#and then I can join them and set them off to the side

[menagerofmischief]

pretty tattoos -> ln4

wc: 1.2k tags: piercer!lando, cockwarming, unprotected sex, piv, part one | part two | part three

Lando’s shop was empty and quiet. Probably because it was already after working hours when you arrived, like the two of you had agreed. 

After the last piercing you had gotten, Lando had indeed taken you out to dinner. And after that, the two of you were inseparable. And you couldn’t be happier.

It was after a night out that you mentioned wanting a tattoo. Immediately there was a sparkle in Lando’s eyes as he began gushing over how he hoped you would mention it because he was itching to ink your body. 

After he dropped you home, laying a gentle sweet kiss to your lips before walking away, Lando had texted you the date and time of your tattoo appointment. Only if you wanted it, of course. And boy, did you want it. 

Lando’s shop was a familiar place by now. Both from your own experiences and from the little visits you made just to see him. So you didn’t hesitate to get yourself comfortable as Lando prepared everything, the stencil already pressed against your skin.

Getting a sternum tattoo as your first tattoo was certainly a bold choice, you wouldn’t deny that. The room was slightly chilly, causing your exposed nipples to perk up, goosebumps raising along the skin of your arms. 

“You changing your mind?” Lando asked, noticing you had gone quiet. His voice was teasing, but you knew that if you really did change your mind he would drop everything without a word. 

“No,” you shook your head. “Just a bit nervous. I heard the sternum is a painful place to get a tattoo.”

“It is,” Lando agreed, smiling at you. “Don’t worry tho, I’ll keep you distracted.” he said with a wink, bringing a smile to your face. 

“Oh, you’ll keep me distracted!” You teased, prompting him to laugh. 

Lando finished setting the necessary material up and sat down in the chair. You looked at him, tilting your head to the side. “Isn’t that my spot?”

“Nope,” he told you, shaking his head. “Your spot is right here.” He patted his lap, his lips curled upwards in a smirk.

“How could I forget,” you smiled, walking towards him slowly. You ran your hands down his body, palms pressing against his chest before dipping lower, toying with the zipper of his pants.

You opened his pants and Lando wasted no time lifting his hips to help you slide them down his legs, the outline of his already hard cock visible in the grey material of his boxers. A wet patch was already forming on the material from where his leaky tip was positioned. 

Lando took the boxers off quickly, pushing them to join his jeans. His hands grabbed your ass and he pulled your body closer, your bare legs pressing against his. 

You giggled, wrapping your hand around his dick. It wasn’t your first time seeing him naked but everytime was as good as the previous. Your eyes zeroed in on his piercing, going through the tip of his cock, the metal balls shining under the led lights of the studio.

Spit dribbled down from your mouth onto his cock and you used it as lube to stroke him a few times before lifting up your skirt and climbing into his lap. The lack of pantied underneath the skirt made it all the easier to position his dick at your entrance and sink down on him, taking him fully. 

“Fuck,” Lando groaned, his hands gripping your hips, both of you moaning at the sensation. His piercing pressed against your walls, adding to the stimulation. Lando’s hand caressed your back, making you arch your chest forward him. 

“You ready?” He asked gently, one of his hands groping your tits, his fingers playing with your nipples and twisting your piercings. 

“Yeah, I’m ready.” You replied, nodding your head at him. “You sure you can tattoo in this position?”

“Oh please,” Lando scoffed playfully. “Of course I can. Now hold on, this is gonna hurt a little.”

Lando lifted up the tattoo gun and started his work, tracking the stencil on your skin. You gasped a little at the pain, feeling your chest tighten as he worked, involuntarily clenching around him which had his breathing going shallow.

Thankfully it was a small tattoo, which meant it didn’t take much time for Lando to finish it. The whole time he kept teasing you playfully, talking about random things and cracking terrible jokes in effort to distract you from the pain, which really did work. But so did the feeling of his pulsing length buried deep inside of you. 

You finally felt like you could breathe again properly when Lando finished the tattoo, putting away the machine and cleaning it up. One of his hands cupped your flushed face, his eyes meeting yours. “Looks pretty great if I do say so myself,” he told you, his eyes flicking down to the tattoo. “Now how about a reward for my best client?”

“Please,” you gasped out, your walls clenching around his dick. Lando groaned, wrapping his arms around you and standing up then pushing you onto the leather chair all while still remaining inside of you. 

“Did so well,” he told you before pressing his lips down against yours in a sloppy kiss. “Took it so well, didn’t you? Now you’re gonna take my cock, yeah?”

His thrusts started slow, making you feel every inch of his hard cock, the piercing dragging against your walls, making your head spin with pleasure. One of his hands sneaked between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit fast and rubbing circles around it before he flicked your piercing, making you moan out. 

The rhythm of his hips grew frantic, becoming more desperate with each thrust. After cockwarming him for what felt like hours it didn’t really take long for either of you to reach your orgasm.

“God, Lando!” You moaned, nails digging into his back as your orgasm crashed over you, triggering his own. 

You both stayed still for a moment, catching your breath, then Lando pulled out slowly and used one of the previously prepared tissues to clean you up, all the while rambling about the tattoo healing process. You really couldn’t deny that he was adorable. 

The two of you put your clothes back on and you waited for Lando to finish closing up the shop before you left together. “So, wanna come over to my apartment?” You asked, taking his hand in yours. “I got some great leftovers. And they’re not expired.”

He laughed, lacing his fingers with yours. “You truly know a way to my heart!”

Lando Norris had pierced his way into your life and permanently inked his place in it. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

thank you for following along the piercer!lando mini series. want more piercer!lando? send an ask and tell me your ideas. feed my need for validation and let me know if you enjoyed this one! like and reblogs are greatly appreciated as well. <3

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Personal Trainer!Toji Fushiguro—”Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

req by: @sumbarbietingz tyty hope u like <33

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 6 AM.

By now, working out is muscle memory—a chore you tick off your list without much thought. You’re not aiming for an Olympian’s physique, nor do you dream of flipping tires or crushing quadruple-digit squats. For you, fitness is about balance, not obsession. The gym is filled with the usual suspects: frat bros showing off one-armed pull-ups, bodybuilders flexing between sets, and athletes moving like they own the place. You don’t envy them, nor do you aspire to join their ranks. In truth, their antics are more intimidating than inspiring.

But lately, something’s shifted. You’ve grown restless with your go-to routine: treadmill sprints, a quick core workout, and stairmaster till failure. It gets the job done, but there’s a whisper in the back of your mind, daring you to try something new. Maybe it’s time to add weights to your regimen. Maybe it’s time to sculpt those glutes and finally chase the coke-bottle figure you’ve been daydreaming about.

For weeks, the squat rack has been your Everest. You’ve watched others load up the bar, their muscles taut with effort, and wondered if you could do the same. It’s not fear holding you back—more like the memory of too many gym bros turning innocent glances into unwelcome conversations. At this gym, you’ve perfected the art of blending in. Headphones in, eyes down, immersed in the personal concert blasting through your ears. The only human contact you entertain is a nod and a quick smile for the woman at the front desk.

Today, though, is different. After your core workout, you finally approach the empty squat rack. Your heart races—not from exertion, but from the thrill of trying something outside your comfort zone. You set down your water bottle, lift the bar experimentally, then add two 20-pound plates on either side. It feels doable. With a deep breath, you duck under the bar, letting it rest on your shoulders. A hype Sexyy Red track thunders in your ears, spurring you on as you knock out your first set.

The burn in your thighs intensifies with each rep, but you keep going, driven by the mental image of your future self: confident, curvy, unstoppable. Sweat beads along your forehead, catching the fluorescent lights above and glistening on your skin. By the time you hit your second set, you’re locked in, laser-focused—until a firm hand lands on your shoulder, breaking your concentration.

You freeze mid-rep, your eyes snapping to the mirror in front of you. A tall, broad-shouldered figure looms at your side, leaning in close enough to be unavoidable. Your stomach twists with annoyance. Of course. Another unsolicited interruption.

Lowering the barbell with a controlled motion, you let out a sigh, already steeling yourself for the usual spiel. You tug your headphones down to your neck, the music fading into background noise as you prepare to deliver a polite but firm rejection. Why is it always men who think mid-squat, drenched in sweat, is the perfect time to chat? And why, without fail, are they never the gym’s best-looking prospects?

Before you can speak, a gravelly voice cuts in.

“Damn, ma, you tryna go deaf? I could hear your music from all the way across the gym.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. The irritation brewing in your chest falters, giving way to reluctant curiosity as you turn to fully take him in. You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead, collecting the beads of sweat rolling down your neck, letting your gaze rake upward. 

Crisp white Air Force 1s. Baggy black sweatpants slung low on his hips. A fitted white compression shirt stretched tight over a chiseled torso. Broad shoulders, thick biceps—his entire frame is a testament to strength, and the shirt does little to hide it. You swallow, willing yourself not to gawk, though it takes effort.

When your eyes finally reach his face, restraint becomes even harder. Fine as hell doesn’t do him justice. His sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and the scar slicing through the corner of his smirking lips paint a picture of rugged perfection. Jet-black hair falls messily over his forehead, accentuating dark, brooding eyes that seem to hold an unspoken challenge.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly waiting for you to respond. Too many seconds have passed, and you hastily clear your throat, scrambling to collect yourself.

“And that compelled you to approach me?” you ask, arching a brow of your own. A teasing smirk plays on your lips. “Don’t tell me you’re a fellow Sexyy Red fan?”

His smirk deepens, and he crosses his arms, leaning casually against the squat rack like he has all the time in the world.

“Me?” His voice is low and gravelly, carrying an almost teasing edge. “Nah, can’t say I’m also bumping F My Babydad. In fact, that song’s been used against me in the past. Strongly recommend shuffling your playlist.”

The implication makes you blink. He’s someone’s baby daddy? You glance at him again, and yeah, it tracks. His whole aura screams DILF.

You laugh, breathless from both exertion and his audacity. “My heart goes out to you, but that’s not enough to turn me off the song. It’s keeping me pumped.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest. His eyes sweep over you again—this time lingering on your two-piece set, the biker shorts and zip-up jacket hugging your frame. You feel a flicker of pride, knowing the pump is definitely doing its thing. But you quickly remind yourself not to encourage him, no matter how good he looks.

“I noticed,” he says, straightening. “That’s actually why I came over. Hope I’m not overstepping, but your form could use some tweaking. You’re targeting hamstrings more than glutes right now.”

Oh. So he wasn’t hitting on you? Maybe he’s just one of those older gym vets who genuinely want to help. Reluctantly, you concede, eager for the guidance. “Damn, is it that bad? I’m tryna build a dumpy for real. Any tips would be great.”

His brows knit briefly. “A what?”

You grin. “A dumpy. A dump truck. A fat ass. Come on, oldhead.”

His scowl deepens, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Toji. Use my name, not that.” He rolls his eyes, moving to strip the weights from your bar. “But that explains the Sexyy Red. You’re out here tryna Skeeyee or go to Pound town, huh? Don’t worry—I got you. Grab the bar.”

Snickering, you follow his instructions. “Absolutely not. Just help me with my form, Toji.”

Satisfied with your correction, he places a hand on your back, guiding you into a squat. “Wider stance,” he instructs, nodding as you adjust. His hand trails lower down your spine, encouraging you to drop further. “Lower. If you don’t hit a 90-degree angle, you’re not getting the full range of motion.”

You comply, biting back a shiver at his touch. He stays beside you, squatting to observe your form. “When you rise, drive through your heels and tense your glutes—lightly. Not too much.” His hand rests briefly on your hip as you rise, and your focus wavers dangerously.

Somehow, you power through the adjustments and complete your next set, his guidance making all the difference. By the time you finish, you’re drenched in sweat, thighs trembling from exertion, but the burn feels… good.

“You’re a quick learner,” Toji says, lifting the bar off your shoulders and racking it. His tone carries an edge of approval that makes your chest swell. “How’s it feel?”

“Sore, but good.” You glance in the mirror, a grin spreading as you take in your reflection. The pump is real. “You’re a lifesaver. You could seriously be a personal trainer.”

His smirk returns, and for a moment, he almost looks proud. “Good thing I am one. Imagine if you’d said I was trash.” He pauses, then extends a hand. “Hey, doll, this might sound out of line, but I’ve never trained someone on a glute-dominant program. Most of my clients are bodybuilders or boxers, but this could open doors. If you’re down, I’ll train you for free so I can develop a structured workout regimen. What do you say?”

You blink at him, stunned by the offer. Free sessions with this hunk of a man? The decision is a no-brainer. 

“How could I say no to that big guy?” You swat playfully at his arm, earning a chuckle. You retrieve your phone from the ground handing it towards him, “I’m in. Here, give me your number.”

Toji takes the device from your hand, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. His grin is almost teasing as he hands it back. “Demanding,” he murmurs with a grin. “I like that. I’ll text you over the weekend. We’ll start Monday. That work for you?”

Though you agree, the wait over the weekend feels endless. You check your phone obsessively, half-convinced you’d imagined the whole interaction. But finally, a notification pops up while you’re leisurely sprawled out on the couch, half-heartedly scrolling through your timeline.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Wassup, ma. How about 6 AM on Monday? Tues-Fri, I’m booked mornings, but anytime after 2 works.

You grin, slightly confused by the contact name he’d given himself, but already planning your reply.

You Bet, I’ll be there. We can do 3 PM the other days—I get off at 2.

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) Bet.

You I gotta ask… what does YHPT mean in your contact name?

Toji Fushiguro (YHPT) 🤣🤣🤣  Young Hot Personal Trainer

You Young?! Sorry I asked. Lemme fix that.

Toji Fushiguro 👴🏼 (PT) Not too much on me, ma. 😒

On Monday, you start to wonder if Toji even needs to develop a new glute routine. He seems to already have it down to a science. When you meet him outside the locker room, he’s surprisingly professional, carefully explaining the plan for the day.

He considers your current fitness level but warns that he won’t go easy on you. “If you want results, you’ve gotta work for them,” he says.

Back at the squat rack, you steal a glance at his backside, confirming your suspicions: Toji definitely practices what he preaches. His ass is… impressive. Bubble butt levels of impressive. If this workout built that, you’re sold.

The session starts with barbell walking lunges. Toji adjusts the weights slightly heavier than you’re used to, staying close as you move through each step. He’s comfortable in athletic shorts and a pullover, barely breaking a sweat while you’re already glowing in your two-piece set. His hands are steady and deliberate when tweaking your form, his words always encouraging.

By the time you’re on weighted step-ups, you’ve shed your zip-up and tee, left in just your sports bra and shorts. When you transition to hip thrusts, you play coy about your familiarity with the exercise. It pays off deliciously as Toji demonstrates.

He drags a bench over, slides a barbell onto his lap, and gets into position. His thighs flex, the barbell pressing into his hips as he slowly thrusts upward, his voice low as he explains the importance of balance and control. But honestly, you’re too distracted by the sight of him—muscles taut, skin glowing under the gym lights, his bangs sticking to his forehead.

“Got it, ma? I’ll hand it over to you in a sec—might as well finish this set myself.”

That breathy ma and the half-lidded look he shoots your way? It’s lethal. You fidget on your feet, suddenly aware of how warm the gym feels.

When it’s your turn, you do your best to mimic his movements. To dispel any awkwardness, you wink at him. “How’s my form, big guy? I’m giving you all I’ve got.”

Toji chuckles, his grin playful. “Someone’s catching on quick.” He places a firm hand on your knee, his voice dipping, returning your wink. “That thrust is second to one.”

You end with sumo squats, a challenge given their deep range of motion. Determined to achieve those coveted “Megan knees,” you complain to Toji, who looks at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.

“Alright, hold up. I know you can nail this—let me help.”

He positions you in front of the mirror, his presence towering behind you. When he steps closer, your breath hitches, his chest brushing against your back as he adjusts your stance.

“Open your legs wider. Angle your feet out,” he murmurs, his hands warm on your thighs. The heat of his breath on your neck nearly sends you spiraling, but you focus on the squat, sinking lower under his guidance.

“Atta girl,” he says softly, his tone making your heart race. “Just like that.”

It hits you then—there’s no way this is just standard training. Especially as you’re keenly aware of the firm press of his body behind yours.

“Toji, how many more? ‘M so tired,” you mumble, struggling through another rep.

“Two more. Push through, ma. Do it for me, yeah?”

His hands guide your hips, and you somehow manage to finish the set. Resting your hands on your knees, you catch your breath while he smirks, handing you a water bottle.

“Good girl,” he says.

Your brain short-circuits.

By Tuesday, you’ve settled into the routine, though Toji remains as hands-on as ever—literally. His physical guidance feels less like training and more like testing your resolve, especially when he throws in casual touches that linger just a bit too long.

The workouts are brutal, but Toji’s encouragement and relentless banter keep you going. You learn snippets about his life, mostly centered around his middle-school-aged son, Megumi—a tech-obsessed, angsty tween with whom Toji is actively struggling to connect with.

You start caring about how you look for these sessions—styling your hair, spritzing perfume, even picking out your cutest gym fits. You tell yourself it’s just motivation, but deep down, you know you’re becoming weak to Toji’s charm.

And Toji? He’s an enigma—a hot, muscular DILF who knows exactly what he’s doing.

On Friday, you meet Toji outside the locker room as usual. His unusually upbeat demeanor is paired with an announcement: he’s reserved a private room upstairs, equipped with advanced machines and, most importantly, a touch of exclusivity to let you experiment with new moves in peace.

“If you wanted to get me alone so badly, you could’ve just said that,” you tease, poking a playful finger at his cheek.

He smirks, catching your hand mid-air before letting it drop. “Can’t a guy be a gentleman and save his moves for later? But if you’re looking for forwardness…” He leans in with a wink, the grin on his face equal parts charming and incorrigible. “I won’t hold back.”

Rolling your eyes, you laugh. “Sure, big guy. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I took your advice,” he says, leading you up the stairs, his hand warm on your back. “Set up Discord for Megumi. Now the kid can actually game with his friends without me being the middleman. Thought I’d reward you with an advanced workout for that stroke of genius.”

You scoff, withdrawing yourself from his grip to cross your arms. “Reward? Sounds more like a punishment.”

He grins wider. “You’ll thank me later, mama. And if you’re not satisfied, you can choose your own reward.”

Inside the private room, your eyes roam over the space. Polished mirrors line one wall, reflecting sleek machines—a leg press, rowing machine, power bike, and more. A faint scent of disinfectant lingers, blending with the promise of an intense workout. Toji tosses his duffel bag near a large speaker in the corner.

“Look at that—a speaker. Gonna cut on some throwbacks so I can put you onto some real music.”

“Still not helping the oldhead allegations,” you quip, shaking your head as he connects his phone.

His smirk widens. “I’m whatever you want me to be, doll. That’s the business I stand on.” He points skyward with dramatic flair.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Toji, your usage of slang is deteriorating by the minute.”

Stretching side by side, his 90s playlist humming through the speaker, you fall into the familiar rhythm of the glute routine. The effort is paying off; you swear you’re already seeing results. 

Between sets, you’d even started pestering him for diet tips—anything to build that elusive shelf.

But as always, your attention drifts. During hip thrusts, your eyes wander to Toji’s defined arms, the way his shoulders shift as he mirrors your movements. During squats, you can’t help but notice his hands lingering on your hips, guiding you down with whispered encouragements.

“Drive through your heels, mama,” he murmurs near your ear, his breath warm against your neck. You’re panting by the final rep, equal parts exhausted and electrified.

When the set ends, Toji steps back, his absence leaving a surprising chill. He crosses his arms, eyeing you with that ever-present smirk. “You’ve mastered this routine. How about graduating to mine? Fridays are upper body days. What d’ya say?”

You trail a finger down his arm, tracing the veins. “And get jacked like you? Obviously.”

His grin softens into something almost fond. “Bet. Just try not to distract me too much, yeah? It’s hard enough maintaining my professionalism around you.”

You laugh as he pinches your cheek, only to retreat and yank off his tee, leaving him in a fitted black tank. He leads you to the dumbbells for bicep curls, and you challenge yourself with heavier weights to avoid ogling his sculpted frame.

“Look at you,” he says approvingly as you curl the weight. “Getting stronger every day.”

“Thanks, coach,” you reply, though your arms burn with effort.

Toji hoists a 45-pound dumbbell with ease, and your curiosity gets the better of you. “How much can you bench, anyway?”

He pauses mid-rep, considering. “Good question. Haven’t checked in a while. Wanna find out?”

Before you can answer, he’s clearing the bench, stacking plates with casual efficiency. Three 45s on each side—a total pushing 300 pounds—makes your jaw drop.

“Damn.”

He meets your stare, the bar balanced on his lap. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Come spot me.”

You circle behind the bench as Toji reclines, gripping the barbell above his chest. His muscles coil with tension, veins slightly raised under his skin. As you hover your hands just above his for support, you give a small nod for him to start.

Toji pushes the bar upward, arms locking at full extension before lowering it with precision. The rhythm is steady, his breaths growing heavier with each rep.

“Fuck,” he exhales, voice low and strained.

A laugh bubbles up from you, and you instinctively place your hands on his shoulders, feeling the solid swell of muscle shift beneath your touch.

Toji glances at you, eyes narrowing with playful admonition. “What’d I say about distracting me, huh, ma? Cut me some slack.”

Setting the bar down with a controlled thud, he looks up at you, dark locks falling across his face. His smirk is wolfish.

“I don’t think anything could really distract you,” you counter, grinning. “You’re benching 300 pounds like it’s nothing. Feels a little… superhuman.”

“Damn right.” Toji sits up briefly, flexing his arms like a bodybuilder and striking exaggerated poses in the mirror, whistling at himself.

You snort. “Alright, don’t let it go to your head now, big guy.”

He lays back down to begin his second set, but you’re feeling bold. Moving swiftly, you straddle the bench, swinging one leg over and settling into his lap.

His eyes widen briefly as he lowers the bar back to his chest, but he recovers fast, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

“Guess you’ve got a better view from there, huh?” he murmurs. “You don’t mind counting these out for me, do ya?”

“Not at all.” You plant your hands on his stomach, the fabric of his tank top taut against the solid expanse beneath.

He starts again, pressing the bar up with ease.

“One… two… three… four,” you count, smirking. “You think you can hit twenty?”

“Easy work,” he grunts, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

But you’re feeling mischievous. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, fingers grazing the hard ridges of his abs. The contrast of warmth and strength makes your breath hitch.

“Five… six… seven…eight…” Toji’s steady rhythm falters as you increase the pressure of your movements. His eyes narrow at you, daring yet pleading for restraint.

You relent—for now—your hands sliding to rest firmly on his hips as he recovers.

“Nine… ten… eleven… twelve.” His reps slow significantly, the strain visible in his taut muscles. 

Sensing an opportunity, you lean into his weakness, grinding your hips down against him deliberately, the friction drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.

“Shit, ma,” Toji mutters through clenched teeth, sucking in a deep breath before lifting the bar again.

“Thirteen,” you murmur, your voice laced with mischief. You rotate your hips in a slow circle, reveling in the way his eyes squeeze shut and his breath hitches.

“‘s not fair—you’re playing dirty,” Toji rasps, lowering the bar with a groan. For a fleeting moment, you envy the steel weight—it holds all his focus while you fight to claim just half of it.

But it doesn’t matter; his body betrays him. You feel him harden beneath you, the friction growing deliciously intense through the thin layers of clothing separating you.

“Toji,” you gasp, biting down on your lip to stifle the sound as heat pools low in your stomach. Your movements become instinctive, grinding against him in search of relief.

And yet, Toji—ever determined—continues his reps, each lift of the bar accompanied by a subtle grind of his hips into you, fueling the dangerous tension.

“Sixteen—shit… seventeen—mhm… ah—eighteen… n-nineteen…” Your counting falters as you ride the edge of control, each syllable more breathless than the last.

“Mf—ma… I can go to thirty,” Toji growls, his voice thick with desire. “Take it out. Use me. Make yourself feel good.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you scramble to shed one leg of your shorts, fumbling with his waistband. Relief blooms when you find him bare beneath his sweats. You flick his chest, the movement playful yet teasing.

“Slut.”

Toji’s eyes darken, the weight of his gaze making your pulse race. “And what does that make you?” 

His voice is a low rumble as he lifts the bar again. “Keep counting, doll.”

“‘Kay,” you breathe, positioning yourself above him. The thick head of his length presses against your clothed center, and the sensation draws a near-whimper from your lips.

“Twenty… fuck—twenty-one… Toji—shit… twenty-two…”

You grind down harder, your movements desperate as you pump him with trembling hands. The feel of his shaft, hot and solid, against your slick sends you spiraling. Toji twitches under your touch, his breath ragged.

“Twenty-three—ah…”

A sharp, obnoxious buzzing cuts through the air, snapping you both out of the haze. The speaker blares with Toji’s ringtone, and he fumbles to set the bar down safely. The sudden motion sends you toppling to the floor in an undignified heap.

You blink, dazed, trying to make sense of the abrupt interruption as Toji curses under his breath. He hauls you back onto the bench, his movements rushed but gentle, before striding to his phone.

“Fuck, it’s Megumi,” Toji grumbles, glancing at his phone connected to the gym’s speaker. He picks it up, the ringtone still blaring. “Kid’s got the worst timing.”

You nod in acknowledgment, adjusting your shorts and ignoring the visible wet patch at the crotch. Toji answers the call, his tone shifting to frustration as he paces.

From his clipped responses, you catch snippets about school, carpooling, and a very annoyed Megumi. Toji sighs heavily, muttering a half-hearted apology before ending the call with a gruff, “See ya soon.”

“Mama,” he starts, turning to you with a weary look. “Forgot it's my turn to pick up Megs and his friends this week. In my defense, he deliberately didn’t remind me this morning just to get me caught up.”

You laugh softly as he digs through his duffle bag, pulling out another pair of sweats. Approaching you, he presses them into your hands.

“Here. Can’t have anyone else noticing the strong… impression I left on you,” he teases, his grin cocky. “Next time, I’ll double it.”

You step into the loose pants, tying the drawstring snugly around your waist. “Next time,” you echo, smiling up at him.

Toji hesitates as if it pains him to leave. He briefly embraces you, firmly squeezing your ass, and planting a wet, lingering kiss against the side of your neck before jogging toward the door.

Hooking up with your personal trainer. Immoral? Yes. Professional? Not even close. Hot? Absolutely.

But hey, it’s still exercise. Gotta see it through.

don’t try that freaky bench press position at home, take spotting seriously—not everyb got a heavenly restriction LOL

[mimiii-3]

Saboteur

Yandere Platonic Batfam x GN Neglected Reader

Notes: typical yandere themes, darling is gn too

Imagine being a batsib but not the family’s platonic darling…

🦇 - Bruce rescues some poor, defenseless young adult during an armed robbery

🦇 - Bruce and the rest of the batfam become obsessed and begin their relentless pursuit of the darling

🦇 - You have no clue why they’re so obsessed with this person but you’re desperate for validation & attention so you join in

🦇 - After several months of recon and stalking, they kidnap the darling and bring them home

🦇 - Cue the usual yandere shenanigans where the batfam is desperate for the darling’s love and for them to willingly join the family

🦇 - The darling can’t help but gravitate towards you, the outcast and most calm one of the group

🦇 - You begin a tentative friendship with the newcomer despite your burning jealousy

🦇 - One day you notice the darling sneakily grab a kitchen knife and stuff it in their pocket

🦇 - You go to Bruce and tell him about the knife

🦇 - Bruce pats you on the head and tells you “good job” before running off to find the darling

🦇 - You feel your chest puff, beaming with pride at your father’s approval

🦇 - This is what starts the new toxic push and pull between you and the darling

🦇 - Every time the darling breaks one of Bruce’s rules, you are the first to go and snitch

🦇 - All while maintaining your friendship with the darling

🦇 - The darling’s escape attempts die down as they get caught over and over again

🦇 - You, desperate for even more of your father’s affection, begin to set up the darling

🦇 - You leave a rogue nail under their mattress or remove one of Tim’s trackers from their room

🦇 - Anything that you can get the darling in trouble for

…

The darling sits at the head of the table, hand lightly shaking as they quickly down the hearty meal. The atmosphere is tense and you can’t help but slip your hand over your mouth, suppressing a giddy smile.

Bruce sits on the other side of the table. His tense shoulders give away the storm brewing inside. He’s angry and no one knows why. No one but you.

Just before dinner you had revealed to Bruce that darling was harboring a sewing needle. Claiming that they must have taken it from Alfred’s kit.

Bruce nodded solemnly before giving your shoulder as small squeeze. Bruce let out a pointed sigh, “Thanks for keeping an eye out kiddo.”

You respond with a quick “Yessir” and make your way to the dining room.

…

Bruce suddenly breaks his silence at the table and throws the sewing needle in the center of the table.

The darling inhales sharply and casts their gaze down onto their meal. Praying that he wouldn’t interrogate them again.

Their eyes begin to dart up and down between their food and you. They give you a desperate, pleading look in hopes that you would back the up.

You press your lips together and shake your head. You try to look as upset as them, like the whole thing makes you sick.

You can practically see the darling’s stomach drop as Bruce clears his throat, “We need to talk.”

Extra notes: I love shady, desperate reader😈 Hmmm but what if Bruce and co. suddenly realize they’re yandere for reader too

[cognitiveoverload]

Nobody got you the way I do (Aaron Hotchner x reader)

summary: One of your employees turns out to be a serial killer, and the BAU suspects that he might want to hurt you too, so they want to make sure you're safe. Hotch takes it a little too seriously, and there's a reason for that.

note: I'm not so sure about this one, I don't know why. But this is the robotics expert!CEO!reader story I mentioned in the poll.

tags: afab!reader, overprotective!Hotch, brat tamer!Hotch?

wc: 5.4k

“I told you not to bother me today.”

Your assistant, Lizzie, is the only one at this company who spends the entire day in high heels, which is why the familiar clicking sound lets you know it’s her who entered your private lab. Since you know who it is, you don’t even look up from the prosthetic arm you have lying on the table in front of you, connected to your laptop to spend the day fixing the damn thing. A deadline is coming up, and you took charge of this pet project of yours, this is why you are dead serious when you ask your employees to respect your request to leave you alone for now. 

She lets out a hesitant hum as she steps closer to you, leaning down so you can hear her clearly even when she speaks quietly. “Two FBI agents are here to see you. They said it was important,” she tells you. 

Letting out an annoyed sigh, you look up to find two men standing there in the room. One of them is young, maybe a few years younger than you, and his eyes are focused on the prototype you’re working on. The other? Now, that’s an interesting situation. The other agent in question is someone you have met before, at a party over half a year ago, when he helped you talk to a suicidal acquaintance who decided to pick that night to jump off the roof of the building. Unlike his colleague’s, his eyes are fixed on you, making you feel like you’re currently being studied under a microscope. 

“Gentlemen, what can I do for you?” you ask casually, folding your hands on the table. 

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner, this is Dr. Reid,” the older man begins, pretending not to know you. Well, if that’s how he wants to play, you’re happy to join the game. “Your company showed up as a link between the victims in a series of murders.” He puts a folder in front of you, waiting until you open it to take a look at the paper inside. “Is there anything they have in common besides being your ex-employees?”

You go through the list of names, and it’s instantly obvious what that thing is. “They were all fired,” you reply as you close the folder and push it back towards them.

Sadly, Hotch knows there’s more to the story, and he’s not afraid to pry for more information. “And? I know there’s something you’re not telling us. Why were they fired?”

“Corporate espionage.” While you don’t want to go into the details and think about these cases again, they both seem interested in hearing what it’s all about, so you let out a sigh and continue. “They were all caught selling confidential information to our competitors or anyone who was willing to pay enough. Classic case, nothing unusual.”

Reid bites his lips as he quickly thinks about something. “What’s the process if you have a case like this? What do you do?” he wonders.

“I usually let my Chief Security Officer take care of it. His name is Jonathan Hayes, he’s been with us since the beginning, so he knows everything about the company. He sits down with the employee in question with HR present, hands over the paperwork, and beside that, he consults the legal department to take care of the rest,” you explain.

“We didn’t find court documents,” Hotch points out. 

With a small smirk, you shrug. “I don’t need scandals. We keep things quiet.” 

The two men look at each other, then, as if there was a silent agreement between them, they excuse themselves and ask for a moment while they discuss something outside. With a shrug, you roll the swivel chair to the side to check something on the laptop, but moments after you begin to tweak the set of codes on the screen, your fingers freeze above the keyboard and your gaze shifts to the glass wall to take a look at them. Whatever they’re talking about, it surely involves you, because every now and then they turn your way. Perfect. They hopefully don’t think you used Hayes as your personal assassin or something.

A few minutes later they finally return, and it’s Reid who speaks up. “Can we talk to Hayes? We have some questions, hopefully he can help us out.”

“He’s on unpaid leave due to some family issue,” you tell them. 

“Since when?” he asks with a frown.

You blow out the air you didn’t even notice you’ve been holding, and lean back in your chair as you think. “He left about a month ago. Why?”

Before Reid can speak up, Hotch takes a deep breath and steps closer to the desk. “Has he tried to contact you since then?” he asks, his voice laced with worry that you’re not sure his colleague can detect. But you notice, you’re painfully aware of it.

“He called a few times, but usually when I was busy doing something else.”

“So you didn’t talk to him?”

“Not really.”

“When was the last time he called you?” 

That one you don’t have to think about. “Three days ago. He called me more and more frequently in the week before that, and since he didn’t stop even after I sent him a text to find my assistant, I decided to block his number until he returns,” you explain. 

Reid turns to his boss when he hears this. “The timeline checks out, and his number being blocked might be what triggered the changes in his method and the messages,” he says quickly. 

There’s a nod of agreement before Hotch turns back to you. “You need to come with us now.” 

“What did I do?”

“Nothing wrong, don’t worry. But Hayes will soon be looking for you, and we’d rather have you somewhere safe until we find him,” he tells you, earning a doubtful look from you. 

Because you have a feeling Hayes stepped up to be their prime suspect, although it simply doesn’t make sense to you. If you don’t count this little phone call issue, your relationship is quite good, and he’s always so nice, so friendly. “He would never hurt anyone,” you tell them, deciding that ignoring them might be the best approach. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to ask you to leave now. I have a lot to do.”

“Listen to me,” you hear Hotch’s hushed voice once he leans over the table, “you’re not safe until we catch him, so put the attitude aside and come with us.”

With a huff, you look back at the screen and begin to type like they weren’t even there. But despite your best effort, his brown eyes are burning a hole into your skull, and you can feel the annoyance that fills him. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say without looking at him.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Stop being a brat,” he tells you angrily. 

“Did you just call me a brat?”

“Hotch?” Reid asks in the background, but he raises a hand to stop him. That doesn’t work, though, because the younger agent realized that he needs to intervene before things get out of hand. “We found messages at the crime scenes, and now that we know the real reason why those employees had been let go, it’s clear Hayes did this to protect you,” he explains.

This gets your attention and you finally look up from the screen to meet his eyes. “To protect me? How does killing them protect me?”

“He’s loyal to you, and he would go to great lengths to make sure you and your company are safe. To him, you’re like a family member he needs to protect,” he says.

Gulping, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “But he’s such a normal guy. Tough, sure, but murdering people?” you note with a desperate laugh. It’s insane, why can’t this madness happen to someone else?

“They often seem harmless,” he offers with a sympathetic smile. “Look, we need a list of the employees who were fired for corporate espionage or other major issues Hayes dealt with in the past.”

“Sure, I’ll ask my assistant to send you the list,” you assure them without hesitation.

But Hotch doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer, because he moves around the desk to close your laptop, then helps you up from the chair. “You can make that call from the car. Let’s go,” he says as he lets his hand move to your elbow to lead you toward the door. 

“Wait, I can’t go, I have a deadline, and an interview, and—”

“Now,” he says sternly, leaving no room for an argument. 

For a moment there’s a staring contest between you two, but then out of the corner of your eye you notice Reid’s surprised expression. Maybe this isn’t the time for such an argument, so you put up your hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, just let me get my bag and laptop from my office,” you say as you yank your arm away and take the lead toward the elevator.

On the way out of the building, Reid starts a conversation with you about your work, but it’s hard to focus with Hotch’s hand on the small of your back as he leads you. He doesn’t look at you, and deep down you’re grateful for that. When you get into the car, you sit in the middle of the back seat so it’s easier to keep the chat with the younger agent going, because you’re happy to talk about your little projects with someone who truly appreciates the science behind your innovations. 

He’s intelligent, that one’s clear, and the more you learn about him, the more you feel like in another life you could be friends, and you would probably ask him to work for you too. While the conversation flows freely, you don’t miss the way Hotch looks at you through the rearview mirror every once in a while, so when there’s a little break in the discussion, you take the chance to change the topic a little. 

“Is he always this grumpy?” you ask Reid with a playful smile.

Before he can respond, Hotch rolls his eyes. “I’m not grumpy,” he states. 

“Then serious.”

He exhales slowly, making it clear he has to force himself to stay calm. “I’m chasing serial killers, more people would die if I took my job too lightly,” he explains. 

“So would a smile kill you?” you wonder, deliberately pushing his buttons.

“I think you should—” Reid begins his warning, but the other man is quick to interrupt him.

“No.”

You grab the back of his seat and lean forward to be closer. “Then why don’t you smile?” Hotch groans as he shakes his head, and you take the hint. So, once again, you change the topic as you lean back against the seat. “You know what? I’ll make a few calls and hire a security company to keep an eye on me in my own house, so I don’t need your protection. Also, you said Hayes—if he really is the killer, that is—was looking for employees we let go for certain reasons. As far as I know, I’m still the head of this company.”

Reid turns in his seat as he begins to talk. “Yes, but Hayes is getting impatient, angry, and based on the timeline you told us, it’s related to you ignoring his calls. He will get mad at you and try to punish you for that.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Why?” Hotch asks. 

“Does it really matter?”

“I’m going to ask this one last time—why?”

Your silence gives Reid an idea. “Were you in a romantic relationship with him?”

“God, no, no, it’s just,” you begin, stopping for a moment to think. “He has a family, he’s always so nice to everyone, why would he do that? It can’t be to protect me.”

“His way of thinking isn’t exactly rational anymore,” the younger man begins, flashing an understanding smile at you. “As for the security company, it would be best if you stayed close to us.”

With a sigh, you decide to drop it for now. In fact, you want to let go of the conversation altogether. So, instead of putting up another fight, you unlock your phone and dive into your emails, ignoring the men’s existence for the rest of the ride.

••••••••••

Once on their floor, Reid leads you to an empty office, saying you can use that for the time being. It’s way darker than the office or the lab that you’re used to, but you don’t have the luxury to be picky, there is a lot to do before you can call it a day. The interview was transformed into an online one, the journalist promised to call you a little later, the board meeting that was scheduled for the afternoon was postponed to the day after tomorrow, and you gave yourself a new deadline as the prototype wasn’t here with you.

Yet, despite the long to-do list, you don’t interrupt Reid when he continues your previous conversation about your work, and soon you’re joined by Garcia, who charms you in a matter of seconds. Prentiss and Morgan arrive as well, shortly introducing themselves before leaving to get back to work.

But then the little gathering is coming to a halt, because Hotch shows up just to tell you that you can’t stay here. Instead, he wants you to use his office, saying he’d rather have you somewhere he can keep an eye on you. Garcia and Reid both watch you with visible confusion, which tells you it must be quite unusual, even for them. But you don’t feel like arguing, so you follow the unit chief down the hallway.

As you’re sitting on the couch, you can’t help but glance over at him every now and then, watching as he tries to catch up with the paperwork while they wait. For what, though, is a mystery, no one tells you anything regarding the case. Being left in the dark is definitely not what you’re used to.

Two hours later he returns to the office, but instead of coming in, he simply leans against the doorframe, brown eyes watching you with surprising softness. “How about getting some coffee?” he asks.

Now that’s something you can’t say no to. “You have coffee?”

A short, dry laugh follows your question. “We do, it’s terrible, which is why I was thinking about going to a coffee shop nearby. Want to come with me?”

“I thought I had to stay here to be safe,” you point out. 

“It’s close and I have a gun,” he says with a barely visible smile. “So?”

“That would be great.”

He signals you to follow him, and, as if you were a trained puppy, you do exactly as he wants. While you pass the bullpen, you can’t help but notice the eyes of the members of his team, and you even hear the whispers behind your back. Do they suspect something? Did they notice that maybe you have met before this morning? Or what if Hotch told them himself? But no, if he did, he wouldn’t have acted like he didn’t know you. 

In the car, there’s a comfortable silence settling between you, and it’s hard not to think about the night you met him. The party was boring, the usual shallow event where people could network and show off, but when a woman you knew came over to you to say a mutual acquaintance was on the roof, planning to jump down after receiving a phone call, things took an interesting turn. 

Hotch was in the group you were both a part of in a conversation, and when he heard what happened, he offered to join you. It took a good half hour, but eventually he managed to convince the man to change his mind, and that’s when he told you about who he was. The rest of the night passed with a pleasant chat, learning a lot more about each other, and at the end he asked for your number, promising to call you soon.

Well, he never did.

But today, you’re willing to put that aside if he wants to act like you didn’t know each other. Instead of stirring drama, you inhale deeply and look out the window. “You know, it’s nice,” you note, breaking the silence.

“What’s nice?”

“Not being treated like I was some weirdo.”

For a moment, he turns his head to look at you. “That’s how people see you?” You let out a hum of confirmation. “Well, having Reid on the team helped us gain some experience in dealing with geniuses, I guess.”

“Look at that! A smile! You should smile more often,” you note teasingly, even biting on your lip before commenting on how much more handsome it makes him. 

He shakes his head without glancing over at you. “You’re not letting that smile thing go, are you?” he asks.

“Hmm… No, I don’t think so.” Silence falls between you, because there’s something you want to ask, something you’re not sure you should bring up. But then you take a deep breath and speak up again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re nice to me,” you say, then turn to look at him. “Why?”

Hotch takes a deep breath before looking at you, and you can see a slightly confused expression on his face. “As far as I know, it’s not a crime to be nice.”

“That’s true, still.” His eyes turn back to the road ahead, and you can tell that this was all, he doesn’t want to talk more about this. “So, I guess he wasn’t at home,” you then say, changing the topic. You know Morgan and Prentiss went to Hayes’ home, but neither of them told you about the result.

“No, he wasn’t. But we will find him,” he assures you.

“Are you sure I’m in danger?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

He remains silent for a little too long, probably wondering how much he can tell you. “His wife left him about eight months ago and took their daughter with her. That could be a stressor. He focused on his job, where he once again found traitors, then he lost control.”

“That doesn’t explain why he would turn on me.”

“You’ve been ignoring him. You blocked his number. He’s getting angry, he kills more frequently. We found another body today, but this time it wasn’t a past or current employee. He will reach the point when he starts to blame you for his own actions.”

You look out the window on the side, watching the people on the street. “I don’t believe it,” you note, although this sentence is meant more to you than him.

“I thought you were smarter than this.” Your attention snaps back to him when he reaches out to touch your hand. “Take it seriously. Please.”

“Okay.” You look down at his hand, having a hard time deciding how the way his thumb massages your skin makes you feel. It certainly makes you think, and you don’t shy away from bringing it up. “We should probably talk about the elephant in the room,” you tell him.

But Hotch suddenly pulls his hand away and parks the car in front of a coffee shop. Even though he gets out, you stay behind, staring ahead as you think about this. Maybe you should tell them you’ll take care of your own protection, you won’t need their help any longer. It would be easier for everyone.

Eventually, you catch up, but after you both place your orders, there’s an argument about who’s gonna pay, although he shuts you down with a single look. So, you give up the fight and decide to remain silent until you arrange your trip to your holiday house in Aspen.

Then you take a seat in a booth, and he starts talking unexpectedly. “I thought we were having a fresh start, like we didn’t know each other at all,” he says, continuing the conversation that ended so abruptly in the car.

“You started that this morning when you introduced yourself like I was a complete stranger, I just played along,” you respond, although you’re having a hard time figuring him out. 

He lets out a sigh, his fingers drumming on the side of the cup as he watches you. “I didn’t know where we stood after that night.”

“You disappeared, Hotch. You asked for my number and never called. I thought I misunderstood what happened, so I decided to move on, but don’t think it didn’t hurt.”

“I wanted to call you, but then I had one case after another and realized I don’t have the time to maintain a relationship you would deserve.”

You can’t help but snort. “You could have told me that instead of ignoring me completely.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you can tell he’s being honest now.

It doesn’t make sense to you. He’s been sending you mixed signals since you met again in the morning, and deep down you want to clarify the situation before leaving. “Tell me this,” you begin as you lean closer over the table. “If you wanted to act like we didn’t know each other, why did you become so overprotective? Because that’s what you’ve been all day long; forcing me to come with you, keeping me in your office, and taking me out to get coffee.”

Hotch stops to think. “I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. I know it’s probably hard to believe, but that’s the truth. I like you, and every time I read an article about you, or watch one of your interviews, I think about what things could be like.”

“I wish you hadn’t disappeared on me back then.”

“We can fix that now,” he says softly as he reaches out to take your hand.

But you don’t like the idea of him touching you, so you pull your hand away as you look elsewhere. “I’m not sure if I want it now. Maybe it’s already too late.” You can hear him let out a long sigh, which makes you turn back to him. “Look, when we get back, I’ll call a friend of mine to send someone who will escort me to my holiday house in Colorado. I’ll take my jet, it will be safe.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Hotch,” you point out. 

“I know, but you can’t leave. We don’t know when we’ll need you to help us with something. So, no, you’re not leaving. In fact, you’ll stay in my apartment, because I can’t leave you in the office.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

He raises his eyebrows as he looks at you, as if you’ve just made a stupid joke. “No.”

••••••••••

You decided to be a good girl and didn’t put up a fight when he told you it was time to leave the office at the end of the day. You didn’t argue when he ordered food for dinner. You weren’t hostile when he started a conversation. You played his game, just like he expected you to, as if you understood why he was so keen on keeping you close. 

You even offered him a chance to lure Hayes to the party your company was holding for the employees the next day. When he agreed to do it on the condition of him and his team attending too, you said good night, and went to sleep. But that didn’t last long, the moment you heard his bedroom door close, you sneaked out and returned to your office. 

But the next day he found you. You were sitting behind your desk, signing a couple of documents your assistant left behind for you, when you heard footsteps getting closer.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he yelled, walking around your desk to stand right in front of you.

Morgan raised his hands to calm him down. “Hotch,” he warned his boss, but it felt like he didn’t say a word.

Because he completely ignored the other man, instead he focused on you, his eyes burning a hole into you. “You disappear in the middle of the night without a word? No one knew where you went, he could have found you!”

“Hotch, calm down, she’s safe.”

“Morgan, stay out of this, please.”

“Am I arrested?” you ask, keeping your voice calm and quiet.

He looks back at you. “No, but—”

“Then I can go wherever I want,” you tell him. “I don’t need your permission. Hell, you don’t even have proof that he’s after me.”

“But he could be, which is more than enough.”

“Unless you want to arrest me, please, leave the building. If you don’t, I’ll ask security to escort you out,” you inform him, already reaching for your phone to make the call if needed.

Hotch’s eyes soften, and you can see his desperation. “Don’t do this,” he asks you.

Silence follows his words, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning this one. So, rolling your eyes, you close your laptop and stand up, already moving past him to reach the hallway. If they want to stay, then fine, let them stay, but you’ll sure as hell not stick around. He doesn’t try to stop you, neither does Morgan, although you can feel both men watching as you disappear on the hallway. 

You barely reach the first corner, though, when you find yourself face to face with Hayes, the very man they’ve been trying to protect you from. Fuck. But maybe you’re lucky, maybe he’s only here to pick something up from his office, maybe it’s a meeting, maybe it’s anything other than the need to hurt you. Flashing a friendly smile at him, you say, “John, I thought you were on leave.”

“There’s something I have to take care of,” he says, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. 

“Okay. I’ll spend most of the day in my lab, so if you need anything, you kn—” You don’t finish the sentence, because he suddenly pulls out a gun and points it at you. “John, put that away,” you try weakly.

Hayes closes the distance between you to grab your arm and yank you towards the stairs. “Come with me.”

“There are innocent people here, don’t do something you would regret later.”

“This has to be done,” he says, and you can hear the determination in his voice, mixed with a hint of insanity. 

Before you could get far, though, you’re both stopped by a familiar voice when Hotch's angry voice cuts through the air. “Hayes, let her go,” he instructs. 

The man steps behind you and pushes the barrel of the gun at your head. “No! Take one step closer and I’ll shoot her.”

“You only wanted to protect her and the company, didn’t you? Killing her would ruin your plan,” Morgan tries to reason, although you’re not quite sure he’s in the right state of mind to process that properly.

“She doesn’t appreciate what I do for her.”

“I’m sure she does.”

“No! She didn’t say thank you after I punished those people, she didn’t even answer my calls and messages.”

You gulp, feeling like this whole mess is your fault, that maybe if you talked to him, you would’ve found out what he did sooner. “John, please,” you beg him. 

“Shut up!”

Before anyone else could speak up, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye when the assistant of one of the deputy CEO’s steps out of the main meeting room, and she cries loudly when she notices the weapons. “What’s—Oh my god!” she says, her voice laced with panic. 

This averts Hayes’s attention, and he lets go of you just enough to give Morgan the chance to shoot him. You look down at the body on the floor, blood pooling around him as the agent comes closer to check his pulse. “He’s dead,” he announces, turning to his boss before looking back at you. 

You’re crying, you can’t stop yourself, and you’re only pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by Hotch’s worried voice as he moves closer and extends his arms. “Come here.” You don’t even think about it, you only follow your instincts and let him pull you into a tight hug. “He can’t hurt you anymore, you’re safe,” he whispers to you, then turns to his colleague. “Morgan, take care of this, I’ll take her back to her office.”

“Okay, you got it,” comes the answer. 

“I’m fine, you don’t need to come with me,” you note as you step away from him and wipe the tears away. “Would you like me to evacuate the building?”

“No, only close this floor.”

“Sure.”

Hotch grabs your shoulders and turns you back to face him. “Look at me.” When you do, he goes on, his voice soft and worried. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you mumble.

“You’re pushing me away, but you shouldn’t be alone now.”

You shrug. “Then Morgan could stay by my side until you are ready to let me go.”

“Hey, I think it would be better if you stayed with Hotch,” the agent says. 

“What did I do to you? Did I hurt you?” you ask him, sounding as serious as you manage in this situation. 

Morgan groans as he rolls his eyes at you. “Come on.”

“You’re childish, and stubborn, and getting on my nerves now,” Hotch states impatiently. “Let’s go, I need to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?”

“About Hayes holding you at gunpoint.”

“But you saw what happened.”

“Not the whole thing.”

Since there is nothing you can do considering you’re expected to work together with them, you follow him to your office, where you lean against the desk with your arms defensively folded over your chest. “You’re overreacting,” you inform him. 

Hotch scoffs, giving you a disapproving look. “You left my house and he almost murdered you. Since when does being worried about you count as overreacting?”

“And why are you worried? Who am I to you exactly?” you ask in an attempt to challenge him. 

He watches you for a short while, and you have absolutely no idea what’s going on inside his head. But then, out of nowhere, he places a hand on your neck and pulls you into a kiss. A soft one that’s full of emotions, something he’s been planning to do for a while now. “It’s up to you,” he says quietly, staying close to you. 

“That’s emotional blackmail,” you respond, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you were telling this to yourself. 

He lets out a short laugh, the big smile remaining in place. “Not quite.”

“Hotch, please, this isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing at you, I promise,” he says as he shakes his head. “Have dinner with me. Tonight, before I’m dragged away for work.”

“I can’t.”

You don’t miss the disappointed look on his face as he steps back. “Of course you can’t,” he notes bitterly.

Tilting your head to the side, you reach out for his hand. “Hey, the gala, remember? That’s tonight.” Finally, he remembers. “How about a deal? You join me as my plus one, and we can talk.”

“You’ll ignore me.”

“I won’t.”

“And if you do?”

A playful smile appears on your lips. “You don’t trust me?”

“I just want to make sure you keep your word,” he points out while he laces your fingers. 

“Ouch. I’ll behave.”

He leans down to place a kiss on your forehead, then flashes a smile at you. “That’s all I ask of you.”

Before he could kiss you again, Morgan knocks on the door and watches the pair of you with a teasing grin on his face, but seeing the look his boss sends his way, he decides to leave this for now. Instead, he gives him an update. Despite the conversation happening in your presence, you can’t focus on their words. You’re busy studying Hotch’s face, getting lost in those eyes that caught your attention months ago. Maybe this time he’ll stick around and stop ignoring you.

Maybe this time it can work out. 

[scary-grace]

omg Hana lives au where you’re in her group for a project and keep suggesting studying at her house. You say it’s because she has a library but actually you just think her brother’s cute.

You sent this ask and my brain started clicking, so here is a Hana (and Mon) lives ficlet, ft. a reader who’s lying about her quirk.

“Again?” Hana asks. She heaves a dramatic sigh and flops down over her desk. “We always study at my house.”

“Your house is nicer,” Yue says.

“You have a library and a bunch of pretty windows,” Manami says. “And your backyard is so nice! If the weather’s good we can study outside.”

All of what your friends are saying is true. Hana has the nicest house by far, and the most books you can borrow, but you’re not going to join in the guilt-trip. Hana picks her head up and glances your way. “You’re not going to say anything?”

You can’t. It’ll look suspicious. “I’m fine with wherever,” you say.

“No you’re not,” Yue says, and elbows you. Her elbows are really pointy. “You want to go over to Hana’s too. Say it.”

“Okay, okay,” you say. Maybe not going along with it looks more suspicious than going along with it would. “We have to go over to yours, Hana. Mon loves me, and I promised to go back see him soon.”

“Mon does really like you,” Hana admits. “Better than me. The only person he likes more is Tenko.”

“Is he going to be around?” you ask as casually as possible. “Tenko?”

“Yeah. Why?”

That settles it. You’re going to Hana’s to study if you have to climb over the back fence and study in the grass. “Just figuring out how many snacks to bring. If you’re hosting, I’m bringing food.”

Manami and Yue renew their attack on Hana. “She has a cooking quirk. People pay for her stuff and we get it for free. Come on, Hana —“

Hana heaves an even more dramatic sigh than before, but you can see her smiling slightly. “Fine. My house tomorrow at noon.”

Manami and Yue are grinning, pleased, but you feel a knot of anticipation pulling tight in your chest. You like going to Hana’s, sure, and you love seeing Mon. But you’d rather fail every class between now and graduation than admit to Hana that the reason you always want to study at her place is that you have a crush on her little brother.

You’re not that much older than Tenko is — just a year or so, since you’re a grade ahead in the classes you share with Hana and Yue — and if you told anybody about your crush, the age difference would be the last thing they’d comment on. Tenko can be a little intense, a little earnest, a lot awkward. When you first became friends with Hana, nobody was making him pay for it yet, but then he got to middle school, and you know he got picked on. Hana stood up for him as best she could, and so did you, if someone was mean when you were in earshot. You stood up for him before you had a crush on him. That’s not why you did it.

You’re not sure when you went from the kind of distant fondness you have for your friends’ siblings to this, but it happened, and now you’ll take any chance you get to hang out at Hana’s house. Even if it means you’ll be up all night baking, trying to make the quirk you lied about look real.

You’re at Hana’s house two minutes after noon, with your backpack and two covered trays, one with cupcakes and one with taiyaki. Hana beams. “Sorry I was weird yesterday,” she says as she ushers you inside. “I was worried my dad might try to visit.”

“Oh.” You know Hana’s parents are divorced — messily divorced, and Hana has really mixed feelings about her dad, who lives in a luxury apartment on the other side of town. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s good. I told him he couldn’t visit because I had friends coming over to study, so it all worked out.”

Hana lifts the trays out of your hands while you take off your shoes and goes to set them on the table. As you straighten up, you hear the sound of paws pattering across the floor. “Mon?”

Mon pounces on you, much more spry than his white-flecked muzzle would suggest, and you crouch down to greet him. You don’t have a dog of your own, but you’ve always been a dog person, and Mon’s your favorite by a mile. You tell him so. “Who’s the most handsome man? I missed you so much —“ He bounces up on his hind legs to lick your nose, and you laugh. “I promised I’d come back. You don’t have to give me that many kisses.”

“He wants you to pet him.”

That’s Tenko’s voice, and just like that, you’re nervous. You look up to find him watching you from around the corner, dark-haired and grey-eyed, halfway in the shadows. “You never pet him,” he continues. He got cuter since the last time you saw him. How is that possible? “Why not?”

“Do I have to pet him to love him?” you ask awkwardly. “He likes me anyway.”

“Yeah. A lot. But it’s weird that you don’t pet him.” Tenko scratches lightly at the side of his neck with a gloved hand. “If you’re allergic, you shouldn’t let him lick your face.”

“I’m not allergic.” You nudge Mon away, and thankfully, he defaults to sniffing your backpack, giving you an excuse to look at him instead of Tenko. “I promised I’d bring treats for you next time. Give me a second.”

“He can’t eat treats from the store. They’re bad for him.”

“I made these at home,” you say. “There are two kinds — salmon and quinoa, and carrot and cheese.“

Tenko’s quiet. You glance up at him and see a surprised look on his face. “You made him two kinds of treats?”

“I wasn’t sure what he liked best,” you admit. You take the package out of your backpack, and Mon starts slobbering all over your hands as he tries to get you to open it. “Can I give him one?”

Tenko nods, and you open the plastic bag, selecting a carrot and cheese biscuit. “Sorry I was mean,” he says quietly. “I heard Hana tell you. About our dad —“

“It’s okay,” you say. He’s so earnest about stuff. You can’t remember the last time you heard a boy apologize and really mean it. “Um, should I ask Mon to do a trick or something?”

“If you hold it up and say ‘up’ he’ll stand on his hind legs,” Tenko says, and you laugh. “Don’t make him do it for too long. He’s getting old.”

Tenko’s voice catches a little bit on the last words, and breaks your heart a little bit more. “Can he roll over?”

“Yeah. Mon, roll,” Tenko orders, and Mon flops down and log-rolls twice. “Good boy. Now he can have a treat.”

You feed Mon the carrot and cheese biscuit, which he snaps up in two bites. He must like it, because he immediately comes hunting for more. Tenko fishes around in the bag and comes up with one of the salmon biscuits, which he gives to Mon without asking for a trick first. He pets Mon with gloved hands and Mon immediately pops up, licking his cheek and snuffling his ears. Tenko laughs, a quiet, rusty sound that makes your cheeks heat up. “Don’t be dumb. There aren’t any treats in there. She has the treats.”

Watching the two of them interact, you’re amazed that more of Hana’s friends don’t have crushes on Tenko. There’s something sweet about him, something that renders any weirdness or awkwardness or itchiness irrelevant. You know he’s smart, and you think he’s cute, and the fact that he’s a year younger than you and your friend’s brother shouldn’t matter at all.

But it does matter, because when Hana calls your name, you jump out of your skin like you’ve been caught stealing from the cookie jar. “Where did you go?” she complains, then rounds the corner. “You don’t have to win Mon’s heart with treats. He already likes you second-best out of everybody.”

“He does,” Tenko agrees. He glances sideways at you, somehow managing to look up at you through his eyelashes even though you’re both the same height crouching down. “I can tell.”

You try not to blush and mostly fail, because it’s not Mon’s heart you’re trying to win. And even though you know you shouldn’t, even though you know it’s a bad idea, you reach out to pet Mon’s ears, stealing a little bit of life from yourself and passing it along to him.

[captain039]

PART 6 Unconventional Alpha

Alpha!Viktor x omega!reader

Warnings: Heats, suppressants, AOB, light swearing, Viktor’s not dying but still disabled, reader has chronic pain, plus size reader, nesting, Older Viktor, Professor Viktor, artistic reader, age gap reader is in their 20s +, virgin reader, first times, smut, oral f receiving

Previous part <-

When you wake up again it’s hell. Your whole body is protesting your existence, it’s too hot under Viktor’s blanket, you kick it off then groan at the pain in your hips. You let out a small fake sob, half fake anyway. You hear the soft thud of a cane against the floor and see a concerned Viktor in the doorway.

“I’m fine, just complaining,” you say voice croaky from sleep. His eyes glance at the blanket you’ve discarded on the floor. He turns on the ceiling fan before walking over, he picks up his blanket and places it neatly on your bed.

“Your heat is in full swing” he says and you nod not bothering to look at him. You can smell his scent even more now making it hard to focus. He frowns a bit his hand touching the exposed skin of your back suddenly. You sigh and let out a small noise akin to a moan, your body tensing instantly hand slapping over your mouth.

“Apologies” he mutters but doesn’t move his hand.

“You’re having a flare up” he says gently and you frown at him wondering how the hell he can figure that out with a simple touch.

“I’ll make you some breakfast, do you have medication?” He asks and stands.

“Yeah top left cupboard, I’ve got bread and butter in the fridge, I don’t want something big” you mutter and he nods before walking off. You sigh feeling bad for making him make you breakfast even if he offered. You don’t think you can move though, the heat spread out your body and the tense muscles of your hips and back make it hell. Viktor returns a plate of toast in his hand with two capsules on the side.

“I’ll get you a water bottle” he says and you gesture to your bedside table vaguely. He lays down the plate on your bed before picking up your water bottle.

“Can you sit up?” He asks and you laugh at him.

“I’ll take that as I no” he smiles not taking your laughter to heart.

“Can I…join you in your nest?” He speaks softly and it makes your heat flare up more, but you nod. He sits down, your water bottle in his hand. He shuffles himself back till his back hits the wall. He places your water bottle by you before leaning over to grab the plate, he takes the two capsules and hands them to you before opening your bottle.

“Sit up so you don’t choke” he coaxes gently and you sigh pushing yourself up more on your pillows so your head is up. You take a sip of water before downing the two capsules and sigh.

“Good girl,” he says quietly and you both tense, you see the pink dust on his cheeks and feel your heat grow needier.

“Toast,” he says quickly putting the plate by you and clearing his throat. You eat slowly in a small awkward silence, you eat one and a half before you sigh and sink into your pillow. He sits there for a moment his cheeks still dusted with pink.

“You’re probably not wanting anymore heat right now” he says in thought and you shake your head.

“Not really, too hot for the heat pad,” you say.

“Wait till the medication sets in” he says and slowly gets off your bed taking the empty plate.

“Thank you” you mumble and he glances back and nods.

The first two days seem bearable, sort of, you manage to walk yourself to the toilet and back so that’s good. The need is only simmering below your skin and in your lower belly. At night it’s a little worse when you hear Viktor’s soft snores and wonder if he’d wake up if you indulged in a little self-pleasure. You can’t though, your room will stink of it and you don’t want to embarrass Viktor anymore than he probably already is having to babysit you. The third night you’re agitated, by your thoughts, by the growing need, you had almost beg for a simple touch when Viktor brings you food. Now you lie awake cursed you can’t move freely or bring this need down even a bit. You’ve moved your nest around a bit to accommodate your pain, and there’s a towel under you too in case certain things get worse, it feels scratchy though and you hate it. Viktor’s blanket doesn’t smell like him any more either and it’s making you annoyed. You hear movement from your lounge and the gentle sigh of Viktor getting off the pull-out sofa, you assume he’s going to the bathroom but when the gentle sounds of his cane come into your room you look at him in the darkness.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

“I’d like to ask you that” he says and you realise you’re probably projecting your emotions into your scent.

“I’m sorry” you mumble. He walks closer and you turn the lamp on reaching a little awkwardly. He looks to your nest in question and you nod before he sits down. You curl your legs up so he can manoeuvre a bit till his back is on the wall.

“Keep your legs straight is better than bent” he takes your ankles and gently tugs them over his lap and you flush a bit and nod keeping back an embarrassing noise of delight when he touches you. You watch his eyes narrow as he keeps his hand resting on your upper ankle.

“Your joints are swollen” he says his voice dropping lower as he gently begins to massage the swollen skin around your ankle.

“Joys of what I have” you say sighing a bit at the gentle pressure. You always hated massages, going to physical therapy they’d massage so roughly, manipulate your muscles and joints, or a massage therapist would be too hard and you’d leave in agony, but this, his slender fingers gently rubbing over the swollen joint like you’re made of glass, gently warming up your skin even more, applying light but nice pressure it’s heaven. Your eyes flutter close and you sigh basking in the tender care of your alpha. You frown though, your alpha, you open your eyes again to look at him finding his intense honeyed eyes on yours. You falter under the rapt attention he gives you. You feel seen and cared for, not just another face in the crowd or something to be pitied or manipulated. His hands slide up your exposed legs and you flush a bit knowing you haven’t bothered to shave in a week but he doesn’t care. He slowly moves almost like a graceful predator, lean body crawling over yours till he’s hovering above you. He keeps his hands by your head, one leg bent and at your side the other no doubt his bad leg stretched out beside yours. You breathe him on, his scent and sigh contently at the smell of alpha filling your nose.

“Will you let me help you?” He asks his voice a husky whisper you barely catch. You nod not entirely sure which meaning to go with before you see him slide down your body again and rest between your legs. You feel yourself go incredibly hot and not just from the heat you’re in, your heart pounds and your body instantly knows preparing itself for an alpha. You feel an embarrassingly wet patch soak from your underwear through your shorts and you watch as his nose flared and his eyes darken. His eyes flick to yours before he gently kisses your thighs, you feel your hands itching to cover your face but the way his eyes hold yours it’s impossible to look away.

“Lift your hips slowly” he says and you use your legs to lift your hips. He moves quickly sliding down your sleep shorts and underwear in one go before helping you lower your hips back to the bed and placing gentle kisses there. He sits up and guides your left leg to the same side as the right and takes your lower garments off and lies them on the bed before spreading your legs again. You resist the urge to clamp your thighs shut knowing your body is already producing slick.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks his eyes gazing into yours and you take a small breath and shake your head, you need this, your heat makes you fuzzy with need and desire. He nods and slowly lowers himself back between your thighs, he gently noses your inner thigh taking a deep breath a low growl rumbling from his chest that is purely alpha satisfaction and it makes you whine. You feel his breath fan over your mound, his nose trailing down to your slit. His eyes flick to yours once more before you feel his fingers spread your lips apart and a hot tongue at your entrance that makes you gasp. You do everything to sit still while he takes long slow licks at your slicked entrance but your hips move to meet his tongue.

“Keep your hips still love, I don’t want you hurting them any more than they already are,” he says in a low voice his accent coming through thicker. You nod and hold your hips still despite the jolts of pleasure that go through you at the slow dance his tongue does. Your arms covering your face your mouth parted slightly as soft pants leave your lips embarrassingly but you swear you feel your omega nature purr and bask in this. You were already so on the edge your heat making everything heightened, you could feel your orgasm building embarrassingly quick and struggle to hold back. His tongue presses against your clit applying the pressure you need, a few strokes of his tongue and you’re coming quickly with a strained cry and arch of your back, you feel his arm over your hips holding you down though so you don’t hurt yourself.

“That’s it” you hear faintly too clouded by pleasure as you feel your inner walls clamp around nothing. His tongue makes you oversensitive as he cleans up your juices before lifting his head. You press your palms to your eyes and feel a wave of emotions go over you, you let out a small sob and feel Viktor crawling back up your body with gentle hushes.

“You’re alright sweetheart, just breathe” he whispers prying your hands from your eyes. You look at him with watery eyes and feel humiliated by crying after an orgasm.

“Too much,” he says softly not as a question but as fact as he lies on his side and brings you to nuzzle into his neck and your nose by his scent gland.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you” he murmurs and cradles you gently.

“You didn’t, I don’t know why I’m crying,” you say breathing in his calming alpha scent your hands gripping his shirt.

“It’s your heat, everything is overwhelming on edge, your emotions especially so” his hand gently massages your scalp and you find yourself calming down at the alpha's touch. You take a big breath trying to calm yourself down your hands unclenching from his shirt.

“It’s probably ten times harder due to being on suppressants so long, your flare up too, as well as not being mated ok?” He speaks softly and you nod relaxing against him. You move so your hips aren’t aching and sigh.

“Can I hold onto you?” You ask softly.

“Of course you can sweetheart” he says holding you closer. Your arms go around his lean frame and you sigh contently. He reaches down tugging his blanket up and over you so your lower half isn’t exposed.

“Doesn’t smell like you anymore” you whisper.

“It doesn’t does it?” he chuckles softly.

“I’ll bring you a new one tomorrow” he adds continuing his gently scalp massage that makes your eyes droop close.

“Like the source better” you mumble sleepily feeling him smile as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Taglist:

@donnie-is-here

@imithicwolf

@justmoniesworld

@sseleniaa

@charliepoopyfart

[hvnlygrl]

hii! for your celebration (congrats!) wb a rafe cameron blurb based off no. 1 party anthem. maybe something where he meets a girl at a party and basically becomes enamored with her?

no. 1 party anthem. (AG epilogue)

pairing — rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count — 0.7k

synopsis — rafe sees you at a party and can’t help but be drawn to you

song — no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys

notes — but i love this request and i love ur blog aesthetic so much its so fire — tysm for sending in an ask!!

join my follower celebration — until feb. 3rd!

alaskan girl masterlist.

rafe was never the type to be obsessed, but here he was, letting his eyes follow you from spot to spot as you chatted and laughed with old friends. he was surprised at how many people you knew despite never having seen you around the island before.

you eluded confidence in every sense of the word, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to you instantly. there was just something about you that intrigued him, something that made him need to know you.

but rafe couldn’t make himself get up and go over to you, so he just opted to watch from a distance as he sipped on his drink.

you seemed to be totally unaware of the set of eyes that trailed you from group to group, that is, until you made eye contact with them.

you watched the boy’s eyes shoot away for a beat, his cheeks going flush with brief embarrassment. it made you wonder how long he’d been watching you for.

you tapped your friend, discreetly pointing in his direction, “who is that?”

she scanned the room, confused for a moment before realizing who you were talking about.

“oh no, y/n don’t even think about it,” she warned precariously.

“what?” you raised a curious brow at her, “why?”

“that’s rafe cameron,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “obx’s number one residing douchebag and womanizer.”

you laughed in response, “yea, and you have the best judge of character, right?”

with that reply, she knew there was nothing she could do to change your mind. “ugh. fine, just don’t say i didn’t warn you, babe.”

“yea, yea,” you wave her off, “what happened to not judging a book by it's cover?”

she shakes her head at you, watching you as you move to the other side of the room. you find a semi-secluded area on a large sectional that you can get comfy on, allowing your eyes to trail back up to rafe.

he looks back over to where you were originally standing, heart beating in his throat when he realizes you’re no longer there. he’s almost sure that your friend was telling you about how he’s the devil incarnate and probably much worse, and his confidence drops to an all-time low.

and then he sees you, alone on the couch, looking back at him with a sweet, almost angelic smile.

he chugs the rest of his drink, adjusts the backward hat on his head and makes his way over to you. “now or never,” he whispers to himself.

“hi,” he gives you a soft smile when he reaches the couch.

“hi there,” you smile back, “what’s up?”

“nothing much,” he shrugs nervously, “i’m rafe.”

“y/n,” you hum back, extending a hand out to him. he shakes it and then reverts back to standing awkwardly. “wanna sit down? you’re making me nervous, rafe.”

he chuckles at the statement, cheeks flushing red again as he finds a spot next to you. “are you new here?”

“yes and no,” you scrunch your nose up as you try and find the right words. “i grew up here when i was a kid, but my mom just moved back so this summer is kind of a trial run to see if i like it enough that i’m gonna stay for good.”

“and if you hate it?”

“then it’s back to alaska for me,” you take a sip of your drink before glancing at his reaction.

“alaska? that’s far away,” he gapes at you.

“yea, and cold as fuck.” he laughs at your blunt statement. “i’m really hoping i’ll like it here, though.”

rafe can tell by your tone that it’s meant to have a double meaning. he smirks, more sure of himself now, “i think you will.”

“oh yea? how so?”

“cause you’ll have the best tour guide in the obx,” he grins at you, hand raised in triumph.

“how could i hate it?” you grin back, raising your cup in toast, “to loving obx.”

“to loving obx,” rafe can’t help but feel as though he’s only fallen deeper for you in the span of the conversation and part of that scares him. but he also knows that this could be his chance to start over with someone that doesn’t know all the bad shit about him and his family.

patrons at the party watch in awe as the two of you sit for hours, just laughing and telling stories, all of them completely shocked at the lack of moves rafe tries to put on you.

-> back to masterlist

[selkiepede]

Really like these!! Really do, some of these haven't even really crossed my mind before. I was thinking of adding on a bit around having a hard time playing in general. Maybe they don't let themselves toys because its hard to make up something fun to play. Maybe they actually really do want a big playset but can't imagine much more to do with it except set it up and arrange it so for now something else will do. ^ If they do get one, they can't get a lot of use out of it. Their cg joins and they're so much funnier. They even get upset that they can't reciprocate and make the other laugh too. Or, if they have biological siblings, it just feels too different to how it used to. Too clinical, too measured, they don't bounce off each other enough. I like the lashing out. Maybe they feel like their efforts have been undermined, maybe they fear having their buddies replaced. Maybe its the cg that lashes out because the gift cost money, or they feel like their point isn't being considered, or (sinisterly) they want a more picture-perfect dynamic.

Smaller ideas are not being able to get exact childhood toys, so they substitute it with more universal experiences like leaf boats and whatever. Or if they're a baby (or lower) regressor they only want things like wordplay, smaller activities, peekaboos etc. which are hard to get without a cg, or with a cg that isn't acquainted with their needs enough.

P.S. regressor who resorts to sleeping when small usually cause they have nothing to do which makes them groggy when their newly-found caregiver actually wants to do something :-)

These are all a bit on the gloomy side but it all can be fixed however whenever. Not an end-all... I linger too much on the 'hurt' part. F2U if it ever crosses anyone's mind

huge fan of stories about age regressors who have little to no gear and make use of other things when they feel tiny, such as:

Pillows and blankets

One (1) childhood plushie

Drawing with pencils and pens

Sucking their thumb

Making friends out of cardboard, string, googly eyes, etc

playing the same old DVDs from their childhood over and over again

Using non-toys as toys and getting super attached to them

Playing pretend in bad situations to get through them a little easier

Using sticks, mud, pinecones, etc as part of their play

Which of course leads nicely into:

Exploding with joy when receiving more widely accepted “childish” gifts like legos and stuffies

Doing things like hanging out at a playground with their buddies, but actually enjoying it instead of doing it ironically

Enjoying babysitting since they get to play with the kids

Losing it if their “toys” get damaged or lost … or thrown away

Having one tiny box in their room full of things they don’t want others to see

Going from 0 to baby immediately when a CG actually presents them with a real toy or pacifier

Or, alternatively, being so ashamed of the idea of taking it that they lash out at the would-be cg

Having the BEST private Christmas or birthday EVER with their cg

Feel free to add on I love prompts!!

[maxdibert]

In my opinion, Albus Dumbledore is one of the most hypocritical and despicable characters in Harry Potter—if not the most. I find it outrageous that this old man dares to say he’s disgusted by Severus when he’s not all that different. My soul cringes at all the "greatness" surrounding him, and his whole "for the greater good" rhetoric feels like a cold shower, as if people have a moral obligation to die to save the world.

Severus, a mere pawn in the grand scheme of things, is disgusting because he joined the wrong side, but the great and kind Albus is a symbol of the resistance against evil—even though he was practically Grindelwald's right-hand man. This attitude of placing himself above someone like Severus is so infuriating.

Not to mention all the mental gymnastics he does, belittling and minimizing Severus’s trauma, making him seem crazy when he snapped in POA. Apparently, the past is only condemnable when it’s convenient.

My problem with Dumbledore goes way back, long before the whole thing with Severus even came into play. I already thought he was quite a self-righteous prick for claiming to care so much about people and then leaving Sirius Black to fend for himself. I mean, the whole situation with Sirius, Peter, and the Potters never sat right with me. Seriously, with all of them supposedly under his command—because he was the ultimate leader of the four—when Sirius is allegedly the culprit, Dumbledore just lets him go to Azkaban without even probing his mind to see what happened?

Having a supposed Voldemort ally, a double-agent serial killer, and you seriously don’t want to extract every piece of information from him? You’re not interested in investigating what really went down there? Or maybe he probably knew Sirius wasn’t a threat but didn’t care because he’d already achieved what he wanted: Voldemort out of the picture for a while and the kid being watched over at his aunt and uncle’s house. That initial question then evolved into: The kid at his aunt’s house protected by his dead mother’s spell while a double agent infiltrates the enemy ranks, willing to do anything for Dumbledore’s validation? (Once it became known about Lily’s spell and that Severus had been working for Dumbledore).

Even before I had the full picture, Dumbledore’s attitude toward Sirius smelled fishy. It seemed really off and totally incoherent for someone who supposedly cared about the people under his command. This feeling intensified for me in the fourth book and then really hit home in the fifth. Sirius is essentially the only emotional support Harry truly finds in an adult. Sure, Sirius is dysfunctional in himself, but Harry sees him as the father figure he never had, or at least that connection to his parents he so desperately needs. It’s canon that he needs to talk to him, even if it’s just to vent.

Doesn’t the kid matter to you enough to use your super-powerful, highly respected wizard influence to clear Sirius’s name so the kid can at least spend weekends with him in Hogsmeade? I mean, come on. I’ve seen many people try to justify this by saying, “If Sirius were available, Harry would have wanted to go live with him and leave the Dursleys, and Lily’s spell wouldn’t work,” but that’s pure bullshit. Just tell Sirius that what keeps Harry alive is being at his aunt’s house. Sirius is rich enough to buy a house in Privet Drive and be close to the kid so he wouldn’t have to leave. It’s not that complicated.

But this is something I thought of later with the last book. What really bothered me in the fourth was: why wasn’t Dumbledore doing anything? Why, in the fifth book, does he have a guy who’s clearly a walking time bomb locked up in his childhood home? Just waiting for him to finally explode? Honestly, when I read the fifth book, I thought maybe Dumbledore put Sirius there and set all those restrictions because he knew him well enough to know he’d eventually snap and do something reckless, and Dumbledore could just wash his hands of it. Even before all the truth came out, before the seventh book, Dumbledore already disgusted me. With everything in hindsight, not only does my nearly two-decade-old theory still make sense, but I firmly believe it’s true. I think Sirius Black annoyed Dumbledore, not only because of how he could influence Harry but because he was a disruptive element. He was a soldier who didn’t blindly follow orders, someone explosive, with an uncontrollable temperament, whose leitmotif had always been opposing authority. I think Dumbledore knew that Sirius probably only stayed somewhat stable in the Order because of James, and once James was out of the picture, there was no one to handle him. So, indeed, he became a nuisance. He could do without him. Sirius wasn’t useful because he was too temperamental and impulsive for espionage or information gathering. He wasn’t helpful offensively because he systematically questioned authority and wouldn’t follow Dumbledore’s orders unless he had a good reason. So, Dumbledore let him remain a fugitive and then locked him up in his childhood home, which was essentially his greatest trauma, and left him there to drink himself into misery until he couldn’t take it anymore, snapped, did something stupid, and ended up dead.

But not only that, Dumbledore’s attitude toward his students always annoyed me. I’ve always hated favoritism because I was raised that way. My mother was a teacher at the school I attended until I was about 12, and I never got any special treatment. She was literally tougher on me than on anyone else. As a kid, I could never understand why Dumbledore showed so much favoritism toward Gryffindors. I could kind of get that Slytherins were the “bad guys” and blah blah blah, but there were two other houses he completely ignored. Over time, and with maturity, this feeling only grew stronger.

When I read the sixth book, I was genuinely outraged because the guy condemned Tom Riddle when he was just a kid. Like, ??? How is it possible to make those judgments when they’re just children? I also thought it was absurd that he told Draco not to do it. I mean, after six years of totally ignoring him because to you, he’s just a Slytherin son of purists doomed to darkness, you tell him not to follow the orders of the maniac threatening his family?? Don’t you think if you’d done your job as a teacher and stepped in earlier to make the kid question what his parents were telling him, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in this situation? Don’t you realize you abandoned and ostracized an ENTIRE HOUSE FULL OF KIDS highly susceptible to supremacist ideas, didn’t give a damn, and now you’re surprised when decades of negligence result in those kids choosing the wrong path? Don’t you understand that the alternative to following Voldemort is following you, and the only thing they know about you is that you either ignore them or constantly favor their rivals? Like, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU EXPECT?

And then there’s the Severus issue. Some people say Dumbledore was the only one who understood Severus. Yeah, sure, he understood him all right. He understood him well enough to use all his traumas against him, manipulate him, and turn him into a weapon. Some people also say Dumbledore was like a father figure to him. I don’t doubt that Severus might have seen him that way, as a positive paternal figure (finally, after his father and Voldemort) whom he wanted to please because he felt that if Dumbledore validated him, it meant he was becoming a better person and redeeming himself—maybe in a way similar to how he saw Lily as someone through whom to measure the right direction. But this wasn’t reciprocal. Dumbledore didn’t give a damn. Dumbledore saw Severus the same way he saw Harry: as a weapon. He realized Severus was an unstable, scared boy with a massive load of guilt, and being fully aware of the power of guilt from his own experience, he decided to exploit it. He knew Severus was talented, knew he could become even more so, so he locked him in a gilded cage: left him at Hogwarts, which had never been a home to him but a torment, kept him closely monitored, and used his skills whenever he wanted.

Dumbledore is the perfect kind of person to be a general in a war. Honestly, he’s amazing at it. He understands that soldiers are weapons and must be prepared to die for the greater cause. He understands that wars have casualties and that’s okay as long as those casualties help move closer to victory. He understands that sacrifices must be made and that if those sacrifices bring us closer to the goal, that’s fine. He gets that disruptive or dissonant elements that could jeopardize his plans need to be eliminated. He perfectly combines Machiavelli’s style with Sun Tzu’s: make your soldiers see you not as a superior but as a father.

He earns absolute devotion by embodying this fatherly figure that inspires trust, but deep down, his mind is a tangle of plans. His goal is to defeat Voldemort (who, by the way, is also a product of his own negligence, because if he hadn’t been such a crappy teacher, maybe he would’ve noticed the red flags and stopped Riddle earlier, but okay). If defeating Voldemort means a bunch of teenagers have to die, another kid ends up in prison, a child has to sacrifice his life, or the people around him are manipulated, so be it.

I understand this philosophy—it’s very military—but I don’t agree with it because I hate that kind of mentality. I could respect it if it weren’t for the fact that Dumbledore, on top of it all, is so moralistic. The guy who should be the last to pass judgment on others’ decisions, who should keep his damn mouth shut, is constantly moralizing, being condescending, and posing as the champion of morality and the compass of good and evil. Honestly, I would have slapped him in the face, I swear. What a jerk. So many messed-up people, all because he was a narcissistic prick. Screw him.

[abarbaricyalp]

If you’re still taking mini fic prompts, I’d love to see your take on “things you said while we were driving” for Sambucky!

Hi!!! The temptation to make this a Twisters au was so great but, no, it's a minific, have some self control

From this ask meme

The drive from DC to Delacroix was somewhere between 16 and 19 hours, depending on how badly they were tearing up the road along the way and what time of day it was. Bucky could usually get it down to fifteen or even fourteen, if it was dark and he had a scanner running. Still, it was always easier to fly.

But, between the way him and Sam looked at the moment, the fact that the wings and shield weren't exactly checked items, and they were ferrying some suspect files, some kind of liquid the color of hell rot, and something called a landshark, the plane wasn't really a viable option.

So they had dragged themselves out of a safe house, argued about who got to drive, and set off. (Sam had lost. His left arm was broken in two places and he had a cast and brace on, two new pieces of metal in the bone) (Bucky had made a joke that now they matched and waved his left arm around, to make Sam smile. It had the opposite effect, with Sam scowling and ignoring him for the first hour of the drive) (Sam was a terrible patient)

At some point, he'd shoved his face against the window, trying to sleep, and Bucky had nearly veered off the road in his haste to stop the truck. "You can't do that," he fussed as he dug out a coat from the back seat. The landshark creature growled at him when Bucky accidentally smacked its side. "You have a concussion."

"I'm fine," Sam groaned. "You're not gonna bruise my brain any more by hitting a pothole."

Bucky still shoved the coat at Sam, balled up and ready for use. Grudgingly, Sam used it as a pillow against the window and tried to lay his head back down.

A few minutes later, the landshark climbed over the console and took up residence in Sam's lap to join in on the nap. Typical, Sam was a friend to animals everywhere. It would track that even the fake ones would like him.

They slept for four hours straight, Bucky reaching over to rub the back of Sam's neck every half hour. Sam still woke up with a crick in it.

"Almost halfway there," Bucky told him as he stretched and the landshark climbed back into the backseat with their gear and bags.

"Let me have a shift," Sam muttered. He rubbed his eyes, squinted out the windshield, then rubbed them again.

"Yeah, you seem like you're in great shape for it," Bucky agreed sarcastically. "This is hardly the longest I've been up for. I'm fine."

"It's getting dark," Sam argued. "We should stop for food at least. You need to stretch."

"You're forgetting who you're dealing with."

"Maybe you're forgetting who you are. You don't have to push yourself to the brink all the time."

"But you ought to use that broken arm and concussion instead?"

Sam shrugged, then grimaced when it obviously jostled his shoulder. Bucky made a noise without looking over again.

"You're gonna exhaust yourself," he muttered.

"And there's a beach chair with my name on it at the end of this, so I'll recover quickly."

"It does not have your name on it," Sam grumbled. "It literally has my name carved in the arm."

Bucky knew that. He'd traced the old, worn letters many times. "I could add my name," he suggested.

"Don't you dare. That's my chair."

The landshark made a reappearance before Bucky could really neddle in. It sat on the center console and kept looking between the both of them. Sam put his hand on its head, having to move his whole casted arm to do it.

"Can you pet a shark?" he asked.

"One direction, yeah. Don't drag your hand up from its tail."

"Why not? Aren't sharks smooth?"

"Wilson, I swear to God--"

Sam squeezed the inside of Bucky's thigh. He had to use his right arm to reach, which meant he'd had to turn in his seat some. If Bucky's alertness had flagged any (it hadn't) he was certainly fully awake now. He kept his eyes very firmly on the road.

"Relax, old man, I was just messing with you."

Sam probably would've kept his hand on Bucky’s leg for a while longer, except that he was turned in his seat. He let go and raised both arms enough for the landshark to get back into his lap.

"Are you hungry?" Bucky asked eventually.

"Yeah, I could eat," Sam answered, which meant they had about twenty minutes to get food in him before he got snippy.

Bucky passed over his phone (he had all the routes to Delacroix memorized but he liked to know about construction) and told Sam to find some place.

Sam chose some burger joint eight miles down the road and passed the phone back. He turned his attention back to the window, rolling it down and putting his hand out into the warm night air. He rested his chin on his bicep as he glided his hand through the air currents.

Bucky watched him, the one singular, focused spot against a blurry background of stars and trees. Sam was usually his one focused spot in a world that seemed to be nothing but tumbling, out of control speeding blurs, so that was nothing new.

But the moonlight and scarce freeway lights splashed across Sam's face, and the idle way he kept trying to pet the creature in his lap without moving his arm, and the quiet concentration he'd fallen into were all very overwhelming.

He'd meant to say, 'put your arm back in the car before you lop it off on an exit sign.' What he actually said, breathy and endeared, was, "I'm so in love with you."

Sam startled upright and he pulled his arm back into the truck, so at least that part worked. "What?" he asked.

The creature in his lap was annoyed by the sudden movement, but it just turned in one circle and laid back down in the other direction.

Bucky's face felt like it was on fire. It was definitely hotter than the air coming in from outside. Hell, he was blushing so bad, he was beginning to feel it in his left arm. "Whatever, you should know," he mumbled. It's not like he could take the words back out of the air or pretend he'd said something else. Those were pretty distinct words.

Sam didn't respond right away. Bucky very much so considered jumping out of the cab.

The exit for the burger place came up and he took it without really thinking about it, or really anything that wasn't the shocked span of Sam's eyes.

When Sam did say something, it was, "Don't rip the steering wheel out."

"What?" Bucky asked in exasperation.

"Your knuckles are so white, I thought it was bone. Relax your hands."

Bucky did. The material of the steering wheel creaked with the release. "One day, you're gonna stop thinking that joke's funny."

"You said you loved me," Sam countered. And he definitely meant it as a counter argument.

"It should've been obvious."

Sam startled a little again, like a violent shiver. "How long should it have been obvious for?"

Bucky shrugged. "I dunno. Obvious? Since Latvia, at least."

"Latvia?" Sam half shouted, strangled. The landshark vacated his lap. "We didn't start... dating or whatever for months after that! What do you mean, since Latvia?"

Bucky shrugged again, felt his fingers tighten around the wheel once more. "I don't know, Sam. I haven't been hiding it."

"Oh, bullshit!" Sam argued. "You disappeared right after that again."

Bucky's jaw tightened. There was no argument for that. He had. "I didn't know what to do with it. How to hold it, where to put it, how to show it. It's been a long time. And you're... It felt like diving straight into the ocean. The deep part of it. And I've been learning how to swim in the middle of a hurricane ever since."

Again, Sam didn't immediately reply. Bucky was beginning to hate that. The burger joint came up from between a thick line of trees and Bucky almost missed it, but the parking lot was long enough that he could pull into the far side of it. He killed the engine and tried to dash out of the car. This would be less painful than jumping out on the freeway.

Sam nabbed his sleeve before he could grab the door and Bucky froze because Sam was using his left hand. The last thing Bucky needed to do was aggravate his splints.

"Don't run away again," he said.

"We're literally going into the same diner," Bucky pointed out, playing at dumb because that was easier than accepting Sam's metaphor.

Sam just stared at him. For a man with as many injuries as he was sporting, his face was remarkably clear. Bucky was the one who looked like he'd gone three rounds with a rock 'em sock 'em robot. There was one gash across Sam's eyebrow and his nose was a little swollen, plus the bruise at his temple that made Bucky's heart stop every time he thought it had changed shape. But he was still perfectly Sam. Still staring at Bucky, waiting for him to respond like an adult.

"I'm not running away," he breathed finally. "You're the one who looks like he's ready to bolt."

"I'm not bolting," Sam said. He let go of Bucky's sleeve, but took his hand before Bucky could go for the door again. "But don't drop that on me in the middle of a seventeen hour drive while I'm concussed and on pain meds."

"You do need to take more meds," Bucky said.

Sam looked unimpressed.

"I'm not gonna be sorry for loving you," Bucky added. "I'm not apologizing for saying it. But... don't tell Sarah that I did and you didn't like it."

"I didn't say I didn't like it."

"Sam," Bucky sighed, his turn with the unimpressed eyes.

"I didn't. I just...wasn't expecting it."

Bucky squeezed Sam's hand and let go of it, finally shoving open the door. "We should get something for your new friend. What do they even eat? License plates?" he asked, stalling and distracting as he got out.

Sam sighed from inside the cab, but he followed Bucky out of the truck. "I'm sure a few extra burgers will do the job."

Bucky scrubbed at his face, willing his blush to go away or for any of the bruises that still pulsed beneath his skin to hide it. He looked up at the sky, the stars so damn bright in the middle of Fuckall, North or South Carolina. And for just a second, they were still and warm and Sam was the blur in front of him.

But Sam grabbed his sleeve again and pulled him onto the porch of the diner. The stars tilted away as Sam put two fingers to Bucky's jaw and kissed him.

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 15 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: Buck’s hands trail down to your hands. He takes his in yours. “Do you love him?” “Buck.” “I know you love me,” Buck continues, playing with your fingers. “You know I love you. But I’m asking if you love him.” The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14

(gif made by me) Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: angst, discussion of feelings (idk it feels worth a warning)

You slowly blink awake, wincing at the harsh sunlight flooding Eddie’s bedroom window. You roll over and sit up, stretching your hands over your head. You let out a groan as your spine cracks in protest.

You yawn, rubbing your hand down your face as you walk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Your throat dries when you see Buck and Eddie sitting at the kitchen table.

“Hey,” you greet awkwardly, then make a beeline towards the coffee maker.

“You aren’t supposed to drink coffee if you’re…”

“If I’m what, Buck?” You chuckle lightly as you grab a mug. “You can say the word ‘pregnant.’ It’s not a curse or something.”

Buck lets out a breath that resembles a laugh. “Right. Sorry.”

You shrug it off. “Besides, pregnant people can have 200mg of caffeine a day, which is about a cup and half of coffee.”

Buck looks at Eddie.

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Are you gonna take it away from her? Because I’m not.”

You lean against the counter with a satisfied grin.

Buck takes a sip of his own coffee. “So, we’re really doing this?”

Your grin fades and your mouth fills with sand. “Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, this isn’t how I imagined it happening, but… I always knew I wanted at least one kid.”

You’re not naive; this is far from the ideal circumstance. Your jobs are demanding and unpredictable, and adding school on top of it, your life is already chaotic. Adding pregnancy and an eventual baby to the mix? You have no fucking idea how you’ll make it work.

But… you should make it work. Because even if it’s the wrong timing, you have a lot of factors working in your favor. You have a successful career that earns you a decent income. You have not one, but two committed partners. You’re nearing your 30s. It’ll probably never be a ‘good’ time to have a kid, so this might be as good as it’ll get.

At the end of the day, though, you’re only in it if they are, too.

“What do you boys think?”

“I think…” Buck starts, then leans back in his chair. “I think it’s your decision.”

Oh. Wow. He’s… considering other options. Or at least, he’s putting those options on the table. And you know why: it’s because he’s a good man. He doesn’t want you to feel trapped. He’s giving you an out.

But you don’t want an out. And him giving you an out means you can’t help but wonder if he also wants an out. And thinking about that makes your heart fall into your stomach.

“Okay,” you eventually say. You somehow manage to keep your voice level. “Eddie, what about you?”

Eddie breathes in through his nose. You watch his chest rise and fall. “Honestly?”

You nod. You want — need — nothing but complete and utter honesty.

“I’ve always wanted Christopher to have a sibling.”

You smile. You can see Buck nudge Eddie’s foot under the table.

“But, of course, it’s your body, so it’s your choice,” Eddie quickly adds.

You set your coffee cup on the counter behind you so you can wrap your arms around Buck’s shoulders. “I wanna do this.”

Buck turns in your arms to look up at you. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

A smile creeps across his face. He gently pulls your arm so you’re to the side of him. He sets a hand on your stomach. “There’s a baby in there.”

You run a hand through his hair, then look across the table at Eddie. “ Our baby is in there.”

Eddie smiles. You cock your head, silently prompting him. He takes the hint and pushes away from the table, joining the two of you on the other side. He stands between the two of you, setting a hand on each of your shoulders.

“Hey, you have a pregnant girlfriend now, so you can’t be doing stupid shit,” you say softly, wrapping your free arm around his waist.

Eddie’s smile softens a little as he nods. “I’m gonna talk to Bobby, get set up to talk someone.”

“Good,” you say, kissing his cheek, “because we need you around. All three of us.”

Eddie kisses your forehead, then the top of Buck’s head.

Eddie doesn’t talk about his feelings. It’s probably because he grew up in a house where people didn’t talk about their feelings. Sometimes, though, Eddie really thinks it’s just the way that he is. Some people have no problem discussing emotions, and some people… are Eddie Diaz. It’s not a big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

“So… what would you like to talk about, Eddie?”

“I… don’t know,” Eddie says with a sigh.

There are a lot of things he probably should talk about. There’s probably a lot of childhood trauma to unpack, and don’t even get him started on the dead wife and sudden single father thing. He could talk about his parents or his time in the army. The thing is, though, is he doesn’t want to talk about any of that. He’s not here for his inner child, or his dead wife, or his parents, or his army buddies.

He isn’t doing this for himself. He’s doing it for you and Buck.

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it. He furrows his brow in contemplation. “Nothing I say leaves this room, right? I mean, if I tell you something, you can’t tell my captain, right?”

“As long as you don’t plan on hurting yourself or anyone else, nothing you say leaves this room,” Frank replies.

Well, if that’s the case, he may as well talk about the actual reason he’s here.

“My partners are worried about me,” Eddie eventually says.

“Your work partners?”

“No. Well, yes, technically, but…” Eddie sighs again, pinching the skin between his eyebrows. “God, this is so stupid.”

Frank doesn’t say anything, waiting for Eddie to elaborate.

“I have a girlfriend, I have a boyfriend, and we all work together. She’s a paramedic, he’s a firefighter.”

“Do they know that you’re dating both of them?”

“What? Oh, yeah, they were dating each other before I started dating them,” Eddie explains. “It’s… complicated.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

Eddie shrugs. “I guess. That, and the fact that she’s pregnant.”

Frank pauses, looking up from the binder sitting in his lap. “...Are congratulations in order?”

The question brings him back to his conversation with Buck, the one they had before you woke up.

“So… we both want this.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, great! But… if she doesn’t… we have to respect that.”

“Of course.”

“And we have to mention it right off the bat, just in case.”

“Okay.”

“We can’t influence her decision in any way.”

“Alright, Buck.”

“It’s her body, so it’s her choice.”

“Yeah, Buck, I get it!”

He smiles. Eddie hopes you know how much Buck loves you. His smile falters a little. He hopes you know how much he loves you.

“It’s a good thing,” Eddie confirms softly. “It’s great, actually. I’m excited to be a dad again.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m here because my parents are visiting.”

If Eddie’s going to therapy, Buck figured it only makes sense if he also goes to therapy. When he initially brought up the idea, you were supportive, of course, but you also poked a little fun, which he should have expected.

‘ You just have to do everything Eddie does, huh? I’d make a joke about following him into a burning building, but given our job, it doesn’t feel appropriate. ’

In Buck’s defense, he isn’t just doing it because of Eddie — he’s thought about going to therapy for a long time. So when Maddie said their parents were coming to town, Buck figured it was the closest thing to a sign from the universe he would get.

“Well, if them visiting brings you to therapy, something tells me the relationship isn’t great,” Rosemary notes.

Buck figured it was a conflict of interest if Frank was also his therapist, so Bobby set him up with Rosemary instead. She’s a nice-looking woman; not in the sense that he’s attracted to her, but in the sense that she looks like a nice person to be around. Her hair is light grey and curly, and her circle frame glasses cover the smile lines around her green eyes. She looks like someone’s sassy grandmother or maybe a fun great-aunt.

“It’s not great,” Buck says with a light chuckle. “It always felt like it was me and my sister versus them.”

“How so?”

“They… didn’t pay attention to either of us.” It sounds so juvenile when he says it out loud. “I mean, it felt like they only cared about me when I got hurt; I was a pretty reckless kid.”

“Sounds like they were a contributing factor to that,” Rosemary observes. “Children tend to take attention however they can get it, even if it means hurting themselves or others.”

“This sounds crazy, but… it didn’t even feel like I was fighting a real person. They were just a moving punching bag.” Eddie laughs humorlessly. “Kind of an oxymoron, isn’t it? I would spend the whole day helping people, then I would turn around and hurt them.”

Frank taps his pencil against his binder. “You said you didn’t feel like you were fighting a real person. Tell me more about that.”

“What’s there to tell? That’s how I justified it. It’s how I… coped, I guess. If they weren’t real, I wasn’t hurting anyone, and if I wasn’t hurting anyone, it meant I could keep doing it.”

Frank hums in acknowledgment. “How do you cope now?”

“Huh?”

“You changed the way you act, but that doesn’t change the way you feel,” Frank says. “It doesn’t change the fact that you need an outlet. So, how do you cope now?”

“I cope by avoiding them.”

“You’re having dinner with them,” Rosemary points out. “How well do you think avoidance will work when you’re in the same room with them?”

Rosemary may look like someone’s fun great-aunt, but she speaks more like the drunk uncle — with brutal honesty. Buck appreciates it, but he also wants to wince every time she opens her mouth. It’s a confusing combination.

“Probably not that well,” Buck eventually says.

Rosemary smirks. “So how do you plan on getting through it?”

“Maddie,” he says instantly. “Like I said, it’s always been me and her versus them.”

“Even though Maddie’s the one that invited them. Without telling you.”

Yeah, Buck’s been trying not to think about that too hard.

“She wants her daughter to have grandparents,” Buck says.

“What do you want?”

“I want this. It just… isn’t how I pictured it.”

“You didn’t picture yourself marrying Shannon. You did that.”

“Yeah, well, my family was happy to hear about that one,” Eddie expresses. “This? Not so much.”

“You’re afraid of what your family will think.”

Eddie scoffs. “I’m not afraid — I know what they’ll think. And I don’t want to deal with it.”

Frank turns his head. “You must love them a lot.”

Something about that sentence makes the back of Eddie’s throat burn with bile. “W-what?”

“You think your family will be disappointed in you, which will hurt them. You don’t want to hurt them because you love them.”

Eddie’s jealous of you and Buck for a lot of different reasons. He’s jealous of Buck’s close relationship with his sister. He’s jealous of your skills and ambition. Not once, though, has he ever envied either of your family dynamics.

Until now.

See, Maddie figured out the whole ‘throuple’ thing pretty quickly, mostly because Buck can’t lie to her. It took her a while to adjust, but she doesn’t care — she doesn’t judge. The only family you have to tell is the 118. Buck doesn’t have a relationship with either of his parents, and you don’t talk to your only living parent.

He’s jealous of how easy it is for the two of you. Neither of you has to explain the relationship to your elderly grandmother or preteen son. Sometimes, it seems like the two of you get all the good parts of being together, and he gets stuck with the sucky parts. It’s not fair to feel that way, he knows that. But he can’t help but feel it.

“My parents had a lot of expectations for me,” Eddie says. “Dating two people at the same time and possibly knocking up one of them? Not one of the expectations.”

“You’re not going to tell them, then.”

“I just don’t see the point. All I would be doing is giving them more ammunition.”

“Hmm.”

Buck narrows his eyes. “What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

“Well,” Rosemary sighs, “from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you aren’t all that interested in establishing a good relationship with your parents.”

“I’m not.”

“So why not tell them about everything ? How you feel, your relationship…”

“Because it would end in screaming and crying,” Buck says. “I don’t think that was Maddie’s intention when she invited them.”

“Do you always base your actions on what’s best for others, not yourself?”

Eddie gets done before Buck, so he takes a seat in the waiting room; they scheduled their appointments at the same time so they could carpool.

Buck walks out a few minutes later. Eddie pockets his phone and greets him with a smile. “How did it go?”

It probably would have hurt less if Rosemary just slapped him across the face. As it turns out, healing isn’t supposed to be comfortable. Really, Buck would describe it as painful, like the dull ache of a tooth growing in. It’s the type of pain that’s ultimately worth it, but when the end isn’t in sight, it just hurts.

“Fine,” Buck says simply. “You?”

Eddie isn’t sure if he and Frank click. Then again, Eddie isn’t sure he’ll click with anyone who expects them to bear his soul to them. It’s hard to feel comfortable around someone whose every other sentence makes you itch. It is not a simple surface discomfort, either: it’s the kind of twinge you can feel in your bones.

“It was okay.”

“How was it? Did you boys share all of your deep dark secrets?”

“That’s next week,” Eddie jokes. He kisses the top of your head as he walks by you in the kitchen.

Buck grins, taking a seat next to you at the table. “What have you been up to?”

“Homework,” you groan as you close your laptop. “God, all of this better be worth it.”

“It will be,” Buck promises, setting a hand on your knee.

You smile. “Oh! I have something for you both.”

Eddie frowns, sitting across from Buck as you dig through the backpack on the floor beside your chair. You return with a series of black-and-white photos. You hand one to each of the boys.

“I went to my OB a few days after the ER visit,” you explain. “I wanted to make sure I actually had something to tell you.”

The ‘baby’ isn’t more than a white blob on the sonogram; you can barely make out the difference between the butt and the head. When you were in the office, all you could feel was shock. Now, though, watching the men you love stare at the sonogram with wide eyes… you feel nothing but joy.

“It’s a girl,” Buck says, pointing at the white blob. “I can tell.”

“You can not ,” you snort. “It’s literally impossible.”

“Trust me, it’s a girl,” Buck says. “Don’t you think, Eddie?”

You both look at Eddie. He’s staring at the picture with watery eyes.

“Eddie?” you ask softly, reaching out for one of his hands. “Are you okay?”

Your voice snaps him back to reality. He looks at you, then the sonogram again, then at you again. He lets out a breath that sounds sort of like a laugh.

“I’m okay,” he assures. “I’m… I’m just so happy.”

His response makes your eyes well up — damn hormones.

Eddie scoots out of his chair and leans over, pulling you into a hug. Moments later, you feel Buck wrap an arm around your shoulders, and without looking, you know his other arm is around Eddie.

“So… really, what did you guys talk about?”

The three of you are lying in bed. Buck is laying on top of Eddie, who has his arm wrapped around you. Buck has an open hand set on top of your stomach. They both turn their heads to look at you.

“Unless you really don’t want to talk about it, which I would respect,” you quickly add.

Buck shrugs. “I mostly talked about my parents.”

You raise your eyebrows. You shouldn’t be so surprised: out of all the topics in Buck life that require therapizing, his parents is probably at the top of the list.

“Funny, I talked about my parents too,” Eddie mentions.

Buck turns his head so his chin is resting on the space right below Eddie’s sternum. “Really?”

“Yeah. I told Frank how excited I am to be a dad again, but I don’t think my parents will be thrilled.”

“Were they happy the first time?” Buck frowns.

“Not… exactly,” Eddie cedes, “but I think this time, it’ll be worse.”

“I guess I luck out in that area,” you note.

You know that polyamory is still a very taboo topic. The people in your little bubble are supportive, but they’re just that: in your bubble. You know the rest of the world, including parents and other family members, won’t accept your relationship so easily. It’s easy for you to shrug that reality off, considering you don’t have any family you’re worried about disappointing. You know Eddie doesn’t have it so easy.

Your phone rings on the nightstand table. When you pick it up, you see that it’s an unknown caller. You recognize the area code, but it isn’t one in LA. Hell, it isn’t one from California.

You click ‘accept’ with a frown. “Hello? …That’s me, yes. Why are you calling me?”

Buck and Eddie share a confused look before turning back to you.

“Yeah. …Mhm. …Oh. Okay. Yeah, I’ll… figure something out and call you back. …Thanks, you too.”

You hang up and set your phone back down. You stare straight ahead, your eyebrows still pulled together.

“Who was that?”

“Stillwater General Hospital in Seattle,” you say slowly. “My, uh… my dad is dying.”

[spideyhexx]

a miscellaneous night with mr jack prescott

nsfw ish

“I’m not doing that,” Jack deadpans, hands on his hips, a permanent furrow in his brow as he watches you unbutton your blouse. 

“Why? Are you afraid?” 

He shoots you a look, tilting his head to the side once your bra is visible. When you notice it, he casts his gaze aside, rubbing to his jaw, “No, I am not afraid, but the lake is probably freezing and swimming naked is never-”

“All I’m hearing is you’re afraid, Jacky,” you toss your shirt at him and he catches it, dropping it to the blanket the two of you had been lounging on. Bringing you out to his Aunt’s home was something he was happy about doing, but in this moment, you’re sure he’s regretting trying to set up a late night romantic picnic. 

“I’m not afraid, I just know the lake. And this lake is gross.”

You roll your eyes, pushing your pants down and throwing them to the blanket. Getting naked was not your initial plan with this and you stick to it. For his sake. 

“It’s a lake, it’s like the pinnacle thing for stripping down and impulsively wading in,” you tell him as your feet hit the cold water. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right, you push on and keep your face neutral until the water is about chest level. 

“See? It’s perfectly fine and-” you cut yourself off with a screech as something in the water brushes your leg. Some sort of plant. 

Jack is trying his hardest not to smile and you muster your strength to try and splash water at him but it does not reach him. 

“Jack Basil Prescott if you don’t join me right now, I’ll…I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” His brow is raised and he looks amused. Too amused. His mouth is slanted up to one side and his arms, his beautiful arms crossed against his chest. 

“I’ll make your aunt dig up more pictures of you from college,” you say. Jack’s eyes widen only for a split second, but you know him enough by now to know you wiggled your way into a weak spot. 

“I’ll look at all the fucking pictures and take pictures of the pictures so they can live in my phone forever, Prescott,” you continue, jutting your chin as a display of control. Or dominance. You’re not sure, but Jack still looks so amused. You hate him. 

He clears his throat, his voice steady and unmoving, “I really thought you were going to say you wouldn’t go down on me the rest of this trip.” Jack says it so quietly you almost miss it. But you get distracted by him unbuckling his belt and adding it to the heap of your clothes, his hand moving to the button of his slacks next. 

Was he joking?

“Oh my god,” you yelp a little too loud and he pauses with his pants halfway down his thighs. 

“You made a joke!”

He scowls. Naturally. And gets his pants completely off, his light sweater following, “Don’t make me regret saying that,” he says, taking his socks off and begrudgingly walking his way to the water. 

“Jack. You haven’t even let me get close to doing that to you this whole trip. Have you been thinking about it?” 

He pushes more of his body under the water to get used to the coldness quicker, your thoughts momentarily distracted by the water dripping down his shoulders and chest as he finds your arm under the water. 

“Oh my god, you’ve been thinking about my mouth,” you mock a gasp, like you’re appalled and he pulls you into him until your back hits his chest. 

“Pervert,” you mumble and he kisses your cheek. He’s ignoring all of what you’ve said, but if what’s poking your ass is any indication, you have a feeling you’re right. You have half a mind to mention the victory of aroused Jack so quickly but you refrain when you feel his hands rub against your hips. 

“The sunset is pretty,” Jack mutters, his lips brushing the back of your ear as he turns you in the water to face the sun that’s dipping right below the small mountains beyond the lake. “That was the reason I brought you here.”

“And here we are. Enjoying the sunset,” you say and he sighs, the curve of his lips on your skin telling you he’s smiling. 

One of his hands rubs to your front, caressing your stomach under the water, “I used to jump off that dock with my cousins,” he says, nodding over to the dock closer to his aunt’s lakehouse. 

“Sounds wild for you.”

“Let me correct myself. I jumped off of it a total of two times. The first time I was seven years old and cried after,” Jack grins at the memory and at your laugh. 

“Oh no. And the second time?”

“Teenager. Had some more confidence in my jumping skills,” he mumbles, nuzzling his nose to your temple before kissing it. He leaves his lips there, his fingers tapping on your stomach, almost teasing near the waistband of your underwear. 

Now you’ll tease him. 

“If you think this lake is so gross, why do you seem  ready to fool around?” You say so quick, he moves his head back and to the side to get a better glimpse of your face. 

He realizes you’re joking and he pats your thigh, “I don’t like you.”

You bark out a laugh and his warmth leaves you as he wades backwards in the water, dunking his head and coming up. He smooths his hair back with his hand anf gives you a pointed look. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles with a grin he’s trying to keep a hold of.

“Like what?” 

“Those…,” he gestures at you as he tries to find the words and your eyes drift beyond Jack when you see someone coming. He continues to speak, “what do you call them? Fuck me eyes?” 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to keep from laughing and Jack immediately makes a face of confusion. 

“I made dessert. Your favorite, Jacky, I’ll just…,” his Aunt trails off in a laugh as she shakes her head and starts walking back down the path to her house. 

Jack’s cheeks flush and remains completely silent. 

“Thank you! We’ll be there in a second!” You call out to her. Oh you’ll have fun messing with him with his aunt’s help later. And Jack will do what he always does. Pretends to despise it. But there’s always that slight gleam in his eye. A gleam that you swear he only let a small amount of people see. When you finally noticed it, that he let you in to see that gleam, it was as though anything else you could do felt light. At ease. And he’d still have that gleam. 

“Alright. C’mon dude, let’s go eat some fucking cookies,” you say and pat his shoulder as you move to shore and you can just barely hear him say, “dude?”

[itsmespicaa]

Could you recommend lambo twins fanfics? Specifically ones that are sunstreaker centric? Sunstreaker barely appears in media and ppl barely write about him and I neeeed sunstreaker content to consume

Oh boy...here we go *cracks knuckles* there's quite a few (not as many as other chars obviously), but I tried my best to link the ones that I really enjoyed and recommend you read too!

I'll try to sort them into categories, and I'll also tag the Sunstreaker-centric ones with * and the twins-centric one ** for easy perusal :) Sideswipe-centric will have no stars, but I still recommend you to read them anyway bc they're really good (and Sunny is there most of the times)! Starting with—

My Top 6:

Misaligned Gemini by Anonymous**

This one's a classic. Set in IDW 2019 (or IDW 2) where the twins have a completely different origin, this one takes you for such a crazy ride from start to finish and will have you holding on for dear life. I definitely cried a lot reading this lol it's that good. Easily one of the best Lambo twins-centric fics out there (and the longest one too to date).

Lifeline by Kattli (Kathrine)*

Set in the IDW-verse. One of my personal favorites as well as my fav interpretation of the twins' messy and complicated relationship in IDW. Canon-divergence in the best way possible.

Sideswipe's Secret Vacation Spot by BalloonArcade**

AU where the twins actually joined the Cons (one of my fav AUs for sure). Has by far my FAVORITE interpretation of Sunstreaker and one that definitely affected my own take of his character. The twins' dynamic here is *chef's kiss* so good. I adore them so much here.

No Rest for the Wicked by fuzipenguin*

Absolutely delectable 6k joyride with Sunstreaker pretty much murdering his way out of the enemy's base like the utterly ruthless warrior that he is <3 you love to see it!!!!

Snap, Crackle, Pop by SergeantCookie

I was so pleasantly surprised by how amazingly-written this fic was??? Like- the blend of comedy and realism feels so natural especially from Sideswipe's POV. Definitely one of my fav Sides-centric fics, and the other characters are an absolute hoot LOL it's so SO good from start to finish.

Followers by Bibliotecaria_D**

This one...completely caught me off-guard. An utterly different take of the twins' relationship in IDW (and in general, really) that I needed a whole day to digest what I just read because it was just- so raw and real and painful, but I think that's the beauty of it. Might not be everyone's cup of tea tho so here's my warning (bc the writer isn't a fan of fanon!Lambo twins), but I still recommend people (esp their fans) to read it to see a different perspective of the twins' dynamic.

Others, also really good:

and when i got to st peter's gate, i told the keeper that i'm not the one who needs to make amends by rosesscythes

IDW again, this time from Sideswipe's perspective before he died. It healed something in me to read this, so maybe it might heal you too :")

Little Brother by pipermca*

Another IDW fic, this time from Sunstreaker's POV post-canon. Another cathartic fic that feels like a balm after what happened in canon.

Poker Face by SSSSEEEEVVVVEEEENNNN*

A deep dive into Sunstreaker's psyche in the face of Smokescreen and it's so. SO good omg. You can see everything play out in real time from Sunstreaker's POV while at the same time you can tell he's so unreliable and so, so bad at social cues that it was painful to watch. But everything is from HIS view so he MUST be right...right?

Unorthodox Protection by FiftyShadesOfMetal

Another one of Sideswipe's shenanigans that...went a bit more south that he intended? Sunstreaker cameos a bit later but the true star of the show is the human inside of Sideswipe-- wait what?!

Loyalty by BalloonArcade

Prowl/Sideswipe with a substantial focus on the twins' relationship in IDW on the side. I really liked this take of the twins and what made them that way here.

Sunshine, Roses, & Other Treacherous Things by jukeboxes**

Incomplete but the first 3 chapters are so compelling that you can't help but desperately want to know how it ends.

Crack(ed) Me Up by Kattli (Kathrine)**

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are unfortunately stuck with the bots they try to kill the most...whoops. Really funny and you get to enjoy seeing their (mostly Sunny's) suffering

In the Dust by Hours_Gone_By

Msytery fic, spooky-tastic. The twins aren't the sole focus here, but the fic is so good that you'd be too invested in what's happening to notice (or if you're like me, you do notice every time they interact but it won't detract from the story itself ahaha). But they are there and I'm not one to be picky, so you really don't wanna pass this one up.

The City by Hours_Gone_By**

Spooky-fic, reaally well written (this writer has a talent with writing horror I swear), keeps you at the edge of your seat through the whole thing and wanting nothing more than for them to go--

Bayverse:

Mess With the Bull by CaptainCougar**

A classic take of Sunstreaker's arrival during the period where Cemetery Wind was hunting down all the remaining Cybertronians. Really nicely written and satisfying to read.

Solar Eclipse by SeaSpectre160**

My favorite take on Sunstreaker's arrival on Earth with all the chaos and squishy human-hating on Sunny's side. You love to see it.

Snake Eyes by snarechan

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker face a familiar foe, with a twist. I love the way they're written here.

AUs:

All The Friendly Ghosts by Anonymous**

Something's just not right about Sideswipe, and--it's not what you think it is. Really satisfying build up and payoff. I adore the writing style for it too.

Search & Rescue by sssunstreakerrr

Shattered Glass at last!!! It's sadly incomplete but the sheer quality of the available chapter and the premise makes it so so worth reading anyway.

Beneath the Vaulted Heights by Magnusoftheward**

I don't want to spoil anything bc it's best read going in blind so...just keep reading. I promise you it's worth it :D I really love the eeriness and confusion and just- the overall vibe of the fic. It's so good gah-

Abandoned by Hours_Gone_By

Horror fic, so so good. You can feel the eerieness of the place from the character's perspective. Ugh. Literally kept me at the edge of my seat the whole time. Other characters are also there!

Geminus by postapocalyptic_cryptic*

Pacific Rim AU. The twins are co-pilots. Really well-written fic! :D Bring your tissues

A Flash of Gold by pipermca**

Another Pacific Rim AU with human!Sideswipe. Where's Sunstreaker you ask? Well...

Pure Silliness:

Exothermic by SergeantCookie

I cackled from start to finish, it's that good LOL. If you need a good laugh, pls go read this. Also connected to "Snap, Crackle, Pop" by the same author.

How to Save the World in 8 Minutes and 3 Seconds by BalloonArcade

Pure chaos written in such an in-character way, poor Prowl lmaooo

In Which Sideswipe was Bored with a Board by a Boar While Bored by murtlewikisam

An absolute hoot omg I couldn't stop my head from going ????? the whole time XD

Aaand that's all for now! I'm sure I've missed some, but these are some of the ones that I already have in my bookmarks :D Hope you have a good (or wonderfully painful) time reading them!! And let me know which one you like the most if you do read them hahha

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

I'm having a truly terrible birthday trip and it's not even my birthday yet can I please have some angry blade 😭🙏

⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️

Jumping the queue <3 Hope it gets better and happy early birthday!

120 or 1k for ⚖️:

---

The rest is a history Buck already knows. The way Eddie and his parents have quietly battled over Christopher for years. But he sees more. Shitty interactions with Shannon. Digs that made her feel like a bad mother. Constant critiques of Eddie’s sisters. All careful. All so small that they can’t be a big deal, but sharp enough to hurt. To etch away at a person’s self-worth. 

He sees her accuse Eddie of dragging Christopher down. She sees her quiet delight when, years later, Christopher calls and asks to come to them. She thinks she can do a better job than Eddie. And if she does, she thinks she won’t have to feel bad about his childhood. Not anymore. 

Buck sees it all. He wishes he hadn’t. It seems like a violation. A glimpse into a wretched wound of Eddie’s. 

At least, Buck thinks, what Chris needs and Eddie wants might match what Helena deserves. And Ramon. Just because he’s only looking at Helena right now, doesn’t mean Ramon isn’t just as complicit. 

He’ll have to pick something that suits them both. 

And he thinks, in the end, he does. A future where they’ve lost Eddie. Where their relationship with Christopher fades to almost nothing, as he ages and learns more and more about his parents’ past. As their youngest daughter moves across the country. As their middle daughter becomes closer with her husband’s family than theirs. And as a grandchild is born, somewhere out there, that they don’t get to meet. Buck doesn’t know whose. He can only see their reaction to the news. But he wonders about Eddie. If he ever becomes a father again. If he gets to do that, knowing they won’t be around to interfere. 

He chooses the future, and he doesn’t feel any regret. Christopher is with Eddie. Christopher leaves them behind. And maybe that light, the one that faded from Eddie as a child, the one Buck thinks he’s always been able to see anyway, will come back in full force. 

Buck snaps back to reality and takes a large step away from Helena. Helena, who is seething, glaring at him. Fair enough. 

“We’re going,” Eddie says confidently. “Call whoever you want.”

Oof. Well, let’s not encourage them to call the cops. Hopefully they know they don’t have a leg to stand on. 

“Thank you for helping him when he asked for it,” Eddie continues. “I appreciate that. But it’ll be the last time.”

Eddie turns around and stomps towards the truck. Buck withholds a smirk, and turns to join him. 

⚖️

They drive until just outside Phoenix. No one pursues them. There is no Amber Alert. Obviously Eddie’s parents thought better than calling the police. They find a hotel, and by the time they arrive, Christopher is dead asleep in the back seat. Eddie carries him like he’s a little kid still, despite him being closer to the size of a man. Chris doesn’t wake the whole time, like the emotional exhaustion of the day has knocked him flat. Buck thinks Eddie looks like he’s almost at that point himself. 

The hotel room has two beds, just like the last. But now they have three people. Eddie lays Christopher on the bed farthest from the door. For a moment, he sits there, beside his sleeping son, just staring at him. He runs a featherlight hand through Christopher’s mussed curls before taking his glasses off and setting them on the nightstand. He bends to kiss his forehead, and murmurs a quick love you, before rising to look at Buck. 

“Can we share?” Eddie whispers. “I don’t want to wake him.”

“‘Course,” Buck mumbles back. 

They both strip down to tee shirts and boxers and move to their separate sides of the bed. Buck near the wall, Eddie on the side closer to Chris. After a second, Eddie reaches to turn off the lamp. 

“Night, Eddie,” Buck whispers. 

“Goodnight, Buck,” Eddie replies, just as soft. “Thank you. For everything today and… And Always.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Eddie,” Buck says. “You know I’d do anything for you two.”

“I know, but…” 

Eddie trails off. The room falls deadly silent, save for the sound of Christopher’s heavy breathing. 

“But what?” Buck prompts gently. 

Instead of answering, Eddie rolls over and, in a move Buck isn’t at all expecting, practically rolls onto him. For a minute, Buck doesn’t know what the hell is happening. But then, Eddie’s arms are awkwardly thrown around him, and his head falls onto the pillow, face down beside Buck, tucked into his neck. Thrown off, Buck moves nervous arms to hug Eddie back. To hold him in place. 

“You have no idea what you mean to me,” Eddie mumbles. 

Buck’s heart lurches. 

Then I’d probably kiss Buck, like, a lot. 

Buck has no idea what to say. It’s been an emotional fucking day. And he doesn’t want to read into anything says right now.

So, he can only find a simple response.

“Back at ya, Eddie.”

iii. 

Buck gives Chris and Eddie a few hours the next morning to talk. Just the two of them. He drives into a suburb of Phoenix and finds somewhere to grab coffee and breakfast for himself. It’s good to have a moment to himself. Not that he’s ever tired of Eddie or Chris. That’s impossible. But, it’s been a long two days. Emotionally charged and stressful. Even if things have turned out for the better. Buck could use the breather. 

He’s eating a breakfast sandwich at a cafe with, frankly, fantastic coffee, scrolling news on his phone, when he hears a chillingly familiar voice behind him. 

“I hope this seat isn’t taken?” 

It’s not asking for permission. Not really. 

Buck looks up to see her. Nemesis. Not in a dream. Not in his head. She’s real, she’s in front of him, and she’s smiling smugly, taking a seat across from him at his little two-seater table.

[sodacowboy]

finally started blocking and joining the granny squares I made for this blanket and y’all I’m so fucking excited like I can’t wait to have this as something I can use

[icewindandboringhorror]

Everytime I face a new character limit on a website that didn't have them before/used to have really long ones... AUGHHhhh the modern social media world was not made for people like me (lovers of details, rambling, elaboration, thorough explanation, and nuance)