily looked up nervously.

Instead of getting angry, Remus closed his eyes, feeling himself sink further into the cushions, centring his breathing. “What did he say?”

“He’s been telling me you’re a… a...”

“Werewolf?”

She froze at the word, having to take a deep inhale and suddenly looked paler than usual. Remus wanted to jump out of the moving train. “Yes,” she stated, “But I told him to bugger off.”

Lily stopped again, meeting his eyes. “So… It’s true?”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

Lily sat straight, leaning over and even putting a hand on her chest, close to her heart. “I’ll take it to the grave.”

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(Letters between Y/N and friends)

To my lovely Whiskers, I hope your summer has been grand so far. Are you sure you can’t spend time with me? It’s been so lonely. Prongs

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Dear Bambi, Unfortunately, I can’t. Mom’s dragging me to New York for the month. Something about being invited to do a special surgery. Said leaving me alone will do no good. I promise to bring you back a souvenir? How are things with Black? Whiskers

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My adoring, wonderful Whiskers, And it hasn’t. My parents are concerned. They’ve been trying to get me to talk about what happened but I can’t. Dumbledore and McGonagall have already started their punishments. He lost over 200 points for next year, got detention for half the year and he can’t try out for the Quidditch team if he wanted to. I wonder what they’ll do next. I love souvenirs! All things Muggle! Yours truly, Prongs/Bambi/James

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July 20th, 1976 Meet me in Times Square at 1 pm on the 8th. There’s a bench outside a bagel store, there’s no way you’ll miss it. Until next time, Matthew G.

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¡Hola! Greetings from Barcelona! My brothers took a few weeks off to spend time with me to come to Spain with my parents! They’re dragging me to a football game later. I heard they call it ‘soccer’ in North America. M. McKinnon

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Y/N L/N, Hello, I hope you’re having a wonderful break. Your letters are the highlight of my day and they keep me busy. So I hate to inform you that you need to stop sending me letters for now. I’m not supposed to be getting any and my parents are going to start confiscating them if I receive any more. I’m sorry. I can’t wait to see you in the fall. R.A.B

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I’m visiting Tuney with my parents in a few days. She moved to London for a clerical job in March and we’re meeting her boyfriend, Vernon! He sounds nice but she’s told me she’s nervous about me and magic around him. Lily

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Petals! I’m sure you’ll be fine! Who couldn't love you? Write back and tell me what happens!

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Whiskers, I’m with my parents up in Wales in their cottage. I was born there before having to move for my Dad’s work. Also, I think I have to get a rabbit. James always told people that I got my scars from a poorly behaved rabbit and if I’m not seen with one soon, people will start to question. Remus

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Does this mean I get to call you Moony now? Professor Moony? Wales? And that’s where that small accent comes from. It bleeds through when you’re concentrating or relaxing. And a rabbit? At least they’re cute! I’m sure you can just Transfigure a book though. Y/N

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Professor Moony? Haha, okay! And really? I never knew. I’m kind of embarrassed now. I’ve thought about that but at this point, I think it would be easier just to have one.

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Oh no! It’s nice! Gives you personality. I think it suits you well How about… Moody Moony near full moons? And Moody Moony Mondays on Mondays.

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Now you’ve gone too far. Bloody fucking Moody Moony? Have you ever heard of Mad-Eye Moody?

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Would you prefer 'my Moony' then?

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Yes, actually.

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August 6th, 1976

“Hurry up!”

She thudded down from the top of the staircase, dragging her trunk behind while her mother sped out of the terminal door, flagging down one of the zipping yellow taxis with her luggage in hand.

It was strange, being with her mother again after almost a year apart. She hadn’t come to King’s Cross again, instead sending her a bus fare in anticipation of school ending. She hoped for some sort of recognition, any kind of sign that she was missed but was only given a side-armed hug and delved back into work.

Y/N wondered if maybe she just didn’t want her there, hoping she would get lost and never come back. She only had been on a bus in London twice, therefore almost ensuring that she would get lost and would have stayed lost if she didn’t have extra spare change to use a payphone.

Ignoring the crackle of whispers as she strode to the cab, people blatantly stared at her unnatural coloured hair, as she entered the car, slamming the door shut.

“Where ya ladies off too?” Said the driver, pulling out a map from their car door.

“Cranberry Street, Brooklyn Heights.”

It was a quiet drive, aside from the driver drumming their fingers on the steering wheel at the sound of the Bee Gees blasting in the background. She watched other cabs whipping back and forth, people going on with their days, the dirty streets and building under construction.

“Hey, mom?” She asked, reasoning now was a good time to talk about her OWL results. She’d gotten them mere seconds before leaving their house back in London and she’d been putting off looking at the results until now.

She only grunted, flicking through one of her medical journals, jotting down notes. “I don’t have time right now.”

Y/N sighed, that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach expanded again. “It’s kind of important.”

“Not now.” She waved her hand and ended the conversation.

Thirty minutes later, the cab came to a stop as they grabbed their luggage and strolled up to the brownstone building they were renting for the month.

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Jet lag got to her as she unwinded lounged until finally getting up from bed that morning as her mom rushed around the house. She frantically was putting on shoes, dressed impeccably sharp, no doubt in hopes to make an impression as her eyes flew across her journal. Her feet were scrambling to the door as she flung her bag over her shoulder.

“Have a good d —” And then the door slammed shut.

She stared blankly at the door for a while and then turned around, getting ready for her day. A daint drum of excitement yet nervousness built up, pushing aside that sinking feeling. Today she was going to see Matthew again.

Having a few hours to spare, Y/N walked around, marvelling at the tall buildings and lights before heading into the heart of Time Square, immediately spotting the bench outside the bagel shop. She sat, waiting for him anxiously. She made sure to wear a hat, covering any sight of hair to avoid weird stares and chatter.

But then a few minutes turned into ten and then twenty minutes later.

Slipping out the letter again to make sure, she re-read it. Time Square, at one, today… near the bagel shop…

“Where y’at?”

Her head lifted as she jumped to her feet and pulled each other into a tight hug.

“Matthew!”

His face nuzzled into the side of her neck, arms wrapped around tight as her face pressed gently into his chest. Eventually, she pulled away - arms outstretched to get a good look.

Matthew Gaplin looked different. His hair, coarse and thick, had grown. He was taller, filled out more, tan skin became even tanner from the beating sun and he filled out.

His smile was large. “S’been so long.”

She gave him a small whack!

“Ow!” He jumped back, “What’s wrong wiv ya?”

“I thought you stood me up.”

“Sorry, doing something for Mom. Had to wait on line forever.”

He looked down bashfully, now staring at the hat. His face made a disgusted look. “It’s disgusting out. Why are you wearing —” Curiously lifting the hat, his lids widened astronomically as Y/N grabbed it, covering her wild hair.

“I told you,” she hissed.

“Right the Potter sport!” He gave a full-body laugh. “Oh come on, I wanna see it again!”

But her hand clamped down on that hat to prevent him from pulling it off. “No! The Muggles keep judging —“

“Muggles?” Matthew’s brows furrowed. “The fuck is a Muggle? Sounds… demeaning.”

“Sorry, it’s what they call No-Majs.”

“Ahh,” and then he moved to loop an arm around her shoulders and continued to walk. “Too good to use ol’American terms?”

“Turned British snob.”

They laughed loudly as he took charge, showing her around the city. There was something so calming amid the chaos of New York. The bustle, low chatter and his enthusiasm made it all the better.

Soon enough, after hours of walking around, they both came to a stop in a large park as they grew hungry. Matthew disappeared for a while, leaving her alone to lay down on the soft grass before returning, holding up a brown bag with two drinks.

“Got us bagels wiv schmear.”

She mumbled out a thanks and took it from him as he sat down on the grass beside her.

“Missed ya, really.”

She shoved him playfully, his head dropping bashfully. “Shut up.”

It stayed quiet for a bit, as they listened to the birds chirping until he broke the silence again. “Ya thinkin’ ‘bout moving back eventually, right?”

“Why?”

Matthew gave her a haughty look, contemplating his words carefully. “Do ya… not know? They’re losing the war.”

Momentary terror gripped her heart but she swallowed it down fast. “Matthew,” her voice dropped, “Please, I want a fun summer… can we not talk about the war? I have more than enough time to worry later."

He wanted to keep talking, worried for his good friend but he refrained, biting down on his lip and nodded stiffly.

“So…” he thought to himself, contemplating how to change the direction of their conversation and fast. “Fess up, what’s been goin’ on over there.”

“Huh?”

“You’re telling me you haven't — what is it called? Kissing?”

“Snogging?”

He smiled. “You’re telling me you haven’t snogged anyone of those rich Old-Majs yet?”

“Nope!” She spoke too quickly and voice was a little too high.

“Liar. Ya going tell me who then?” Y/N looked down, hand going to fiddle with the fem of her clothes while Matthew shook her. “Come on! Tell me!”

“Fine! His name is Sirius Black.”

Matthew's eyes widened in recognition as he sat upright. “You don’t mean the Black family? Gawd! No way!”

“What?”

“And ya don’t even know!” Matthew was full of amusement. “They’re one of the oldest wizarding families out there! Are you still wiv him?”

Y/N stopped, trying to conceal a chuckle. She didn’t have it in her to lie anymore. “No! He almost got me killed.”

“Ha. Ha, very clever. Fine, don’t tell me.”

“You? Anything exciting?”

Matthew snorted. “Fought over a fin if that counts as exciting.”

“You know that’s not what I'm talking about,” she teased.

He abruptly became very serious and it had Y/N sitting up straighter. Matthew breathed in, this time not looking at her but instead at his metal pop can. “I’ve… had a tumble wiv a few... didn’t matter their… genders.”

It took a second for his words to click in but when it did, her mouth fell open and saw his face fall as she pulled him into a tight hug. “I don’t care who you cop, just be safe and have fun.”

He mumbled into her shoulder. “Been rehearsing that since I knew you were visitin’.”

“Love ya, could never judge you.” He tried to look insulted from the babying but prickled with tears before wiping them away quickly.

“Bless ya!”

“You alright though?”

“Now that I know your reaction, never betta. Now, you talk, enough ‘bout me.”

After making sure he was okay, Y/N prattled about Hogwarts. Matthew would pop in a few times, asking her to clarify or ask what words the British used — he often called her his ‘British insight.’ She rambled much about her day, her new friends but made sure to leave out a few details. Matthew became peculiarly silent through most of her speech. It wasn’t like him to not try to speak up, but he looked at her with something she’d only seen a few times prior.

Matthew stared at her for a long time, analyzing with underlying adoration. “What did them Brits do to ya?”

She looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “Ya sound different.” He says calmly, going to sip on his pop. “Talk funny.”

“Tawk funny,” she mocked and earned a shove. “Different? How so?”

“Everything ‘bout you seems different. Y’look happier,” he smiles, although there was a twinge of hurt. “Talk softer, look different — move differently and ya voice sounds different… but the same.”

She takes a bit of her food. “I hope that isn’t a bad thing.”

Matthew smiles gently, sheepish but there. “Not at all.”

She smiled back. Matthew always knew how to make her smile and it felt good, normal.

“Happy looks good on ya.”

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She finally sat down, tired from the long day she spent wandering the city. But it wasn’t long until a tapping sound came from the window. Celeste was there, waiting with a letter in her beak. She walked up to her, letting her fly inside and opened the letter.

Got my OWL results. Outstanding in Astronomy, DADA, Charms, Transfigs. Exceeds Expectations in everything else but an Acceptable in Potions. Moony

She re-read that last part. Remus getting Acceptable in Potions? Her attention travelled to the stark white envelope peeking out from the side pocket of her carry-on. She marched up to it, ripping it open and scanned the paper.

Outstanding in Transfiguration, Potions and Herbology, Arithmancy. Exceeds Expectations in everything else except Poor in History of Magic. She cringed at that.

She immediately got up from her seat. Rushing over to the master bedroom, peeking her head in. “Mom?” She said quietly, “Can I talk to you.”

“Didn’t I tell you I was busy?” Her voice cut through. “It’s not the time to be a nuisance.”

A scorching feeling of anger thrummed through her but kept her voice low and steady. “That was a few days ago.”

"My answer didn't change."

Any semblance of calm vanished. “It’s about my OWLs. My future. I need some sort of guidance.”

“I wouldn’t understand them,” she sighed and peered up. There was an odd expression, borderlining on confusion and something else. “It’s not the same. I’m not a… witch like you are. I don’t know how to help you.”

“I’ll make it into No-Maj terms?” Y/N’s voice was tight and came rushing over to where she sat on the couch. And laid out her examination results. “Look, an O is the same as getting an A! It’s the highest grade you can get. And here,” she pointed, “My teacher, Professor Slughorn, invites me to parties because of my work in Potions class. I’m one of his top students.”

She glanced at her mom excitedly but was met with a look of annoyance and slight judgement. But she continued, “A-and in Herbology I'm doing excellent too! I was becoming interested in becoming a Healer. I told you in my letters. It’s similar to being —”

“I’m sorry,” her mother said but it didn’t have any trace of guilt or sorrow, “I’m busy and you’re getting in the way of work — my achievements — that you know are important.”

“Are mine not important?”

A thick, profound silence filled the space between them. Everything about the connotation had her averting her body, feeling the sinking in her chest explode. From the war, traumatic near death experience and her mother's constant aloof nature, it was her cracking point.

Snatching the OWLs results, she walked out the door, shutting it gently before diving into her room; throwing the covers over her head.

All the New-Maj and No-Maj children were told stories of the Boogeyman. To Y/N, it felt comparable to reverting to a small child as she tucked herself into a tight ball. She recalled watching all the other children running up their parents, being roped with large hugs and smiles, surrounded with infinite quantities of love as they left the school playground. She remembered being envious, wanting to have two parents as the images of the Boogeyman drew near.

There was an overwhelming sense to scream — to cry out for guidance as the knot in her stomach grew. Instead of her mother coming to her rescue — to reassure, to give any sense of security or safety while other parents would scare off the Boogeyman or monsters ready to nip at their children’s toes under the bed, Y/N was left in the dark as all sense of relief or love vanished. It left her vulnerable, exposed to the monsters lurking in the dark.

Her mother may have not been physically absent but it sure felt like it.

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【 Next Chapter 】

Slang dictionary:

Fin = $5 / five dollar bill Bagels with schmear = bagels with cream cheese Wait on line = the same as 'Wait in line' Pop = Canadian slang for soda / soft drinks Sport / old sport = (depending on the context) a term of endearment similar to buddy, pal, friend

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[ships4you]

flames & deception {zuko}

Request: Heyoo!! Can I request a zuko x reader where Zuko and y/n get into a fight, and Zuko accidentally burns y/n? But instead of y/n getting mad at Zuko, y/n forgives him, kinda like the scene where Zuko and Iroh reunite? Ty!! ❤️❤️❤️(It can be either headcanon, imagine, whatever you’re the most comfortable with!) (*´ω｀*)

Pairing: Zuko x Earth Kingdom!Reader

Prompt: After setting Appa free Zuko has a nasty fever that leaves him sick in bed for days on end. While the reader is watching over a sleeping Zuko he has a nightmare, causing him to accidentally hurt the reader.

I’m such a sucker for againsty Zuko😻

“You know I saw a wanted poster for the blue spirit the other day.”

Lee ignored your comment, continuing to pace around his apartment above Mushi’s tea shop.

“You do know what that means, right? If someone spots you they’ll send guards after you. Or even worse; the Dai Li.”

You’ve been dating Lee for about two months now. Even though you didn’t know much about his past, he seemed to be very open and comfortable with you. A couple weeks into the relationship he told you about his evening excursions as the ‘Blue Spirit’. It never bothered you, but after climbing through your window one night all bloody and cut up from a fight, you couldn’t help but worry about your boyfriend.

“Do you hear what I’m saying?!” you raised your voice, annoyed at his I-could-care-less attitude. “Yes.” he responded dryly, slipping his swords into its sheath. You sighed and marched up to him, placing your hands on his chest. “Lee…” you said rubbing your thumbs in circles against his black skin-tight suit, “I just want you to be safe… Please, isn’t there another way?” you reached up to brush his hair out of his face. Before you could reach the black locks he grabbed your wrist tightly.

“You wouldn’t understand.” He lowered your wrist back down to your side, “I have to do this.”

This made you furious. “Oh of course!” you seethed through your teeth, “Of course I wouldn’t understand! You know not everything can be fixed with this little ‘hero’ act you have going on. Am I just not supposed to worry about you anymore?!” you yelled at him.

“Yes (y/n)! You don’t know me! You don’t know the things I’ve been through, the shitty things I have done. Hell, the shitty things I am going to do! You only care because you think I am this wounded, helpless creature, but guess what? I’m. Not. I’ve been on my own for years now and I don’t need you telling what I can and can’t do. When will you get it. I. Don’t. Need. You.”

He was now merely inches away from your face, eyes filled with fire. You weren’t sure when exactly the lump in your throat appeared, but you could feel soft, subtle tears sting against your cheeks. “Well. The next time you’re covered in cuts and bleeding out, don’t come to me.” you said before walking out, slamming the door behind you.

***

Three days after your big fight you received a letter in the mail.

Dearest (y/n),

I am afraid Lee has fallen extremely ill. He has been under my constant care for days, yet cannot seem to break his fever. I know my nephew hurt you, he often speaks out of fear— lashing out at those closest to him. I sincerely apologize on his behalf.

I need to go across town to fetch medicine to hopefully help his temperature go down. Would you be willing to come and sit with him for an hour or two? You are more than welcome to decline. Either way please come by the shop for a cup of tea soon. Seeing your beautiful smile warms my heart.

With all my love,

Mushi

As angry as you were, you knew how much he loved his nephew. You could not stand to break his heart. So, the next day you swallowed your pride and walked into the tea shop with your head held high.

He greeted you with open arms, as if nothing had happened. “He has been asleep for days,” Mushi explained leading you up the stairs to the apartment. “He just needs someone near to refill his water and keep a damp cloth a top his head. He will occasionally become restless in his sleep and thrash around a bit,” he said with sad eyes, “I will be back as soon as possible. Thank you (y/n). Your act of kindness is a gift from the spirits.” Resting your palm against his arm you said, “Mushi, you know I would do anything for you.” He smiled gratefully, bowing before leaving the room.

He looked so peaceful for the first few minutes, despite the small beads of sweat you noticed dripping down his face and chest. You made sure to switch out the damp rag with a new, cool one and refilled the bucket with fresh water. As you were putting the bucket down you noticed a worried expression stretch across his face. Before you knew it he began writhing back and forth, “Lee?” you knelt down and reached out to wake him up.

Before you could reach him, he quickly sat up and hurled his arm in your direction. You quickly jumped out of the way, and that’s when you noticed it. Fire ripping past your body. Your body was far enough, but you left hand that had come up to instinctively block your face was grazed by a stray flame. You yelped and squatted down to the floor, cradling your hand.

“(y/n)?”

You opened your hand, a slash across your palm already fading into a bright red.

“(y/n)… Please tell me I didn’t do that.” His eyes began filling up with tears.

His eyes were fearful. Terrified of what he had just done. Then the pain started to hit you. Panicking you ran to the bathroom, latching the door behind you. Your mind racing as you submerged your hand underneath the cool faucet.

Lee was a firebender.

He pounded on the door, “(y/n) please let me help you”

Was he a spy?

“Shit! I’m so sorry, please don’t hate me.” his voice cracked. It was obvious to tell he was crying.

No. Not a spy. Then why was a firebender in Ba Sing Se?

“don’t-hate-me, dont-hate-me, please just- fuck! I can’t lose you. I need you.”

“Is your name even Lee?” you felt your mouth move before you could think.

You heard him exhale through the sliding door. “No.”

You turned off the faucet, waiting for his explanation. “My name isn’t Lee. My real name is Zuko… Prince Zuko. My father- he. He is the Firelord. Two years ago he he burnt my face for speaking out against him.” he paused, “I was banished from the Fire Nation after that… My Uncle, Iroh and I have been on the run since I was 14. We came to Ba Sing Se to start over.”

You slid the door open. You were terrified to ask, but your heart needed to hear his answer “Have these last two months been one big lie? Is this… Us-” He stood in front of you eyes red from crying, his hair still damp with sweat. “No.” He said sternly, “Not you. Never with you.” His chest heaved as he spoke, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and I pushed you away. I am so sorry. I don’t deserve you.” he swiped his hand down his face, “I lied to you. I was stupid to let myself forget who I am, the kind of person I am. Being around you just made me feel… Normal. I was lost and confused and I used you. You have every right to hate me.”

“Zuko.” your lips testing the sound of his name. “I could never hate you.”

He sighed heavily. He walked up to you wrapping his arms around your middle, tucking his head into your neck. You curled your arms around his shoulders, embracing his head with your hand, stroking your fingers through his hair. You could feel his breath quicken, his tears damp against your clothes, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you.” your body tensed, “Please don’t leave me.” his voice whispered, muffled against your skin. Sliding your hands to his neck, you lifted his head from his chin. “I’m not going anywhere.” you reassured, hands now cupping the sides of his face, brushing the tears with your thumbs. “I love you too.”

He immediately pulled you into him, latching onto your lips. His hand slid up the length of your back, pressing your chest against his. You tilted your head downwards, resting your forehead against his. As he pulled away your hands fell to his chest. “Can I just say…” you sighed. He glance at you through his lashes, tightening his grip on your hip. “Yes. Anything.”

“I like your real name so much better than Lee.” you couldn’t help but giggle. He groaned throwing his head back, “Ugh, yea. My Uncle gave it to my as a joke. I got him back by calling him Mushi though.” You both shared a quick laugh.

“Yea I have to be honest, I had to hold myself back from moaning your name all those times. Lee is such an un-sexy name.” you joked, hooking your hands behind his back. He rolled his eyes jokingly, “I just told you I am the crowned Prince of the Fire Nation and that is what you take from it?!” You smiled giddily, “Mhmm, yup.”

“You are ridiculous.” He said before kissing you lightly. “Come on, I used to burn myself while training as a kid. I know a recipe to help it heal.” he said leading you to the kitchen.

***

Let me know if you guys want a part two, maybe a prequel or just more of this Earth Kingdom!Reader plot-line to carry throughout the storyline of the show. Maybe them reuniting on the outer walls with Iroh and the white Lotus or after the war is finished. Hope you guys liked this one <3

Tag List: @myexgirlfriendisthemoon​

[enthusiasticharry]

The Secrets You Keep

summary: you're a stripper, and you meet Harry off shift. what happens when he finds out?

request: hiiii would you be able to do something like stripper y/n? not where they meet at the club or anything but something natural like at a cafe or something but she keeps it from him bc she thinks he’ll leave her? then he has a guys night at the strip club and sees her perform? but he loves it and she’s a bit embarrassed? idk but that kinda vibe if ur up for it! X

word count: 8.3k words of fluff, smut and angst if you squint (and i really mean squint) also not proofread, sorry! 

masterlist    |    asks

It never occurred to you that once you left full time education you’d end up becoming a stripper. It wasn’t the occupation you had envisioned for yourself, but it was the one that paid the best money and even though it shouldn’t be — money was the thing that you needed the most. You lived in a small, one bedroom flat that you shared with your Grandma who had no income and little pension meaning that you was the only source of income for the two of you. Obviously it was hard upon you, but your Grandma had done so much for you when you were younger that you wanted to help her as much as you possibly could. Granted, finding a job as an eighteen year old that was enough to help pay the bills and for the treatment your Grandmother needed wasn’t the easiest, and that was how you stumbled across the club and the jobs there. Your Grandma didn’t know how you received your income, and you planned to keep it that way for as long as you physically could. 

“Have you got any private dances today?” Jocelyn, also known as Sapphire amongst the people in the club, asked as she started fixing her makeup in the mirror next to yours. 

“I don’t know.” You sighed, spraying a small amount of hairspray upon your curls, “I haven’t spoken to Elliot yet.” 

“Apparently some big shot businessmen are coming in tomorrow.” Ruby adds from the other side of you, applying a lipstick that matched her name to her lips. 

“Ugh.” Sapphire groaned, “That means old men with small dicks wanking to us instead of being with their probably very lovely, loving wives at home.” 

“They lust after the taboo.” You add, applying a small amount of lipgloss to your lips, “They want what they can’t have, and brag when they get it.” 

“They have money though.” Ruby shrugged, “Haven’t had many tips this week. I’d probably do anything for a couple hundred quid tomorrow.” 

“Not anything Ruby.” You turn to look at her, shaking your head at the younger girl, “Stand your ground. Don’t let them take advantage of you.” 

“I won’t.” She smiled, “I learnt from the best.” 

“And don’t you forget it.” 

As a fresh eighteen year old, just as Ruby was now, you could’ve only hoped for someone to help you and guide you through the trails and tribulations you endured at the club. That’s why you sort of took the younger girl under your wing and helped her as much as possible. 

It wasn’t a lot. Granted, with what they did the majority of it was on their own upon the stage or in a private dance but you wanted to make sure she had small tips to help her handle herself in any situation that could occur and that she someone to talk to if she ever needed it. 

“Are you working tomorrow, Emerald?” Emerald was your stage name. 

“No.” You sigh happily, “It’s my day off.” 

“Enjoy yourself, you deserve it.” Ruby smiled. 

You certainly did. 

The next morning, after helping your Grandma get ready and to the hospital, you make your way towards the small café you usually went to during your Grandmother’s chemo sessions. They usually lasted around three hours, and whilst you offered to stay with her, she usually forced you to leave and spend some time on your own, claiming she didn’t want you to see her at her worst.

The spring days had just started to warm up, so you dressed yourself in a summer dress you had picked up for cheap at a charity shop. You carried your tote bag with your book in over your shoulder as you pushed past the people on the street.

It wasn’t usually this busy, and looking around you saw no free tables but a few free chairs dotted around. Your favourite table, tucked away in the far right corner by the window had been taken by a man sat reading, just as you would’ve been. You toy back and forth with the idea of going to sit over there as you walk over to the counter. 

You order your usual, a peach iced tea, and wait for the kind barista to make it. Your free days, usually, landed sporadically. They normally occurred when your grandmother either had chemo or a hospital appointment and that’s only because she can sometimes be really ill after them and needed you to look after her. Even though Elliot was not a good person by any means, he understood your situation and did help as little as he could. 

“Excuse me.” The man looked up from this book at you, “Is this seat taken?” 

“Uh. . .” 

“It’s fine if it’s not!” Your quick to add, “There’s just no other seats.” 

“No.” Your smile falters, “No! I mean that the seats not taken. It’s yours.” 

“Thank you.” You drop your tote bag down on the floor, holding your hand out to the man, “I’m YN.” 

“Harry.” He shakes your outstretched hand. 

There was something oddly familiar about him, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on why. He dressed quite casually, a punny t-shirt that said something about health on it and you didn’t want to seem too weird and bend down to look at what he had on his bottom half but you suspected it was something just as interesting. 

You take your book out of your bag and place it on the table in front of you, flicking through the pages until you found the page you had left off at. 

As a child you loved to read. Your grandmother always read you a bedtime story before bed and it lead to English being your best subject at school. Whether it be the creative writing aspect, or the analytic — you were just good at it. It was your highest grade at GCSE, an A, and your highest grade at A Level, a B.

You didn’t exchange any more words with Harry the entire time you were there. Periodically you looked up at him, and somewhere deep down you hoped that he did the same for you but you couldn’t be too sure. The book that he was reading seemed interesting enough, something about watermelon, you had noticed. You had a slight suspicion that it wasn’t about watermelon but you could never be too sure you supposed. 

A whine almost escaped your lips when you realised that you had to go pick up your Grandmother and your book had just gotten interesting. That was the problem when you read, you could sit and do it for hours and not even look up. It was something so interesting to you that you could immerse yourself in a world different to the one you lived in and slip out of reality for however long and return back to normal as though nothing had happened. 

“Thank you for letting me sit here.” You smile as you pack your bag up, “Goodbye.” 

“Bye.” 

You left feeling sort of fuzzy inside. You hadn’t spoken to the man at all really, but he was kind and certainly handsome with his tousled brown hair and gentle smile. That was probably going to be the last time that you saw him, and you probably should’ve asked for his number at least but you didn’t and that was why you walked away with him laying heavy upon your mind.

The next day, you wanted nothing more than to leave in the middle of your shift and curl up on the sofa. Instead, you were stood in a private room in the back of the club swirling your hips for a man sat upon a chair in the middle. 

“You’re fucking fit.” He moans, and you almost throw up in your mouth. 

“Thank you.” 

You move yourself so you’re hovered over his lap, twisting your hips to beat of the sultry song spilling out of the speakers. If you didn’t need the money, or have a bills to pay you certainly wouldn’t be doing this. 

“Fucking sort.” That’s when his hand drops down upon your behind, squeezing the flesh harshly. 

You stand up, flipping around so that you’re looking at him, “Hands off.” 

“Babe.” He throws his head back, “C’mon I’ve paid bags for this dance.” 

“And you pay for a dance, and the rules state no touching.” 

He holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again, babe.” 

“Better not.” 

It does, and that’s when you get up and leave. He still has to pay, which is a plus but it just isn’t the best feeling. The job you do isn’t one that people necessarily respect you for, but there are rules in place to help with that. You and the other dancers within the club were human beings and deserved the rights that any other person has. 

“You okay?” Ruby presses her hand to your shoulder as you powder your under-eyes, “I heard he was touching.” 

“Yeah.” You smile at her through the mirror, “Started behind and they he just full on groped me.” 

“Men are pigs.” 

“I second that statement.” You laugh, “But you know what they’ll say.” 

“That we teased and antagonised them to do it.”

Throwing her a deadpan look, you nod. It was something that you had dealt with for the past six years of your life and even though you did hate it and wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you up every time it happened — you had gotten used to it. 

“Did you have a nice day off yesterday?” 

“I did thank you.” You smile, “Read a bit. Spent some time with my Grandma.” 

“Sounds lovely.” Her face then twists into one that you can’t quite pinpoint, “You didn’t miss much here.” 

“The businessmen not up too much?” 

“No they paid well.” She nodded, “We just had to watch them wank their micropenises at us.” 

You curl your nose up at the thought, “That sounds pleasant.” 

“Totally.” She snorts. 

“Emerald. Ruby.” Elliot sticks his head into the room, “Get your asses back out there.” 

Ruby rolls her eyes and you laugh. Your job certainly wasn’t your favourite but some of the people around you made it more pleasant.

Two weeks later you find yourself sat in the corner of the café down the road from the hospital, your book open in front of you and a peppermint tea sat upon the table in a pot. Your Grandmother’s second round of chemo was slowly coming to the end of its stint and even though you wanted nothing more than for her to be back to the epitome of health, you would miss spending time at this small café. 

“Hi.” You lift your head up to see Harry stood there, slightly breathless, “Is this seat taken?” 

“It’s yours.” You smile, watching him drop his book on the table.

This time you could see his entire outfit. A white t-shirt with some writing on that you missed, a floral shirt over the top paired with red corduroy flares. You were right the last time that you met him —he did have an amazing sense of style. You, however, bought whatever was the cheapest or on sale that seemed acceptable to wear in public. 

“How have you been?” 

“I’ve been okay.” You smile, “You?” 

“Good, thanks.” He scratches the base of his neck, “I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

“Oh.” You have to stop yourself from smiling too much, “I only come when my Grandma has an appointment and they’re usually two weeks apart.” 

“Ah.” He nods before his face curls, “I’m sorry if that seemed creepy.” 

“It didn’t.” You can’t help the butterflies that erupt within your stomach, “I just thought I wouldn’t see you again.” 

“Couldn’t let that happen.” Heat rises up your neck as he beams.

“No complaints about that from me.” 

“That’s good.” He rests his hand upon his chest, letting out a deep breath, “Thought I was punching a little over my weight.” 

“You’re not.” You cheeks hurt from smiling, “It’s cute.” 

He looks down at his book. He seemed so shy, as though he had a confidence to talk to people but once they complimented him or something to do with him it completely changed. It was intriguing. He was already nicer to you than most people you’ve met of the opposite sex in your life and you’re let to learn anything about him apart from the fact that he reads Bukowski and likes black coffee — it certainly wasn’t much to go on. 

“How long do we have until you have to go back to your Grandma?” 

“Not long.” You sigh sadly, “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I understand, it’s okay.” He flashes you a small smile, “Can I walk you back to the hospital?” 

You ponder his offer for a second, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You walk back to the hospital brushing arms with one of the nicest people you’d ever met, and you couldn’t be happier. 

“Has your Grandma been having treatment for long?” 

“It’s her second round.” You explained, “They originally removed the tumour and it went away but it came back. They caught it quickly and she’s back in bay 11 for three hours every two weeks.” 

“I’m sorry.” He sighs, “That must’ve been tough.” 

You shrug, “She’s a fighter, I know she is.” 

“I don’t doubt she is.” He smiles, “She’s got an amazing granddaughter to stay alive for.” 

The walk to the hospital isn’t long enough in your opinion. You speak about a few things, and you learn he does music and that’s when you put two and two together and realise that he’s actually Harry Styles from One Direction. Harry wished he could’ve recorded your reaction when you realised. 

Harry had never met someone like you, and he had met a lot of people in his life. You were sweet, and kind and so gentle but also confident and held yourself in such a strong way that he couldn’t help but want to know you, the real you. 

“This is it.” You stop in front of the entrance closest to the chemo ward, “Thank you for walking me.” 

“It’s no problem.” He smiles, “I hope this doesn’t sound too weird, but can I get your number?” 

“Uh. . . yeah.” 

“Great.” He beams, “At least now I won’t have to hope you show up at the café.” 

You swear you felt your heart burst. 

During your shift a couple of weeks later, you don’t notice your phone light up a message. You actually don’t notice at all until you arrived home that night. You had already checked on your Grandma, who was sound asleep in bed, and that’s when you allowed yourself to drop down upon the sofa with a sigh. 

Seeing an unknown number pop up on your screen at first had confused you, but once you had looked further into it, your palms started sweating. 

Hi YN. It’s Harry. I know it’s been a while but I’ve been trying to figure out what to say. I hope you and your Grandma are well. 

Your heart starts to beat faster. The message you had awaited for weeks was here and you had no idea how to act, never mind what too reply back with. The only thing that spiralled around within your mind was that he had been thinking about you. 

In your head, you imagined him pacing around in his large house trying to figure out what to send you, just like they do in the movies. You at least hoped that was what he had been doing over the past couple of weeks. 

Hi Harry! It’s lovely to hear from you, sorry it’s late. I’m okay, Grandma’s getting there. How are you? 

You throw your phone down on the sofa next to you, trying not to giggle like you did as a schoolgirl whenever you were messaging boys. You nearly cried whenever you phone ran out of credit and you’d end up having to run to the store to get a top up in the morning with your spending money and explaining to them what had happened. You were thankful that your upgrade didn’t need that. 

I’m okay. Glad to hear about your Grandma. I know this is probably really weird and totally out of the blue, but are you free this weekend? I’m leaving next week for a little while and I really want to see you before I do. 

In your head, you ignore the end of the message about him leaving and focus on the fact that he wants to see you. Harry Styles wants to see you. You hoped it was a date, everything pointed it to be a date but you didn’t want get too ahead of yourself. 

You haven’t had a boyfriend since your first year of Sixth Form, and the first date you were going on since then was going to be with Harry Styles of all people. 

If you pull some strings, work an extra long shift on Saturday and please some of Elliot’s special clients — you may be able to get Friday night off. It was a maybe, but over the next two days you could make it a yes. You hoped that you could make it a yes. 

You’ve never, in your six years of working at the club, missed any of your shifts for anything other than your Grandma suddenly falling ill, and those were on rare occasions. You certainly deserved this day off.

I’ll have to check with my boss but I think I could do Friday night? If that’s not a problem for you. 

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from internally freaking out. 

Sounds perfect. How about I pick you up at 8? 

You wince. It wasn’t as though your were embarrassed of where you lived because you weren’t. You’ve worked hard to be able to pay for the flat and everything in it but there was something about showing it to someone who you’ve only just met and had no intention of explaining your situation to wasn’t on the top of your priority list. 

Is there any chance I could meet you somewhere? 

Of course. Where do you fancy eating? Italian? Thai? 

Italian sounds good. 

Great. I’ll send you details over. 

Thank you :) 

See you then, YN. Sweet dreams. 

Night, Harry. 

You slept well that night. 

“I just don’t think I can spare you Friday.” Elliot sighs, “I’m sorry YN.” 

You have to stop yourself from wanting to cry. You don’t use up all your holiday days, and you work way more than you should or that you’re paid for but you don’t complain and you just get on with it. The one time you ask for a shift off, his stubborn ass says that he cant do it. 

“Please, Elliot.” You sign, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I just need this day off.” 

“And I need my best girl on the floor. Need the best of the best.” 

“There are plenty of other better girls than me working here.” 

He shakes his head, “You’re the favourite, YN. Need you to be there.” 

“Elliot.” You sigh, leaning forward in the uncomfortable seat you were sat in, “I’ve worked for you for six years and I’ve never asked for a day off like this before.” 

“Yeah but—”

“—and! I’ve never asked for a day off apart from going to the hospital and you know that.” 

“I couldn’t exactly say no to you—”

“I’ve worked every shift you’ve ever asked me to, covered for people when you need it.” 

“Stop it!” He holds his hand up to silence you, “Just shut up for a second.” 

You clamp your lips shut. If you didn’t need to stay on his good side to get Friday off you probably would’ve said something about how rude he was being. He’d always been rude, but he paid you and the rest of the girls so you all chose to ignore it. 

He ponders, and you know the cogs are turning within his brain as he scrolls through his laptop, typing a few things. He takes his glasses off his face and drops them dramatically down on the table in front of him. 

“Ruby will cover your shift.” 

You let out a sigh of relief, “Thank you!” 

“Don’t be thanking me too quickly.” He points his finger, “I need a favour from you.” 

“Anything. Well not anything.” 

“In a few weeks times there’s a big birthday party coming in.” He explains, “I need you to be the star of the show, do private dances and all the good things like that.” 

“Just that?” You ask, knowing that it could be a trap knowing Elliot’s track record. 

He nods, “Just that.” 

You look at him sceptically, “What’s the catch?” 

“No catch.” He holds his hands up, “A few big names are coming, that’s all. A list celebs that have asked to use the back exit.”

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” 

“Let me know the date and I’ll do it.” 

You stand up, happy that you’ve managed to get your shift tomorrow off and that you can go on the date you have been excited for since you met Harry and was introduced to the world with him in it. 

“Have fun at your thing Friday.” 

“Thank you. . .?” 

You don’t think you like Elliot being nice to you. 

Friday night rolled around quickly and you were thankful for that. After helping your Grandma with her own dinner and into bed, you start getting ready. You curl your hair, brushing it out until its in what looks like effortless waves but are actually quite hard waves to achieve. You do natural makeup, something completely different to makeup you usually wear in one of your shifts. You try to keep all of your features soft, different to how you usually look on a day to day basis. You dress in a long white polka-dotted maxi skirt, paired with a thin long-sleeved jumper that would keep you warm due to the ever changing British weather. 

You had done a little bit of research on the restaurant Harry had sent you the address for and learnt that it wasn’t the most expensive restaurant ever, but one that was way out of your price range. It meant that you had to dip into the fund that you keep for occasions where you need a little extra money or you will use in the future when you eventually move out and busy your own place. 

The tube was crammed, seeing as though it was a Friday night and the majority of people were either coming home from work and stating to go out for end of the week drinks. You knew that the club would start to become heaving as the night grew and a part of you was thankful that you didn’t have to work today, and you were given a small break from the hell that is working at a strip club. 

The restaurant, when you arrived, definitely looked fancier than it had online. The bar stood against the corner wall, the right hand side of the restaurant had booths covering the walls whilst stand alone tables scattered around the rest of the room.

You were surprised when you saw Harry, already sat at the booth in the far right corner. He lifted his hand up in an awkward sort of wave and you couldn’t help but beam at him. He had a shirt, an expensive looking white shirt with a yellow and blue jumper over the top. You hand felt so excited to see someone since when your Grandma went into hospital for her tumour being removed and you couldn’t see her for a few days. 

“YN.” He sighs, “Hi.” 

“Hi.” You smile, slipping into the booth across from him. 

“Was starting to think you wasn’t going to show up.” 

“I’m sorry.” You tuck your hair behind your ear, “I underestimated how bust the tube was going to be.” 

You can tell he wants to pry but instead he says, “It’s okay.” 

His nails were painted yellow, a few of them painted lilac as well. There was something so simple about his nails that you just loved, and if it wasn’t weird you probably would’ve stared at them for way too long for it to be acceptable. You knew he had tattoos, and you could see the cross on his hand and the the anchor peaking out from underneath his shirt and you wanted to see more. 

“I like your nails.” You smile, running your own fingers over your own nails underneath the table. 

“Thanks.” A blush creeps up his neck, “I did them last night. Sort of calmed me down, I was quite nervous.” 

“Nervous for what?” 

“This.” He nods, “I haven’t been as nervous for a date in a long time.” 

“You don’t have to be nervous.” 

In your twenty four years of living, you’ve never had someone say that they were nervous to see you. You’ve been nervous to see and do many things in your life and you hoped that somewhere along the line it would’ve been the same for somebody else and yourself but you had the slight suspicion that wasn’t the case. Hearing those words out loud, coming from someone who you’d never expect it too was special, and you were going to keep that for as long as you physically could. 

“I did.” He looks down at the table briefly, “I’ve never liked a girl as much as I like you before.” 

“You don’t really know me.” 

“I’d like to get to know you.” 

That’s what you do. For the rest of the date you don’t stop talking. Even though you’re starving and could eat your fist, it takes you the longest you’ve ever taken to eat your food because of how much you spend it talking. 

You’re just about to dig in to your desert when your body physically halts, “Why didn’t you want me to pick you up?” 

“I, uh, I—”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t what to! I know I can be pretty invasive sometimes.” 

“No, it’s fine!” You take a sip of your drink to swallow down the dryness within your throat, “I don’t live in the nicest building, or in the nicest area and I guess I was embarrassed.” 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” 

“But I was.” You drop your eyes to the plate in front of you, “I know I shouldn’t have been and that it was stupid but I just didn’t want you judge me before you truly knew me because of where I live.” 

“I hope you know now that I wouldn’t have done that.” 

“I do.” 

You let Harry drive you home. Even though you would never admit it to his face just yet, you really liked him. He was kind, sweet and funny and everything you could ever want in your person. You haven’t said this in a long time but you love the person you are around him and you wouldn’t change it for the world if you didn’t have to. 

He stops in the car park outside the building of flats you live in and you can tell he’s thinking deeply about something but you try to not concentrate on that too much. 

“I would invite you up.” You laugh, “But I don’t think the sofa in the middle of my Grandma’s flat whilst she snores in the next room is the most romantic.” 

He scrunches up his nose, “I can’t say that it is.” 

“I’m sorry.” You drop your head to look at your hands that are tested on your knees, “I really wish I could offer you something. Anything.”

“It’s okay, YN.” He uses his finger to move your head up so that you’re looking at him, “I don’t expect anything from you. I hope you know that.” 

“I know.” 

He hesitates for a moment, and you can feel the finger that was rested upon your chin move upwards so that its upon your cheek. You flicker your eyes closed and just mask in the feeling of his touch against your cheek. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. 

You eyes open as you nod your head, letting out a shaky breath at the sheer surprise you feel at his words.

“Want your words, darling.” 

“Please kiss me.”  

You close your eyes again and you feel his lips touch yours. It's light at first, but you can’t contain yourself and you end up pushing closer to him, relishing in the feeling of his lips upon yours. Your fingertips grip the collar of his shirt, trying to pull him closer without hurting himself too much on the centre console. Even though you both don’t want to, you pull away as you start to loose breath. 

“You okay?” Your chest heaves up and down as he speaks. 

“Never been better.” You sigh, resting your forehead against his. 

“Good.” 

You kiss again, this time its more passionate and you can’t help but let out a small whine as he pulls away. The smug look on his face after hearing that sound was enough to send your stomach doing flips. 

You really didn’t want to do this, but you had too: “I have to go.” 

“It’s okay.” He smiles, “I understand.” 

“Okay.” You reach for the door handle. 

“I have to go away for a bit.” He sighs, “I’m writing some music over in America but when I get back, do you want to maybe go on another date?” 

“I’d love to.” 

He presses one last kiss to your lips and you leave the car, muttering a small, “Bye.” 

You feel giddy. As though you’re sixteen again and just come back from your first date with your first boyfriend. It was something you hadn’t felt in a long time and in all honesty, you had no idea how to handle those feelings. You certainly wouldn’t admit that you screamed quietly into your pillow in excitement that night. 

You couldn’t wait for him to return home. 

Two weeks. Harry was away for two weeks and even though you had only kissed him once, twice if you actually count how many kisses there were, you missed him more than words could explain. You weren’t one to usually message first, so you did end up waiting until Harry had a spare moment to message you which wasn’t as often as you would’ve liked but you couldn’t complain. 

You almost felt as though you had been drip fed this new life with Harry in, only to have it taken away quicker than you could blink. It wasn’t forever, and that was probably the thing keeping you sane. This had all happened in such a short amount of time but you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

The only thing that limited how far you could take this was your job. 

Harry had obviously been curious and during a text conversation in the first week of his week being away — he asked what you did. After having a small freak out you decided to say that you worked in a bar. It was a small, white lie and you hated yourself for it but telling him that you were a stripper just didn’t feel like the best thing to do at that time. 

You just weren’t ready to tell him, and that was totally okay. 

Speaking of your work, tonight was the night of the big party that Elliot made sure you could come to. The club had held celebrity parties before, so you weren’t entirely nervous but every time someone mentioned it you could feel your heart speeding up slightly. 

“Emerald.” You turn to look at Elliot who’s trudging towards you, a bag in hand, “Here’s your new outfit for tonight.” 

“New? I thought I’d just wear the one for special occasions.” 

“This is a special, special occasion Emerald.” He dropped the bag down in front of you, “Wear this.” 

Taking the material out of the bag, your mouth dropped open at the sight of the emerald green lingerie in your hands. It was delicate lace that you feared you’d rip if you weren’t too careful. Putting it on, your breasts slightly spilled over the lace, and whilst your front was covered, the thong back of the lingerie left your ass on full display. It was beautiful, you couldn’t dismiss that but you just hadn’t ever worn something so skimpy before. You pulled your black silk robe over your shoulders, fastened your black heels onto your feet and made your way towards the side of the stage. 

The skimpiness of the new lingerie did send more butterflies to the pit of your stomach than you were originally hoping for but it was only another hurdle for you to get over which you knew you’d be able to do. 

You heard the music start to play, you slipped your hand through the gap in the curtain and opened it, revealing yourself to the room. 

Here goes nothing, you mumble to yourself. 

Harry’s jaw dropped at the sight of you on the stage. It certainly wasn’t his usual scene, a strip club, but it was a friend of a friends birthday and he had kindly been invited and he wasn’t about to turn it down. He wasn’t in the band anymore, and certainly didn’t have to hide that he went to places like this anymore, even though they weren’t his favourite. 

He couldn’t bare his eyes off of you. The way your body moved to the rhythm of the song, your darkly manicured nails pushed the robe of your shoulders, exposing the delicate lingerie you were wearing. Harry would be lying if he said that his cock didn’t start to stir at the sight. 

You. The girl who he thought spent her days reading, and looking after Grandma had a secret persona that he only wanted to explore more. 

“My word.” One of the men in the group spoke, loudly so that everyone could hear him, “She’s fit as fuck.” 

“To get my hands on her.” 

Harry clenches his jaw, and his fist that rested on the arm of his chair. If he wasn’t in a very public place where people could record him, he’d give that man a piece of his mind. He probably would but he’d do it when nobody was around so the man could truly understand what he was saying to him. 

“Do you think I could get a dance with her?” The birthday boy asked. 

“It’s your birthday.” The dickhead with no morals spoke, “She might give you something special as a present.” 

“The rules say no touching.” The words slip out of Harry’s mouth before he can stop them, “So I highly doubt that.” 

“I’m sure you’d be saying something different if you were in his position, Styles.” 

Harry rolled his eyes and focused his attention back on the stage, watching as you seductively bent down to pick up some of the tips that had been thrown on the bottom of the stage. The song was slowly finishing and Harry couldn’t help but feel a little bit of disappointment bubbling within him.

Harry watched your lean legs as you strutted towards the side of the stage, flicking the long wig on your head over your shoulder, seductively running your tongue over your bottom lip as you pulled the material of the lingerie down from your breasts. 

Harry bit his lip, his leg bounced, he ran his hand up and down his thigh. He tried to do everything in his power to distract himself from the rousing within his trousers but he just couldn’t do it. The flimsy material dropped to the floor, your red painted lips curled up into a smirk and you made your way behind the curtain, not showing any of your truly bare skin. 

If you hadn’t been imprinted on his brain before, you certainly were now.

You could hear the grunts and groans of happiness, and a few cheers whilst on stage but the lights were so bright that you couldn’t see anything past the first row or so. The tips you had received were good, and you were pleased about that. 

You received your robe and bra back from the stage and pulled them back onto your body. Your solo dance was always a hit for Elliot, and you supposed that was why he’s kept you on for so long and if you were honest, they were the easiest to do. Private dances always made you too uncomfortable, and in the six years you’ve worked there there had only been a handful of people that made you feel comfortable when it came to private dances. 

“Emerald.” Elliot walks in smiling and you assume everything is swell on the floor, “They fucking love you.” 

You nod your head, muttering a small and awkward, “Thank you.” 

He hums, “You’ve been requested for a private dance, and he’s promised to pay you accordingly.” 

“Really?” 

Another hum, “Room Two. I think he’s already there.” 

“Thanks.” 

He leaves the room, a bounce in his step. You suppose that this is a good thing and he’ll finally get off your back for the time you took off for the date with Harry. You at least hoped. 

You checked yourself. You made sure your makeup still looked flawless, your breasts sat perfectly within the material and your arse looked good. You brush through the wig once and make your way towards room two, the smaller of the three private dance rooms which helped it be more intimate. 

You smiled at the bouncer at the door, Gerry, a man who looked as though he could kill someone with a single punch but was actually a massive teddy bear. He was good at his job of keeping everyone safe and making sure that the bad eggs that came in left just as quickly. 

Watching the door slowly open, Harry felt his heart stop. He had been pacing up and down the room ever since he had walked in, and only just stopped when he heard the creek of the door. He couldn’t believe that you were in front of him, and you certainly couldn’t believe that he was in front of you either. 

“YN. . .” He sounded breathless. 

“Harry?” He could see your chest rising and falling at a quick pace, “What? How? I thought you were in America.” 

He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “I got back last night.” 

“Why are you here?” He can hear the lump in your throat as you speak, your eyes glossing over. 

“A Birthday party.” 

“Yours?” 

“No!” He’s quick to interrupt, “A friend of a friend. It’s not mine. Mine’s in February, and I certainly don’t think I’ll be having my party here. Not that there’s anything wrong with here! It’s lovely! You’re lovely! I’m rambling.” 

He was so gosh darn cute and if you weren’t in the middle of a break down, you probably would’ve laughed or at least reacted to his little word vomit. It was probably the quickest you’d ever heard him talk, not that it was hard. 

After a few minutes of contemplating what to say, you sigh, “I’m sorry.” 

His voice is soft, his features falling, “What are you sorry for?” 

“Lying to you.” You drop your gaze to the floor, trying to suppress the tears, “I didn’t want to.” 

“Hey, hey.” He walks over to you, placing his finger underneath your chin just like he had done in the car weeks ago, “No need to get upset, I’m not.” 

“You should be.” You bottom lip quivers, “I lied to you and I had no intention to retract that just yet.” 

“YN.” He rests his palms on your cheeks, “I’m not angry. I’m not upset. I just want to know why.”

“I was scared.” You admit, trying to do anything but look up at him, “I didn’t know what you’d think or if you’d change your mind.” 

“Change my mind about what?” 

“Wanting too, you know. . .?” 

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t. There’s no reason for me to.” 

“I’m a stripper Harry, it gives you full reason to not want to be associated with me.” You lift your hand to wipe your under-eye. 

“I’m not judging you, YN, I said I wouldn’t.” 

“I wouldn’t be upset if you did.” 

“YN.” His voice is stern, more so than it had been, “I don’t care that you’re a stripper.” 

“You don’t.” 

“No.” He smiles, “I don’t.” 

“Fuck.” You let out a breath of relief, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

“I don’t mind.” He shrugs, “If you didn’t want to, you didn’t have to.” 

You had never met someone like him, and no matter how many times he surprised you that was just fact. Granted, you hadn’t had time to date anyone with looking after your Grandma but another reason you didn’t was because of what they would think of you. 

You knew that not everyone would be was understanding and lovely as Harry had been, and that was just because of the lovely person he was inside and out. That was the reason you didn’t tell him, because even though you had an inclination that he was accepting but you didn’t know whether that was just a façade or he was like that in real life. You loved that he was like that in real life. 

“Can I be honest?” You nod, “I enjoyed it.” 

You bite your lip to suppress the smile that threatened to cross your lips, “You did?” 

He hums, beaming a smile at you. 

“If you wouldn’t mind.” The corner of his lips tugs upwards, “I’d still love to get that private dance.”

You roll your eyes and thwack his shoulder playfully, “If you must.” 

“I’ll wait for you.” He nods, “Until your shift is over, if you want.” 

“Please.” 

“I’ll see you then.” 

You hadn’t even made it completely into Harry’s house before his lips were on yours. He pushed you up against his front door before he’d even shut it properly, his lips falling upon yours with a hunger you hadn’t felt since you last kissed him. 

Maybe it was his hands rested upon the small of your back, your fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Can I offer you a drink?” He smirks against your lips. 

“Not the priority.” You reply, not bringing your lips away from his. 

“Noted.” He places a kiss to your jaw, “Upstairs?” 

“Upstairs.” 

You follow him up the stairs, your hand rested firmly in his. You’re too distracted by the man in front of you to take any notice of the house or where you were going. 

Harry had kept true to his word and waited for you. You secretly wished that you could have recorded the group’s reaction as you walked towards him, a small smile on your face. After bidding them goodbye, the two of you jumped in a taxi that Harry had ordered and made your way to his house, or what you expected to be his house and you weren’t disappointed. 

The second you step into the plushly decorated room, you’re kissing again. His hands slide down to rest upon curve of your ass, his ring-clad fingers immediately squeezing the flesh. You groan lightly into his mouth, allowing his tongue to slip through her parted lips. You grip his bicep as he leads your backwards into the room, your calves hitting the bed as he does so. 

Your lips part, you fall back onto the bed. You look up at him through your eyelashes, your fingertips reaching to pull the shirt he was wearing over his head. You almost swoon there and then at the sight of the tattoos littering his skin. You lean forward and place a kiss on his lower stomach, just before his happy trail that slips into the band of his trousers. 

You bite your lip, grinning up at him. 

“What are you planning?” 

“I don’t know.” You shrug, “What do you want me to be planning?” 

He groans, “Anything at this point.”

You reach forward, taking the button of his trousers in your fingers. You look up, “Is this okay?” 

“More than okay, baby.” 

You unbutton his trousers, wrapping your finger in the waistband and pulling them down. You can already see the tent in his boxers. You wondered how long he had been like this, you wondered if it had been since your dances. 

You blush slightly as you hook your fingers now into the waistband of his boxers, looking up at him. You can’t handle the look on his face, the slight blush but the boyish grin mixed with his curls that had fallen forward upon his forehead. You pull the fabric down, exposing his hard cock. You watch as it hits his stomach briefly, the tip swollen. You lift your hand up, wrapping it around him before giving him a few pumps. His stomach quivers as you do so, a groan escaping him as you wrap your lips around his tip. His eyes flutter closed as you start to bob your head, his fingers reaching forward to grab your hair into a ponytail. 

“Fuck baby.” His hips involuntarily buck forward. You sink further down, going as far as you could. 

Harry couldn’t believe how good he felt. It had been a while since he had been with someone, and it was worth the wait. You pulled away too soon in his opinion, but the sight of you, all teary eyed and sloppy sent his mind spiralling. 

“God.” He bent down and wrapped his arms around your thighs, lifting you up so he could move you further up the bed, “You’re fucking killing me here.” 

“Good.” You giggle. 

He’s quick to remove your shirt, allowing you to pull your jeans down at the same time. He didn’t expect you to still be in the lingerie from earlier, and if it was physically possible, he swore his cock hardened even more. 

“Fuck me.” 

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours again as his fingers fumble with the latch of your bra. You bite your bottom lip as he wraps his around your nipple, flicking it with his tongue. He uses his hand to knead the other one. You can’t help but grind your hips forwards, a feeling bubbling deep in the pit of your stomach that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Harry.” You moan, withering under his touch. 

He kisses down from your lips, to your jaw, down your neck until he’s littering them all the way to the band of your underwear. 

“Is this okay?” 

“More than okay.” You whine as he lets out a breath upon the thin material. 

He pulls your underwear down, teasing you by placing kisses across your thighs and pubic bone. He’s so close, yet so far from the place that you need him the most. He licks a stripe across your centre, until he wraps his lips around your clit. You can’t help the moans that escape your parted lips as he nibbles and flicks your sensitive nub, her thighs starting to shake as he coaxes her closer and closer to her orgasm. 

“Don’t stop.” You thread your fingers through his hair, “God! Harry.” 

He pulls away, and you let out a shaky breath as he does so. 

“No fair.” You whine. 

“Life isn’t.” 

“Just shut up and get a condom.” He does as you request, placing a small peck to your lips as he reached over to grab a condom from the drawer beside the bed. 

You watch as he rips the packet open with his teeth, pulling the rubber down his length. He presses another kiss to your lips, catching her eyesight once more.

“Are you sure?” 

“More than okay.” 

He hovers over you, rubbing his tip up and down your wet folds to coax a moan out of your lips. He groans into your shoulder as he pushes in, biting down briefly to suppress the sound. 

“Don’t.” You moan, scratching your nails down his back as he starts to thrust in and out of you, “Let me hear you.” 

“Fuck.” You squeeze him slightly, “Do that again.” 

He speeds up, catching your lips as your hips meeting quicker, the only sound in the room being your skin slapping each others. You slip one of your hands between the two of you, your nimble fingers rubbing your clit. 

“Where have you been all my life?” You can’t help the pleasurable giggle that escapes your lips. 

“Feel so good, H.” 

After a few more thrusts, a couple more circles of her clit and she’s comes around his cock, squeezing him tightly as she did so. 

“Fuck, shit, oh god.” 

He continues to thrust in and out of you, coaxing you through your orgasm and towards his. He seems to go deeper and deeper until he’s spilling inside the condom, his moans louder than any you had heard before. 

“God.” He collapses on top of you, taking a few seconds to collect himself and let you collect yourself, “Haven’t felt like that in a long time.” 

“Glad I could be of some assistance.” You push the hair that had matted to your face off. 

“You should keep secrets from me more often.’ 

“I’m never doing that again.” 

“Good.” He pecks your lips. 

[comfortwriting]

Bonus Chapter 2

Masterlist, Posting Schedule, Requesting Rules

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader x George Weasley

Smut Based Bonus Chapters accompanying my series ‘Three Can Keep A Secret’

Bonus Chapter 1.  

Warnings: 18+ jealous Fred! Polyamory, cuckolding, unprotected rough sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), vulgar language/swearing, spanking.

Being a throuple with Fred and George made you the happiest girl in the world, you were happier, more cheerful and even Snape’s harsh words had little to no effect on you anymore. 

Since that night at the burrow you were refusing to touch Fred sexually, you would flirt with him and tease him ever so slightly, but you were constantly all over his brother George, and he hated it. 

You were doing it on purpose, you knew how desperate Fred was to feel your touch, to have his way with you - and hell, he had already worked for it, but you wanted the wait to be worth it for him. 

“I’m starting to wonder what the benefits are when it comes to dating you” Fred whispered at you over breakfast, a scowl forming on his face. 

You were chuckling with George and flirting with him, dangling such an interaction like a carrot in front of Fred, pulling the carrot away each time he grasped for it. 

Pulling your attention away from George, you looked at Fred who sat across from you. You scowled back at him for a moment. 

“If you want to talk about it - us - we’ll talk in private.” you glared at him, barely moving your lips. 

Fred rose out of his seat, as if he were about to challenge you but he sat back down, he couldn’t draw attention to the three of you - he could ruin everything before your relationship even had chance to blossom. 

Finishing your pumpkin juice, you sneaked George a kiss on the cheek and flashed Fred a smirk. Standing up, you walked away to go to your first class of the day, leaving the twins behind. 

You and Fred both shared your first class together, unfortunately it was potions. 

The dungeons were so cold you went as far as linking arms with Fred, nuzzling into him for warmth, if George was sitting next to you, you would’ve pissed Fred off even more but he was across the room sitting next to Lee Jordan. 

You sighed and rested your head against Fred’s shoulder, you were lucky you had picked a seat at the back of the class so Snape couldn’t see you. 

“You’re so warm, Freddie” you whispered softly “I can’t get enough”  

Fred felt his heart skip a beat at your touch, that you were clinging onto him and your words, you saying his name got him excited. 

“I can keep you warm in more ways than one” Fred muttered back, his knee jolting when you placed your hand on his thigh. 

You looked into Fred’s eyes and dragged your tongue across your lips, the corners of your mouth curling into a smirk “Trophy room, nine o’clock?” 

Fred let out a shaky breath, his dick hardening in his trousers. 

Unfortunately, Fred was falling into your trap, this happened to be just another part of your plan to get Fred riled up. You weren’t doing this to be mean or to make Fred feel not enough, you were doing this because you knew how rough Fred could be, you wanted Fred to punish you for your behaviour.  

Snape called an end to his class, asking Lee to stay behind. 

“See you tonight” you whispered in Fred’s ear, planting a kiss on his cheek.

The trophy room had to be your favourite hook up place on school grounds, the room was huge and barely in use at the moment, you enjoyed seeing the reflections in the shiny silver of you being fucked. 

Fred had gotten himself cleaned up and he felt so excited for tonight, but upon entering the room his jealousy towards his brother George sky rocketed, Fred was furious - livid even. 

George had you lifted up, your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, your back pressed against one of the many glass Trophy cabinets, fucking you. 

Your silencing charm evidently worked as the two of you were being so loud, and George was fucking you so fast the cabinet was shaking, the trophies inside it wobbling and tipping over.

“You feel so fucking good, Georgie” you moaned, biting on his neck playfully. 

George grunted and could feel himself getting close, Fred still watching, hiding behind a knights silver metal armour had his hands bunched in fists, his knuckles turning white. 

“I’m getting close, love.” George grunted, his length pushing deeper inside of you. 

You opened your eyes and immediately locking glances with Fred, catching him out of his hiding place, it was then when he realised this was planned all along. 

You smirked at Fred, still staring at him “cum inside me, George” you moaned out “I’m on birth control, it’s okay.”

“I can’t” George whined “I’m going to be late”

George pulled out, placing you back on your feet.

George tripped over his trousers, forgetting they were dropped to his ankles and almost fell backwards and onto the floor. 

“I didn’t know you thought the sex was that bad” you smirked at George, trying not to laugh at how furious Fred looked.

Out of breath and in a hurry for detention, George quickly pulled up his trousers, almost getting himself caught in the zip. 

George laughed and pulled you in for a quick snog. 

“I really had fun tonight” he smiled at you, grabbing his robes “you coming with me?” 

You shook your head “No, I’ve got some cleaning up to do” you smiled at him, waving. 

Hearing his brother walking towards where he was hiding, Fred quickly hurried away and made his way towards you, ducking against the wall. George left for his detention, Fred going completely unnoticed by his brother. 

Fred stood up and stormed over to you, his face hardened with an angry expression. 

“what the bloody hell was that about?” he huffed “rubbing him in my face like that!”

You looked at your wrist watch and tilted your head at Fred, trying your best to look endearing.

“It’s five to nine, you came earlier than expected” you stared at Fred innocently. 

Fred shook his head at you “you’re unbelievable, I don’t know why you don’t just run away with George already” 

You rested your hand against Fred’s face, giving him a sympathetic look. 

“I don’t prefer George over you” you said softly. 

Trailing your hand down by your side, only to sneak it around Fred to pull him closer to you. The two of you hadn’t been this close in weeks, your lips almost grazing against one another, feeling each others breath against your skin. 

“It seems like it” Fred muttered, his jealousy slowly falling away. 

You shook your head and licked your lips “why do you think I’ve been messing with you, Freddie? You should know by now that seeing you frustrated and jealous turns me on so much...”

A wild strike of lightening flashed in Fred’s eyes “you did this to make me jealous?” 

You nodded your head and walked over to a desk with school plaques resting on it, reading the names of past students. 

“of course I did, and it worked.” 

Despite feeling infuriated, Fred, like you, couldn’t help but feel turned on. He was sporting a hard on through his trousers, and could feel himself getting eager and excited to where this was leading. 

“Do you still have that silencing charm working?” Fred growled, storming over to the desk. 

You smirked and bit your lip “that and the locked door one, never took them off, they’ll last for another hour or so”

Fred instantly pushed the plaques off the desk, making room for the two of you. Undoing his buttons and pulling down his zipper, his trousers falling to his ankles, his hard on now poking through his boxers, making a tent shape. 

Fred sat down and rested against the desk, pulling his boxers down, his hard length slapped back against his lower stomach. 

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes full of hunger. “I don’t recall receiving anything from you after I ate your cunt”

You smirked, feeling your heat flutter remembering what happened at the burrow, you walked over to Fred and sat next to him on the desk, bending over him you spat onto his length and took him into your mouth. 

“Go on” he moaned out “that’s it love, suck my cock”

Fred hung his head back and moaned out, he stared at your behind and lifted your skirt up, you weren't wearing any underwear and you faulted your swollen pussy at him.

His hand came down on your behind hard and made you jolt up for a moment, you circled your tongue around the head of his cock and continued to suck, gripping the base of him with your hand.

Fred felt himself getting flustered, still irritated and jealous, he continued to spank you until your behind was red from his hand prints that were now printed on you.

Pointing out his index, middle and ring finger, he pushed them inside of your glossy cunt and started finger fucking you deep and fast.

Your moans rang out into the room and vibrated onto Fred’s length, the two of you incredibly aroused and getting lost in the moment.

You pulled yourself off Fred’s length for a moment to catch your breath, you turned your head towards Fred, your lips covered in saliva and the tiniest trail of his pre-cum.

“Your fingers feel amazing” you moaned out, your hair sticking to your forehead.

Fred pulled you over to him, smashing his lips against yours, the two of you sharing a hot, sloppy kiss.

“Want to feel all of me inside you?” Fred smirked against your lips.

You bit your lip and nodded, feeling excited but extremely nervous at the same time, this would be the first time you and Fred would be having sex - you and George on the other hand had been at it like rabbits.

“Yes” you breathed out shakily “more than anything”

Fred looked into your eyes with his own lust filled ones, his lips attacking your neck, nibbling at your sweet spot.

Fred pulled your shirt open, the buttons shooting off and pinging across the room, exposing your breasts.

Fred looked you up and down and took a hold of the base of his cock, your saliva still coating it.

“Sit down then”

Swallowing hard, you positioned yourself in a squat and slowly lowered yourself down onto Fred’s large length, your knees resting against the cold wooden desk.

The two of you moaning out finally feeling one another for the first time - your walls tightening around him and his length filling you up.

“Oh, Fred.” you moaned, holing you knees to stay balanced.

Fred gripped onto your waist so you wouldn’t fall back, he was spoilt for choice; he didn’t know wether to look at your bouncing breasts or the sight of you bouncing up and down on him.

“You feel so fucking good, love.” Fred moaned, making you do all the work for now.

You smirked at him and continued to grind against him, his length brushing against your G-Spot, stimulating it each time you circled your hips.

“George loves it when I do this” you smirked.

Fred’s face changed completely, a flash of pure pleasure turning to jealousy.

Fred sat up and pushed you off him, still holding your waist, he managed to get the both of you off the desk. Pushing you in front of him, he bent you over and slapped you on the same cheek as earlier, your behind stinging once again.

Pushing you into the desk, Fred slammed into you, making you yelp out in pleasure. Fucking you fast, deep and hard from behind, you were finally getting exactly what you wanted.

“Such a shame you open your mouth” Fred grunted “you’re prettier when you know how to be quiet”

The two of you could sense that you needed to speed things up, your charms would soon be wearing off and Mr Filch and Mrs Norris would be sweeping through the entire grounds.

“Do teach me a lesson” you replied.

“Shut up” Fred hissed at you, his beautiful, golden hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.

Fred held onto the desk for support, his length twitching inside of you as your walls tightened around him even more.

“I can feel us both getting close” you moaned out “cum inside me, Fred.”

Fred grunted with frustration, pounding and finally releasing inside of you, his length coated in your cum as he pulled out.

The two of you fumbled around the trophy room, laying on the floor trying to recover and get dressed at the same time, your legs were shaking so much you didn’t think you’d be able to walk.

You stared at Fred whilst he pulled up his boxers and trousers, fixing his hair and coming towards you to help fix your shirt with his wand.

“I love you, Fred.” You whispered, softly.

Fred smiled “I love you too y/n”

You placed your hand against his cheek “I don’t prefer George over you, I was just doing all this to get this much of a good fuck from you” you laughed, thanking him for fixing your shirt.

The two of you quickly fixed and cleaned everything up in the trophy room, before escaping undetected.

Finally entering the common room, you pulled Fred into a warm, long and loving embrace.

“I really do love you, Fred.” You reminded him.

George cleared his throat behind you “yeah, she really loves you Freddie, she never shuts up about you.”

Taglist: @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian

[whumpersdump]

Project Rebirth - CH4: Final Touches

Content! From Whumper’s POV. (They’ll get a title soon btw, I just haven’t decided on a name yet).

[ Previous ] -- [ Masterlist ]

TW: (None of these are graphic) Restraints / blink-and-you-miss it use of  “it” as a pronoun / dehuminization / non-con surgery (non-graphic, whumpee isn’t awake) / lab whump / pet whump / sedation / sensory deprivation (not from Whumpee’s POV) / brain-fiddling? (he talks of an implant that restricts basically everything from speaking to moving. It’s mentioned, not shown)

Everything is set for the first practical stage of Project Rebirth to begin. All that is need is some final surgical attention, and a last talk to Whumper’s new investors. Also no editing we die like Toby’s previous owner...

Whumper sat next to Subject One, like he had every moment of spare time in the past five days. The last two, they barely twitched a muscle. Of course this was in part because of the starvation, but it was nice to have achieved nonetheless. Even if would wear of. Their body may be still, but the occasional twitch, hitch of a breath, told him their mind was racing.

He already picked out a name for them. Their masterpiece, even if it would take nine months before he would see their frantic eyes again. Everything was prepared. Their nursery—which was a rather misleading name, but it fit the process, and the marketing—was almost done, the housing facility would be complete in three months.

Subject One was the only one who really needed to be in the container for the sake of the time that it would give Whumper, but the aspect fit the aesthetic his investors expected. It would be what kept the program running for decades to come.

Subject One shuddered. They’d gotten the message. He’d chosen one of his newly acquired sponsors to deliver it through the earpieces. Not because it needed to be. He could just as easily move, then sedate the subject. Make the chaos in their mind spike just before they’d awake in ominous calm. Comforting calm, though it would take a while for the subject to feel about in that way. They had nine months, it would be enough.

The sponsors needed to feel special anyway. Some of them could make perfect pets, the way they seemed to crave special attention. He could try it someday. With this Project, even they could be reborn.

He nodded at Toby. “Bring them to the surgeon. It’s time for stage 3.”

Toby exited the corner he’d been standing in for the past day. It was a test, to see how obedient he really was. So far, Whumper had been pleased. Sure, seeing pets shiver at the thought of accidentally moving a muscle without permission could be rewarding, but it didn’t bring the type of productivity he needed. Toby’s compliant personality, in combination with Whumper’s training, did.

Toby reached for the subject’s shoulder like he always did.

“Not anymore, Toby,” Whumper commanded. “No more touching of any kind. You can move them, tube and all.”

Toby obeyed. With precision, he took the hand truck out of place and rolled it over to the doors that opened to the medical wing. Subject One would feel this, but it wasn’t enough to skew the results. If anything, it could amplify the result he was looking for.

He followed behind Toby, but entered the door to the watching room instead of the OR like Toby did. That’s where his funding was waiting. He hated having to care about it, but money was simply necessary for him to scale up the Project. “Thank you for coming back,” he told the seven investors waiting for him. “As I’ve said before, most of the program is completely tailored to your pet and the pet you wish they become. That means, no program looks or feels the same. This part though, they all have in common.”

He guided their gazes down to the OR—where the surgeon had sedated the subject—and begun the procedure. Toby watched from his corner, as Whumper had told him to. This would be the only time he was allowed this close to a subject before Rebirth, so Whumper made sure he knew as much as possible. The pet didn’t lie. He used to, but his previous owner trained it out of him.

If he were to fulfill any purpose at all in the future, he would have to learn to. Knowing about the stages before meeting the Reborn subjects was a good way to teach them. After all, he’d be the one to truly push the subject’s minds over the edge.

The investors patiently waited for Whumper to explain what was happening. “The implant all subjects receive is what makes this project so realistic. Like a newborn child, they have to learn everything. Eating, speaking, resisting, if you want them to. All in an effort to recreate them into the pet they were always meant to be. Now of course, some of them have skills we do want them to keep. Take Toby down there, he’s a master on the piano. For each pet, the implant’s functions can be customized.”

One of the investors raised her hand. “What are your plans for this one then?” she asked. “Does it have anything worth keeping?”

Whumper smiled. “In a less dire situation, we might have chosen to keep certain parts of them, but as you’ve noticed this is not the average pet we’re talking about. They will be reborn a blank slate. The only thing any pets are allowed to keep is their understanding of language—so they can obey commands, and their ability form minimal amounts of coherent thought and memory. We’ve found that this process works best if to some extent, the pets are aware of the changes. A risk, I know, especially with this one, but it will prove efficient.”

He straightened his tie. “This one in particular has quite the mouth, and they tend to use a bit too much of what they hear against their trainers. For that reason, we’ve limited their access to their vocabulary a bit more than usual. They’ll be able to understand simple sentences, but we won’t have to worry about their natural perceptiveness.”

“What’s he doing to their eyes?” a second investor asked.

Whumper’s heart fluttered. He’d hoped they’d ask. “Those, are highly sophisticated remote-controlled lenses.” They weren’t necessary, they function was mostly aesthetical from the subject’s perspective. They helped make it all a bit more realistic on both sides, though.

“They don’t have to be removed, ever. Which is why we’re putting them in so early. They control the subject’s ability to see color, and light. Like them implant, we can control them from behind the scenes. They aren’t vital, but they smooth out the transition from the Rebirth into the following stages of the program.”

He glanced down into the OR, where the surgeon was finishing up, and the other staff had begun to prepare the subject for stage 4’s container. “I’m afraid that I can’t show you anymore at this point, so my staff can take on this challenge with as little distraction as possible. However I’m happy to answer as many of your questions as I can.”

Several hands shot up. Whumper smiled.

“What are they doing?” Was the first question.

Whumper gazed down. Four people were removing the restraints and the jacket, and outfitted the subject in the thin white suit that would help keep them healthy and alive throughout the following stage.

They connected the dozens of tubes and wires that would take care of everything they couldn’t handle from outside the container, as he called it. “I’m afraid this is another one of those trade secrets, but what I can tell you is that in spite of how it looks, this will make the pre-Birth stage as realistic as it can be.”

“What about these nurseries that your people kept going on about. I’m sure they’re important, but it all sounds a bit too… human for my taste. I prefer my pets are used to the necessary restraints and housing conditions, so to speak.”

Whumper nodded. He wasn’t surprised to hear this investor thought his standard approach too kind. She’d demanded her pets were kept muzzled and bound at the facility’s daycare, even though they were among the most compliant creatures he’d ever seen.

“As I said,” he answered. “Everything can be customized. This subject I believe, will gain more from approach that teaches them that as a placeable pet, they will be cared for as long they don’t resist. Should you trust us with your pets though, if we decide after the evaluation that another approach may achieve the desired results more efficiently, we’re prepared. We have nurseries of all kinds, and our staff is prepared to fulfill any role they need to play.”

That seemed to please them. Whumper turned to the last question.

“How long does this program take?”

“We have multiple options. The standard program Subject One will go through can take up to sixteen years starting at the Rebirth, with a minimum time of three years. Now of course, that is a long time for a pet to be away. We have two accelerated programs that last either a few months, or even just a few weeks. You’re free to choose, but after the evaluation we will provide you with a suggestion. Not all pets need the full experience. Especially if they’re not old enough to be placed, a longer program can harm the natural development.”

A frown formed on a few faces.

“I can see you’re worried about the results I’ve promised you. You won’t have to wait long. The program may be an intense procedure, but the results will start to show after just a few weeks. The rest of the Project is about making them last, so these—” He dangled the subject’s bright red collar in front of them— “will soon be no more than a reminder of what I’ve solved.”

Whumper clasped his hands. The subject was moved out of the OR, into the container hall. “I must go now. My assistant will be up shortly to escort you out. I should mention Toby’s not allowed to be too talkative around strangers, but he’s still learning. If he breaks any rules, please contact me. He doesn’t respond well to strangers punishing him, he’s a bit too loyal for that.”

Taglist (asks are open if you wanna be added or removed): @suspicious-whumping-egg