#and you know how reflective stuff goes when scanned

[lightseoul]

IN THE DARK (1.8k)

a/n. thought about taking a break from my 2k milestone event by writing something that felt very personal to me. i was supposed to rest today but this sort of just...happened. i hope y'all like it.

cw. afab!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up characters, themes of body image issues, mentions of weight gain, minor nsfw references, basically just some hurt/comfort goodness

you’re in the middle of re-scooping your boobs into what has become a tiny ass tank top when a soft array of knocks echoes from the door.

“babe? are you almost done?”

alarmed, you quickly glance at the mirror. it only takes you one look at your reflection to decide that nope—you’re definitely not going with this one—before you swiftly tug it off your body.

at least, you try to do so.

the fabric catches on the areas of your torso that have noticeably gotten fuller in the course of the past year and a half. you huff in frustration as you squirm, desperate to have what used to be your favorite halter top off you.

another round of knocks comes again.

“babe? you okay in there?”

“yeah!” you manage to choke out, finally out of that damned material. “don’t come in—i’m not decent.”

the moment you say those words, you instantly know what the reaction would be.

“hah?” comes his incredulous, borderline offended reply. “the fuck do you mean ‘you’re not decent’?”

scanning the interior of your small walk-in closet, you feel the panic rise in your throat until your eyes land on the pajamas and baggy t-shirt you were wearing before you started trying out outfits for the reunion you were having with the class of 1a tonight.

“i’m just in my underwear,” you retort, frantically putting back on the much more forgiving articles.

“i think i’ve seen you with much less than that, dumbass.”

“okay,” you call out, ignoring his comment and slightly winded from your efforts, “you can come in now!”

as if on cue, the door slowly opens, and in comes bakugou, who’s already dressed in a crisp, black button-down and straight-legged pants, a suspicious glint in his eyes as they dart across the room before landing on you.

and when they do, his lips almost instantly form into a frown.

“i thought you were getting changed?”

you feel yourself flame in embarrassment despite yourself.

“yeah, well…” you wrack your brain for a not-so-incriminating excuse, “none of the outfits i was envisioning are working.”

well, that is the truth, anyway.

it’s just not necessarily complete.

“okay…” he drawls out, entirely unconvinced. “why’d you put your pajamas back on, though? it’s not like i haven’t seen you naked or some shit.”

“uh—” you pause, before finally settling with: “—it’s just that i’m wearing ugly panties, is all. real granny, the-type-you-wear-on-your-period kinda stuff.”

bakugou only stares at you. “since when have you cared about me seeing that?”

you are not about to say that was a shitty excuse you pulled from your ass just now.

so instead, you turn your back against him and start riffling through the racks of clothes. “how ‘bout you help me pick out what to wear for tonight, huh, kats?”

a few moments of silence pass before you finally hear a quiet ‘sure’—which is immediately followed by him stepping forward and occupying the space beside you.

he goes through the options himself before his hands land on the white, off-shoulder peplum blouse you got around a year ago. taking it by the hanger, he lifts it on display.

“how ‘bout this?”

you immediately shake your head. “those make my arms look extra big.”

at that, bakugou’s face contorts in confusion. “what? no, they don’t.”

you chuckle dryly, wondering why you’re even having this conversation.

you coax the shirt from his grip and place it back where he pulled it from. “pick another one.”

bakugou doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him side-eyeing you more than anything. still, he relents, and picks out a sky-blue sleeveless high-neck top you copped from your go-to store a few months ago.

“i remember you looked really good in this,” he offers.

you hum absentmindedly at his comment, studying the spandex-like material. ultimately, though, you shake your head.

“that one hugs me in all the wrong places. really emphasizes my midriff.”

“but—”

“can you choose another one, please?”

the man huffs in what you think is disgruntlement but follows suit anyway. once again, he traces his hand along the articles of clothing for a minute until they finally stop at what used to be your favorite sleeveless, v-neck black crop top.

grinning, he pulls it out.

“you’ve got to wear this.”

at the sight of it, you pull your lips into a tight line. “…i don’t know, babe.”

“seriously?” he asks, looking dangerously close to insulted. “this one makes your boobs look absolutely incredible.”

“katsuki!”

“what? i’m not wrong, am i?”

for a second, you let yourself imagine what you would look like in that rather skimpy top. and for a brief moment, you actually believe it’ll work out.

that is until you remember you’re imagining the you from way back when, and the last time you put it on a few weeks ago, you thought you looked fucking horrendous.

with a heavy sigh and a shake of your head, you take the clothing from his hand so you can return it to the rack.

at least, you try to, because bakugou doesn’t let you.

when you tug again and his grip tightens, you finally look up at the man, confused.

“wha—”

“we need to talk.”

almost instantly, your stomach drops in anticipatory dread.

“oh?” you try to answer nonchalantly, trying to take the item again from his hold. thankfully, this time he lets go, but his serious gaze that’s fixed on you remains unyielding.

“oh? that’s all you have to say?”

you turn away from him, moving to hang it back on the cabinet. “i don’t think there’s time for that right now, kats.”

to further emphasize your point, you glance down at your watch, which now reads 6:17 pm.

fuck.

you’re already going to be late.

you think about it for a beat before finally coming to a conclusion and shifting to face him again.

“i think you should just go ahead.”

bakugo gapes at you like you just told him the sky was green. “what?”

“we’re already running late and i haven’t even done my makeup, let alone picked out what to wear,” you reason.

“you really think i even want to go to this stupid party?” he retorts right back. “you’re the only one who makes them bearable. to hell with this going alone shit.”

“but—”

“not happening, babe.”

you let out a heavy exhale, struggling to tamp down the disappointment at your failed attempt to get out of the situation.

neither of you says anything for what feels like minutes before bakugou finally breaks the monotonous quiet.

“…can i ask you something?”

his voice is so uncharacteristically soft that you can’t help but look up at him despite the visceral urge to avoid his gaze, anticipatory anxiety now churning in your gut at the question.

the man, though, apparently takes your silence as a yes, because he continues.

and you barely manage to stop yourself from choking on your spit when he does.

“why do we only have sex in the dark?”

that was not what you were expecting him to say.

“e-excuse me?”

bakugou moves to rub the back of his neck, perhaps feeling sheepish at his blunt query.

but he presses on.

“it’s just that i remember it wasn’t always like this. when we first started getting intimate with each other, you didn’t mind when the lights were on or if the curtains weren’t drawn. but then…”

“my preferences simply changed,” you interject, scared of letting him continue.

“really?” he asks, but the question seems more rhetorical than not. “because if you were to ask me, i’m starting to think…maybe, just maybe—and i could be wrong about this—you don’t want to be perceived.”

a long pause.

“baby?” comes bakugou’s worried voice when you don’t reply. “did i hurt you?”

you shake your head, although your eyes are trained downcast to your socked feet, unable to meet his gaze.

“say something, please.”

at his request, you finally look up, trying to blink away the tears that are pooling in your eyes before he notices.

but it’s either you don’t do it fast enough, or he’s just insanely perceptive, because bakugou manages to catch sight of it, eyes widening the second he does.

“shit, i’m so—”

“it’s okay!” you chuckle, waving him off. you take the hand that was just reaching out to wipe the tears away and encase it with yours. you chance a glance at the man, who’s now peering at you guiltily.

“i really didn’t mean to hurt you,” he starts again, “i just wanted to finally talk about it because—”

“i know, i know,” you cut him off before he can ramble any further. “don’t worry, babe. i’m not angry at you. it’s just…”

you take a shaky inhale.

“…it’s just that it’s been so hard, you know? i really try not to dwell on it because most of it is beyond my control, but…whenever i try on a dress that used to fit me so well, or when i look at my reflection, or especially when i’m bare for you to see and i feel your eyes roving over my body—it just hits me all over again.

“the fact that this is how i look like now. and i hate it.”

you look at bakugou, who’s staring at you so intently with a pained expression on his face.

“you don’t have to say anything,” you quickly add on. “i know this is kind of a lot to take in.”

“yeah—no, it’s just that i’m angry at myself for ever making you feel judged,” he huffs, and you can practically hear the frustration seeping out from his tone.

he tightens his hold on your hand.

“believe me, baby, when i say that when i look at you all so vulnerable like that, it’s never me fucking judging you. i can’t even—

“i can’t even begin to describe how much i love your body. every time i see even just a sliver of what’s underneath your clothes i get so hard i—”

you snort.

“—laugh all you want, but it’s true. it’s fucking embarrassing sometimes, how much my body reacts to seeing yours, but it’s true.”

you shoot him a sad, albeit grateful smile, to which he responds by squeezing your hand.

“look, i know i can’t change how you feel about your body, and i understand that you want to look differently. but i also do know that i can’t just stand here and watch you tear yourself apart like that. you don’t deserve any of that, you fucking hear me?”

you don’t even know where to start with your reply, so you opt to just nod wordlessly instead.

“good,” he grunts. “i’m just here to support you, whatever you wanna do. you already know that i think you’re beautiful the way you are right now, but if you want to do something or work towards a certain goal, i’ll be here.

“i know a thing or two about fitness, if you’re interested in exploring that.”

“really?” you beam at him, already feeling so light. “you’ll really help me with that?”

at that, bakugou scoffs. “‘course i will, dummy. actually…”

you peer at him curiously. “actually, what?”

he grins at you, the mood suddenly taking a mischievous turn.

“…i actually know of a certain cardio activity i wanna do right now, if you’re open to that.”

my replies, reblogs, and asks are open if you wanna talk about stuff <3 sending hugs to you!

[sporadicthingcollection]

La faccia infarina (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: In which Buggy swears at a child, draws on his face, and experiences a revelation. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Semi-explicit. Word Count: ~1.4k. Warnings: Pregnancy mention, childbirth mention, a lot of swearing.

A/N: i'm ovulating so please enjoy an episode of what i like to call Reproducing With Men Who Should Not Be Trusted With Children.

Doing his makeup is much easier when there's no distractions to occupy him. Unfortunately, he's got a big one today and, for once, it isn't you trying to get into his pants.

Though that exact scenario is definitely what resulted in this new distraction. It was either that or the time after the party.

"Don't even think about it," Buggy says firmly.

Keeda grabs a drawer and tries to yank it open. A disembodied foot gently nudges him away. The boy stares at him in indignation, then blows a raspberry. He reaches again, whining when the foot still bars his way.

Buggy raises a brow at him. "Getting fresh, huh?" Another raspberry. "Floor privileges revoked."

He picks the boy up by the collar and plops him in his lap. He squeaks and squeals, trying to squirm away, but Buggy holds him tight.

"Y'know, I liked you better when you were a prop," he says. He swipes his lipstick along his cheeks. "You'd just lay there and make noises and shit yourself. None of this 'trying to kill yourself when I'm not looking' shtick."

Keeda resigns himself to his prison and is now pouting, making little huffs. He glances up with big, pleading eyes, lower lip quivering.

Buggy scoffs. "Don't try that pathos crap on me. I know what you look like when you're about to cry."

A long, low whine makes Buggy falter. Uh oh. He glances down.

Keeda lunges upwards, trying to grab the lipstick. Buggy pops his hand off just out of reach -- this is the expensive stuff. Can't have a baby eating it. Again.

"What's gotten into you today?" Keeda lunges again. Buggy pops his second hand off to cap the lipstick and stick it back in the drawer. "Sheesh, kid. Cool it."

"Bappo," Keeda says with a glare. Baby for pay attention to me, asshole, I'm right here.

A lightbulb goes off. He pulls a bag of pigment sticks from the drawer and dumps them onto the table. "You want your face done like Daddy's?" He spins the boy around to face the vanity. "Pick your war paint."

Keeda scans the selection and, with short chubby fingers, he selects a blue pigment stick. He then tries to shove it in his mouth, but Buggy grabs it before he can chomp it.

Buggy smiles as he regards the color. He was wearing this when he met you -- diamonds over his eyes as he tried to kill you. From hating his guts to fucking him stupid to bearing his child. How times change.

He takes the boy's cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. He can't believe he's still so damn small. A year in and he figured he'd be more... child-sized. Buggy's still afraid a strong breeze will shatter the kid like glass.

With gentle hands, he draws. Short strokes are best on soft, chubby skin with a lot of give. Keeda gazes at him all the while. He's got your eyes, warm and dark as charcoal.

Buggy licks his thumb and smooths out the edges. Keeda presses into his touch like a cat and gives him a smile, one that he can't help but return.

The idea of fatherhood terrified him. Horrified him. He thought about turning himself into the Marines right then and there. If his old captain couldn't do it, how could he be expected to do it? He's not half as competent as everyone seems to believe and you know he's a buffoon. Why would you want to have his kid?

Buggy finishes the diamonds and spins the boy to face the mirror. "Well?"

Keeda squints at himself. He touches his reflection. After a moment of contemplation, he speaks. "Fsshala."

He's been saying that a lot lately. You keep telling him that it's just nonsense babbling, but Buggy knows the truth.

"I agree," he says. "Let's make it flashy!"

He spins the boy back around, making him giggle. Truly the world's most remarkable sound.

He still doesn't have an answer for why you put yourself through nine months of pure terror. Was it your selfish desire for a family? Or did you see a truth hidden deep in his soul, so deep that he had no idea it existed until he held his son for the first time, still bright pink and howling?

Carefully, he traces two long lines up from the tips of the diamonds. He crosses them at the middle of his forehead, curls them into a heart, and adorns it with dots.

As is, Keeda looks more like you. Your dark hair, your dark eyes... and your nose, thank fucking god. He couldn't live with himself if his monstrosity was inheritable.

He was worried at first. How could he be sure that he's your son's father? He trusts you, but there was always that doubt gnawing at the back of his head until a few months in, when Keeda started getting expressive. In every giggle, in every glower, in every grin, there was Buggy the Clown.

Speaking of smiles, his mouth looks a little bare. A nice golden yellow would suit him.

Buggy picks up the pigment stick in one hand and smushes the boy's cheeks together with the other. "Pucker up, buttercup."

Keeda squirms a bit as he paints his mouth, swirling the corners up into cute little spirals. He licks his lips and sputters. "Pfeh!"

Buggy chuckles. "Weren't like that last week. You loved the stuff." He lifts the boy and spins him around to see his reflection. "Now you're lookin' more like your old man."

Keeda stares at himself. He tips his head one way, then the other. His eyes narrow and his brows furrow. He lets out a low, pensive whine.

Oh no. Does he not like it? Is he going to cry? Please don't cry. "Wait wait wait." He turns him around and lifts him to stand on his lap. "Don't get upset--"

A little spark flashes in the boy's eyes. The frown vanishes and he reaches up, tiny fingers grabbing for something.

Buggy's gotten enough hair ripped out to jerk away on impulse. "Something on my face?"

A tiny hand baps him on the nose. Buggy flinches. Fuckin' thing in the way again.

He angles his head, waiting for Keeda to tap what he was really aiming for. And again, he gets bapped right on the nose.

...no. There's no way.

Another bap, this time with an impatient glower. "Isso," Keeda says firmly. Baby talk for this.

Buggy's heart is in his throat as he picks up the red pigment stick. With shaky hands, he outlines the boy's nose -- a cute little button -- and draws a circle.

He swallows thickly. He clenches his jaw. He turns him around.

Keeda's eyes widen, then scrunch into crescents as he lets out a delighted squeal. "Papa!" he says, grinning up at Buggy. He flops backwards back into his lap, giggling and wiggling. "Papa!"

He's not sure how long he sits there at the vanity, listening to his baby chatter happily, but it must be awhile because you eventually come calling.

"Oh, there you guys are,” you say. "You chuckleheads having fun without me?"

"Amama!" Keeda stands in Buggy's lap and waves at you. He points at the mirror. "Issoooooo."

You appear at Buggy's shoulder, grinning brilliantly. "Aw, look at you," you croon. "Did Daddy do your makeup? Or did you get into his shit when he wasn't looking?"

Buggy's voice comes out in a tight croak. "I did it."

"Well, damn, it looks great! You never do my makeup that well--" Your gaze flickers to him in the mirror, and your smile vanishes. "...Are you crying?"

He sniffles. Loudly. "No."

You give him one of your do-you-need-a-psych-eval looks. "Bugs, your mascara's running."

Something hot and wet rolls down to his chin. "No, it's not."

You look at his reflection in the mirror, then back to him. "Either smile or cry. Doing both is freaking me out."

He wraps his arms around Keeda, pulling him close and squeezing him tight. "Fuckin' love you so much, you little shit," he murmurs into his hair.

Keeda squeals and giggles.

---

To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

[eideticmemory]

WILDEST DREAMS | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

While directing a new film, Matthew becomes infatuated with you, the lead actress, and he’s having a hard time not making it obvious.

Word Count: 4k.

Warning/Includes: Age gap, pining, smut.

The best thing to do is be casual. Calm, collected, cool. You’re not doing anything wrong. In fact, you’re not really doing anything at all. It’s all in the walk - slow, steady strides - you don’t want to look too eager. Keep your head up high, only glance down for a moment at a time, keep your hands busy.

Play the part.

As your knuckles lightly rasp on the trailer door, you look around, fanning yourself with the stack of paper in your hand. When you turn back around, Matthew is opening the door and this grand, bright smile stretches across his entire face the moment he sees you.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” you grin, tilting your head. “Wanted to go over something in the script with you. Do you have a second?”

Only taking a beief moment to look around the barren lot, Matthews eyes fall back on you, and there’s a certain spark in them as he says, “Of course. Of course, come in.”

“Thanks,” you tell him as you step inside.

And then the door is locked and the script is on the floor and you’re straddling his lap, your mouth open so he can stick his tongue inside of it. Your fingers tangle themselves in his curls, your nails scratching his scalp. He makes this soft purring noise, but his hold on your waist is tight, his nails digging through the fabric of your shirt and into your skin. With a roll of your hips, he’s left gasping for air and his hands begin to wander, trailing from your waist to your thigh. His fingertips creep towards the apex of your hips and you tighten them around his waist. It’s at this point that you grab onto his wrists and you’re well aware that he doesn’t have to let you pin them behind his head, he could easily stop you. If he wanted to. He doesn’t. He wants to do absolutely whatever you want.

Matthew’s head rolls back and you take the opportunity to plant gentle kisses on his neck. He wonders if you know how much friction you’re creating between your bodies, but then he feels your nails sink into the skin on his wrist, the vibration of a quiet moan against his neck, and he knows the answer. He has the impulse to touch you, but he’s weak underneath your body and he goes limp as your tongue traces his jaw.

“God, you’re killing me,” he mumbles.

You giggle, the sound echoing in his ear before you kiss his cheek, “So dramatic.”

“I’ll do anything,” he begs, and his breath catches in his throat, your nose nuzzled against his.

“Mhm...”

“Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Anything.”

Looking into his eyes, you slowly release your grip on his wrists and place your hands on his face, “Just kiss me,” you whisper. His arms wrap back around your waist and he does. He just kisses you.

By the end, when you’ve hopped off of his lap and begun applying your lipgloss, he’s watching you in a daze. His eyes scan over you from head to toe and it raises goosebumps on your skin.

“[y/n],” he calls.

“Mm-hmm?” you hum, checking your reflection.

“You know, I’m kinda in love with you, right?”

You burst into laughter and roll your eyes, “L. O. L.”

“Why is that funny?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’m so dead serious. We-we could do stuff.”

“Stuff? What kinda stuff?”

“Like,” he shrugs. “Maybe a little dating, a little marriage, some kids…something like that, I don’t know.”

“Mmm, but how would that look?” you ask, tilting your head at him.

“What do you mean?”

“It would look like I submitted my cooch as an audition tape and I didn’t. I dont want people to think this was a hand out. I earned it, right?”

“Of course,” he rises to his feet and steps towards you, “Of course. I would never-never wanna take away from that, I just-“

“And it’s the whole thing of it all, you know that. You’re the director, I’m the lead actress, plus you’re like, a senior citizen.”

He cackles, “That’s never bothered you before.”

“And I’m focused on this movie.”

“Oh, me too. Definitely, me too. Of course, me too…..you just, um…make it a little bit…harder.”

“Hm, I see that,” you smirk, glancing down at his crotch.

He laughs, his arms reaching out for you, his face nearing yours, and you put your hand to his chest. Push him away, “Chill. I just reapplied my lipgloss.”

He rolls his eyes as you pick up the script from the floor and flash him a smile. “Okay,” you huff. “Back to work,” then you plant a kiss on your fingertips and mush your hand into Matthew’s cheek.

He tries to pull you in, but you slide your wrist out of his grasp and you’re gone.

Your costar - Sam - he’s cute. Okay, Sam is very cute. Sam is cute in a way that you thought they didn’t make men anymore. He’s pretty, but he doesn’t know it. He takes everyone else’s word for it. He’s kind, respectful, talks to you like a human being. There’s a spark between you two that is, truly, the core of creating a solid movie. It makes all the kissing and the touching much easier. Sam is a good guy. If your type were age appropriate, Sam would definitely be your type. You would totally fuck Sam.

But Matthew’s your type, if you’re being honest. You want to fuck Matthew. You want to fuck Matthew very, very much and that’s going to make this sex scene a lot harder. But for the sake of professionalism, you bite the inside of your cheek, ground yourself in the moment. Matthew makes eye contact with you from behind the camera and he gives you a quick wink. It gets your engine started, just enough so that when he calls “Action!” you close your eyes and think of him.

This is the longest three and a half minutes of Matthew’s life. It’s not suspicious that he’s watching you so closely, but the way he’s pinching the skin on his wrist is certainly not helping.

Fake sex with Sam is fun and you will certainly feel different about him afterwards. He moves against you in a certain way and you have to keep this euphoric look on your face for every camera angle and your brain is like well, alright then, maybe Sammy Boy is an option.

Then, Matthew yells. “Cut!”

And your body comes to a complete halt, your breathing returns to normal. You catch a glimpse of Matthew and your brain goes: Oh, yes. Him.

“You okay?” Sam asks you, keeping you at arms length.

“Yes,” you nod, giving him a genuine smile. “Yes. Are you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods. He holds out his hand and you both laugh as he gives you a firm handshake.

Cast and crew agree it was perfect straight shot and Matthew just approves with a thumbs up. You wonder if he’ll comment more but when he doesn’t, you just shrug it off, put on a robe, put your arm around Sam and walk off set with him.

When everyone starts to leave for the day, you walk past Matthew’s trailer and he pokes his head out the door, “Nice performance today, [y/n],” he waves.

You turn to him and laugh, “Thanks? Perv.”

“Why do you hurt me this way?”

“I’m going home. See you tomorrow,” you wave.

And as you walk away, he says, “I’ll be counting down the minutes,” and you have to keep going like you didn’t hear it.

It’s another 2 months before the movie is finished filming and the wrap party is that Friday. Matthew has been trying his best to keep some distance from you, but he finds himself texting you to find out if he’ll see you tonight. He’s tired of looking at you through a lense. It’s done, it’s over, it’s in post production. You don’t have to let his tongue in your mouth, but he hopes maybe he can hold your hand. Give you a hug.

Matthew’s not sure when you’ll arrive at the party until you’re there. You already have a beer in your hand and you’re grinning as you walk up to him. He takes you in this real tight side hug and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“You look nice,” he whispers in your ear.

“So do you,” you tell you. “I like this suit.”

He lets out a long sigh, “Thank you,” he chuckles. “Thank you, I thought you might.”

You hold his gaze for a moment and then seperate your bodies before you absolutely lose your mind.

You mix and mingle. You take pictures. A lot of pictures. You knock back a few drinks and by the time people have started clearing out, you’re cackling with Sam and other cast members out on the patio.

Matthew comes by to say goodnight to everyone and you all wave to him with a loud, collective “Bye!”

He goes around giving handshakes and hugs and when he gets to you, he leans down and wrap his arm around you. Your face nuzzles into his neck and he rubs your back softly. When he releases you, you can still smell him.

“Bye, [y/n],” he smiles and you can tell he wants to touch your face. But he doesn’t.

He leaves and you can still smell his minutes later. You take a deep breath, tell everyone you’re going to the bathroom, get up, and once you’re sure no one can see you, you run.

You catch Matthew as he’s hoping in his car and you call out his name. His heart stops and he turns to you, jaw dropped just slightly. “Hi, gorgeous.”

You chuckle under your breath, “Hi.”

Your face feels hot and tense, like you’re trying to keep yourself from grinning too much. “Can I have a ride?” you ask.

He not only drives you home, but he lets you control the music. He regrets the decision immediately.

“Don’t be such a grandpa!” you scold him.

“I’m-I’m not! I just don’t understand why it’s so…loud? And angry! Oh, my god…”

“Yeah.”

“I do sound like a grandpa.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, throwing your head back. “But I’m into it.”

He blushes, bites down on his lip, “What’d you think of Link’s speech? Too sappy, right?”

“It wasn’t until he cried.”

Matthew laughs, “Yeah, he’s a softie, but this movie is his baby.”

“Yours too, kinda.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can’t believe filming is already over.”

“Gonna miss me?”

“Fuck, [y/n]…come on, I miss you all the time. I’m kinda in love with you, remember?”

You roll your eyes, shake your head, “Over here. On the left.”

He turns into your parking deck and you unbuckle your seatbelt. You reach over his body, your knees tucked in the seat as you type in your passcode. Matthew’s eyes are wide and his hands are limp on the steering wheel. His eyes linger on your waist and your thighs. The gate opens and you plop back down in your seat and he drives off like nothing happened. He parks in a corner near the elevator and you look over at him, “Thank you.”

“Of course. Anytime. Anything-Anything you need.”

You smile at him.

“Y’know,” he says. “You can call me. You can text me and we can see each other, outside of press stuff and stuff. If you ever just-just wanna talk. I’m here, I’m here for that, for anything.”

You nod your head at him, slowly, your eyes scanning him up and down, lingering on his shaky hands. You lean over and unbuckle his seat belt. Confused he lets it slide off of his body and he follows your lead as you grab his opposite wrist and pull it towards you. You lean back in your seat and pull your dress over your thighs. You pull back your lace underwear and stick Matthew’s hand in it.

“Oh.” he says.

You arch your back, just slightly, his fingertips grazing your clit.

“What-what do I do?” Matthew asks.

You shrug, look up at him with dreary eyes, “Whatever feels right, I guess.”

And he moves his body closer to you, lowers his hand in your panties and rubs your clit. Soft, slow circles that make your eyes flutter shut. You spread your legs as far as they’ll go and he dips a finger inside of you, swims around in the flood. You grip onto the edge of your seat and Matthew touches the tip of his nose to yours. As he catches you in a kiss, his fingers slide into you and you can feel every inch. They curl in towards your belly and you whine against his lips, grinding your hips against his palm.

Matthew’s thumb pops into your mouth, his forehead pressed against yours, his wrist moving to match the rhythm of your hips. Choking on your moans, you widen your mouth, letting him slide two fingers towards the back of your throat. You can feel him watching you, but with every movement of his fingers, you’re nearing the brink and you can barely function.

He pinches your face between his fingers, covering your cheeks in your own saliva. Your groans echo around the small space, breaking up into choppy cries as Matthew increases his force, pushing his fingers as deep as they’ll go. You grip onto both of his wrists and whimper through gritted teeth, your thighs tightening around his hand.

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Oh, fuck!”

With his hand around your throat, Matthew makes you come so hard that you’re entire body spasms, your hips riding it out on his hand until you go completely weak.

“Oh, look at you,” he whispers, his voice soft and dreamy as he pushes your hair back, touches your face. He pulls his fingers out of you and sucks on them, moaning at the taste of you. You grab onto his arm and dazedly begin to nibble on his forearm. At certain points near his elbow, you sink your teeth in really deep, taking a moment to feel his skin in your mouth. The pain makes him gasp underneath his breath, but he doesn’t mind. He likes the view. You take three of his fingers in your mouth and moan as they hit the back of your throat.

Matthew hooks on by your bottom teeth, leans in and tells you, “If you want me, I’m right here…I’m right here…”

And you fix your panties, fix your dress, gives him one last kiss on the knuckles. “Thanks for the ride.”

He nods, “Anything for you. Anything.”

When the movie premiere, everyone is anxious. Everyone. No one is exempt. There are, however, those that handle it better than others. You, being those, and Matthew, being others. When he sees you, standing there in your pretty dress, looking like an angel, he rushes over to you and takes you into a hug.

“Oh,” you whisper, chuckling, “Oh, Matthew.”

“I’m about to piss myself.”

“Please don’t.”

“How are you not freaking out right now?” he asks, holding you under his arm as he looks at you.

“Someone’s gotta stay calm so you can freak out.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Oh don’t do this-“ you roll your eyes.

“When you fell from heaven?”

“I need to walk the carpet, you do, too. C’mon.” And you hold his hand.

He can’t believe it, you hold his hand!

There’s all sorts of mixing and matching that goes into the photos. You take a lot with Sam, a handful with the rest of the cast and only a few with Matthew and the rest of the crew. The energy is high and light. The interviews are positive and everyone is smiling.

You sit, you hope, you pray that this is the tone for the rest of the night.

And then the movie ends with a standing ovation.

And the energy gets even higher. You are a star. People clamor around you and Sam like royalty and you guys humbly accept it all. You ride back to the hotel with Sam and a few others, a bottle of champagne and music blasting through the speakers.

“[y/n]!” Sam calls as you part ways. “More drinks in the lobby?”

“For sure! I’m going to change into more celebrity casual, I’ll be right there!”

He laughs and waves as you head up the elevator.

You step into your hotel room and drop the key on the kitchenette counter. You stand in the center, just underneath the big, bright chandelier. And you dance. You jump. Your cheer. You nearly fall to yours knees and then there’s a knock on the door.

You skip over and open it to find Matthew, a big smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. You don’t even think about it, you just jump into his arms and the two of your erupt into joyous laughter. He carries you into your room, lets the door shut behind you and places your flowers down.

“The times. The post!” he exclaims. “Everyone is talking about you.”

“Shut up,” you shake your head, your hands pressed to his chest.

“No, you shut up!” he embraces you, laughing as he says, “They like you! They really, really like you!” He looks down at you, your eyes laced with happy tears, and he pushes your hair back. “I…” he whispers. “Really, really like you.”

You smile at him, reach up and run your hands through his curls. You nuzzle your body into his and your eyelids get heavy as you breathe him in. You lift yourself up on the tip of your toes and give him a kiss. Then another kiss. Then another. And you drive yourself into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pushing your tongue into his mouth. You back him up against a wall and he gasps, “[y/n]-mm…oh, god…” he hands wanders around your body, gripping onto your ass. “What are you doing?”

You moan, throw your head back, “Just-fuck-take this dress off of me,” you order, holding his face in your hands as you peck at his lips.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he whispers. “Slower…” he tells you. His fingers push the spaghetti straps off of your shoulders and he gives you a nice, long kiss, “Slower, slower…”

You let him steadily roll the straps down your arms, feel the curves of your body as he pushes the dress past your hips. Leaving you in just your bra and panties, he takes you in his arms and loses his breath between your mouths.

He sweeps you up in his arms and your legs wrap around his torso. He drops you onto the bed and you chuckle as you bounce in the air. He leans over and you help him take his jacket off, throw it onto the floor. As he gives you a sloppy kiss, you unbutton his shirt, feels around his chest. He unhooks your bra and pulls it off, his tongue wet all over your jaw and collar and chest.

Matthews lips wrap around your nipple and your head rolls back, your hands tangled in his hair. He leaves a slimy trail down your stomach and looks up at you as he slides your panties down your legs.

“Oh, my god…” he whispers. He looks down at you, touching you all over, flat, warm, open palms on your breasts and ribs. “You’re so beautiful. So, so beautiful,” and he falls to his knees. He holds your legs open and starts to eat you off. Soft, slow, with a strong hold on your thighs. He buries his face between your legs and laps at you like he’s dehydrated.

You purr, pull at his hair, arch your back as you grind against his face. The noises you make come out jumbled and strained and Matthew can’t get enough. He hums against you, speeding up his tongue to bring you to the edge. You squeal and you squirm, but Matthew keeps you locked in place. You grip onto his arms, digging your nails into the flesh. You mutter soft, stuttering profanities, your throat raw from all the noise.

When you come, Matthew is moaning, loving the way your hold tightens around his face and your hands tug at his hair. As he returns to kiss you, you push his shirt off of his body and undo his pants. With his pants and boxers kicked off, he just falls straight into you and it’s like the whole earth shakes. You cry out, wrapping your arms around him. He breathes shakily into your ear, his hands getting under your thighs, pushing your knees to your chest.

The bed rocks back and forth as he pounds you, his eyes trained on you, your moans loud enough to shatter glass. You are absolutely everything he ever imagined you to be and more. So, so much more. You wrap around his dick in just the right way and his head falls back, his mouth falls open and his says your name on this broken, breathy loop. “[y/n], [y/n], oh, fuck, [y/n], baby.”

He watches you rub your clit in fast, hard circles, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He moves into you harder, faster, leaning in so he can hear your moans in his ear. You grip onto his shoulder and then his hair and then his throat and he peers into your eyes. He’s trying to hold on, to savor the moment, to keep you here. Just like this. But your thumb runs over his cheekbone and he breaks down and his face softens and he dissipates into these weak whimpers.

“Y-you going to come, baby?” he asks you, feeling your thighs twitch and tighten against his body.

“Y-yes,” you moan. “Fuck, yes.”

He kisses you, grunting against your lips as he uses his body to carve you out like marble, folding you in half, thrusting himself as deep as he can because he can tell how much you love it.

“C’mon, [y/n], come for me,” he groans in your ear. “Please, please, please, please.”

Your fingers work tirelessly on your clit and with one good move inside of you, you crumble. You pull Matthew close, spread your legs and let him fuck you through it. He’s talking to you, he’s telling you that you’re amazing, that you’re incredible, beautiful, sexy and you’re screaming too loud to hear any of it.

He had been waiting for you to let himself go and he stares at you the entire time he comes. You moan as you feel it splatter all over your stomach, your chest. You chuckle, wiping some off with your finger and popping the digit into your mouth, “Oh, fuck.”

Matthew laughs and crashes on top of you, holding your face as he kisses you. “Come on,” he orders, hopping up.

“Huh?”

“I’m taking you on a date.”

“Right now?” you prop yourself up. “You don’t think we’re going in the wrong order here?”

“Oh, duh, right,” he says and suddenly he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. “We’ve gotta shower first.”

And as you laugh on the way to the bathroom, Matthew squeezes you real tight. Real, real tight, thinking:

Finally.

[neosero]

[ 11:30pm ]

you’re his favorite, though it doesn't feel like it sometimes

word count | 1.5k+

noteworthy mentions | gn!reader; gojo x reader; jujustu-college!au; unimportant but the reader cursed-technique uses tattoos;

blue-eyed freak

you still mad at me :)

As soon as you open your messages you regret it. Of course you’re still mad — leaving you to handle the after mission briefings was one thing you’re used to, but getting ditching to find a way home alone on the count that he wanted to go limited souvenir shopping in Puerto Rico is a step too far.

The speech bubbles appear almost as soon as you open the message, like he knows you’ve seen it and you don’t doubt the possibility. You turn your phone off and toss it to the side, choosing to finish your course work rather than give him the satisfaction of knowing you’ve seen it.

Still, your phone vibrates once then after an hour it goes off again. This is normal for Satoru really — a triple text then radio silence until he’s had enough of the silent treatment. Then he comes barreling through your dorm room as if it was his own. You’d thought about reporting him before or at least asking for a change in partnership, but he would most likely find a way to prevent that from going through. As your senior he can get away with it — that and the higher-ups just about bend over backwards for him.

His radio silence lasts about another two hours just as the moon reaches her summit for the night, then three curt knocks echo through your dorm room.

Gojo never knocks.

He might tap his fingers along the door to his new favorite song of the day, yell at you to open up or he’ll break it down again, he may come in through the window at times or somehow get Geto to use a curse to unlock your door for him like a mad man…

But he never knocks.

You stand, work nearly finished but long forgotten and head to the door. You don’t feel an over abundance of cursed energy nor do you hear the tell tale giggling of a prank getting set up just outside when you place your ear against the cool steel. Confused, you finally look through the peephole and see nothing. You open the door, casting your gaze down the hall to be met with common silence.

You almost believe you were ding-dong-ditched by the man you wanted to avoid, until a note falls off your door and at your feet. COME TO THE ROOF, it reads with no signature; although you recognize the handwriting as if it were your own. You wish you had the self control to ignore it — to ignore him, but you don't. Geto likes to say that it's what makes you both so perfect for each other no matter how much you tell him to shut it. Even when you throw his remark over your shoulder it still clings to you like a shadow.

Like now, pushing open the emergency exit doors to the roof of your building. The Autumn night weather picks at your clothed skin as soon as you walk outside and the stars seem to mock you as they flicker amongst themselves within the sky. You stuff your hands in your pockets for warmth.

Scanning the rooftop for your daily tormenter, you are met with the nights silence. You walk around the roof egress to see if he was hiding. The rooftop isn’t that spacious, so if he was here he would’ve been in eyeshot. He isn't.

The only gullible idiot you find on the roof is the one in your own reflections. You shuffle to the gate surrounding the top of the building. Looking down, you can see the faint glow of dragonflies dancing within the shrubs and flowers. Butterflies follow suit jumping from one flower to the next. The cicadas join together in a sad symphony, giving weight to your sudden walk of shame. At least something is enjoying the night.

What were you hoping for anyway?

A sigh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. Anything really.

A sudden pulse of cursed energy hits your senses with a force. Quickly, turn on your heels. Has the bearer been breached again? Your hand pulls up your sleeve, ready to conjure a shikigami from your skin but stops short.

Gojo sits atop the gate opposite to you. He kicks his feet about like a child, smirk pulling at his lips with your jumpy behavior. The feeling of that overbearing has gone just as soon as it came. That prick.

"Didn't think you'd show." He speaks first jumping from the top of the fence. You give no reply in return. Instead, you lean against the gate head turned away from him to eye the distant buildings. Even if you did come all this way to see him, he still isn't forgiven.

Gojo chuckles to himself, "Still mad."

He sighs, faint clouds of breath leave his parted lips at your continued silence. The subtle annoyance brings a sense of joy that you hide away.

He strides to you, the sounds of his shoes hitting the asphalt overbearing all other sounds of night. In the moment you think of all the things he would say when he gets to you …

( 'Come on, it was a one time thing I swear!' or 'Ijichi was in the area anyway.' maybe even a 'As a Grade One that was light-work, I knew you would have made it back no sweat.' )

… or what he’ll do.

( You had made the mistake of voicing your complaints about Gojo to Geto once, thinking it would be all in good fun. And remain confidential. That same day you found yourself ascended high above Japan, clinging desperately to the cause of your afflictions. Gojo called it an apology — showing you the sites of the city. You still believe it as a threat. )

With the jujutsu world’s biggest enigma you can never guess what he’ll do in any given circumstance. That being said, you fain indifference as he stands in-front of you in all his ‘Special Grade’ glory. Tall and lengthy and powerful. He’s in a class of his own in every department and it’s infuriating to always have to look up at him — in both status and everyday life.

An anomaly both in and out of work. He toys with curses one day then snaps them in half before you can blink the next. Choosing to toy with you for days like your back in grade school, then leave you notes to come see him at night in private. He’s made it his mission to keep you guessing.

He still doesn't give you a chance to think about his next moves even now. Not when he throws himself on you like a limp sake of potatoes. You reach to grab him without a second thought. Your arms wrap and his waist to stabilize him, and his wrap around your shoulders in a hug. He buries his face into the point where your neck meets your shoulders and breathes in deep. You have to fight the urge to shiver. Not because of what he did but because you're touching him. And he's warm.

“I’m sorry.”

Oh.

Your shoulders stiffen and he laughs into your neck with the action.

Gojo Satoru never apologizes. He is the highest point of Jujustu Society; the personification of cursed energy itself since the last incarnation of the six eyes. He was raised as a god, the top of the society; you had thought apologizing was beneath him.

"It's fine." You say, unsure of just what you are supposed to say. It apparently isn't that. Gojo pulls off of you with a deep frown.

"It's not fine."

"What I did wasn't cool, and I'd rather the last time we saw each other not be with you hating my guts."

The last time we saw each other?

What does he mean by that? Your mouth opens but he beats you with the answer.

"The higher ups have assigned Geto and I on a mission, but this one is different. One even I don't think we’ll come back unscathed. So, I just wanted to—"

"Wait! Why are you telling me all this Satoru? I don’t understand?" It is weird to see him this open with you, especially with all that has led you to come up here in the first place. The thought of him being sick or faintly under the influence rocks through your mind. Gojo is honestly awestruck with your confused face.

"You really haven't noticed, huh? Guess I do owe Shoko that five."

He pulls off his glasses, placing six eyes all on you.

"It's 'cause you're my favorite and I don't know how far I'd be without you here."

His gaze is piercing, blue eyes just as bright as the full moon tonight. You had no idea what to say before but now you're really stunned. Here is Gojo Satoru laying down his emotions to you on a cold Autumn night. It’s strange; there is a feeling festering in you that you’ve never felt before with him. Is this genuine concern, hope or something else. Whatever it is you can’t tell but for that moment you believed that heartfelt look in his eyes…

Until he starts laughing. He lets a grand puff of air before he tries to hide his giggles poorly, “Sorry, sorry.”

You shove him away from you with an eye roll, but he still shows you a toothy grin.

"You really know how to ruin a moment, ya'know that?"

"Yeah, I do. But you still love me for it."

[dressed-euphoric]

The Induction

By. Euphoric Dressed

A college student attempts to infiltrate a group. The photo is used as an inspiration. Word Count: 7600

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” my friend exclaimed, his eyes reflecting a lingering sense of letdown. 

“It’ll be fun!” I playfully nudged my friend while extending the pamphlet before him. “Don’t you want to see what goes behind these meetings?”

I could immediately sense he was nowhere as piqued as I was. He rolled his eyes dismissively when I took the pamphlet from a random man a while ago. The man was unusual and everyone could tell he was not your average Joe. 

The man exuded an air of immaculateness. His black hair neatly combed in a conservative manner. He had on a dark charcoal suit that draped on perfectly. His black leather shoes, devoid of any blemishes, gleamed of a mirror shine. His shirt boasted a starched precision, his tie formed a formulated dimple, and his pants displayed razor sharp creases. How would I be if I were to be in his position? The mere thought made me recoil. Could I ever envision myself dressed as he was? Absolutely not. It was out of the question. 

"I'm not that insane," my friend dismissed the invitation.

I lowered my gaze to the paper and observed the intricate details. My eyes scanned across the displayed photos of the individual men. They too were dressed in suits.

"Discover more about our essence and enrich your life today," I read aloud.

He groaned, echoing the reservation swirling in my mind. “That’s how they lure you in, and make you apart of them.”

"Where's your faith in me?" I asked him, seriousness etched on my face. "You know I won't fall for this stuff!”

"Well, I won't be going," he replied firmly.

"Oh, come on!" I whined. "You can't leave me hanging!"

"I'm not going anywhere near that stuff," he persisted.

"You're abandoning me?"

"It was your idea!" he shot back.

"Fine. You'll miss out.”

"Yeah, let me know how it goes," he smirked at me.

I rolled my eyes and looked at him. "It's going to be an epic tale of my infiltration."

------------

The following day, I stood before the mirror. As I examined my t-shirt and jeans, my thoughts drifted to the suited stranger I had encountered on the street. Would I appear out of place?

I laughed. Why should I even care? It was just one meeting, and all I had to do was step inside and witness the nonsense being propagated. With a smile playing on my lips, I gathered the last remnants of my courage. This was it. I was going to infiltrate them. 

As I arrived, the building appeared ordinary, with only a handful of individuals gathered at the entrance. Just as I had anticipated, the attendees had an air of refinement, dressed in dress shirts and ties, trousers, and well polished leather shoes. 

I approached them, and they regarded me with a peculiar stare. I had assumed that I wouldn't blend in, yet they greeted me with smiles. Their eyes revealed a hidden excitement, as if they believed a lost soul like me would willingly join their cause. But there was no chance of that happening.

The entrance led to a corridor, guarded by two suited men. The number of people visiting the place seemed limited. Those who did attend stood out, much like myself, among the established members of the organization.

I observed their interaction with the two men, then they proceeded further down the hallway. I followed suit and approached the man stationed behind a desk. 

He was engrossed in scribbling notes on a piece of paper, but as he glanced up, our eyes met. His neatly combed brown hair was meticulously styled to the side, accentuated by a precise part. His short brown beard was flawlessly groomed. Then there was his dark suit that highlighted his physique. My gaze lingered upon his navy striped tie. How could anyone wear such a thing around their neck!?

“Mr. Porter.” He extended his hands. I reciprocated, but his firm was heavier than mine. 

"We don't often see many young folks around here," he smiled and then glanced down at his logbook. "What's your name and phone number?"

"Mike," my voice squeaked out filled with nerves. Then, I provided him with a fictitious phone number. 

He moistened his finger and turned the pages, scanning for my name.

"You're not on the list," he informed me. "Did you register?"

"I have to register?" A lump formed in my throat.

"Don't worry. Let me check if there's anyone on the list who will be willing to take you in," he searched through the papers again.

"What do you mean?" I asked, fearing the implications of his statement.

“Oh, we have a mentorship program where we pair young men like you with a member. It’s meant to facilitate your transition.” 

"No, I won't need that," I interjected hastily, realizing immediately that it was something to avoid.

He continued without a care to my response. Did he even hear me? Or did he choose to ignore me? 

"Here we go," he tapped on the paper, presumably the person he had found. "Mr. Burton will be pleased to take you under his wing."

"Wait," I tried to stop him, but he raised his hands and reached out to his phone to dial. The phone connected and my heart sank as he mentioned me.

"He will be here shortly," he acknowledged, giving me a nod.

I simply nodded in return and stepped aside, deciding it was better not to arouse suspicion. My gaze fixated on the approaching bystanders. Some were dressed, while others were like me. 

Those who were in suits headed towards a separate entrance, guided by two individuals donning charcoal suits. The rest of them made their way through the main entrance. 

After a few moments, a voice announced itself.

"You must be Mike?" it asked.

Startled from my reverie, I turned to face an older gentleman. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and a partially white scruffy beard adorned his face. Round eyeglasses complemented his facial features. Like the others, he was no exception when it came to attire. He sported an exquisite gray suit, tailored impeccably to his frame, along with a white dress shirt and a yellow striped tie.

This was it. Heat began to radiate through my body as I extended my hand for a handshake. "Mr. Burton?"

There was no turning back now.

"That's me," he grinned, reciprocating the gesture. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Like…Likewise," I managed to choke out.

His handshake was firm, in stark contrast to my own lackluster grip. It surely didn't leave the best impression, but I couldn't dwell on it too much. He stood there with an air of distinction, while I felt insignificant in comparison. I wouldn't say I was scared of him, but he certainly was daunting. 

"Come this way," he motioned for me to follow him into a separate hallway. I glanced around, noticing that no one else seemed to be heading in our direction.

"Are we going the right way?" My voice quivered. 

He chuckled warmly, "it seems like you're familiar with this place."

"Oh. No," I quickly retracted my statement, feeling ashamed of my comment. There must be a reason why Mr. Burton was deviating from the standard protocol. I didn't know what to expect, but I followed him obediently, like a lamb.

"We don't often see many young people here. How old are you, boy?" he inquired.

"Yeah, Mr. Porter mentioned it. I'm 21," I replied, slightly taken aback by being referred to as a "boy." "Young man" would have sufficed.

"As Mr. Porter may have mentioned, we have a mentorship program in place to help young individuals like yourself transition into the group," he explained.

I nodded nervously, acknowledging his words.

"As you know, young people can be more resistant to these kinds of ideals," he commented, hinting at the challenges of acceptance within the organization.

I couldn’t help but laugh inside. He was right. There was absolutely no way I would ever be interested in any of this. Did he seriously think I would consider joining their group? Not to mention how they were all dressed, there was no way I could be like that! I shook my head in disbelief, wondering how people could become so trapped and revolve their lives around such things.

"So, what will we be doing?" I asked, attempting to extract more information from him.

"I thought I'd give you a warm welcome," he replied kindly, as he began approaching a door.

"Right this way," he said, opening the door and extending his arms to invite me in.

I stepped into the dark room, dimly lit by a single lightbulb, with two foldable chairs positioned in the center. The door closed behind me as he entered the room. I glanced back at the door, then shifted my gaze back to the man standing before me.

He chuckled, breaking the silence. "I know how this may appear, but the door isn't locked."

"Okay..." I let out a nervous laugh.

"I thought I could bring you here, so I can get to know you better," he confessed, settling into one of the chairs. As he crossed his legs, I noticed his gray socks peeking out from underneath his trousers. It was the first time I truly took notice of his black dress shoes, polished to a high degree of shine.

He extended his hands towards the vacant chair in front of him. "Come, have a seat."

Following his guidance, I sat across from him. My throat felt heavy, and my nerves were on edge. He wanted to know more about me... Then, the realization hit me hard—I didn't have a story.

"So, boy, tell me about yourself," he said casually.

I flinched at his words, feeling his gaze penetrating into me. Would I slip up? What if he discovered the true reason for my presence here?

"I..." My voice croaked, my mind racing for something to say.

He noticed my hesitation and offered a comforting smile. "I apologize if it feels like an interview. It's natural to be nervous in a situation like this."

If there was one thing remarkable about Mr. Burton, it was his smile. A grinning eminence of warmth and ease. There was a man like this, here. 

"I don't mind," I blurted out, trying to sound confident.

And so, I began to weave a tale about myself—a fabricated version of me.

I introduced myself as Mike, a 21-year-old college student nearing the end of my studies. I mentioned my uncertain future, lacking prospects for a job or a clear path in life, which ultimately led me to this place.

I sprinkled in a mix of fake hobbies along with a few genuine ones, embellishing the lie to make it more convincing.

Mr. Burton sat there, his smile unwavering. He listened attentively, occasionally offering a comment or two. It was easy to forget that he was a man in a suit; he seemed so genuine and down-to-earth. There was something about him that drew me in.

He leaned forward, displaying a genuine interest in what I had to say. He laughed at my jokes and sang with agreement.

As I continued to weave my tale, a part of me longed for him to know the real me. I had to admit, he wasn't at all what I had expected. There was a gentle charm about him that assuaged my worries. If he weren't a part of this group, perhaps I would have genuinely enjoyed getting to know him better.

"Tell me about your family. Do your parents know that you're here?" 

I chuckled and shook my head. "No, my mom is working hard back at home, and, well..."

I didn’t know why but my mind conjured what seemed plausible, “my dad passed away when I was little, so I had a harder time growing up. So you know, without a figure in life, I was a bit rebellious growing up.” 

Mr. Burton nodded empathetically, his eyes filled with understanding. What was it about those eyes that captivated me as the lies spilled out of my lips.

"That must have been challenging for you," his soft voice melded with compassion. 

"Yeah... it was," I replied, lowering my voice as if sharing a deeply personal secret.

In reality, I hadn't lost my father. In fact, my family was ordinary and happy. My parents were well-off, and I had a bright future ahead of me, following in their footsteps—school, job, and eventually starting a family of my own.

But as Mr. Burton expressed his understanding, a pang of guilt tugged at my conscience. Somehow, my words had convinced him that I was on a journey of self-discovery.

"If I had to guess, you're here because you're seeking a new sense of direction," he commented perceptively.

"Yeah," I affirmed, trying to match his understanding tone. Definitely. I definitely came here for a new sense of direction. 

He rose from his chair, his arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture. Confusion filled me as he approached me suddenly, his embrace engulfing me, drawing me close to his chest.

A rush of warmth enveloped me, evoking a sense of safety and comfort that felt foreign in this context. No. No… this wasn’t what I came here for. My heart pounded against his chest as his hand rhythmically patted and rubbed my back.

"You don't have to worry anymore, Mike. I'm here for you," he reassured me with a sincerity that caught me off guard.

His presence surrounded me like a soothing breeze, and his warmth washed over me like gentle waves lapping at the shore. At that moment, I caught a glimpse of an idyllic sunset, its hues reflecting upon the tranquil ocean. Strangely, a part of me wanted to hold onto this feeling.

Though I knew his sympathy was directed towards the fabricated version of me, I couldn't shield myself from the genuine comfort he provided.

"We can help you here," his voice broke the silence, brushing against my ear. "I can help you."

I stood in silence, caught between the allure of his offer and the realization of my ulterior motives. Yet, he drew me even closer, holding me tightly. My face pressed against his soft, gentle dress shirt as my arms instinctively wrapped around his back. The earthy scent of pine trees mixed with a subtle hint of leather filled my senses.

I hadn't anticipated this intimate encounter. What was this? I was perfectly normal… but to be embraced by him made my gut scream in anticipation. This wasn't part of the plan. This was not it. I should start focusing on… what… was… this smell? His smell was heavenly intoxicating. 

All the tension in my muscles melted away as he pulled back slightly, meeting my gaze with his deep blue eyes. "You've made the right choice, boy," he affirmed.

"I..." My words trailed off, captivated by the mesmerizing depth of his eyes. They seemed to hold the secrets of the vast ocean, yet the surface waves were so soothing. If Mr. Burton deemed it the right choice, then perhaps it truly was. What was I here for again?

"I know what you need," he stated with confidence.

"Which is...?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"What sizes do you wear?" he inquired, his tone gentle.

Without hesitation, I shared my shirt, pants, and shoe sizes, as if compelled to do so. There was an odd sense of surrender in that moment, as if I had relinquished control.

A smile curved on his lips. "Stay here, and I will be back shortly."

Anxious anticipation filled me as I nodded in response. I mustered a wry smile as he left the room. Deep down, I knew what awaited me if he was asking for my sizes. This was my chance to leave, to escape this place. I had gone too far, and it was not baring well for me.

But the thought of Mr. Burton leaked into my mind and suddenly a whirlpool of curiosity and intrigue opened up. It revealed an entirely new world beneath the surface. What would it be like to be mentored by him, to truly get to know him? Did it even matter if he was part of this group?

The mere idea of being under his guidance ignited a nervous tremor within me. Was I going mad? What was I thinking? Yet, a surge of excitement coursed through my body, heat flushing my face with warmth. What was this feeling?

The door swung open, extinguishing any flicker of hope for escape. I tried to reassure myself that everything would be alright, that I could still accomplish my mission.

In Mr. Burton's hand, he held a stack of garment bags, and dread washed over me. The sight of those bags could only mean one thing: I was about to be enveloped in the same attire worn by the rest of their members. Was I prepared for that? 

The thought of wearing their fine dress shirts and exquisite trousers seemed unimaginable. Me, in a suit? It felt like an absurd notion. Yet, there stood Mr. Burton, radiating warmth and confidence in his tailored suit. The way it accented his form was undeniably attractive. In that moment, I found myself longing to be like him, to be under his guidance.

"Thank goodness we have them in your size, isn't that great?" he exclaimed joyfully as he approached the center of the room.

I forced a smile, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yeah. What's in the bag?"

A part of me already knew the answer, but I had to ask. He gently placed the bag on the chair and turned his attention back to me, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Just a simple initiation. Nothing too daunting.” He assured me as he reached into the bag and retrieved a package. 

He approached me with it, his voice assuring, “see, nothing bad.”

My gaze fixated on the package. As he opened it, revealing a pair of white undergarments, I couldn't help but feel a surge of apprehension. A nylon undershirt and a white underwear stared back at me.

He handed me the garments, and I held them in my hands, my body tense with uncertainty. Should I accept them? No, it felt like a surrender, a step towards becoming one of them.

I glanced back at him, and his expression shifted upon meeting my hesitant gaze. Has my body language betrayed my doubts?

"I understand what you're thinking," he sighed, his tone empathetic. "Here, let me show you something."

Time seemed to slow as my eyes widened, witnessing what unfolded before me. His hands gravitated towards his belt, the familiar sound of a buckle being undone filling the air. He removed his belt, and a mixture of curiosity and unease coursed through me.

What was he doing!? What was I seeing?

His hands reached towards his trousers, unclasping them. His attention then shifted to the zipper. The sound echoed in the room of his zipper being undone. 

I stared in horror as he dropped his trousers onto the ground. He stepped out of them nonchalantly, revealing his long gray socks that extended above his calves. My attention remained fixed as he slid his hands to his white shirt beneath the gray jacket. 

I couldn’t shift my gaze away from what he had revealed. His white briefs, the same pair he had given me, outlined an enlarged cock behind his brief. It was clearly for me to see.

"Don't worry, Mr. Burton wears them too," he reassured me.

I snapped out of it and refocused my attention on him. His tie still collared onto him. He had already unbuttoned some on his dress shirt and pulled it to the side, revealing the white nylon undershirt tucked into his white briefs. His chest was partially visible, displaying his muscular physique. His hardened nipples along with his fuzzy chest hair faintly visible through the fabric.

"Do you like them?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

I was at a loss for words. My mouth dried and empty. 

"I understand your hesitation. It's natural," he said, attempting to sway me. "But I assure you, you'll find them enjoyable."

I… will enjoy them? I tried to redirect my thoughts on Mr. Burton and not what he displayed in front of me. 

"Go ahead, feel the pair," he gestured, his hands in motion.

I couldn't believe I was engaging in this. My heart raced as I cautiously placed my hands on the garments he had given me. My gaze remained fixed on Mr. Burton as I explored the texture of the fabric. I didn’t hate it. Each touch of it sends a spark against my body. 

"Now, imagine yourself wearing them," he encouraged.

And so I did. I envisioned myself wearing the white nylon undershirt and underwear, picturing myself standing before him.

"Very good," he praised, acknowledging my visualization. "Now, I'd like to see how you would look in them."

I knew what he wanted before he asked. The words stirred a mixture of emotions with me. A sense of uncertainty and unknown. What can I do? What other options did I have?  

Approaching me with warmth emanating from him, he wore a genuine smile on his face. His body moved with poise and his eyes filled with ambition.

How could anyone resist his presence? His hands made contact with me as he visualized the transformation he had in mind.

"I'm going to get rid of this improper appearance," he informed me.

Suddenly, a desire emerged. I want him to get rid of my flaws. I watched as he reached out to my belt and tugged it.

“You’ll no longer be lost, my boy.” His words laced with a drug, pulling me in. 

What was I doing here? What am I doing? I glanced down at my chest as his other hand gently rested there. I observed his hands moving downward, reaching towards my belt.

His hands joined together, their synchronized movement gripping onto my belt. With a bit of fumbling and intertwining of fingers, my belt succumbed to his touch. He swiftly unlocked it.

"There we go," he exclaimed cheerfully as he removed my belt from my jeans, casually discarding it onto the ground. Then, both of his hands proceeded to the hem of my shirt. His touch radiated warmth, akin to the comforting embers of a fireplace.

"Good boy," his words of approval echoed, "good boy."

His hands moved deliberately, gently pulling my shirt outward. My body responded instinctively, allowing him to remove it.

"You just let me guide you," he whispered softly, his words hanging in the air. "I'll ensure you find the right path. Will you allow me to do that for you?"

I hesitated. Why was my body reacting this way? Why did his words hold such allure? My lips began to search for the word “yes.” No, I was perfectly normal. I needed to regain control. I don’t… I gazed into his eyes, searching for clarity, but words eluded me.

There I stood, partially naked in front of him, as his hands continued their purposeful movement. My jeans were eased down, revealing my briefs. Without hesitation, I stepped out of my pants.

His smile stirred something within me. This was my choice, my decision.

He didn't stop there. He wanted to see the holy grail. His gaze met mine once more, seeking permission. Slowly, he descended, removing my last layer of protection. I let him stripped it away.  

"That’s my boy,” his voice growled with approval. 

Never before had I allowed someone to see me completely exposed with my cock hanging out. Mr. Burton was the first to witness it, and he seemed to take pride in that fact, discerning it from a single glance into my eyes.

It was absurd, wasn't it? My original purpose had been to infiltrate their group, and now here I stood, utterly naked before Mr. Burton. I couldn't tear my gaze away from him, captivated by his presence.

His left hand rested gently on my shoulder, while his right hand delicately lifted my chin, directing my gaze towards him. The sensations coursing through my body felt palpable, like resounding drums. Once again, I found myself lost in his eyes, drawn to his white teeth gracing me with a smile.

"Don't be shy. Keep your head up. I promise you'll find pleasure in this," he reassured me, his hands offering a comforting massage to my shoulders.

Radiating with a sense of pride, he stepped away from me, retrieving the garments he had previously shown me. I knew what was to come, and yet my thoughts couldn't help but linger on it…

The allure of wearing their acclaimed garment consumed my thoughts. The vibrations within me intensified, synchronized with the rhythmic tapping of Mr. Burton's leather shoe on the floor.

"Remember, it's just a simple initiation. Nothing to worry about," he reassured, patting me gently on the shoulder. "You want to try them on, don't you?"

My desire to put on the garment was undeniable. I swallowed nervously. After all, it was merely a part of the initiation. Mr. Burton handed it to me with ease. Why did I accept it? Why did I now find it in my grasp? I examined it once more, realizing there were no valid reasons to resist.

It was too late for hesitation. The first piece presented was their white brief. My body seemed to move instinctively as my legs guided themselves into the garment. With each pull, I felt the fabric enveloping me, caressing my skin, and pulling me within them.

“That’s my boy.”

My hands smoothly pulled the garment over my cock, feeling the softness of the white briefs as they embraced me. A sigh of comfort escaped my lips as I relished in the soothing sensation.

Without delay, Mr. Burton handed me the undershirt, and I swiftly slipped it on. The fabric draped over me, and although slightly translucent, it provided a sense of coverage.

“Tuck it in.” He instructed.

Following his guidance, I obediently tucked the undershirt into my briefs. As I completed the task, a deep groan escaped me. I couldn't help but wonder about the unfamiliar emotions stirring within.

"You appear much more dignified now," Mr. Burton commended.

My gaze fixated on his hands as they reached out and rested on top of my bulge.

"How does it feel?" he inquired softly, his fingers tenderly caressing my balls through the fabric.

A faint whimper escaped my lips as his touch elicited a pleasurable response. His fingers moved with gentle strokes, caressing my balls.

“Does it feel good?” He whispered.

“Yes.” I gently bit my lips.

“Wonderful.” His eyes brimmed with pride. 

I couldn't stop looking down at myself at what I had done. The garments I had put on, his hands delicately placed on top of my covered bulge, arousing a newfound erection within me.

"You'll fit right in," he reassured me, a sense of belonging in his tone.

“Oooah…” A low moan escaped my lips as his fingers continued their mesmerizing touch, overpowering my ability to control my own body.

"But we're not finished yet," Mr. Burton grinned, pleased with the progress I had made. How far had I come? Did I even want to resist? Such thoughts escaped from me as my body reveled in the sensation of the garments and his touch. It felt right.

"You, my boy, deserve to embrace your best self every day," he promised, his words tinged with sincerity.

His words caused a blush to color my cheeks, and I looked up at him. Mr. Burton stood there, still partially dressed in his suit, oozing confidence.

"What you see here is what all men should wear," he declared proudly, his words echoed with conviction. 

He then dangled a pair of long black socks in his hands.

"Put these on," he commanded.

Complying with his orders, I slid my feet into the fabric... It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. It provided a comforting warmth against my skin as the sock extended beyond my calves.

At that moment, I was being dressed according to his vision. A sense of fear stirred within me—an apprehensive panic born out of the unknown.

"Now, for the rest of the ensemble," he declared.

With those words, I knew what was left and my body eagerly awaited it. He approached me, holding the next piece of the ensemble in his hands. The missing piece that will start to make me whole. A white dress shirt in his hands, calling for me. 

I couldn’t resist his gentle touches as he starts to enveloped me in a fragment of their uniform. His hands guided my arms into the sleeves. Then he starts to button up the shirt, the fabric delicately caressing me. He reached out to adjust my collar with a gentle touch. I can tell in his eyes how the white dress shirt was fitting for a young man like myself.

Why did everything feel so aligned? With every touch from Mr. Burton, it was no longer me wearing the shirt; instead, it was as if the shirt was embracing me, becoming an integral part of who I am. 

Mr. Burton completed dressing me in the shirt, a wide smile gracing his face. “You’ve started to come along nicely,” he acknowledge. 

I stared down at myself, the unfamiliar long black socks to my calves, the white dress shirt, the white nylon undershirt into the white briefs, some part of me knew I looked funny. This wasn’t me. These clothes weren’t me at all. It didn't fit me. But another part of me…

A spontaneous smile emerged on my face as I examined myself. Simultaneously, an unexpected feeling surfaced within me. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t nervousness. Why, I pondered? Why did excitement surge through my veins?

“I had mentioned earlier you’ll find it pleasurable and it seems I was correct.” He remarked. 

I swallowed uneasily, a swirl of foreign thoughts and feelings wrestling within me. I knew what was happening, yet I fought against it in my mind. I wasn’t going to fall for this. I wasn’t going to be swayed by this group. All I wanted was to go in and get out, enduring and revealing the nonsense meeting.

He wasn’t right. He wasn’t right at all. I can’t find these clothes… enjoyable. However, despite my resistance, I found myself inevitably drawing comparisons to Mr. Burton. I was becoming like him, wearing the same garments he wore. Now, starting to wear the same clothes as he does. I… I couldn’t help but admire him, even against my will.

Mr. Burton swiftly moved on to the next item. He draped a pair of charcoal trousers over his hands. I swallowed hard. I hated the implication of it. One step closer. One step closer to becoming one of them. 

“You are to wear the proper attire befitting of a man.” Mr. Burton extended his hands towards me, almost like he had sensed the oncoming distraught. 

Was Mr. Burton the embodiment of it all?

“Please rest assured, you don’t need to worry about anything. As your mentor, it is my duty to provide guidance and support. The decisions I make on your behalf are intended to help you, mold you, and reform you. You can trust that my choices will always be correct." His smile radiated warmth and reassurance.

His words resonated within me… he always had my best interests at heart… he… he was going to my mentor, leading me towards the path I needed to follow. 

“Put on these trousers and let go of all thoughts of the past. You will grow to appreciate them and only desire to wear of such.” He extended them towards me. 

I stared intently, but no resistance surfaced in my mind. Mr. Burton was here, surrounding me with his care. Without any more thoughts, I reached out and accepted the trousers. 

“That’s my boy,” he praised.

I wasn’t merely a young man anymore… I was now Mr. Burton’s boy, entrusted to his care. I couldn’t deny him. I had to wear the pants he had given me. Thus, I slipped into the trousers. His hands moved quickly, assisting in tucking my shirt neatly. 

“Good boy,” he uttered, zipping up my fly. 

His words stirred a flutter in my stomach. Just moments ago, his praises were unwarranted, even cringe-worthy. They were false. Thoughts of why I should care about a man like him praising me, and how being referred to as a “good boy” stung my pride, crossed my mind. I was not a boy; I was a man.

Yet, those thoughts faded away. I’m doing the right thing… I… I was a… a good boy. 

Me with them. Me with Mr. Burton. A strange sensation stirred within me at the thought, but it was not the end. Swiftly, I felt the presence of something around my neck—a red and black striped tie. I watched, allowing him to knot it around my collar.

His hands moved gently against my neck as he skillfully tied the knot. It took shape, and then he tugged it snugly against my neck, ensuring it was just tight.

"Now, that's what I want to see," he remarked, gripping onto my tie.

My thoughts froze in my head, shrouded in the mystery of my own feelings.

"Now, onto the final piece," he declared, walking over to a pair of black loafers.

A lump formed in my throat as he approached with the loafers. They were impeccably polished and shiny. I didn’t know how I would feel about wearing them. I had found them to be… worn by older generations.

Mr. Burton motioned for me to sit on the chair, waiting to give me a prized possession of their shoes. This was the final piece… my body complied.

I watched as he bent down, grasping my feet, and slipped on one loafer, followed by the other. Finally, he completed the ensemble with the second loafer. They fit perfectly on my feet. 

He tapped the black loafers on my feet, then looked up at me. "How do they feel? Do they fit?"

I nodded towards him. They fitted perfectly and it was scary. I had never worn a pair in my life and yet they snuggled me comfortably. All the men wore such beautiful pairs of leather shoes and now, one was on me.

Deep breaths escaped my lips as I sat there, allowing the moment to sink in. The gnawing sensation inside me grew stronger as I stood up, gazing down at my new pair of shoes.

My vision blurred momentarily, and my heart chimed loudly, resonating through the empty room. I could feel it coursing through me— the shoes, the shirt and pants, the knot. Breathe, I told myself. Breathe. But I couldn't help but steal glances at myself in their clothes. What would it do to me? Was I truly mad to crave it? I was. I was insane.

I looked like one of them. I looked like one of his own. Such a thought was welcomed. I want to be one of them. I want to be like Mr. Burton’s and now I stood there in their uniform. I stood there and looked like him. I was complete.

My lips broke the silence I had held so tightly within me. “Everything… feels…”

“Wonderful,” he finished my sentence, stealing my words.

I couldn’t help but found myself riveting to what he had put me in. I can see myself in their clothes. I can see myself wearing a suit walking amongst them. I can see myself always neatly dressed and proper. My hair conservatively like Mr. Burton’s. My ties knotted tightly and formulated. A dress shirt always worn by me accompanied by razor sharped creased trousers. Then at last, long socks and polished shoes of a man. 

His hands guided along my chest, up to my tie, as he grabbed the knot and pulled me closer.

"Don't you agree that this is a much better representation of who you are?" His hands traced the front of my dress shirt.

My voice croaked under his touch. "Yes."

His other hand found itself again on top of my bulge of my newly charcoal trousers.

“Ooooah!” My mouth opened wide in earnest, allowing him massaging it through my trousers. His hands had its touches, binding pleasure to him. 

His gaze steadfastly locked with mine, his hold on my tie unyielding, “it’s time to make you a member.”

I…it was finally time for me to be under him. I want to be a member. I want to be Mr. Burton’s. After all, I was already one of them dressed in their clothes.

“What… what do I do?” I silently panted, waiting to hear the secrets.

“Surrender yourself to me.” He whispered into my ears, as he tenderly gripped my hardened cock.

“Oooo.” I moaned upon hearing his voice. Surrender myself to Mr. Burton.

“Truly etched my words into your heart and soul. Make it a part of who you are.” He continued.

I needed to fully commit to his teaching… how can I not? 

He grabbed a hold of the back of my head and gently led it close to his chest. Then suddenly, his firm was hard and then he invited me to his hardened nipples. 

“Urgh… that’s my boy.” He groaned out loud as I opened my mouth upon his nipples.

My tongue lashed out into his nylon undershirt as it twirled and sucked on his nipples. I can taste his musk inside my mouth. It was a godsend. A heavenly taste that burnt itself into my memory. 

I want him. I want Mr. Burton. I couldn’t stop myself. He pushed me harder and I followed. His hands groped hard upon my hidden cock alluding me into him.

Surrender myself to Mr. Burton.

“Argh.” He growled in pleasure.

“Mmmm!” My mouth watered.

He pulled my head away with a wide grin on his face. His eyes were full of pride for me. 

"Listen carefully, Mike." His voice reverberated through the room.

I focused my gaze on him, attentively absorbing each word.

"You're about to become a member," he began.

My heart swelled with excitement. The thought of officially becoming one of them swells inside of me, waiting to burst. I was one of them in their uniforms. Next was the pledge.

"To proceed, there is something you must accept from me."

I was prepared to accept anything he offered.

“You will drink my seed that I will bestow on you. You will let it take root. You will let me watered it and nurture it. In return, you will adopt the Burton name as a symbol of your commitment.” His words commanded my attention. 

I accept. My body accepted. What was this overwhelming sensation of joy that surged within me when considering adopting his name as my own? Excitement coursed through me, flowing through every fiber of my being, longing for it. I want to embrace and etch it into me… Mike...

"Mike Burton." It effortlessly slipped off my tongue, solidifying its existence. The name suited me perfectly... I was destined to become a Burton...

"That's right, boy." His grin widened even further upon hearing me softly utter what he had desired from me. Once again, a sense of pride illuminated his eyes.

“Kneel.” He ordered me.

“Yes, Mr. Burton.” My lips moved involuntarily, submitting to his commands. His words carried a melody, and my body gladly followed his tunes. My knees sank to the ground before him.

"Yes, Father Burton," he instructed for the correction.

"Yes, Father Burton," I followed his commands.

“That’s my boy… good boy.” He praised with a whistle.

His words filled me with a sense of delight. A yearning to be a good boy. I longed to satisfy his desires. There was no shame within me, as he had trained me to seek his praises. 

I watched as his hands descended down to his white briefs. I watched again as his hands unveiled his Fatherhood right before me. I watched and wanted his seeds. I want to be Mike Burton. I want to be his.

I descended upon his Fatherhood. Oh! How I yearned for this! 

“Argh!” His moan raged against the room at the stroke of my mouth. 

His grunts were the epitome of happiness. My mouth watered and it soaked his Fatherhood, enveloped it all inside of my lips. 

“ARGH!!” He roughly grunted as he pushed his Fatherhood further in. My mouth was full of acceptance allowing him to prepare me for his seed.

“Goood…. Boy.” He huffed out loud as he gracefully thrust his hips.

The sound of the praises ushered me harder and faster. My eyes were drawn up to his and we locked gazes. He was so proud of me. I melted, becoming one with him.

“You’re… doing… so… good… boy.” Sweat drops on the side of his head as I continue loving his Fatherhood.

“ARGH!” He screamed out in ecstasy, motioning his hips against my mouth.

I can taste the beginning of his seeds. How tasteful and fulfilling it was to me. I want it. I want it all! My tongue mirrored his rhythmic movements, becoming one with his passionate drive. Together, we danced.

“OOOOOAH!” His moans louder and heavier.

I can taste his constant stream of his leaking nourishment, gently cascading me. It’s not enough.

“You want it badly, boy!” His voice commanded me.

“ARGHHHH!” He let out another roar.

“I hereby declare you Mike Burton!” He proclaimed.

Yes. Father Burton.

“OOOOOAH!” 

His Fatherhood bursted. Yes… yes! My mouth remains unyielding to his Fatherhood as his seed shoots out. I can taste him. I can taste the sweetness and saltiness of it all. 

His seed entered my throat and it dripped down, covering my walls. I could feel it entering through me, marking me as his. His seed was inside me, and my body accepted him.

“OOOOAH!” I moaned out as I let his seed soak me in. A wave crashed over me, and I found my cock bursting out.

“Let it out. Let it out, boy!” He shouts.

“ARRGHHH!” My eyes shut closed, embracing what he gave me. My cum seeps out into the nylon shirt, the white briefs, then out to my charcoal trousers. It seeped out, telling me the clothes were now mine.

“I… can’t… stop!” I groaned out loud as it continued bursting, “ooooooahhhh.”

“Good boy.” He praised me as I let myself out, and in its place was his seed.

“Ooooah…” I panted as the feeling fell down. I want more. I craved it. I can feel his seed taking root inside of me, pushing the last remnants of myself out. My body accepted it with open arms. I want his seed. I want it inside of me, overwhelming me. I was his vessel. 

My breaths labored heavily as my knees remained planted on the ground. With a gentle gesture, he lifted me up, his gaze filled with a newfound brightness.

"Welcome, my protege," he declared, his voice resonating with approval. His eyes twinkled with anticipation as he prompted, "Share with me what you have learned today."

I found myself lost in his presence, drowning in his appearance. Father Burton, my mentor, stood before me. His neatly trimmed brown hair set a standard for grooming that I aspired to achieve. His partially white, well-kept scruffy beard mirrored the same attention to detail. I felt compelled to emulate such facial grooming.

He wore a gray suit jacket that draped elegantly over him. I want a suit like his. Underneath, a white nylon undershirt was tucked into his white briefs. It truly is the  epitome of appropriate undergarments for a man. His white dress shirt, paired with a yellow striped tie, embodied sartorial excellence. His black, shiny shoes served as a constant reminder of proper footwear.

“I am the newest member under the teachings of Father Burton.” The words slipped out my tongue, “I will follow Father Burton and will always wear the proper garments of a white nylon undershirt tucked into my white briefs.”

I… this was me… this was who I will become.

"I will always wear a dress shirt, tie, and creased trousers befitting a young man. On my feet will always be long dress socks and polished leather shoes.”

That was an outfit befitting me.

"I… I am Mike Burton.” My voice declared.

"Marvelous!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands in approval.

"I..." my words struggled to find their place, a sense of trepidation filling me. However he being Mr. Burton, he had the hues of a sunset. He leaned in forward, listening attentively.

"Do you seek my praise?" he guessed.

I swallowed hard.

"Say yes, boy," he urged.

"Ye..." my lips strained to confess the words.

"Yes, Father Burton," I uttered, my lips giving voice to the truth.

He approached me, placing both hands on my shoulders.

"You... are an extraordinary young man," he uttered those magical words. "Make me proud."

My blood danced and leaped. My smile widened from cheeks to cheeks. I will make him proud. I will make Father Burton proud. 

His hands moved towards the wet spot on my trousers. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks as I had wet my trousers with my cum.

“Please don’t worry, boy.” He assured me, his tone comforting. “When others see this, they will know without a doubt that you belong to me.”  

Blushing forward, I slowly accepted what I had done to my trousers.

“I’m glad you came here today.” His eyes smiled.

“I… I am too.” I grinned back at him.

“We have much work ahead of us, you and I.”

“Yes, Father Burton.”

[kingthunder]

Analysis of Jaskier's songs from s1—

—and how they reflect the narrative events and Jaskier's character arc through the show. I'm trying to keep this as canon as possible and not look at it through shipping goggles, but there is textual stuff about Jaskier's relationship with and love for Geralt that's impossible to ignore.

Toss a Coin to Your Witcher: Jaskier’s first big break, the famous and famously annoying Toss a Coin. He wrote this when he was around eighteen and it definitely feels immature. He’s cracking bad jokes like “elf on a shelf” (god I hate that one, it grates me every time) and substituting “bleat” for “beat.” He’s taking enormous creative liberties with facts. And he’s being a little thoughtless; in his enthusiasm to hero-wash Geralt, he’s throwing elves under the bus, calling them devils and pests while he’s talking about Geralt as a friend to “humanity.” (more about this when we get into some of his later songs and his time as the Sandpiper)

This is an upbeat, catchy (and kind of shallow) song that I mentally classify as one of his “narrative” songs. It tells a story. It feels optimistic, much like Jaskier himself at this point in his life. After all, this is the kid who saw a big scary witcher brooding in a corner and decided that nothing could go wrong by following him around. He’s got a head full of heroics and heartbreak and nothing is going to dissuade him, not even being nearly killed. This song is a perfect time capsule of the beginning of Jaskier’s career and also the beginning of his long-running relationship with Geralt.

The Fishmonger’s Daughter: Jaskier plays this at Calanthe’s court when she orders him to play “a jig.” It seems like a pretty typical bawdy tavern song, the kind where you try to drum up audience participation. Most of the court seems to know it and sing along with it. No idea if Jaskier wrote this himself. He probably didn’t. It seems like one of those songs that everyone just knows.

Her Sweet Kiss: This song makes me feel deranged. This is definitely a Jaskier original. We see him writing and noodling with it at the beginning of The Mountain (tm) and asking other people if his lyrics are scanning well. He’s been traveling with Geralt on and off for about twenty years now, so he’s forty years old or close to it. He’s seen some shit, and part of the shit he’s seen has been Geralt and Yennefer’s relationship. He is not a fan. He is so deeply not a fan that he’s writing a whole song about it. But also? He’s putting himself in the song too, and he’s putting his heart on his sleeve, the same way that he tries to do when he talks to Geralt about going to the coast. The lyrics of this song are about three people—a man (Geralt), a woman (Yennefer), and the singer (Jaskier). It’s about how the woman is bad for the man, and how much the singer loves the man.

Whether you see Jaskier’s feelings for Geralt as romantic or not, these are the facts:

He doesn’t like Yennefer or think that she’s good for Geralt, and says so, repeatedly, both in casual conversation and in his music. In the song, he writes, “She’s always bad news, it’s always lose-lose” and that, “She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss.” 

In the song, Jaskier calls Geralt “my love” and says, “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting.”

He asks Geralt to go to the coast with him, so they can “work out what pleases” them. He wants them to stay together and not go their separate ways like they often do.

Immediately after this plea, Geralt goes straight to Yennefer and (just in case anyone was doubting that Her Sweet Kiss was about the three of them) Geralt and Yennefer fuck while an instrumental version of Her Sweet Kiss plays over the sex. I still can’t believe the showrunners did that. That was A Damn Choice. (deranged, I am deranged about everything about this)

The kicker is that the song wasn’t even finished when Geralt flipped his lid and shouted Jaskier off The Mountain (tm) and out of his life. Which means that Jaskier, alone and heartbroken (his own words from s2), finished this song and published it afterwards, even knowing that the entire situation had gone tits up and that he might not even see Geralt or Yennefer again. Maybe it gave him some catharsis to sing it, who knows.

This isn’t a shallow catchy tune like Toss a Coin or even Fishmonger’s Daughter. It’s deeply personal and a tonal shift from his previous music.

(and it makes me deranged)

Stay tuned for my season 2 thoughts!

[steveinscarlet]

I tried to scan the main ol' crazy eyes Joe picture but he was too big to properly fit in the scanner so this is the best I could do

Text below the cut

BRINGING UP BABY

Joe Elliott doesn't want children - he's got enough on his hands nursing a billion dollar baby called Def Leppard. Mat Snow hears why arguably the world's most successful rock 'n' roll band can still stroll down the street without being recognised. Pictures by Peter Anderson

BY THE time you read this, you'll know something that was on the cards a couple of weeks ago but by no means a dead cert.

That is whether the British Phonographic Institute, in all its majesty and wisdom, opened an envelope at the black tie, gala dinner and announced that the award for Rockin' Pneumonia, Boogie-Woogie Flu And All-Round Fabness goes not to Brother Beyond, Yazz, nor even Bros, but to a bunch of blokes who won't see 25 again and who play guitars, drums and stuff often quite loud.

Yes, you will know now what Def Leppard's Joe Elliott and I didn't know then whether there will be a BPI BRITS Award for Best British Band decorating his parents' mantelpiece.

"Def Leppard winning anything is hilarious," he chuckles. "It's nice to be nominated, but we're never going to win anything. We're a stick-in-the- mud heavy metal band - Long 'air and jeans: we can't vote for them, can we?"

JOE ELLIOTT is in mellow mood. After nearly three months off, following the highly lucrative but tiring 14-month Hysteria tour, he at last has time to chew the fat back home in a beautiful bay just outside Dublin, where he is spending his 'year out' of the UK for tax reasons.

Unlike the other four Leps, who get itchy after only three weeks off the road, Joe needs the time to lounge around, catch up with his listening and watch a few videos.

"I've been revelling in the fact that I've been able to get a sore throat and it doesn't matter!"

A week in the sun apart, Joe has not been neglecting his career as the mouthpiece of arguably the most commercially successful rock 'n' roll band in the world today.

There will be rehearsals for the new album. (Robert 'Mutt' Lange, the so-called 'sixth Lep', will not be producing). Hopes are high that it might be in the shops sooner than 1991, given that their two previous albums, 'Pyromania' and 'Hysteria', have been beaten only by Michael Jackson in terms of how long we've had to wait between releases - and how many copies we've gone out and bought. But, right now, Joe has the luxury of reflecting on his place in the scheme of things.

It seems that what he ultimately craves is to be recognised as one of the true rock greats, on a par with the people who turned him on in the first place, back when he was a soccer- crazy, only child growing up in Sheffield, when he was a bored youth maintaining stocks of grinding wheels and oil rags for Osborne Mushet Tools.

Back then, people like Alice Cooper, Jethro Tull, T Rex and, especially, Mott The Hoople kept him sane. Def Leppard's record company, Phonogram, have signed Ian Hunter and it's the best news Joe's had all year.

His list of heroes includes just about everybody who made a raucous noise in the '70s his years of yearning to escape the humdrum world of work and home. That need is still Joe's guiding force so he won't be taking a cue from his friend Jon Bon Jovi's 'New Jersey' and calling his next album 'South Yorkshire'. "Can you imagine it?" he guffaws.

"Ian Hunter summed it up brilliantly in his book Diary Of A Rock 'N' Roll Star - 'I left my heart in Watford?' How can you sing about Scunthorpe or Huddersfield?

"Let's face it, everybody would say, Fair play for doing it - but they'd laugh at it whether they were fans, journalists or friends. I remember when Saxon had this song called 'Northern Lady', and it just stank. Leave it out! Jesus Christ! Flat caps and Yorkshire pudding is the impression people get, even though we all know it's not like that. "They don't all keep pigeons, which is what a lot of people south of Nottingham seem to think. There's no romance, no beaches in Sheffield. A car chase in San Francisco is always going to look better than one through Hackney. But then they could never have Sherlock Holmes in America. It's a different world.

"I'd sooner go for the British approach, which is totally ambiguous: it doesn't say anything, it doesn't mean anything," Joe goes on. "I can't even describe what half the bloody songs are about; they just sound alright. You are what you listen to. You explain what T Rex's lyrics are about. If you can figure his out, then you can figure mine out. 'Hub-cap diamond star halo' means more to me than 'I went down to the river', I'm afraid. People can relate to that Springsteeny thing but, to me, T Rex made your imagination work harder.

"If I wrote from experience, I don't think it would sound very good me singing about the last five-a-side soccer game I had.

"Whenever I sing about women, it's always invented," says Joe, rebutting the charge of sexism which, in fact, I hadn't levelled at him.

"Who's to say that the honkytonk woman ever existed? It could have been a complete figment of Jagger's imagination. I used to write from personal experience don't think I never have.

"On the second album, we wrote about all sorts of stories; Steve (Clark) once hijacked a taxi in Paris and tried to write a song about it. But it just sounded like a piece of shit, so we scrapped it, rewrote the lyrics, made them up, and it was a lot better."

SO, IF not 'South Yorkshire', S perhaps 'Catatonia'? 'Schizophrenia' (a double- album)? Or (Bob Geldof's suggestion) 'Paranoia'? Another psychological disorder, surely?

"Probably," reckons Joe. "It was a complete coincidence, the last two. 'Hysteria' was an idea Rick (Allen) came up with. It was after all the stuff with his accident. The first time we ever seriously experienced it was on the '83 tour, and it got pretty close to it two days after his accident - the reception area of the hospital was teeming with newspaper reporters and kids. And, because we weren't all that popular in England at the time, it made it appear more massive. Rick was on the front page of the Daily Star - and there were all these journalists, like Rick was The Queen or lan Botham. We had to be snuck in through the f***in' laundry chute to go and see him! "I always imagine that Fish - and I'm not knocking the guy - has everything worked out in advance: This is the album title, here's the sleeve - now let's go write the music. The last thing we have is the album title; we panic so much. "Hysteria' was going to be called 'Animal Instincts' at one stage: then we thought that sounded really stupid. We had the sleeve ready, so that was four grand down the drain. It just wasn't right - so we used it for the book instead."

Having repeated, even exceeded, the success of the hard-to-match 'Pyromania' album with 'Hysteria', Joe has found that the way to cope with sky-high expectations is to ignore them.

"I have no doubts about the next album," he declares. "I'm not 100 per cent sure that it'll be as big as the last one, though it may be a better record. Much of it is down to timing. I don't believe success should be based on sales. But everywhere you look it's figures, figures, figures.

"Success should be judged on the sound of the bloody thing. I'm not worried about it. We'll make a record and put it out, and it'll do whatever it does."

What about the live act? "We've had a few approaches from the States to go back and do some shows this summer. Believe it or not, 'Hysteria"s gone back up in America the album's doing better now than when we were out there. It's been 'Top Five in three different years - '87, 88 and now '89.

"Anyway, I was talking to Adam Clayton about it the other day, and he said, You've got to be careful because where do you go from stadiums? What do you do go back to clubs? "That's why we have managers. We have opinions, but we don't have our finger on the pulse like they do. We're too busy trying to sing in tune, play the songs and look cool like a pop band is supposed to do and still keep an eye open so you don't get ripped off. But you can't be a master of all trades.

"When does a spectacle become untoppable? It doesn't. You do a gig on the moon and put the PA on Pluto... Satellite gigs? Hologram gigs? Put the audience in the middle and us outside!"

ON TOUR, the Aerosmith, Guns N' Roses and Love And Rockets albums never left cassette deck. Back home, the Irish magazine Fresh has asked Joe for a fan's-eye view of the new releases.

"I played the Lou Reed album ten times and, in my opinion, it ain't 'Transformer', it ain't 'Sally Can't Dance', it's not 'Coney Island Baby' and it's definitely not 'Berlin'. Every song's about f***ing New York! All about some guy with needles in his arms! "But I grew up with 'Transformer', which came out when I was 12. And 'Berlin' was really depressing but great to listen to in the bath. The new one sounds like demos, which has a sort of charm, but some of it's a bit weird. That song, 'Last Great American Whale' I can't make my mind up whether it's a piece of shit or it's genius. He just talks it he makes Mark Knopfler sound like the guy out of Foreigner. Very strange."

Fine Young Cannibals' "The Raw And The Cooked' gets short shrift from Joe: "I'll never forgive them for slaughtering the Buzzcocks". As for Blondie's remix album, 'Once More Into The Bleach', it's "awful".

The new Supremes compilation is another matter: "F***ing brilliant," Joe raves. "To hear 'Nathan Jones' the way I remember it, not the way f***ing Bananarama slaughtered it. I got my first snog to that song, under the stairs at the Top Rank in Sheffield in 1971, Saturday morning youth club."

Joe advises me to check out The Hooters and The Quireboys; I recommend The Replacements - right up his street. But Joe (29) is of an age to get his real kicks from the stars of yesteryear.

"I've met Jagger at the studio. He was great he kept stealing our f***ing newspapers! Have you got the Daily Mirror? I want to do the crossword.

"Robert Plant came to see us in Chicago. He was great. When we played in the round we used to go on in laundry baskets. His tour manager bet him ten dollars he wouldn't push one out. So he put a hat on, pair of shades, stuffed his tour jacket full of jumpers to make him look fat, and pushed it out to the middle of the stage, right through the audience! "It's funny because he's a Leo as well, and Jagger. All frontmen are Leos," Joe muses. "Those detailed analyses of your star sign tell you things you often don't like to hear. 'Capable of being childish' - I suppose I am. 'Always has to be the centre of attention' well, when it suits me. "Sometimes I just like to bury myself, but that's what my gig is, that's what everybody wants: a big, loud, bloody... you know. "But Jagger's the best; he's got the lips of an elephant on the body of a dwarf. Brilliant. The ultimate frontmen are those you can caricature in cartoons - Jagger, Steve Tyler, Rod Stewart, Bowie, Townshend, Meat Loaf, Alice Cooper... You couldn't really draw me but it doesn't seem to have hindered our success.

"To be honest, once you're as big as we are and you don't have those sort of features, it's nice. I don't have to send the maid out to buy the News Of The World. I can walk down Oxford Street."

So what is the secret of Def Leppard's success?

"Most people in bands have got families, and maybe that's the reason we have the success we have: nobody's married or got kids," reasons Joe.

"I can't see Phil (Collen) starting a family when he hasn't even got a home. And I definitely have no desire to be a father.

"The only times I've ever thought about it have been provoked by TV documentaries like World In Action. I seriously think I would rather adopt an eight-year-old Brazilian kid and give it a real good start in life.

"There's enough kids without me bringing another one into the world. And to be quite honest, after my mumps I don't know if I can!

"I can miss out the nappy stage, which I'd detest. And I don't like the idea of a nanny bringing the kid up because you might as well not bother; you might as well buy one. "I don't want a kid; the band's too much of a bloody baby!"

[rubykgrant]

I'm curious, based on the scenes from the trailers, how would YOU have written Restoration? I think, personally, I would've had Sarge be unconscious for a couple days, forcing Simmons to step up as leader without offing such a good character. I also would've kept Doc alive and had Donut, Lopez, Sheila, and Sister be part of things more.

Oh, don't curse me with that, I'm having a hard enough time with all the thoughts for my OWN story-line... OK, but honestly? There is a versions that would be "perfect for me" (and that may as well be my own story-line), and a version that would maybe be what this final season was, but just a little different-

-Imagine it actually picks up immediately after Church's final message. Like, we hear his voice again, see the same visuals, but instead of fading to black as Epsilon blinks out, there is a brief pause... and everything goes into MOTION. Tucker and the rest of the characters start fighting, and we see the whole thing!

-When the plot actually starts, nobody is together. Similar to Donut's suggestion of taking a break from each other in 17, they all went their separate ways, but when problems start to pop up, they need to regroup (Doc isn't dead, Donut is part of things)

-If Sarge has to die (in my perfect version, he doesn't, but if he HAS to), he's injured first on the Staff of Charon, OR he's been injured and out of the main focus for a bit, and he doesn't die until near the end (still gets buried in Blood Gulch, but now everybody is there). If he dies at the beginning, there would be a lot of flash-backs to some of his lines through the series, being all significant and such

-Tucker keeping the armor and being the new "Meta" can go a few different ways, actually (and 19 had the potential for all of it, it just kinda didn't push it hard enough in any of these directions)

-One version, after the fight is over, Tucker stands back from the others as he realizes Church is totally gone... and orange flames flicker in the reflection of his helmet visor. @leonardalphachurch brought up a good concept of how Sigma probably wouldn't just FORCE Tucker to do anything, but instead convince him that this is totally a good idea (and perhaps driving a wedge between Tucker and his other friends). This is a "villain" who thinks they're right (but Tucker isn't just totally "evil"). Several times, he would defeat the others, have the opportunity to kill them, but he doesn't. The AI aren't torturing him, but as time goes on, their reasoning becomes less rational, and it is a struggle to remember why they're all fighting so hard for this goal, but they can't STOP

-Epsilon Deconstructing means the Fragments lost their memories... and so did Tucker. This can go hand in had with him and the Fragments getting too focused on the only thing they "know", finding Church, being "complete". It can also roll into a DIFFERENT kind of manipulation, with a totally different antagonist intending to turn Tucker and the AI into a new murder machine (it could be Hargrove, it could the UNSC, could be somebody else. they just recognize that Tucker is an incredible fighter and the AI are very capable, so they're manipulating the situation)

-Slightly with that same vibe, the suit was always a trap; Hargrove figured either Felix of Locus would put it on, and rigged the thing to take control and follow programmed orders. The AI are trapped in it too, forced to help fight, but don't want to actually kill anybody. ALSO, if you want Felix in there; he asked Price about the whole brain-scanning stuff, and thought he'd get himself some kind of "do-over" if he had a back-up copy of his brain. So, the REAL manipulative AI is, in fact, FELIX (when the original Felix died, his suit scanned his brain one last time and sent the information to the suit, where it waited to activate). In this version, Locus is more involved, he has to help stop the computer ghost of his toxic yaoi boyfriend

-After the final fight, Tucker leaves the group to go find Junior, and when the others finally see him again, he seems like a "bad guy", attacking different UNSC soldiers. He keeps AVOIDING his friends, not because he hates them, but he specifically doesn't want them involved in this mess. The government is calling Tucker an evil villain, but he's actually just been saving different alien planets, forgotten outposts, and people like the prisoners who have been hurt by the UNSC (Tucker gets a Temple arc, except he's like... actually successful. somewhere, in another dimension, Temple is sooooo mad and jealous). Somebody tries to stop Tucker with some weird tower, but it just activates Great Destroyer Mode. The rest of his friends need to stop him without killing him

-In all versions, everybody has an eventual show-down with Tucker and the AI, Tex comes back (because that was the BEST PART), and the only reason they need to fight him and remove the AI is so everything can kind of re-set. Tucker needs to remember himself, and the AI need to re-charge and calm down (if there is a Felix AI, he gets deleted. bye, hater). Donut is the one who pulls off the big epic throw with the AI Unit; he's got an ARM (also, one way or another, a conversation between the O'Malley who is only part of Doc, and the Omega AI. it would just be fun to hear Omega say something like "Nice to see you found your back-bone")

-We still have Wash talking to people he misses, but it's the other Freelancers (and maybe a hint of the implication that, if things hadn't been so traumatic during their first meeting, this is something he could have shared with Epsilon; memories)

-Tucker gets one final recorded message from Church, so they can have a decent good-bye. Within the AI unit, Church reunites with Tex, but the Fragments are there too, everybody is finally together again. They don't destroy it; instead, Caboose gives it to Carolina, telling her "When they're ready to wake up, you can see your family again)

-In either Sarge Dies scenario, Simmons gets VERY UPSET. He either loses his temper entirely, or he gets so quiet and cold, it is very unnerving. Grif has to snap him out of it. After all the big problems settle down, and Grif gets ready to go back home with Kai, Simmons tells him good-bye... and then starts following him after a short pause. What else would he do? (I have a dozen different ways I could imagine an emotional/romantic moment, but in all seriousness? it just isn't realistic for them to go separate ways. Grif and Simmons are stuck together for all eternity. I HAVE SPOKEN)

-Happy family reunion with Tucker and Junior! Everybody else finds their own path in life, they know they can still reach out to each other again, but they all have different options now (Wash wants to go track down the Triplets, and Niner is gonna give him a lift)

There is... a LOT of other stuff, but I can't fit it all in. Anyway, some kind of "better" version of Meta Tucker that isn't just him being tortured/mind-controlled, and he gets his kid back, more of an emotional impact when it comes to losing Sarge, Grif and Simmons are stuck like glue forever, Donut and Doc get to be there... yeah

[caeli0306]

castles crumbling blurb

Ok, it was pretty clear what y'all wanted. Fair warning: I am still nailing down plot specifics and stuff like that, so there is a very real chance that this blurb will be rewritten entirely and every plot point here discarded by the time I actually fully commit to writing the longer fic. With that in mind and ithout further ado, the blurb:

---

Violet

When I arrive at NIA Headquarters, the sun has begun to peek its head above the mountains I can see in the distance from the edge of Calldyr City. 

Dain, predictably, is waiting in the cavernous atrium, pacing back and forth. Ridoc was right, I muse. He does look like he’s about to shit a brick. When his eyes catch on me, he freezes momentarily, before marching over to me.

“Where the hell were you?” He asks sharply. I don’t bother pausing, instead forcing him to catch up to me as I approach the security checkpoint.

“Asleep,” I retort, shrugging off the black leather jacket I wore to ward off the early morning chill and placing it in the bin to be scanned. I begin withdrawing the dozen daggers I keep in sheathes strapped all over my body and dropping them into the bin as well. The security guard only watches on with a vaguely bored look. 

My flippancy is clearly not winning me any points with my ex-boyfriend, however. “My father called for you almost an hour ago. This doesn’t reflect well on me or on you.”

“Honestly, I don’t care how my reactions reflect on you, Dain. You’re the least of my concerns,” I say with a wave of my hand as I step through the metal detector. I curse when it goes off – I forgot the dagger in my boot again. I step back through and tug it out, dropping it in the bin with the others with an apologetic look in the security guard's direction. They don’t even spare me a second-glance. I look back at Dain. “And as for how it reflects on me, you just let me worry about that.”

I don’t worry about it. At all. We all know nobody cares what I do so long as I complete my mission objectives. Dain’s father might whine about military precision, but this isn’t the military. I do things my own way, as does everyone else who went through BASGIATH. Not for the first time, I wonder which bigwig thought it was a good idea to put military personnel like Aetos One and Aetos Two in charge of the clandestine ops squads. We mix like oil and water. Dain is still on me about the ripped sleeves of my mission suits.

He never would have survived BASGIATH – the training protocol every clandestine operative goes through. The brutality of it, the bending of the rules required to survive, would have doomed someone as straitlaced as Dain from the start. I still remember the look of horror on his face when I told him, casually, how we’d had to score points to graduate by injuring or killing our own classmates. 

Is that a joke? He’d asked with a tight laugh.

Are you asking me to demonstrate what I learned on you? I’d replied. His eyes had widened to the size of saucers when I realized I was deadly serious.

I guess I probably had the same look on my face when I entered the protocol too. I got over it quick. Nearly dying a dozen times does that, and I knew I had to survive, no matter what.

[mintedmouse]

Project Sekai LGBT headcanons

This is just for fun. If you have other hcs for them good for you. Includes what I hc their gender/sexuality as and how I think their journey would be

Leo/Need:

L/n is full of pretty girls who frequent a music shop so it's more like who would be the most okay with being hit on by random teenage boys.

Ichika: Ace Bisexual. I feel like she wouldn't really think about questioning her sexuality until high school. Saki and Shiho are probably the ones who introduce her to the whole concept and Ichika goes oh wait. You mean people are fr when they talk about sexual attraction?! People actually do that? You mean not everyone thinks girls are also pretty??? Wow.

Saki: Pansexual. Learned about the LGBT community while having nothing to do in the hospital and scrolling the internet all day. Took a "I am Gay?" quiz online and got the Gay result and was so convinced the computer Scanned her brain and found the Gay Gene:tm: or something she just took it at face value. It happened to be right.

Honami: Bisexual but doesn't realize it until like last year of highschool. I feel like she is the type of girl who really wants to get married to some guy and have four kids, and while she does want that, it could get in the way of further self reflection of realizing straight people don't also think they wouldn't mind dating a girl also.

Shiho: Come on what character has 'listening to girl bands' as a hobby? Lesbian. She's been known since she was a kid but she's kept it to herself.

I don't have any gender hcs for L/N specifically but hcs that I see hc shiho as transmasc always kinda read to me as 'this girls wearing pants woahhh that = guy now!!' like please. its ok to just say tomboy. We need to bring the word tomboy back. But you can do whatever you want!

MORE MORE JUMP!

Minori: Transfem Lesbian. Saw Haruka performing as a kid and went do I want to be her or do I want to date her? And the answer was yes.

Haruka: Ace Lesbian. I feel like she could have some gender stuff but I don't think she would really would dig that deep into herself in her teenage years. She's too busy on that grindset to really reflect on herself all that much. It's only until the others in MMJ encourage taking breaks and meditation and all that does she really think that much. But I don't think she'd be too open about it. She has a perfect idol rep to uphold... I feel like she could enjoy using she/he pronouns.

Airi: Transfem Lesbian. Tries to lowkey be progressive and push progressive values within her seat as a signed idol, is so glad when MMJ forms and she can be more openly herself.

Shizuku: Demisexual. Another classic case of 'you mean not everyone is like this?'.

Vivid Bad Squad:

Kohane: Demigirl Lesbian. Has been out since like 9 and has wonderful support parents.

An: An is so much, to me, one of those bisexuals who thinks one male celebrity is hot so she thinks she's straight for So. Long. Even though she is constantly talking about how pretty other girls are. Thinks she's just a feminist. She just loves hyping up other girls okay!! Goes up to VBS and goes "its so funny how I'm the only straight person here haha!" and everyone just side eyes each other like. Does she know. She does not. One day she joins the schools GSA club and goes oh wait. When she comes out to her dad he just goes "??? I know? Did you not already tell me this?" Also she's ace because that one jacket she has with the ace colors is trying to tell us something.

Akito: This is the most cishet guy I've ever seen, tbh not every character has to be gay like--[notices the snipers laser sight trained on my forehead] I-I MEAN UM HES UHM HES UH BISEXUAL YEAH THATS WHAT I MEANT TO SAY

Toya: Demiboy Gay. Also has been out since 9 and as you can imagine his dad had the exact opposite reaction as Kohane's dad. I don't even think he would've come out I just think Toya asked for like a barbie doll and his dad went Oh My God I Am Raising A Homosexual. And kid Toya was like I don't even know what that is! He happened to be right. Eventually comes out properly to his dad in the present day and he probably has the same reaction to that as his music choices. Also Toya and Kohane highfive over being demigender.

Wonderlands x Showtime

Tsukasa: Identifies as cishet and just a really good ally for so long. Watched Saki fill out the am i gay quiz and by the time she could turn around to ask if he wanted to take it too he was already out the door on his way to buy the entire Target pride collection. Too preoccupied with being the most obnoxious ally you've ever seen to think about himself. Years later when WxS is having their reunion shows he goes oh by the way guys I think I'm genderfluid and pansexual and everyone just goes yeah we fucking know. He thought for so long that it was just really convincing 'method acting'.

Emu: Has no idea what the LGTV community is for so long but not in a heteronormativity way, in a 'she doesn't know that people have preferences at all' way. Thinks everyone is pansexual by default. Someone points out to her that hasn't she noticed that most people are either guys attracted to girls or vice versa? And she goes oh really? I never noticed that! Immediately comes out as pansexual.

Nene: Transfem Bisexual. The one whos constantly trying to nudge Tsukasa and Emu like 'hey. cishet people dont do that btw. jsyk.'

Rui: Transmasc pansexual. Him and Nene swapped genders as kids and that's why they're friends. Years later when Tsukasa finally comes out and then reveals he has the most generic stock photo image ass boyfriend Rui has to excuse himself to go punch a wall and say I KNEW IT!!!

Nightcord at 25:00

Kanade: If you think this girl is ever going to do any self reflection ever you're wrong. Truly does not care enough to identify as anything. If someone asked her if she was cishet she'd just shrug and go 'sure' and then go kiss a girl. Goes by any pronouns because her own pronouns are none of her business. Learns about gender and sexuality when Mizuki comes out because you know that she has absolutely no idea about it before. Also thought everyone was pan by default like Emu. Even if she did ID as anything she would forget about it a week later. None of her business! I think if any random teen on the street asked her out she would say yes and then ghost them because she is too awkward to say no.

Even if she wouldn't bother to identify as anything I like to see her as a demigirl demisexual lesbian which totally isn't mostly my own identity I'm not projecting hahaha.

Mafuyu: Also has no idea about the lgtv community and is very interested when Mizuki comes out to everyone. The empty sekai has an earthquake when she finds out. Is very curious how these people seem to know these things about themselves! Has more stuff on her plate to properly deep dive into herself until college. Experiments a lot in college. Every week she's trying new pronouns like she's trying to cast a magic spell and everything will magically click for her. Eventually goes 'man I dont know its complicated' and goes by they/them and queer. I like to see her as agender lesbian though.

Ena: Lesbian. Akito saw her taking a am i gay quiz once years ago and he will never let her live it down. Like to tease her about it but is cool when their dad asks what they're fighting about. I like to imagine her and Airi both came out as lesbian to each other at the same time like 'omg that's what i was gonna say!'

Mizuki: Transfem bisexual. We been knew this.

[pesterloglog]

Karkat Vantas, Jade Harley

Act 5, page 3972-3973

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling gardenGnostic [GG]

CG: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING NOW.

GG: pw.

CG: SERIOUSLY, WHY DID YOU GO BACK TO SEE HER? YOU DIDN'T MENTION THIS LAST TIME.

GG: listen fuckass

GG: i am going to need a password before we continue

GG: plz <3

CG: RIGHT, OK.

CG: LET'S SEE IF I CAN REMEMBER, IT WAS PRETTY ELABORATE IF I RECALL, OK HERE GOES.

CG: I'M A DISGUSTING WORTHLESS BILGESACK ON THE GARGANTUAN TEAT OF A LABORING, LEPROUS MUSCLEBEAST. MY SELF ESTEEM IS SO SMALL, ITS EXISTENCE IS A MATTER OF CONJECTURE AMONG THEORETICAL PHYSICISTS. I SMELL SO BAD, THE STENCH CANNOT BE EXPRESSED WITH EVEN THE MOST ELOQUENT, FLORID LANGUAGE. THE ODOR MY BODY MAKES HAS MADE POETS CRY. I HAVE WON SPECIAL AWARDS FOR DISCOVERING NEW PLACES TO TOUCH MYSELF EROTICALLY WHILE FARTING. I UNFAIRLY PULVERIZE THE COMPETITION IN ASSHOLE PAGEANTS, AND I HAVE RECEIVED A LIFETIME BAN FROM UGLY CONTESTS BY PRESIDENT SHITFACE HIMSELF. MY BLOOD IS NOT FIT TO FLOW THROUGH A SEWER, AND MY SIGN IS A PICTOGRAPHIC SYMBOL THAT LOOSELY TRANSLATES AS "PLEASE HIKE THESE PANTS UP TO THIS GUY'S ARMPITS, CHAIN HIM TO A FLOGGING JUT, AND MAKE A FUCKING EXAMPLE OUT OF THIS SORRY SACK OF SHIT." WHEN I LOOK IN A MIRROR, MY REFLECTION SLOWLY SHAKES HIS HEAD WHILE I WET MYSELF IN SHAME.

GG: ....................... :|

CG: WHAT, THAT WAS IT, WASN'T IT. HOW WAS THAT NOT FUCKING IT, DID I FORGET AN APOSTROPHE SOMEWHERE?

GG: no karkat, that was not quite the password

GG: but you were on the right track :p

CG: CAN WE JUST TALK NOW

GG: do you even remember the right password?

CG: SOMETHING ALONG THE LINES OF GRATUITOUS SELF DEPRECATION FORCED INTO MY MOUTH, INVOLVING REFERENCE TO SOME KIND OF WEIRD HUMAN COUPLING RITUAL?

GG: youre being deliberately dumb

GG: it was...

GG: IF I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH, THEN WHY DON'T I HATEMARRY MYSELF?

GG: remember?

GG: i was just using the password system to poke a little fun at you, and you turn it into this whole overdramatic thing, jeeeeez.

CG: HAHA! WHEE.

CG: CAN WE GET DOWN TO FUCKING BUSINESS AGAIN?

GG: i wonder if we will ever be able to start a conversation without having a ridiculous argument about the password system?

CG: IF YOU WOULD DROP THE PASSWORD SYSTEM AND LET FUTURE ME TALK TO YOU, HE MIGHT BE ABLE TO GIVE YOU AN ANSWER.

CG: SPOILER: THE ANSWER WOULD BE NO, BECAUSE THE PASSWORDS ARE RETARDED.

GG: why would i want to do that??

GG: the only guy whos dumber than past karkat is future karkat, and vice versa!

GG: i have this on good authority from both sources

CG: I STILL THINK YOUR USE OF THE TERMS IS KIND OF ASININE, THERE REALLY IS NO PAST OR FUTURE KARKAT FROM YOUR VIEW

CG: THERE'S KARKAT WHO KNOWS LESS STUFF AND KARKAT WHO KNOWS MORE STUFF. WHY NOT JUST GATHER THE FACTS FROM THE ONE WHO'S GOT THE LOWDOWN ALREADY?

CG: I MEAN, I'D DO IT MYSELF, BUT I CAN'T STAND THE GUY.

GG: you see, that is your problem

GG: okay, one of your many, many problems...

GG: you have no patience to do things the right way, youre always just looking for the shortcut!

GG: even if doing so has brought you nothing but trouble a hundred times before

GG: it is sort of funny that the only thing standing in your way is one of your other problems, your preposterous self loathing

GG: so you cant even trust your future self to help you cheat!

GG: its like you have so many problems, they cancel each other out

CG: THAT'S NOT THE ONLY THING STANDING IN MY WAY. YOUR STUPID PASSWORDS ARE ALSO STANDING IN MY WAY. IF NOT FOR THAT I COULD BE FAST TRACKING THIS TO SOLUTION CITY FOR US BOTH.

GG: exactly :D

CG: OK, WHATEVER, LET'S JUST GET ON WITH THIS "LINEAR CONVERSATION" OK?

GG: ok

CG: SO YOU GAVE ME THAT SILLY PASSWORD, AND WE ENDED OUR CONVERSATION A FEW MINUTES AGO FROM MY END

CG: AND I SCANNED AHEAD LOOKING FOR A GOOD MOMENT ON YOUR TIMELINE TO PICK IT UP AGAIN

CG: AND I NOTICE YOU WENT BACK TO SEE HER AGAIN FOR SOME REASON

GG: yes

CG: SO I'M JUST WONDERING WHY

CG: WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FROG BREEDING, I THOUGHT WE WERE ON A ROLL WITH THAT

GG: yes, we still are!

GG: this little detour was related to that task. we should be nearly done.

CG: WHAT WAS SHE EVEN SAYING TO YOU, I CAN'T UNDERSTAND A WORD OF THAT HORRIFYING GIBBERISH.

GG: i can understand her just fine!

CG: I STILL DON'T REALLY GET IT.

CG: WHY MY DENIZEN WAS SUCH A NIGHTMARE WHILE YOURS APPARENTLY GIVES YOU GUTTURAL PEP TALKS IN SOME BYZANTINE MONSTER LANGUAGE.

GG: we already talked about this

GG: echidna and i have an understanding now ;)

CG: OOH, VAGUE BULLSHIT, IT'S THE EXACT FUCKING THING I CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF.

GG: well maybe if you werent in such a grumpy hurry all the time you wouldnt have killed your denizen so quickly

GG: you might have actually learned something!!!!!!

CG: HUGE UGLY MONSTERS ARE FOR KILLING, PERIOD.

GG: did you ever talk to kanaya about it?

CG: I DON'T REMEMBER, MAYBE?

CG: I'M A BUSY GUY, JADE. I TALK TO A LOT OF PEOPLE ABOUT A LOT OF STUFF, INCLUDING MYSELF.

GG: her situation was very similar to mine

CG: I THOUGHT SHE KILLED HER DENIZEN TO LIGHT THE FORGE OR SOMETHING

GG: it doesnt sound like you got the whole story

GG: or maybe you just werent listening to her :p

CG: WELL I SURE DON'T THINK IT WAS WHATEVER YOU DID

CG: AND IN ANY CASE I THOUGHT ALL THAT WAS OVER WITH

CG: WHY ARE YOU BACK, WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH FROG BREEDING?

GG: this was kanayas suggestion

CG: KANAYA'S STILL HELPING YOU?

GG: yes!

GG: im talking to her right now actually

CG: OH

CG: I SEE HER ACROSS THE ROOM, SHE'S NOT TALKING TO ANYONE ON A COMPUTER NOW.

GG: durrr, of course not, shes from a different time than you genius

CG: WHICH TIME

GG: a few hours in your future!

CG: AH, I SEE HOW IT IS.

CG: YOU WON'T TALK TO FUTURE KARKAT UNTIL I JUMP THROUGH YOUR FUCKING PASSWORD HOOPS AND BECOME HIM EVENTUALLY

CG: BUT YOU'LL TALK TO FUTURE KANAYA JUST LIKE THAT. DOUBLE STANDARD ANYBODY??? JADE SAYS YES PLEASE.

GG: you are so ridiculous, i have kanaya using the same password system as you

GG: she is just a little further ahead on my timeline is all

GG: it would be pretty hard to keep you both synced up!

CG: I THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T WANT SHIT SPOILED FROM THE FUTURE THOUGH.

GG: yeah, from MY future, i dont want you guys telling me the things i do before i do them because you talked to future me!

GG: but knowing a few things about your future doesnt really matter, NOT that i am going to tell you any of it, so dont ask

CG: I THINK I AM ON THE VERGE OF BECOMING A RELIGIOUS PERSON, I JUST DON'T KNOW WHERE ELSE TO TURN TO REMOVE THE AWESOME SUFFERING THAT TROLLIAN'S TEMPORAL CHAT BULLSHIT MIRACULOUSLY CONTINUES TO INFLICT ON ME.

CG: MAYBE THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS WILL COME AND TAKE MY PAIN AWAY?? OH YES, THAT SOUNDS HEAVENLY.

CG: JADE, PLEASE EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO PAINT MY FACE TO OUTWARDLY REFLECT THE BEAUTY OF MY INNER AWAKENING, AND DRUB MY THINK PAN MERCILESSLY TO REDUCE MY INTELLIGENCE TO THE LEVEL NECESSARY TO SUSTAIN THESE BELIEFS.

GG: siiign, what are you even talking about?

CG: ARE WE ALMOST DONE CRAFTING THIS "MASTER PLAN"?

CG: I HAVE STUFF TO ATTEND TO HERE. MY TEAM IS FALLING APART.

CG: AND I CAN'T FIND GAMZEE ANYWHERE. I'M WORRIED HE MIGHT HAVE WANDERED OFF SOMEWHERE AND GOT HURT.

GG: aw

GG: well...

GG: youll find him

CG: I THOUGHT YOU WEREN'T TELLING ME ABOUT MY FUTURE.

GG: i know, i made an exception

GG: but only one!

CG: LET'S MOVE THIS ALONG. JUST UPDATE ME ON THE FROGS, AND GIVE ME A NEW PASSWORD, OK?

GG: kanaya thinks we should all talk about this

GG: she says youre important to consult on the matter, but the you from her time is too busy

CG: BUSY WITH WHAT?

GG: :x!!!!!

GG: she is opening a memo

[piastrinorris]

[Kicks in your door, visibly vibrating]

HELLO MY LOVE did you really expect me to see the prompt "Being cast as the main characters in a school play and having to perform a romantic confession scene together. You're okay with it since it's your friend playing the love interest, and they (probably) don't mean it anyway. But when they start acting it out, it almost feels real. Once the scene has ended, you realize how much you wished it was" AND NOT IMMEDIATELY SEND IT IN FOR ONE MR. EDDIE MUNSON!?

Anyway that's what I'm doing, and adding in a Brennan Lee Mulligan style pleEEEEASE for good measure.

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1590

A/N: This ended up being FAR too long for a drabble since I ended up using actual lines from the actual play and stuff, but how could I not. Anyway, I love you @denim-mixtapes and I hope I did Little Shop of Horrors justice!!!

Backstage, the buzz of excitement and gossip and last-minute stress is very loud everywhere except within your radius, where everyone quietens down. It's no secret that you and your on-and-off boyfriend had The Argument To End All Arguments a week prior, and you'd understandably been off your game, but you couldn't miss opening night. Especially not with how excited your director was at the chance to perform her new favourite off-Broadway show, Little Shop of Horrors.

An almost eldritch amount of eyes follow you to your dressing area, and you try your absolute hardest to maintain your composure the entire time. You let out a heavy sigh once you get to your dressing table, sitting in your seat and staring at your reflection as you hold your head in your hands.

Why is it all on me? you silently ask yourself. I did everything to make him happy and it still wasn't enough. You and your co-star, Eddie, had even made sure to never even kiss on stage, despite your director's anguish. You didn't want... him to get upset at seeing you kiss someone else, and Eddie was happy enough to keep to your boundaries. Plus, it was way more fun to goof around together acting as though you were in a far more exaggerated "passionate embrace" than your scripts let on.

His voice saying, "Knock knock!" behind the curtain that separates your dressing area from his takes you out of your own headspace, thankfully. You invite him in and see him all dressed up. No matter the costume department's best efforts, no wig could contain that hair, so Eddie wore it in a ponytail, with Seymour's big glasses framing his soft eyes. "Nervous?"

You gesture around you. "Actually no, the constant gossip that I know is about me is doing nothing for me, especially not on top of first-night anxiety. God, who'd feel like that?!"

Eddie laughs, putting his hand on your shoulder. "You're gonna kick their ass. And the Asshole's ass. And all that anxiety's ass. Good job this isn't a matinee, you'll be too tired from all the ass-kicking!"

You laugh, "Thanks, Eddie. You're the best." Despite being caked in makeup, a slight blush still forms across his cheeks. Eddie's been great, this whole time. Every time you've been nervous about playing Audrey, Eddie has a way of making you feel like she's an extension of you. Even if it took him a really long time to get used to you doing her voice.

Act One goes smoothly enough. You're able to spot your family in the crowd, so you have an extra anchor around to keep you going even at times when Eddie is offstage. But at one point, as you're watching from the wings, you watch as Eddie double-takes, and for a fleeting moment a look of anger appears on his face. It's not enough to break character, but enough for you as someone who's helped him through his lines a million times to notice it isn't part of the routine. You scan the crowd, and feel your stomach fall as you see it. Him. Why is he here when he was the one who broke it off?!

Eddie high-fives the tech crew as he runs off from the end of Act One, and finds you pacing up and down. He knows immediately. "Hey. I saw him, too. But you know what? C'mere, look at me," he takes your hand and holds it high, just beneath your faces so he knows you're focusing on him. "We're not gonna let that jackass ruin opening night, you know why?" You shake your head. "Because he's Y/N's problem. And tonight, you're Audrey. And I'm Seymour. And the night doesn't end until we get ultimately tragically devoured by a big, foam-y plant puppet. Right?" he asks with a grin as you laugh. You nod and he kisses your knuckles. "That's my Audrey!"

Thankfully, you'd rehearsed your part as Audrey so much that you could afford a little less effort into concentrating on lines, as you know them in your sleep, and a little more into making sure you don't look in his direction again. You get through the first number of the act just fine. Eddie runs offstage for a second, just as the script says.

The script mentions donning a leather jacket, which obviously Eddie usually has on him. But his is a hand-me-down about two sizes too big, that's always looked boxy on him. The costume department have apparently decided to give Seymour one that fits. And it fits Eddie... Real nice.

Eddie asks, "What do you think?" and in the moment, something makes you forget that you're on stage. Forgetting anything about stage direction, you keep staring, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Eddie continues, "You... don't like it?" and you're brought back into the moment. Thankfully, you're supposed to be overwhelmed in character anyway, so stammering and running away is actually expected of you, at least.

Eddie, in place, throws the jacket off as per his character, and moves to join yours. Usually, in this instance, you're directed to look in one specific direction, away from Eddie, as he monologues behind you. But the direction you need to be looking in... You just can't.

Eddie knows, though, and instead of following the direction, he turns your face to look at him, holding your jaw softly as he says, "Just don't cry, please. Oh, look what I did. I only bought it to impress you. That's all I ever meant to do."

Maintaining eye contact, you continue, "I don't know what's come over me. I guess I've been a little under the weather."

His thumb strokes your cheek, "It's Orin, isn't it?" He says 'Orin' with a lot more venom than usual. As though he's alluding to someone else in this case... "You've been down in the dumps ever since his mysterious disappearance. You miss him, don't you?"

Catching on, you deliver the next line as though talking about a certain someone. "Miss him? I never felt so relieved as when they told me he vanished. It was like a miracle. Not to mention all the money I've saved on Epsom salts and ace bandages." Not so much the second, but saying the first line with a certain intention empowers you.

"Then what's the matter?" Eddie asks, cocking his head.

"I feel... Guilty, I guess." The words ringing true feel like a cruel irony. "I mean, if he met with foul play or some terrible accident of some kind, then it's partly my fault, you see. Because secretly... I wished it." You falter a little at the end. You certainly had been wondering whether your relationship was going anywhere weeks prior to your breakup.

Eddie keeps you in the scene, readjusting his grip on you and looking deep into your eyes. "Audrey, you shouldn't waste one more minute worrying about that creep. There's a lotta guys would give anything to go out with you. Nice guys." The way he delivers those lines in particular is like nothing you've ever heard from rehearsal. You could easily kid yourself into thinking he's saying them about you...

"I don't deserve a nice guy, Seymour," saying the character's name aloud once again reminds you that these are someone else's words, and actions, with intentions completely separate from your own life.

That all flies out of the window when Eddie's hold on you tightens as he says, "That's. Not. True."

Knowing that where you're both currently sat is so far off-book, you wonder how much longer until your director starts pulling you back to your intended spots herself. You take the initiative to walk across the stage, again reminding yourself that this is all just a play, and anything else is pure coincidence.

You carry on your performance just fine, but something seems different about how Eddie's performing. If the song didn't constantly refer to the character's name, you're so sure you could replace it with the name Eddie and the song would ring just as true. Every moment you're not singing, you're thinking. Every time you and... Him would have an argument, Eddie would be sympathetic to a point. He'd respect your boundaries, but made no attempt at respecting him in the slightest. He was fine with you going into theater, until he saw you and Eddie interacting for the first time, and then he really wasn't.

You feel stupid for not realising sooner. It wasn't ever a jealousy of anyone getting to perform with you, or he'd have voiced it sooner. He didn't want you getting too close to Eddie, because then you'd realise what love is meant to feel like. It's meant to feel just like this.

As the song comes to an end, you decide to pull an Eddie and go far from the way you've been practicing this scene in particular - by doing exactly what the script says. Eddie gets ready to wrap his arms around you in a big motion, but you grab his hands before it's too late and pull them towards you, letting go to wrap your arms around his neck as you kiss him. His arms rest around your waist as applause fills your ears. You stay like it until the actor playing Mushnik interrupts you, as per the direction, though it does genuinely make the two of you jump.

The next time you're able to scan the crowd, you notice an empty seat that's better off that way.

[micahweissberg]

oh thank god. he's relieved when she actually invites him in; it's either that or she goes rummaging through his stuff out in the hall, but he doesn't think he can recover from the humiliation of coming up the stairs with a huge box he's giving away to his upstairs neighbor only to get turned down and have to take the whole thing back downstairs. "sure, thanks." he pushes the box past her door with only some effort, stops just before he could reach the actual living area. he waits for her to tell him where to put it, hands pinned behind his back to conserve as much space as possible. he can't help this feeling like an intrusion. he doesn't know foster much, doesn't know what kind of boyfriend he is, but he knows some guys who don't like the idea of their girlfriends letting other guys into their homes while they're not around unless they've known each other since they were in their diapers or they're gay.

so he chooses not to overextend, standing a couple of feet away from phoebe, presenting the box at his feet like it's a prize pig at the county fair and he's waiting for his blue ribbon. phoebe thanks him for helping them with bringing up foster's stuff and he responds with a smile. "oh, hey, don't worry 'bout it. it's no biggie." he scans the apartment. while he doesn't have anything to compare it against, the place looks homey, lived in, despite it only having been a couple of days, he reckons, since the couple have moved in together. they're good people, phoebe and foster. or, they're a good couple. again, he doesn't know much. but they look very much in love and micah is brought back to that time he, too, had taken this step with his former partner, hearts in his eyes 24/7 until there wasn't. quietly, he wonders how long this couple will last.

he's lost for a moment, when she mentions connecticut, doesn't immediately realize that phoebe was referring to his weekend trip because he didn't think she'd actually know. how often does she and his dad talk, anyway? how much does he tell her? he doesn't bother asking it out loud— the how doesn't seem significant in this conversation, but he files this detail away for later reflection. when he gets out of blue harbor, it will no longer matter. his "ah, no. you'd think, 'cause that'd make more sense than coming back, but no. i've still got to get through my finals at bhu, then i'm gonna-" he clicks his tongue, sticking his thumb out backwards. "-but yeah, 'connecticut is just for the weekend." he nods. he pursues his lips, does another sweep at the room with his eyes at the small, awkward pause. "so, anyway." he returns his gaze towards phoebe. "d'you want me to show you what i got or would you rather, you know..." he does a quick, wading motion with his hands. "explore at your own risk?"

Decluttering was actually doing Phoebe some good. She had been holding onto memories that no longer served her, painful reminders of various times in her life that just weren’t happy. There were old outfits she hadn’t worn since high school (if ever), old ticket stubs and books and knick-knacks she never looked twice at. The only thing that remained untouched was the gift-box from her mom, but the more she pretended it didn’t exist, the more likely it meant it was true.

She had been in a staring contest with said box (and also Misty, who was intrigued by this mystery object and thus her mother’s protectiveness over it getting scratched made her covet it more) when she heard someone knock on the door to her apartment. Concerned — it had to be someone in the building (or someone managing to break in) — she apprehensively approached it, peeking in the keyhole and spotting Micah Weissberg of all people on the other side. 

She liked Micah, she did, but felt a bit guilty that she was eating up his dad’s time. He never expressed an issue with it, but because he probably didn’t seem to take notice, but it didn’t ease the mild shame she experienced about it all the same. She also felt bad because she had promised Saul she’d keep an eye on him during his time in Blue Harbor, but life had gotten in the way and she hadn’t seen her temporary neighbor as often as she thought she would. 

She opened the door, eyes dropping straight to the box of things, and back up at him. “Oh, leaving us so soon?” She asked with a teasing smile, reminding herself just in that moment it was mid-August, and he never planned to extend his summer deadline. “Um, okay, wanna come in for a sec?” Phoebe didn’t have the heart to tell Micah she was trying to free up more space so probably wouldn’t accept anything in the box — as nice as the gesture was —  but didn’t want to be rude all the same. “I don’t think we thanked you properly for helping out the other day,” She said, of when he helped haul the rest of Foster’s stuff upstairs, “I wanted to like, bake something, but then Foster’s been working and I didn’t want to set the kitchen on fire, and I feel like store bought would be like..cheating somehow.”�� Learning how to bake was definitely on some resolution list of hers. “Um, so you going straight back to New York after this Connecticut trip? Your dad was telling me about it. Sounds nice, to get together with your family.”

[pink-bird-30]

Titans 4x01

SPOILERS AHEAD

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!!!

WOW, it feels like centuries since I've sat down and written a Titans review.

(Guess who's back-ack-ack...back again-ain-ain...Titans' back-ack-ack...tell a friend-end-end.)

First things first:

Dick & Kori:

-I have never been more well fed than I was today. First scene together and they are these cute little jellybeans I wanna squish!

-Dick's shirt is extra extra tight, like Kori's dreams from the 80s comics tight and open top button. *chefs kiss, thank you costume dept.

-Them both reflecting on the events that apparently only happened a week ago...a week ago, that is the amount of time that has passed. Which I thought maybe it would be a few weeks later. Not 7 days.

-Dick remembering all the things Kori has been battling since meeting her, and listing them on his fingers. Sir? My dickkory heart could not handle this.

-Kori admitting she finally felt free. YASSSSSSS tell Dick that you feel at peace and content beautiful woman.

-I need a moment to address Brenton's ability to show so much emotion with his eyes. I mentioned this last season as well when it came to the Mar'i scenes, but this man could convince me he was in love with a slice of toast.

-Oh!!!! and Dick being confirmed as a Wooo Girl was everything, I fucking knew it!!!!

-I love that Dick is finally talking to Kori when it comes to making plans and doing things together. This is such a growth moment for Dick and I'm glad he finally made it to this point.

Okay, moving on to the rest of the episode:

Connor:

-I really feel for this kid. He's only been around for a short amount of time, but I think he's been hurt too many times.

-Clark Kent really be that dad that says he going to the store for milk and never comes back. I understand he had to go deal with Superman stuff, but a letter, really? Supes needs to get his dad game in check.

-The scene at Star Labs was really cool. Dick and Connor wearing the glasses seeing Superman flying in the galaxy was amazing. (And Dick looked 100% hot in those glasses too).

-I also liked how Dick did a double take when Connor put on the glasses and Connor was like: "What?" and Dick just shakes his head and said, "Nothing." but we were all thinking it, he is Clark through and through.

Gar:

-My bb finally using his powers recreationally?! Using an octopus arm to bowl?! Where has this been all these seasons?! I'm so happy he's turning into other things.

-His scene at Star Labs was really interesting to me. Again, this show really does neglect showing us everything. Yes, I'm glad we saw Gar in his weird dreamscape, but I also would have loved to see him rip apart Star Labs too. Show us more!!!

-I'm actually really interested in why the cult is connected to Gar so much, is it because of Rachel and their close bond? Is he a target?

-For those of you who grew up with Teen Titans, I'm getting big "Beast Within" vibes from Gar right now. Which I wouldn't be surprised at this point given Gar is going to have to figure out control when turning into these other creatures.

Tim:

-Oh my little boy, Timmy. Tim Tim TIMMMM. He wants to be Robin soooooo bad but Dick has him on a baby leash which I think is hysterical. But Dick is right, he needs to learn more before getting handed the cape. Plus, the scene where he hugs Dick thinking he made him a suite was too precious. I really hope when the time comes that Dick goes all out when he gifts him his suite. It'll be a big moment for Tim.

Kory:

-I love that they scanned Kori at Star Labs. She needs to know what she's capable of and what she can do with her new powers.

-Kori kicking ass in Lex's home, ummmm yes please. Her and Dick both being on the same page of not letting Connor go in blind was such a great move. Lex always has another motive. And they were right. Lex was dying and wanted nothing more than to use Connor (or so I thought).

Dick:

-"I hate ninjas." nuff said.

Sebatian:

-I love Joseph Morgan. This man could read me the dicitonary and enamor me. but I'm really interested in how he is connected to the cult and why all this blood keeps appearing everywhere.

Overall, a great first episode. I did think it was a little dry for a season premiere, but I'm happy to be back and active in this fandom again. i have high expectations for this season and hope to see where this storyline goes!

[aperrywilliams]

We Could Try (Part 5): Valerie’s Legacy (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Author Masterlist / Clueless (prequel)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

------------------

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: Reader and Spencer need to think about their relationship. They keep their distance from each other to do so. What happens when their jobs challenge them to restrain their problems aside?

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Some strong words. Self-deprecating thoughts (Reader). Case’s description. CM usual stuff. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N: Guess who’s back.

------------------

“Did you see my phone?” A confused Emily paced around her living room, scanning all the surfaces she could see.

“I thought you left it on the bedside table charging last night?” Tara replied, sitting on the stool next to the kitchen counter and sipping her coffee.

“I did. Or I thought I did. Damn it! I hate when this happens,” Prentiss complained. When she was about to rescan the same places, the sound coming from the couch - under the cushions - told her where her phone was.

“There you go,” Tara said, pointing to the spot.

Emily grabbed the device and frowned when she saw the caller ID.

“Too early to say hi?” Emily spoke. In the other line, a shaken (Y/N) struggled to let the words out.

A week passed since (Y/N) and Spencer’s fight. A week of missed calls and unanswered texts. To say that (Y/N) was a little worried could be an understatement. She knew that the ordeal was enough for Spencer to keep some distance, but what if it was something worse? Was he okay? (Y/N) needed some answers, and Emily Prentiss is who could provide them.

Emily anticipated a long call, so she gestured to Tara for her to go to the BAU without her. Between sobs (Y/N) recounted the events that happened during the dinner with Adrian and Spencer.

Emily was some grateful that (Y/N) couldn't see her face: eyes shut and pinching her nose bridge with her fingers.

Not that Prentiss was annoyed by (Y/N)’s words. Quite the opposite. She knew this moment would happen eventually. The time in which Spencer or (Y/N) would push enough to scare the other.

Emily suspected that (Y/N) and Spencer would have trouble moving on from the past. She didn't blame them, though. Rebuilding a damaged relationship wasn’t easy, but she had known them for so long that she was sure that the rough patches wouldn’t be enough to break them.

“Is he okay? Is he going to work? How does he look?” (Y/N) sputtered, anxiety biting her hard.

“He’s okay. I mean, he’s quiet, and now I could say why. But he goes to work as usual. We didn't talk much in the past few days, to be honest. Did you try to reach him?”

“Messages and calls. He answered none. That's why I’m worried. I know I said we needed time to think, but I’m afraid I ruined everything saying that!” (Y/N) sobbed.

“You said some time could be good, but if you think you screwed up, maybe you both need an honest talk face to face,” Emily reflected.

“What if he doesn't want to see me?”

“Well, first of all, you don't know that. Secondly, that would stop you when you only want to fix things?”

(Y/N) pondered for a couple of seconds.

“And what I‘m going to tell him?”

“Are you saying you’re not sure what to tell him? Are you even sure about what you want?” Emily questioned.

“I’m so sure that I love him. But also, I’m certain that I don’t want another heartbreak. Is it too much to ask?” (Y/N) said in a high-pitched tone.

Emily couldn’t help but scoff.

“I’m sorry. I didn't want to sound rude, but I think you need to clear your head first. It’s pointless you talk to Spencer before that. The guy has a mess in his brain already.”

(Y/N) sighed.

“You’re right. But still, I need advice.”

“Tell you what. Why don't we Skype tonight? I don’t think we’ll be called to a case today. Then you can explain us why are you both struggling with. Sounds that good to you?” Emily offered.

“Yeah. I think it's a good idea. I need to talk to someone about this and Adrian isn't an option,” (Y/N) confessed.

-

“Spencer, please, come in,” doctor Bennet greeted. Spencer waved and stepped inside her office.

It’s been a while since the last time he was there. Doctor Bennet told him it was good doing a check-up every three months or so, and he wasn't expected until next month, so she knew something had happened.

Doctor Bennet knew all about (Y/N). She helped Spencer, making him talk about her and what happened to them in the past. She knew about their talk at Rossi’s wedding and their renewed relationship over the past ten months. But in the past appointments, she could see that something was bothering him. He said that distance started to be an issue for him, but he was confident that they would move to the next level soon.

That didn't happen though. And Spencer told her about his last visit to Boston.

“What led you to conclude that Adrian and (Y/N) might be romantically involved now? What did you see?” She questioned.

“I - I don't know. It’s weird because I didn’t have any fact, but I could feel it. How could I feel something that didn't exist?”

Spencer sounded confused and lost.

“Maybe you felt something was off and projected a scenario where someone else was involved? You told me that (Y/N) openly avoided a particular topic, and you didn't know why. Your subconscious can form a story where an external could be blamed instead of recognizing that it could be something just between you and her,” doctor Bennet offered as a hypothesis.

“And what can I do? She doesn't trust me, and I don't know what else to do. What can I give her as the proof she needs?”

Spencer sounded distressed. He could comprehend that (Y/N) still has doubts. But he thought he had been doing enough.

“Nothing,” doctor Bennet said plainly.

Spencer narrowed his eyes, not comprehending.

“Nothing? How's that?”

“You already told me. You said you did everything. What else could you do?”

“There is must be something. I guess...” Spencer trailed off.

What was doctor Bennet’s point?

“Not necessarily. Have you thought about what do you really expect from this relationship?” She asked. Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I - well. I want to be happy. Happy with her because I love her. I want our happiness back,” Spencer mumbled.

“Are you saying as to get the same you both had before? You know that will not happen,” doctor Bennet clarified.

“I know that. And I know I’m paying the price for what I did to her,” Spencer conceded, pressing the palm of his hand over his eye. Doctor Bennet frowned.

“Spencer, I think you already did that. Maybe it's time to focus on your own needs more than what you did or did not. You can’t play the guilty role in this relationship forever. It isn’t healthy. You did what you did; you asked for forgiveness and made your amends. You both talked about it, and (Y/N) agreed on a second chance. Second chances don’t work if they are a constant reminder of the bad things in the past. They don’t work either if they are only focused on one person. As a relationship, you both deserve to be comfortable in it,” she tried to explain.

“Are you saying that if this isn’t working, I have to quit it?”

“No. I’m saying that you’re important too. As important as your relationship with (Y/N). Your needs matter too. You have to tell her. And if you’re open enough about that, maybe that leads her to be honest with you about what she wants and expects. Adjusting expectations will help you both. I’m sure of that,” she said with a reassuring smile.

“Better said than done,” Spencer mumbled.

“I didn't say it would be easy. But you are feeling trapped, and it won’t change until you switch the focus. Just take your time. Do as she suggested; it could be good for both of you.”

Spencer took in Doctor Bennett's words. Why his rush? He wandered. The standard answer would be that he missed her badly when they were apart, but deep inside, he knew that his biggest fear was losing her for something he could do or didn't do. ‘Walking on eggshells’ was a recurring thought in the past months. Maybe doctor Bennet was right. He needed to slow down a bit.

And that was what he did.

He didn't answer (Y/N)’s calls and texts. He wanted to respect (Y/N)’s wishes and give them time to digest what could happen next.

He took the time to think about what he wanted. He loves (Y/N); that wasn’t in questioning. But as they said before, sometimes love wasn’t enough. Was something realistic to think about a life together? Marriage? That didn't work back then. After a ruined engagement? What about kids? Could it be possible to think of something nearly to a life plan like that? Was it necessary?

Spencer spent hours and hours revisiting those thoughts.

-

After (Y/N) recounted what happened in the past weeks in their Skype call, a pensive Tara spoke.

“You knew this could happen eventually, right?”

“Yeah. That's the keyword, ‘eventually.’ But you’re right. I consciously tried to delay the conversation. Well, until he exploded during dinner,” (Y/N) sighed, pouring wine into her glass.

“Okay, but here is the thing. Where do those fears come from? I mean, you two have been through a lot, and these months I thought you were stronger than ever. What happened?” Prentiss questioned.

(Y/N) pondered Emily's question for a couple of seconds. By reflex, she averted her gaze from the computer screen. It was a natural question, but admitting the truth was trying a deep fear that she wanted to bury.

“How can you ignore the fact that someone stole your lover before and now be sure it won’t happen again? I thought it was a matter of time. Now I’m not so convinced,” (Y/N) confessed.

“What’s the point of a second chance then?” Emily interjected. “If you live afraid of that possibility, why bother?”

(Y/N) let out a deep sigh, eyes shut.

“Because I love him. Because I can’t live without him, I don't know what I would do if I lose him... again?” she said, running her hands through her hair, a habit she learned from Spencer.

Emily and Tara shared a knowing look.

This wasn’t about Spencer. This had to do with (Y/N)’s confidence and her insecurities. It was odd for someone who always took the lead and never got short in any challenge in life. Why is she doubting now about something that isn't showing any sign of alert?

Then Emily remembered a specific event: the night that (Y/N) punched Valerie’s nose in a bar. It was the first time she saw (Y/N) lose her temper in that way. (Y/N) moved to Boston not long after that. Emily knew what had happened there and suspected that (Y/N)’s present behavior had to do with that.

“That will not happen. He's madly in love with you. No chance.” Tara said.

“Tara is right. He loves you in a way I never saw a man loving another person,” Emily filled out.

(Y/N) shook her head.

“For how long? How long until he realizes I’m not worthy? How long until another Valerie shows up and convinces him that I’m a waste of time?”

Tears made their appearance in (Y/N)’s eyes.

“You’re not talking seriously, do you? How could you say you are not worthy? That’s bullshit, and you know it. Valerie told you that to make you self-conscious, but it's not like that!” Emily said firmly; she couldn't let (Y/N) fall into that rabbit hole.

“She was right about me not fighting for him,” (Y/N) pointed.

“You did fight! You were fighting for years! But you are human. You were tired, and you couldn’t fight alone. Spencer knows that too. Stop thinking about what that bitch told you!”

(Y/N) downcast her eyes to her drink. She was mad at her, at how those words - Valerie's words - were rooted so deep in her.

“Valerie’s legacy,” (Y/N) mumbled, a bitter smile on her face. “You know? For a woman who swore to be strong in everything... I can’t believe how those words affected me. And still do,” she sentenced, sipping the remaining wine in her glass.

“It shouldn’t. But I get it. However, you should talk to Spencer about it. He can be a certificated genius, but not in those issues. Please, talk to him,” Emily urged.

(Y/N) nodded, biting her bottom lip.

“Yeah. I know.”

(Y/N) knew she should talk to Spencer, but how she would explain to him something that she didn't know how to explain herself?

-

Spencer groaned when his phone rang out at 4 AM. A very apologetic Garcia explained that they had a case.

In Quantico, forty minutes later, Reid joined the team at the round table.

“Okay guys. Bad news: we have a new case and a very bad one. You’re heading to New York,” Garcia disclosed, handing them the tablets and folders with all the information.

“I see here the first body was found two weeks ago; why call us now?” Rossi wandered.

“The last vic was Tiffany Goldman, high profile in New York City,” Prentiss explained.

“Goldman, as governor Goldman?” Tara asked.

“Tiffany was the governor’s daughter,” Garcia intervened.

“Well, that explains the sudden rush,” Rossi mentioned.

“What do we know so far?” Prentiss asked, flipping the digital report on her tablet.

“Four bodies in the last two weeks. Same disposal, not witness, exact MO,” Luke summarized, sipping his coffee.

“You could say that victimology is consistent: young blonde girls, mid-twenties, low risk,” Matt added, comparing the notes he had and the vic’s photos.

Spencer listened in silence. You could say he was barely present, and the team noticed. But they didn't push.

“Okay, wheels up in twenty,” Prentiss announced, ending the meeting.

In the jet, they resume their work on victimology. The reports showed that a year ago, similar attacks happened in Worcester and Providence. And six months prior, two more attacks in New Haven.

Prentiss sent Tara and Reid to talk to the ME. JJ had to interview the last victim’s family. Luke and Matt had to go to the last victim's crime scene. Emily and Rossi would settle at the police station to talk to the agent running the current investigation.

Arriving at the New York office, agent Green was already waiting for them.

“Agent Prentiss, thanks for coming so fast, we know this is very sudden, but we have no choice,” Green introduced.

“We can figure with the trail of victims here,” Rossi mumbled, loud enough for agent Green to hear. Prentiss shot him a glare.

“Yes. I know what you mean, and you’re right. Politics always makes this a priority over all other priorities...”

“What agent Rossi wanted to say it's that we are here to help, but we need to know everything about this case and the previous ones,” Prentiss corrected.

“Sure. In fact, we asked the Boston office for their help. They worked in Worcester and Providence cases. The agent they sent is in the meeting room right now,” Green pointed.

When they got to the meeting room, Prentiss and Rossi were met by (Y/N).

“What are you doing here?” (Y/N) asked in surprise.

“I should have guessed it when agent Green said they called to the Boston office,” Prentiss pointed, approaching to hug (Y/N).

“You know each other?” Green asked, confused.

“Long story, agent Green, but in short, agent (Y/L/N) worked with us for a long time,” a proud Rossi explained.

“Oh, I see. Well, uh, you can talk for a while. I have to speak with the governor’s team for a strategy to calm the press,” he excused himself before leaving the room.

Now it was Rossi’s turn to hug (Y/N).

“How are you been, bella?” the men questioned, parting from their tight embrace.

“The same as always, Rossi. How’s Krystal?”

“Good. Pretty good. You should come to dinner with us the next time you stay in DC,” Rossi offered.

“I’m glad. Yeah. Sure. Uh- well. Before we can talk about the case, I have to ask. Spencer came?”

(Y/N) inquired, looking at Prentiss. She and Rossi nodded at the same time.

“Full team is here. You didn't talk to him yet, did you?” Emily asserted. (Y/N)‘s silence was the confirmation she needed.

“That bad? I thought you were doing good,” Rossi inferred, looking at (Y/N), who only shrugged.

“It’s... complicated,” (Y/N) mentioned. “Well, but it's okay. Now, about the case...”

(Y/N) explained that the Boston office ran an investigation after the Worcester and Providence killings. They didn't know about New Haven until she did the link days after. But they weren't lucky catching the unsub, although the profile she made. The unsub moved unnoticed, and the leads were an death road. (Y/N) wanted to continue the investigation, but the locals shut it down after three months. The FBI couldn't do much more without fresh leads. And now, with the new killings, New York asked for help.

“I know the profile I did is written there, but I think you can first bounce your ideas before looking at it,” (Y/N) said to Emily and Rossi. They agreed on that and decided to wait for the rest of the team to catch their impressions.

“Would you talk to us after that?” Prentiss asked.

“Yeah. Anything I can do, I’ll do it. I really want to solve this case,” (Y/N) replied. “Now I’m going to have a call with my team in Boston. They promised to send more information about the old cases,” she said, excusing for leaving the room.

-

An hour after, the team was back in the precinct, talking about what they found.

“Okay. What about the ME?” Prentiss asked.

“The evidence shows that this guy knows what he's doing. No hesitation. Clean cuts,” Tara explained.

“But it is odd, because the ME was confused about how the unsub did the injuries to the victims. He couldn't pinpoint the exact tools used in the bodies,” Spencer added.

“Does the ME has even an idea, though?” Prentiss asked.

“Yes, but he's not 100 percent sure. It would help to know better about the ME reports from the previous cases,” Tara declared.

“Well, we might have some helpful person to talk about that,” Prentiss said, pointing to (Y/N), who walked into the room with agent Green.

Everyone turned to see (Y/N). Before anyone could say anything, she spoke.

“Hi. Uh, - It’s nice to see you guys. We can catch up later, though. Now I have information for you.” (Y/N) said, anticipating any question and directing her gaze to Spencer, who looked at her with wide eyes.

He didn't expect her to be here—an awkward coincidence after what happened on his last visit to Boston.

(Y/N) shared with the team the new information she had from her Boston team. They asked her for the previous ME’s reports and the profile she did a year ago.

“Why do you think it is a narcissist? It would mean the unsub should brag about the killings but no,” Tara spoke.

“In not that way,” (Y/N) explained. “He’s showing us how he can switch victimology and cities simultaneously.”

“The unsub has this planned, then?” Spencer interjected. (Y/N) could feel his stare on her. It felt uncomfortable. She cursed herself for not talking to Spencer days before. But she knew better; there was a job to do, so this wasn’t the place or the moment.

“In a twisted way, yeah. I mean, the unsub doesn't have the victims' names in a list beforehand, but he knows the message he wants to give us,” she explained.

“‘Look at me, I’m raising the bet, and you can’t do anything,’” Rossi added.

“Okay. I think this could be a helpful perspective. Now we need to go to the patters. We know the killings are connected, and we need to know about any piece of evidence that could tell us how to track him,” Prentiss concluded.

“The ‘how’ has to be the link,” JJ said.

“About that. We are revisiting the autopsy reports and the new bodies with an expert,” Green informed.

“That’s good. Reid and Tara, come back to the ME to see if the same conclusions jump from the previous reports,” Emily instructed.

She assigned new tasks to the rest of the team as well.

(Y/N) agree with Green that she would revisit the old witness reports. But she wanted to speak to Spencer first, so when he was about to leave with Tara, (Y/N) reached the station entrance.

“I’m sorry. Uh - Spencer? Can you stay for a minute? I need to talk to you. It's quick, I promise.”

Spencer looked at her y then Tara. He pondered if it was a good idea.

“I don’t mind waiting a couple of minutes. See you outside, Reid,” Tara announced shortly, not giving Spencer a chance to say no. Spencer frowned.

“It has to be now? (Y/N), we’re in the middle of a case,” he said.

“I know. But, please.”

She pointed to an adjacent office.

“Okay.”

Both stepped inside and (Y/N) closed the door behind her.

“There are a lot of things I want to say, and I know it's not the time and not the place. But, I have tried to talk to you before, and you didn't return my calls or text me back.”

(Y/N)’s voice didn't sound recriminatory or upset. It sounded concerned and sad.

“Last time, you told me you needed time, that we needed time to think. And I’m doing that. You should be doing that too,” Spencer pointed. He was aware of her intent to reach him, but Spencer felt still hurt and insecure about where they stood.

“Yes. I know what I said. But also know that you got the wrong impression about what I said because I didn't make myself clear. That's why we need to talk. Can you give me the chance to explain? I know we can’t do it now...” she trailed off.

“So, what are we doing here?” His tone was harsher than he intended, but he needed something, and (Y/N) was telling him nothing.

“Spencer. I’m sorry. I‘m hurting you with my doubts and what happened at dinner with Adrian. I’m sorry for not talking to you before. I - I wish I could say more, but I can’t. I need you to know that I thought a lot about this, though. And I want to be honest with you. It's just that we can’t do that here and now. Just - just don’t hate me or jump to a conclusion before we can talk, okay?”

“Do you still love me?”

Spencer blurted out, not answering her previous question. Maybe hearing her saying it could ease his inner voice telling him that there wasn’t anything left between them.

“Yes. I love you.”

There wasn’t any hesitation in her voice. She never broke eye contact. Spencer knew she was telling the truth. But now, he needed to raise the bet.

“Do you trust me?”

A lump formed in Spencer’s throat after the question. (Y/N) knew there was no point denying what was out of the box.

“Not enough.”

Spencer didn't expect another answer. The whole point was in the next question.

“Can I fix it?”

(Y/N) sighed. Answering this would lead to admitting what was stuck deep inside her chest. She wasn’t ready to do that. But she couldn't lie. Not to him. And not to herself. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes.

“It’s not on you, Spencer. It's - it's on me.”

(Y/N)’s confession did surprise him. Why would she say that? She didn't trust him. It must be his fault. Why hers?

“What do you mean?”

Spencer hastened to ask. (Y/N) shook her head. Some tears escaped and ran down her cheeks.

“I - I can’t tell you now about that...” she apologized. Spencer rushed to grab her hands.

“(Y/N), please. What is it about?”

“I - I don’t...”

When she was about to give in, agent Green opened the door and poked his head.

“Agent (Y/L/N), the governor’s team needs to speak to us,” Green announced. Spencer left the hold on (Y/N)’s hands and turned to look at Green.

“O - Okay. I’m with you right now,” (Y/N) replied, straightening her voice and drying her tears discretely. Green left the door open and waited outside, not even noticing the whole scene inside.

(Y/N) moved immediately to leave the room, but Spencer stopped her grabbing her wrist, making her turn and look at him.

“(Y/N), you were saying...” Spencer whispered, barely for (Y/N) to hear.

“Spencer, not now. I’m sorry.”

Freeing from his grasp, (Y/N) quickly left the office, walking with Green at her side.

Reid huffed in frustration. Now he was more confused than before. What was she trying to say? What did he not know about this?

His questioning should be put on hold for now, though. He needed to go to the ME with Tara.

-

The rest of the day was pretty chaotic—a back and forth between the new evidence and the old one. The entire team ran all day in and out of the precinct.

In the middle of the chaos, Spencer and (Y/N) shared stole glances from time to time. Neither approached the other, and even if they had wanted to, they didn't have the chance.

It was almost night when Prentiss, Rossi, and Reid were checking the geographic profile in the meeting room. The rest of the team was dismissed to the hotel for now. It's been a couple of hours since Reid saw (Y/N) in the building, so he thought she was in her hotel for the night. Spencer knew that he would not be able to talk to her until the case could end. And that had him extremely frustrated.

Rossi and Prentiss could tell Reid was struggling with something, and even they could tell why, but they didn't want to push.

“Okay. The geographical pattern fits in Boston’s killings but not in New Haven’s, and we’re not sure about it here,” Emily summarized.

“It’s a start,” Rossi shrugged.

“What about the forensic’s trace? Do we have new information?” Emily flipped the last files that Green left the previous hour.

“Not from the local ME,” Spencer said, sipping the remaining coffee in his cup.

As a cue, agent Green showed up in the room. And he didn't come alone.

“Okay, maybe we have something new in the forensic part,” he announced, getting Prentiss, Rossi, and Reid's attention.

When they noticed the person with Green, their jaws fell to the floor.

“Agent Prentiss, agent Rossi, Dr. Reid. She’s Dr. Valerie Smith. She flew here to assist us with the forensic’s findings in these cases.”

“Hi,” Valerie greeted. A smug smile across her lips.

Spencer couldn't believe his luck. When things with (Y/N) were just moving through a rough patch, Valerie appeared as called by the God of Disaster. Probably Emily and Rossi were thinking something similar.

“What are you doing here?” Spencer couldn't help himself for making explicit his distaste. Valerie rolled her eyes.

“Hey, hello, Spencer. Nice to see you too,” she taunted ironically. “You heard agent Green. I’m here to help.”

“You know each other?” Green asked, frowning.

“Yeah,” Prentiss muttered, not very amused.

“Not to give details, but yes,” Valerie teased.

“Like the other agent?” Green hypothesized.

“Other agent?” Valerie asked curiously.

As a cue, (Y/N) entered the room, reading a file in her hand, not becoming aware of the scene in development.

“Agent Green? I may have something,” (Y/N) interjected.

Now all eyes are on her. There was a silence, and when (Y/N) shifted her eyes from the file, she knew why.

Rapidly she notices Valerie with an amused look, Spencer rubbing his palm in his forehead. Prentiss looked at Rossi. And Green, with an uncertain look, not comprehending what was happening.

“What is she doing here?” (Y/N) hastened to ask, pointing to Valerie.

“Do you know her too?” Green asked.

By now, Green could think this might be a family reunion.

“Like a big gang,” Valerie joked.

“That’s not what I asked,” (Y/N) said sternly.

“Dr. Smith is here to help us with the forensic evidence. She has a remarkable experience, and she kindly accepted our invitation,” Green explained.

“I wouldn't miss the chance to work with the BAU,” Valerie added. “Which doesn't explain what are YOU doing here (Y/N). I thought you weren't working at the BAU anymore,” Valerie inquired.

“Agent (Y/L/N) worked in the former cases with the same MO in Boston, and we suspect we are dealing with the same unsub,” Green said.

Valerie laughed.

“It’s a hell of a coincidence! Don’t you think, guys?”

“Thanks, agent Green,” Emily interrupted before Spencer and (Y/N) could pass out.

“Okay, if you excuse me. I have to talk to the press now. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” Green declared before leaving the room.

Now the air could be cut with scissors.

Thick and heavy.

And everyone in the room could notice it.

Spencer looked at (Y/N), who glanced at Valerie from the corner of her eyes.

Valerie shifted her gaze between Spencer and (Y/N).

Valerie was enjoying this more than she thought she would. She didn't count on (Y/N) being there, but now, that made the experience better.

Emily was pretty sure that with Valerie there, this would be hell. And it was on her to keep it professional.

“Well, let’s get to work. There is a case to solve. And please, leave any personal issue aside until we can catch this guy,” Prentiss commanded.

Emily knew it was nearly an impossible thing to do, but for now, it could make Valerie shut up for a while.

If things between Spencer and (Y/N) were hanging over a thin rope, for sure, it looked far worse now.

------------------

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[nev3rfound]

option two : b.b

after nightmares continue to haunt his nights, bucky knows there’s one person left who could potentially provide some form of comfort, but is she still willing to see him after all this time? (1.5k)

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests open!

5k giveaway celebration 

warnings: angsty, sad bucky, minor spoilers for ep1 of tfatws  requested: nope, just something i’ve been thinking about since ep1 of tfatws

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

It felt real, as if he were back there holding the gun with no remorse.

Cold sweat covers Bucky’s body as he pants heavily, feeling the cool tags against his exposed chest rising and falling with his deep breaths that refuse to calm down.

He knew it wasn’t real, it was all in his head. But he knew it happened, even if it was many years ago, he still held the gun in his hand and pulled the trigger.

“It’s not real.” Bucky mutters to himself, glancing up to see the TV silently blaring a football game that he has no interest in, but it proves as a worthy distraction for the time being. “It’s not real.”

Remaining seated on the wooden floorboards with a blanket draped over his lap, Bucky glances over to his phone knowing there are two possible options ahead of him.

A sigh ghosts his lips as he stares at the contact list consisting of five names, only one having been used in the last week, well, month.

“James, you’ve got less than ten contacts in this phone and I’m the only person you’ve called all week.” Doctor Raynor sighs once more as she reaches for her notebook, not caring about the look of disdain crossing Bucky’s expression.

“It’s not like I’ve got anyone else to call.” Bucky shrugs it off, hearing her pen pause on the paper.

“Well, you’ve been avoiding messages from Sam for a start,”

“He doesn’t count.” Bucky remarks, hearing another quieter sigh leave her lips.

“Okay, then when was the last time you spoke to her, huh?” She counters, noticing his tense form relax at the mention of you. “Come on, James. If you want to help yourself, you have to keep in touch with those who still care about you.”

“I don’t even know if she does anymore, Doc.” Bucky admits, trying to hold back the sadness in his tone as Raynor closes her notebook.

“You have to try, James.” She reminds him. “Otherwise you’ll never know.”

Swallowing his pride, Bucky presses on the contact and listens as the number rings out. He’s counted the rings endlessly, knowing the hesitation there would be at the other end of the call.

“Hello?” He holds back the desperation clinging to his throat upon hearing someone answer, a loud yawn echoing through the line.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah,” Bucky lowers his head into his metal hand, even if it’s a different arm, it’s still part of the same tormented history. “I, could you come over?” A whisper leaves his lips as silence protrudes. “P,please?”

His ears perk up at the sound of sheets ruffling. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Before Bucky can say his thanks, the line goes dead and the realisation sinks in; he’s going to see you again.

*

Bucky listens closely, hearing you outside of his apartment. He can hear you knock once softly, and a second time with more confidence.

He knows he should hold back a moment and pretend he hasn’t been hovering beside the front door since you hung up a mere twenty minutes ago, but he can’t help himself.

Unlocking the several locks covering the door, Bucky opens it a sliver, allowing you to slip in.

Keeping your head down, your focus remains on your feet as Bucky closes his front door before turning to you.

“I, I didn’t think you’d come.” Bucky admits quietly, afraid to hear what you have to say in response.

“Well,” You start, now lifting your head up to see him and your sentence falters in your mouth. You can’t deny that he looks worse than you envisioned, even during those late nights and early mornings when he woke up screaming in your arms, he’d never looked so grief-stricken like this.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes out, following your gaze to his tired eyes, scratches covering his arm from attempting to claw it off in his sleep as sweat still clings to his chest. “it’s not great.”

You scoff under your breath as you follow Bucky through to his small kitchen where he pours you both glasses of water. “That is clearly an understatement.” Accepting the glass, you take the moment to reflect whilst he’s occupied. “How long has this been happening?”

Pausing at the sink, Bucky stares down into his glass of water, remembering the countless nights they attempted to drown him or try shock therapy. And how every time it didn’t work, he remembered it all.

“A while.” He mutters, his grip tightening on the kitchen ledge as his metal hand clenches around the glass, shattering it into the sink.

“James,” You call out, slowly rising from your seat and moving toward him. “I’m right here, you’re here too, alright?”

Standing beside him, you reach out for his hand, easing his grip on the counter until he lets go.

“You’re right here.” You repeat to him as his eyes remain tightly closed, his jaw locked and left hand still clenching the broken glass. “You can let go, Bucky.” The words leave your lips in a whisper as the remainder of the glass drops into the sink, and Bucky turns his body to face yours.

“It wasn’t real,” Bucky tells you weakly. “please tell me it wasn’t real.”

Without thinking twice, you lift your hand to rest it against his cheek and Bucky instantly cradles it with his flesh hand, keeping it in place.

“It wasn’t real, James.” You confidently state as he moves your hand and presses a gentle kiss against it. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” You sigh as you both remain in the dimly lit kitchen, the only movement from Bucky as he turns the tap off.

“Nothings been the same since Steve,” He can’t help but trail off, knowing he doesn’t have to explain himself around you. “and I just couldn’t face it, not with all that history.”

Stepping backwards, you let your hand slip from his as you lean against the counter, crossing your arms. “But what about the rest of us, Bucky? You just stopped answering, after everything we’ve been through.” You try to keep your voice low, remain calm, but after all this time, it’s difficult to not let your feelings get in the way. “I’ve lost all of you. Sam, Wanda, Peter, Clint, Bruce, Thor and now you too.”

“I’m sorry, doll,” Bucky breathes out. “I never meant to hurt you, I, I’ve been making amends.”

Walking past you, Bucky rummages through his bedside table, revealing the well-worn notebook.

“Was that?” You don’t have to finish your question before Bucky nods, flipping through the pages to a series of names scribbled down.

“These are all the people I wronged or hurt or who were affected by the Winter Soldier.” Bucky explains, holding the book out to you.

He watches closely as your eyes scan over the names, flipping through the pages seeing those crossed out or circled or left untouched. Until you see the last name on the list, yours.

“Y/n, I’m truly sorry for leaving you, for causing you any pain.” Bucky begins to explain as you close the notebook, placing it back on the counter out of sight. “I know I can’t take back what I’ve done, for disappearing for months without warning, but I,” Unable to fight his emotions, Bucky cracks.

You reach out as he curls up to the ground, quiet sobs wracking through his body as you hold him close.

“It’s okay,” You shush him as you fall to a sitting position, Bucky curling his head into your lap once more. “we can talk about this in the morning, okay?”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Bucky tenses beneath you before sparing you a glance, allowing you to see those blue eyes, the ones you’ve missed falling asleep beside and waking up to, those same blue eyes that hold so much pain you can’t comprehend.

“No,” You whisper, running your fingers through his short hair, missing how the long ends used to feel against your face in the mornings. “I promise, I won’t go.” You lean back against the cabinets as Bucky begins to relax beneath you, his metal arm outstretched whilst his flesh arm remains around your waist, hugging you close.

“This is real, isn’t it?” Bucky sadly asks, looking out toward the dark hallway of his apartment, seeing nothing besides the faint glare of the tv. “I, I’m not dreaming this again am I?”

The thought breaks your heart as you rest your hand on his shoulder, running your fingers along the faint scar that remains etched into his skin.

“It’s real, Bucky.” You tell him, trying to disguise the cry that is lodged in your throat. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Despite your words of comfort, Bucky closes his eyes uneasily, wondering when he’ll wake up from this dream to the painful reality he truly lives in.

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