#as a romantic I had no choice but to leave that job and move across the country to a place where I essentially can be a janitor or remote

[miladysatsuki]

job interview in 4 hours.......

[caplanbuckybarnes]

In the Lonely Shadows

Summary: Crowely's always there to help convince you everything's going to be okay after Dean leaves with Lisa & Ben.

Requested by my beloved wife @midnight-moonlight-and-mars sometime back in March. LOL, sorry it’s been forever, my love.

Request: I've got a Crowley request! It can be platonic or romantic. It takes place the year Sam is resurrected and dean is living with Lisa. The reader was close with the Winchesters but after the fight with Lucifer dean abandoned the reader to be with Lisa and cas never answers ( unrequited love maybe?) so the reader teams up with Crowley and becomes like a bounty hunter for him for Lucifer loyalists. 

A/N: It's technically not Crowley x reader since she's pining for Dean. Oops, but I hope you enjoy this all the same, my love.

WC: 1054

Warnings: mentions of loneliness, and blood, the reader feels abandoned and unloved, crowley’s nice, however.

Read on Ao3!

--

It had been months since Dean had made his choice. The memory still stung—he chose normalcy, Lisa, and a life far from the chaos... far from you.

The moment Dean drove away to that suburban dream with Lisa and Ben, it was like a wound ripping open and never closing. You didn’t hear from him again, and there was no check-in or phone call—just silence. Castiel, too, was gone, leaving nothing but the ghost of his presence. Prayers went unanswered, and you were left alone with the echoes of battles fought and lives lost.

It was after Lucifer fell that everything seemed to break apart. Sam was gone—dead, you thought. Dean buried himself in the illusion of family, and you… well, you weren’t sure what you had anymore. There was no going back to who you were before the apocalypse, and your heart ached with unspoken feelings, ones that Dean never noticed.

He never loved you the way you loved him.

In the emptiness that followed, Crowley found you. The King of Hell always had impeccable timing. "You look like a stray," Crowley had said the night you crossed paths in some dingy bar in some forgotten town. "Lost your boys, I see. Shame. You were always good at what you do."

You could've walked away, but what was left? With nowhere to go and no one to fight for, you accepted Crowley’s offer—a devil's bargain, becoming a bounty hunter for Hell, tracking down Lucifer loyalists who still believed in the fallen archangel’s cause. It was dark work, but it was work, and it kept your mind from drowning in grief and longing.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. Hunting for Crowley meant betraying everything you’d once stood for, but that world had abandoned you first.

Months later, you stood in the ruins of an old church, blood splattered across the stone walls and broken angelic statues depicting Saints. The demon you’d tracked was a fanatic, a true believer in Lucifer’s return. You wiped your blade clean, not even flinching as the body burned to ash behind you. It was mechanical now—kill, move on. Feel nothing.

Crowley appeared, as he often did after a job well done. He smirked, his eyes gleaming with something close to pride. "Well done, love. Another one bites the dust."

You didn’t respond, just holstered your blade and looked out into the night. The stars were out, a stark reminder of the heaven you couldn’t reach, of the angel who had left without a word.

"You know, I’ve always admired your efficiency," Crowley continued, walking up beside you. "But there’s something hollow in it. Still pining for the good ol' days? For Dean? You haven’t been the same since the Moose and Not Moose fled away from the lifestyle."

The mention of Dean's name sent a wave of cold through you, but you kept your face neutral. Crowley was good at finding cracks in your armor, but you weren’t going to let him in. Not tonight.

"He made his choice," you said flatly. "I made mine."

"Yes, yes, he’s playing house while you do the dirty work. How noble of him," Crowley mocked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But you and I both know it’s eating you up inside. It’s killing you that he’s living a life that you so desperately crave with him."

You glanced at Crowley, your jaw tight. "What's your point?"

Crowley chuckled, his smile dark. "My point, darling, is that the past always catches up to us. Dean may think he can run from it, but he can’t. Sooner or later, he’ll come crawling back to this life—and to you. And when he does, what will you do? Welcome him with open arms? Or remind him of what he left behind?"

You stared at Crowley, his words sinking in deeper than you wanted to admit. You could pretend that Dean didn’t matter anymore, that you had moved on. But the truth was, no matter how many demons you killed or how many deals you made, there was still a part of you that longed for the life you had before everything went to hell. The part that still loved him. The piece of yur heart where Dean and Sam would wake you up in the mornings with the scents of breakfast wafting through the morning air.

But the man Dean had become—the one who chose Lisa, who walked away without a word—wasn’t the man you had fallen for. Maybe he never was.

"I don’t owe him anything," you said, though your voice sounded hollow even to you.

Crowley’s grin widened, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "That’s the spirit. But don’t be too quick to write him off. You never know when an old flame might reignite."

That night, alone in a dingy motel room, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at your phone. You hadn’t tried calling Dean since the day he left, and you weren’t about to now. But your fingers hovered over Castiel’s number, the angel who had disappeared like smoke as Dean had done so long ago.

You had prayed to him, begged for his help, for some sign that you weren’t completely forsaken. But he, like Dean, was gone.

With a bitter sigh, you tossed the phone aside and laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe Crowley was right. Maybe the past never really stayed buried. But what did it matter? You had made your choice, too. You had become something else—something darker, harder.Something you hardly recognized when you’d glanced at your reflection.

The only thing that lingered was the ache. The unspoken words, the love that was never returned, and the haunting thought that in another life, maybe things could have been different.

But this was the life you had now, and there was no going back.

Outside, the world continued its chaotic dance of light and shadow, of good and evil. And you, standing somewhere in between, were left to hunt in the darkness. Alone.

The wind howled against the motel window, but you barely noticed as sleep finally claimed you, the weight of a broken heart your only companion, not noticing the door opening to see a figure standing in the threshold holding a quickly packed luggage bag.

[PART TWO]

--

tags!

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky

SPN FOREVER PERM: @amelia-song-pond @salt-n-burn-em-all @kenzieam @flamencodiva-reblogs @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

DEAN WINCHESTER: @fandom-princess-forevermore

[hotpinkstars]

AHHH LOVED THE AL HAITHAM FIC SMM but if you dont mind what was going through al haithams head when he realized she left??

-> the house will never be the same again pt. 2

synopsis -> after being incredibly disrespected by your husband, alhaitham, you moved to liyue. what is going through his mind when you leave?

a/n -> AHHH i'm so happy you liked it!!! and i don't mind making a pt. 2 at all sorry this has been sitting here for a while but i hope you enjoy! here is part 1.

warnings -> all hurt no comfort, reader never turns up lol

w/c -> 1.2k

it’s been about a week now, and you’re already settled into liyue. you’ve caught the eye of a bunch of passersby in the city- a sumeru vision wielder living in liyue harbor? 

thankfully, you had the traveler and a kind woman from the qixing named ganyu able to assist you with questions about the city. the first day you got there, she noticed your vision, and asked you all about it. it soon led to the two of you hitting off the start of a friendship in a nice restaurant- with ganyu telling you all of the things to do in liyue, the jobs that can be taken, and how magical the lantern rite especially is. you mentioned to her that you had a passion for the arts, and she immediately helped you look for a side job to make a little bit of mora to pay rent in your nice abode in the middle of the harbor.

“so, were your travels from sumeru alright? i’ve heard trudging through desert is not a very enjoyable experience..” ganyu questioned, a slight grin to be found on her face. “though, i have heard that the city down there is very nice. i would love to visit for myself one day, but with work and adeptal business it makes my days a little tight.”

you nod before replying. “the city is beautiful, especially at night. theres a gorgeous stage down there too, where a young woman named nilou always performs on special events. it’s always been the most majestic part of the city, or at least in my opinion.” 

ganyu lets out a noise of fascination, before giggling a little. “i would love to watch her dance. nilou is a familiar name, some people here strictly go to sumeru just to see her. i bet she’s as wonderful as everyone makes her out to be.” ganyu sighs. “i wonder if she travels? we have nice performing places here, too.”

you nod. “occasionally. it mostly has to be a big event for her to arrive, though.” you take another bite of your food. “but i bet if i asked her, she’d come out for at least a few days.”

that made ganyu smile once more, before she asked another question. “well, this may be an odd question, but do you have any romantic relationships?” 

“well, that's the reason i decided to move here,” now it is your turn to sigh, making ganyu have a confused look dancing across her face. “my partner and i got into an argument. he wouldn’t stop overworking himself, and i simply just wanted him to come to bed. but he’s so stubborn, and he took his work stress out on me. there was… certainly a lot of name calling.”

ganyus look of confusion immediately switches to an apologetic one. “ah, you made the right choice. that’s no way to treat your spouse.” 

you nod in agreement, before finishing your dish and pushing it slightly out in front of you. 

“well, i’m going to head back to my apartment now. this was very nice, we should do it again sometime!” you smile before standing and putting some money on the table. “here, this should be half. have a good night, ganyu!”

“goodnight to you too, y/n! i’ll see you soon.” 

now, back on alhaithams end..

he hasn’t been home in about a week and a half, due to his work causing his presence nearly 24/7. that pretty much means he hasn’t realized you’ve left yet. 

as he walks home, he doesn’t know how he would approach you. does he pretend the issue doesn’t exist? does he keep ignoring you? does he apologize? he thought his mind would split open.

as he walks through the door, he notices that the house is a little… emptier, from when the two of you lived together. he walked through the whole place, looking into the bathrooms to see your products gone. looking at the laundry room, met with no clothes that are yours hanging from the clothesline. and now, when he went to your bedroom…

your pillowcases have been stripped from the bed, and your pillow thrown into the closet. there were only a stack of two pillows, right in the middle of the bed. now his heart was thumping, and really hard. he looked through the dressers. the left side was barren, leaving only his side full. the thing that brought tears to the mans eyes was seeing your wedding ring on your side of the table. 

so you really left him. he stands there, shocked, unknowing of what to do. does he try to find you, or does he let you go? oh, how he regrets ever talking to you the way he did. if he just took your advice, you would be in bed, waiting for his arrival. likely bringing him into a hug, shaking all his worries and stress away as you whispered questions along about how his day was. 

the next few days felt like someone kept coming over to his desk and stabbing his back with blades like his. he felt so regretful, doing everything he can to stay composed while at the same time trying to find where you’ve gone. dehya won’t give him anything besides “somewhere close to sumeru that’s not sumeru.” that could mean you’ve gone to fontaine, liyue, or monstadt. how would he ever find you?

he’d ask the gaurds, and they all told him you went in the direction of the chasm. getting somewhere, but not close enough. he could walk all that way and come up empty handed. he doesn’t have an exact pinpoint on you yet. 

he’d ask nilou. she’d just shrug and say something along the lines of “i heard what happened, but i do not know fully where they went.” 

he walked the paths of the city, lost deep in thought. everyone thought it was a little out of character for someone such as him to look and feel as lost as he is. as much as people wondered what happened, they kept their mouths shut.

and for the people who noticed your absence, too, they’d ask different people who would likely have knowledge. but alhaitham didn’t know where to go now. he could walk the whole chasm and still not have you turn up. he could check every apartment complex in liyue harbor, and knock on every door on the outskirts. he could sail the seas to inazuma, and walk every separate island to see who may be housing you, or what commission you may have been taken in by. he could fall down the very waterfall that leads an entrance to the enchanting location called enkanomiya. he could go to fontaine, dive under the waters, walk every rocky mountain, and even visit the fortress of meropide. he could fight every monster near the city of monstadt, looking upon every rooftop for signs of your art, blown through the city of wind. but he still wouldn’t find you.

now what he doesn’t know is that you’re in liyue harbor, and nobody frets to tell him that anytime soon. for now, they’re just going to let him suffer, the same way he let you.

[moonlinos]

Hi love 💖

Which romance trope do you associate each skz member with?

For eg: enemies to lovers, forbidden, friends to lovers, boy next door etc

Tbh, from your perspective what relates to them....

Bye, keep writing more 🥰🤗☺️

Ahh I loved writing this, thank you for asking. I got a bit carried away, but it’s not proofread since it’s a drabble so I tried to be less annoying with myself 🙃 Basically a trope for each member + a small blurb 🩷

Chan - Second chance love Maybe it’s because I just wrote about this, but it fits Chan well.

He was your college sweetheart, the one boyfriend you could never truly forget. After he moves to a different country due to a job offer, you’re left to reminisce about the amazing relationship you foolishly let slip through your fingers. You unknowingly compare every boyfriend you have to him, and they all fall short. No guy is as caring as Chan — he missed out on his own birthday party to console you after failing a test. No guy is as romantic as Chan — he was too broke for flowers during your relationship, so he made you paper roses every day until you broke up. No guy would ever live up to what Chan meant to you. Although you want nothing more than to look for him, your falling out wasn’t quite amicable. When you meet again, it’s by pure coincidence. He’s been transferred back to Seoul, where his company is located across the street from the building where you work. You’re completely different from who you were when you were together. Somehow, that’s exactly what you needed, and you find yourselves wanting to give your old romance a second try.

Minho - Friends to lovers This is so strange to me because this is actually my least favorite trope, and this man is my bias.

Minho is the one person at your job who you can stand to be around. You always joked about how his hidden talent is making you laugh even while you’re crying. Having worked together for three years now, you two have your little routine: going out to eat cheap street food after work and getting drunk at your favorite bar on weekends. He’s nothing but a friend to you, but he’s secretly pining after you, just waiting for that right moment to confess his feelings. But that moment never comes — you’re always too focused on work, or whining about yet another failed blind date. It takes one drunken night, when he’s carrying you from your car up to your apartment, for just how sweet, caring, and handsome Minho truly is to dawn on you. From there, you begin to subtly show him your feelings — which would totally make him flustered and maybe even a little annoyed that you could do it so effortlessly while he just waited around like an idiot. When you’re asked why you had a change of heart after being his friend for so long, you simply answer that you had no choice but to fall for him. He’s your best friend and the love of your life all wrapped up into one, how could you not want him?

Changbin - Holiday romance He just screams hot, funny dude you meet on a holiday.

You’re a bit down as you walk into the luau; the beautiful beach does little to distract you from the ugly jealousy inside your chest. Your friends are finding their perfect partners one by one, getting married, and leaving you to be the single friend. Your last friend from your little group is set to get married in two days, her wealthy fiance flying all the guests out to Hawaii for a dream beach wedding. You’re happy for her, but being her bridesmaid was almost like rubbing salt in your wound. Changbin’s loud voice is the first thing you hear after sitting down at the bar. You two get to talking, and his contagious laughter and constant jokes have you enthralled the entire night, and the way the sleeves of his shirt strained against his biceps certainly helped. You end up hooking up that night, leaving you hopeful you won’t be so lonely during yet another wedding. Except he simply disappears when morning comes, a small note explaining he had to catch his flight left on the pillow beside you. He didn’t know if adding his number would be too much — maybe you were just looking to de-stress and have a good time at your friend’s bachelorette party. So he doesn’t, simply signing his name and telling you he had an amazing time with you.

Hyunjin - Forbidden love In so many different ways. A crown prince set to be king, your bodyguard who really shouldn’t have fallen for you because it puts his life at risk, your best friend who’s already in a relationship. A love you know is unattainable, but you pursue it anyway.

The crown prince has a soft spot for you, even though you’re only a village girl who runs your family’s bakery. Despite his guards surrounding him and his cold appearance, he treats you as an equal whenever he visits your shop — which happens frequently, seeing as his mother cannot live without your strawberry pound cake, a recipe that’s been passed down to you by your late father. Hyunjin’s love starts shyly, without him noticing. His father often berates him for being too soft on the help, too kind to people below him — he simply assumes it’s his seemingly too-kind nature that makes him want to befriend you. He begins escaping from the palace under the pretense of fetching his mother’s favorite treat himself, until he finds himself escaping simply to see you. You spend your days teaching him how to bake various treats while he revels in feeling so normal for the first time in his life. Hidden inside your little bakery, he’s not expected to be gracious and courteous, or to be ruthless and calculating. He can simply be himself around you. Only problem is his parents announce he will be marrying a princess from a neighboring kingdom in less than six months.

Jisung - Fake relationship Jisung screams early 2000s romcom for me, you can’t change my mind. The real chaotic ones like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, The Wedding Planner, and of course, The Proposal.

You were certainly not his first option, given his love for tormenting you and your history of bickering at office get-togethers. But Jisung is left with no choice as Christmas is quickly approaching, and his entire family expects to meet his fiance when he visits. In all fairness, he did have one, but she broke off the engagement with no real explanation, leaving him heartbroken and in a huge predicament. He could either come clean to his family and endure two weeks of nagging or find someone to act as his fiance. Unfortunately for him, you’re the only single woman in his department he knows would accept this crazy deal — that’s enough ammo for a year of teasing, and you can’t pass up on that.

Felix - Sunshine/grumpy I know this is the most obvious choice but hear me out, it’s for good reason.

Felix moves back to Australia to get away from the corporate world he’s been sucked into, missing his carefree days at the beach when he was a kid. You move in next door after a year and a half of enduring a terrible writer’s block that threatens your career as a writer. You have no time for futile things, seeing as your livelihood depends on you sitting down and finishing your book before summer ends. Except your neighbor is unrelenting, determined to help you find your lost passion through his carefully curated list of days at his favorite childhood fair and late-night ocean trips to teach you how to swim. It’s irritating at first, and you want nothing more than to get through his silly list as fast as possible lest you drown him during one of your swimming lessons. Only Felix’s outlook on life slowly wins you over, and you find yourself with more than just your forgotten love for writing filling your heart.

Seungmin - Enemies to lovers He also screams romantic comedy. His handsome face hiding his chaotic need to pester everyone he loves makes this the obvious choice to me.

As a lawyer just starting her career, you expect to be faced with the usual issues: overworking, your boss being an asshole, and dealing with cases that make you question your own morals. A co-worker who makes every second of your day unbearable was not on your bingo card. Seungmin is assigned to the same team as you, working under the supervision of the firm’s most prestigious lawyers. His need to be the best drives you up the wall, his competitiveness possibly being the worst trait you’ve seen on a man, only rivaled by his cockiness. If that wasn’t enough, he’s seemingly determined to make your life a living hell, constantly engaging in petty fights and teasing you every chance he gets. When a particular case proves too much for you to handle — hitting too close to home — Seungmin trades his unwelcome jokes for words of encouragement, keeping you company after work hours simply to help you. You see him take a step back from his beloved spotlight for the first time just to watch you shine. You find it odd, to say the least, but you can’t bring yourself to question it in your situation. Little do you know he’s been falling for you since he was first introduced to the team, and his need to rile you up is simply a desperate attempt to make you pay attention to him.

Jeongin - Boy next door I read this one in your message and I just knew it was Jeongin.

He moves next door after a heartbreak, which makes him want nothing more than to run away from the bustling city of Seoul and its cold residents. Jeongin intrigues you from the first day — having lived in that small town your whole life had you desperate for excitement, for what adventures the city could provide you. You have a happy, albeit quite monotonous life. Running the only bookshop in town provides countless stories from your nosy neighbors’ chaotic lives that keep you entertained throughout your days. Still, you’ve grown tired of only hearing about these experiences. Jeongin begins frequenting your bookshop, walking you home, and coming inside for a piece of cake every day. During your talks, you always complain about your dull life in the town, while he swears you wouldn’t trade the tranquility of your little life if you knew how ruthless and lonely the city can be. You fall first, his bright smile and gentle nature capturing your lonely heart. But he falls harder, vowing to help you find the excitement you yearn for in life, even if it means losing you to the city he hates so much.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings, @seungseung-minmin, @yourcvndx, @hynjinnnnnnnie, @vlctorriaa, @yongbokkiesworld, @kiensecent, @redstayrosie

[allthesmutl0vers]

The Weight of Blood: Tom/Theo/Draco/Regulus/Fem!Reader (Part Six)

MDNI, 18+, NSFW Masterlist Pairing: Tom Riddle/Theodore Nott/Draco Malfoy/Regulus Black/Fem!Reader TW: Sexual references, Dom/Sub relationship/Longing/Flirting/Mentions of depression/Possessive!Slytherins

Chapter Six

Y/n

The Next Morning

The boys are still sleeping when I wake up, so I do my best to grab my clothes for the day and change in the bathroom without waking them up. At first, it seems like I’m successful, but after putting my ear to the door, I can hear them talking. Shit . 

“Well, good morning,” Theo smirks, sitting on the small couch next to Draco. 

I feel the blush creep onto my cheeks as I straighten my tie. “Morning,” I turn to Draco. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning. Sleep well?” Draco smiles tiredly, lifting his mug to his lips. 

“Well enough,” I shrug. “Hey, where did you get coffee?” 

“Elves, I had them bring some up. Sit down, I’ll make you a cup,” he nods to the armchair across from them. 

“Oh, um, thanks,” I move to the armchair, taking careful steps. I look around for Regulus and Tom but don’t see them. “Where’d Regulus and Tom go?” 

“Went to talk to Dumbledore about skipping today,” Theo yawns and stretches his arms over his head. “Thinking about going to Hogsmeade. You in?”

I pick up the letters from McGonagall and Dumbledore from the coffee table in front of me. “Probably not,” I shake my head with a sigh and re-read the letters. “I actually have to see Dumbledore and McGonagall today about why I’ve skipped all week.”

Draco hands me a cup of coffee and gently grabs my chin, tipping it up to look at him. The action sets off butterflies in my stomach, something I haven’t felt in a long time. “Don’t worry about that, darling. It’s being handled,” he smiles. 

“But, aren’t you guys going to get in trouble? You snuck in here, and you stayed the night in my dorm. What if they think—”

“Shh. You worry too much. Just drink your coffee and relax. Understood?” Draco’s voice is calm but stern as his thumb grazes my chin. 

I feel a blush heat my cheeks, and I nod in his hand. Against my will, my voice comes out entirely submissive and soft. “Yes.” 

Draco takes a deep breath, and his jaw clenches as if he’s holding himself back from doing something or saying something that he shouldn’t. His hand leaves my chin, and he smiles instead before walking back to the couch next to Theo and sitting down again. 

“Fuck me, that was,” Theo pushes the fingers and his thumb on one hand together, bringing the tips to his lips and kissing them. “Sexy,” he winks. 

I bite my lower lip, fighting a smile. “Shut up, Theo.” 

Theo leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees with a cigarette between his fingers. “My pleasure, bellissima. Just place your lips on mine,” he smiles. “That should do the job.” ( beautiful)

I can’t help but blush and laugh. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually felt wanted for more than just a quick fuck. And the way they do it… actually makes me want to. God, it’s been so long since I’ve wanted to. Or had a choice. 

“You’re incorrigible,” I roll my eyes and smirk at Theo. 

Draco smiles and chuckles. “Just wait, he gets worse.”

Theo fakes an insulted gasp. “I’ll have you know I am quite the romantic.” 

“For some reason, I doubt that,” I smirk over my coffee mug. 

Theo looks back at me and smiles. “Care to place a wager on that, bella?” He takes a slow drag off his smoke. 

“And hypothetically ,” I wave my hand. “If I win, what’s my prize?” I take another sip of my coffee.” 

Theo sits back and takes another drag, thinking for a few moments before he answers. “Whatever you want,” he smiles. 

I bite the inside of my cheek and smirk. “Do I even want to know what you want if you win?” 

Theo smiles and blows the smoke out over his head before he looks at me again. “Bella, I would’ve already won. Because you went out with me.” 

My eyes widen, and the butterflies in my stomach flutter again. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet,” I look down at my cup and finger the rim. 

When he responds, his voice isn’t flirty or playful anymore. Instead, it’s comforting, calm, and sweet. “I’m prepared to wait. As long as it takes.”

I’m saved from coming up with a response when my door opens, and Tom and Regulus walk in. But my stomach sinks when I see Professor McGonagall behind them. “Professor,” I stand up. “I— I was going to come see you today.” 

Professor McGonagall takes a look around my room, namely at Theo and Draco sitting on the couch, before she looks at me again. “I am aware, Ms. Hunt as Mr’s. Riddle and Black have already explained to me. However, I thought it prudent that I come to see you anyway. Will you please join me in my office?��� she opens the door wider for me to follow her. 

I look at Tom and Regulus, who both nod for me to go without saying a word. “Yes, Professor,” I hesitantly follow her out of my dorm and down the stairs. We exit the common room and enter her office a little ways down the hall. 

“Would you like a cookie, dear?” she offers as she motions for me to sit in one of the two chairs in front of her fireplace. 

“No, thank you,” I take my seat. Yesterday, I wouldn’t care if I got kicked out or cared about whatever she's about to say. But today, I can’t stop my hands from shaking with nerves and hope she doesn’t make me pack my trunk. 

“So, as I’m sure you’re aware,” she sits down across from me. “Tom and Regulus came to see me and the Headmaster this morning.” 

“Not until I woke up, Professor,” I try to keep my leg from anxiously tapping the ground. 

McGonagall nods. “Well, they explained that you have been having some trouble as of late and that it involved someone in your house and a certain photograph , that I have been hearing whispers about.”

God, please open up the earth and swallow me whole .

“While they didn’t go into detail about what happened last night, I understand what you’re going through,” her voice softens. “I have had the same thoughts, and I would like to share something with you that might help. If you’ll allow me to.” 

I nod, and she stands up. “If I may ask you to follow me once again,” she smiles softly. 

Neither of us says a word as we walk through the castle and out of the front door. It’s not until we are at the edge of the forbidden forest that she speaks again. “When I was young, I married my husband, Elphinstone. We met while working at the ministry. He was my boss. It was quite the scandal, if I must say so myself,” she smiles softly at me. 

“We had a great love, the kind of love you only experience once in your life. If you’re lucky,” she smiles sadly as we get deeper into the forest. “He died after I transferred here. A tentacula plant bit him when he was studying it for research. The venom killed him when he couldn’t get to the hospital in time,” she says as we walk a little further. 

“After he died, I was in so much agony. I was so depressed that I never wanted to feel anything again. I didn’t want to face the pain of losing him, and I was willing to do anything to be with him again,” she sighs. “One day, I was walking through the forest, the same path we are on right now. And I came to a spot that seemed fitting to take my own life,” we stop walking, and she faces me. “This cave was where I intended to do it,” she motions to a dark, grimy, and near-collapse cavern. 

“Tell me, what do you see when you look at this cave?” she looks at me with her hands clasped together in front of her waist. 

“It looks dark, and,” I look at her skeptically, not wanting to offend the place that obviously means a great deal to her. But she nods her head for me to continue, so I decide to just be honest. After all, she’s been honest with me. “I don’t want to go in there. I’d rather go further into the forest at night,” I look up at her to see if she is angry with me. “Sorry.” 

McGonagall straightens her back. “There is no need to apologize. However, I will ask you to accompany me into the cave. I assure you it is safe.” 

I swallow and nod. McGonagall lights up her wand and motions for me to follow her at her side. I hold my breath as we walk about fifty feet into the cave and stop. McGonagall smiles at me and turns out the light at the end of her wand. 

I blink for a few moments, trying to adjust my eyes to the dark. But it’s not needed. The walls glow and glitter with red, green, yellow, and blue gems, much like the colors for all of the houses. It’s so beautiful I can’t help but gasp as they light up the cave in a beautiful rainbow array of light.

McGonagall smiles and nods. “Tell me, what do you think of the cave now?” 

I spins slowly, taking in all of the beauty. “It’s… beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

“Yes, it is quite a sight to behold,” she smiles as I stop to look at her again. “Who would have known that all of this beauty,” she motions around us. “Was just on the other side of that dark and gloomy entrance? This is what pain is.” 

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean, Professor?” 

“The entrance of the cave represents the fear and pain we feel. We don’t want to go through it. We don’t want to face it. So we run, we hide, we do anything else to avoid it,” she holds up a finger. “ But , if we face our pain and push through our fears, we get to a place more beautiful than we could’ve ever imagined on the outside of it.”

“I never thought about it like that,” I admit softly, looking down at my shoes. 

McGonagall places a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I look up at her. “That is because you were on the outside of it, and maybe you still are. But I promise you, you’re pain, and your fears do not represent who you are. They are the outside of this cave, but if you push through it, I promise you will come to a much better place.”

Tears prick at my eyes, and one manages to fall down my cheek. For the first time in a long time, I feel hope. 

“I’m scared, Professor. I don’t want to face the people in my house or the other students who saw the picture. I don’t want to see him .” 

McGonagall pulls me into a hug. “He has been taken care of. I can assure you of that. You never have to see him for the rest of your time here,” she pulls back and puts her hands gently on my shoulders. “As for your fellow schoolmates, they don’t know the whole story. And they don’t need to, not if you don’t wish for them to. But you do have to push through. The other Professors, the Headmaster, and I will do everything we can to shut down any chatter about it.” 

McGonagall wipes away a tear that falls down my cheek. “And, of course, you are more than welcome to come and talk to me, and I hope you do. Any time, day or night. And should you ever need or wish to come back here, I am happy to accompany you.” 

“Thank you so much, Professor,” I sniffle, feeling so much better than I did before. “I’m sorry for everything you went through. And I’m so thankful you are still here.” 

“Oh,” Professor McGonagall smiles and starts to lead us back out of the cave. “Thank you, dear. I am thankful I am, too, and I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could come to me before. But I hope you know that you are very much loved and such a talented young witch.” 

“Thank you,” I smile as we walk back to the castle. 

“You’re welcome. And I have one more question for you, if I may.”

“Of course, anything.” 

McGonagall smiles as the castle comes back into view. “Tom and Regulus, and Theodore and Draco, they seem to be quite fond of you,” I can’t help but smile as I nod. “Are the five of you…”

“Oh, gosh, no,” I shake my head. “No, actually, I didn’t even think they liked me until last night. Not Tom and Draco, at least.” 

McGonagall nods. “I see. Well, it’s nice to see them talking to other people outside of themselves. They rarely do so, according to Professor Snape,” she laughs and smiles. “Not that I listen to gossip.” 

“Of course not, Professor,” I smile back. She totally does . 

When we get back to the front door of the castle, I see Tom, Regulus, Theo, and Draco talking amongst themselves. Professor McGonagall turns to me again before we reach them. “Oh, I almost forgot. There is no need to speak with the Headmaster, he is aware and is willing to forgive and forget skipping classes this week, given the circumstances.”

“Really?’ My eyes widen slightly. 

“Yes. You are also excused from them today,” she looks over at the boys, and Theo waves with a cheeky smile. “Your friends as well. Take today and relax. You may also be excused tomorrow since it is a Friday. However, I do hope to see you in class.” 

“That’s very generous, thank you,” I chuckle nervously. “Honestly, Professor, I was expecting at least a month’s detention.”

Professor McGonagall shakes her head with a chuckle. “Not at all. It’s understandable. We just want to be sure you come back when you’re ready. I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your day,” she smiles and walks back to the castle as the boys walk toward me. 

“You alright?” Regulus pulls me into a hug. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I sigh softly as I pull back and smile up at him. 

Theo takes the opportunity to pull me into a bone-crushing hug next. “We got the day off with you,” he laughs. 

“That’s— uh, Theo?” I struggle slightly to breathe.

“Yeah?” 

“Can’t breathe,” I wheeze. 

Theo immediately pulls back. “Shit, sorry, love,” he laughs. 

I suck in a breath and laugh. “It’s fine.”

Draco nudges me playfully. “Soo, Hogsmeade?” 

I smile and nod. “Sounds good to me, Tommy?” I smile at him. 

Tom nods and gives me a small smile. “Sure, doll.”

We take full advantage of Hogsmeade being empty of other students. No lines at The Three Broomsticks and no crowds in Honeydukes. 

“Oh my God! They have them back in stock!” I shriek with excitement and clap my hands. 

“What?” Draco asks over my shoulder. 

I hold up the cady in my hands. “Fizzing Whizzbees,” I smile wide. “They never keep them in stock long enough for me to get my hands on them when all the students are here.” 

“Oo! Fizzing Whizzbees?!” Theo says excitedly as he comes up to us. “These are my favorite!”

“Mine too!” I giggle excitedly and put a few handfuls in my basket. 

We walk over and find Regulus, who insists I call him ‘Reggie’ like everyone else, and Tom by the Chocolate Frogs. “You guys have all the cards?” I ask, sucking on an acid pop. 

“Most of them,” Reggie answers with a smile. He pulls the acid pop from my mouth and puts it in his. 

“Reggie! That’s mine!” I reach for it with a gasp. 

Reggie laughs and smiles. “We can share,” he smirks and looks at the others with a raised brow. 

Tom grabs it back from Reggie without a word and gives it back to me. “Thanks, Tommy,” I smile and stick my tongue out at Reggie. 

Reggie scoffs a laugh. “Boo, you’re no fun,” he teases Tom. 

“You’re acting like a child,” Tom rolls his eyes but smirks at me. 

I pull it from my mouth and hand it back to Reggie. “Here, just ask next time,” I smile. 

Reggie salutes me with two fingers to his forehead and smirks as he pops the acid pop back in his mouth. “Will do, lamb.” 

We all pay for our candy and make our way back to The Three Broomsticks for lunch, thankfully. I skipped breakfast, so I’m literally starving. We sit at a table in the back, Theo and Draco on one side and me between Tom and Reggie on the other. 

“What are you getting?” Tom asks me as we all look at the menu. 

“Hmm,” I look over the options. “Probably the shepherd’s pie. You?” 

Tom looks over the menu again before putting it down. “Same as you.” 

“I’m getting the spareribs if anyone is curious,” Theo smirks. 

“I’m very curious,” I tease with a laugh. 

Theo smirks and winks at me as the waitress comes and takes our orders. “And to drink?” 

“I’ll do red currant rum,” Theo hands her his menu. 

Draco answers next. “Mulled mead for me.” 

“Same for me,” Reggie hands her his menu. 

Tom takes me menu and orders for both of us. “She’ll have a butterbeer. I’ll take a Firewhisky,” I tense at the mention of it, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Tom places his hand on my knee under the table and squeezes it. “Actually, I’ll take a mulled mead as well.” 

The waitress nods with a smile. “I’ll be right back with those.” 

“Why’d you change your order?” I can’t help but ask. 

Tom shrugs and picks a piece of lint off his robe. “Seemed like you didn’t like it.” 

I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling guilty he didn’t get what he wanted. “You could’ve gotten it anyway.” 

“It’s what he drank. And getting something else that I like instead of Firewhisky is a small price to pay to not make you uncomfortable.” 

I feel a blush rise to my cheeks as he grips my knee a little tighter. “As long as you like mulled mead,” I shrug. 

Tom looks at me with a narrowed gaze. “I never eat, drink, or do anything I don’t wish to.” 

Draco clears his throat, and I look up at him curiously. Theo and Reggie also seem to get a bit uncomfortable. “Everything okay?” I look at the three of them. 

Draco looks up at me and nods. “Yeah, everything is fine,” he smiles. “Just never seen him like this before,” Draco nods to Tom across from him. 

“Like what?” I sit back against the seat. 

“Like he actually wants to fuck someone,” Theo smirks. 

I feel myself blush again and shift in my seat, not knowing how to respond to that. 

“Way to go for making shit uncomfortable, mate,” Reggie scoffs. 

Theo scoffs a laugh. “Am I wrong?” 

Draco elbows Theo. “For fucks sake, are you trying to scare her off?”

“Quite the contrary,” Theo winks. 

“Knock it off,” Tom grips my knee harder to the point it hurts. I grab his wrist and he immediately loosens his grip. 

Our drinks come, and Reggie gently nudges me to get my attention. “So? Anyone in your sights now that you’re a free woman?” He keeps his voice light and playful. 

I smile and rub the rim of my glass. “Maybe,” I smirk, letting the buzz of the butterbeer numb my anxious nerves. 

“In your house?” Draco asks curiously. “Because we’re more than happy to vet them for you,” he laughs and holds up his glass. 

I laugh and shake my head. “No, no. No need to do that,” I smile and sigh. “Honestly, I’m just glad to be free. Shit, when he and I got together,” I shake my head. “He introduced me to some,” I blush. “Let's say unusual dating habits.” 

Theo’s eyes widen, and he smiles, leaning forward on the table. “Tell. Us. Everything .”

I shake my head and laugh. “No, I couldn’t possibly,” I wave my hand. “It’s embarrassing.” 

Theo groans and taps his hand on the table. “Come on, bella. Now we have to know,” he laughs. 

I smile and relent. “Fine. But you guys have to swear not to laugh.” 

“Consider me curious, I promise,” Draco smirks. 

Theo crosses an ‘x’ over his chest. “Cross my heart.” 

“On Merlin’s grave,” Reggie smiles. 

“I will do my best,” Tom smirks. 

I sigh and take another drink of my butterbeer. “Okay. Well, he was into,” I bite my lower lip and scrunch my nose slightly. “Something called ‘BDSM’. It’s like a power dynamic,” I wave my hand lazily. “Like dominant and submissive,” Tom’s hand moves up my leg another inch, and I shift in my seat. “So, like the ‘dominant,” I make quotation marks with my fingers. “Tells the submissive what to do, or ties them up and stuff like that, and if the submissive doesn’t or acts like a uh,” I snap my fingers, forgetting the term. 

“A brat,” Reggie clears his throat and takes a drink from his mug. 

I snap and put my hand on his upper arm. “Yes! That!” I chuckle. “A brat, then the dominant gets to punish them however they see fit,” I take another drink. “But uh, yeah,” I tsk. “That didn’t end well for me, as we know,” I bite my lip nervously. 

Theo licks his bottom lip with a smirk and Draco shifts in his seat. “So, were you into that?” Draco looks at me curiously. 

I sigh and lean forward on my elbows. “I don’t know,” I shrug. “I mean, he was a piece of shit, so maybe I just had a bad experience because of that. But I don’t think anyone here is into that besides him,” I chuckle and shake my head. “And I’m definitely not going back to him. Shit, he’s not even going to school here anymore.” 

Tom draws lazy circles on my knee and takes a drink. “I wouldn’t say nobody . But it is something you should try with someone more experienced.” 

“Maybe,” I shrug and take a drink. “But I just want to make sure I can trust them. I liked it if I’m being honest. At least, I liked it when it first started.” 

“What about it did you like?” Theo prods as he lights a smoke. 

I bite my lower lips and try to remember the things I did like. “Well, I mean, I liked belonging to someone.”

“Anything else?” Reggie lights a smoke, too.

I feel myself blush. “I don’t know, a few things I guess. But you guys don’t wanna hear about it. It’s a little, uh, personal.” 

Tom nudges me to look at him, and when I do, he looks from my lips to my eyes, making me shift in my seat. “We wouldn’t ask if we didn’t want to hear. If you don’t want to share, that’s fine. Just tell us that.”

I nod and suck my bottom lip between my teeth, fidgeting my fingers on top of the table. “I, um,” I clear my throat. “I liked the punishments and being tied up,” my voice comes out as almost a murmur. 

“What punishments?” Theo takes a drag of his smoke, his voice velvety and smooth. 

“Look up when you speak,” Draco leans on the table. 

My breath hitches in my chest at the command, and my body follows it without hesitation, looking right into Draco’s grey eyes. “Spanking,” I swallow. “And this thing called edging. But I also really liked praise, too.” 

“Like being called ‘good girl’ and being told how well you’re doing?” Reggie looks at me with a darkened expression. 

I nod and pull my sleeves down over most of my hands, my fingers still fidgeting. 

Tom pulls my face to him with a finger under my chin. “Use your words.” 

My thighs clench together involuntarily, but for the first time in a long time, I don’t mind it. “Yes, I like those things,” my voice comes out almost in a whisper as I look into his dark brown eyes.

“Mm,” Tom hums with satisfaction. “Good girl.” 

I let out a shuddering breath and close my thighs tighter; my body practically melts under his praise and the others' commands. 

Fuck me. Like, seriously. Jesus fucking Christ. Could these men be any fucking hotter? 

Wait. Did I really just think that?  

I pull myself away from him as the food comes and clear my throat. “So, what do you guys want to do after lunch?” 

“There’s always the shrieking shack,” Draco shrugs. 

I smile and nod. “Sounds fun,” I turn to the others. “You guys okay with that? 

Reggie nods and smiles, and Theo winks over his glass. “Sounds like a date.” 

I shake my head and chuckle. “Alright then.” 

After we finish eating, we all walk down to the shrieking shack. The wind blows especially hard and makes me shiver as we get to the door. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my robes as Tom unlocks the door, and we all step inside. 

The smell of dust and old wood seeps into my nose, making me scrunch it slightly. The ground is littered with old alcohol bottles and upturned tables and chairs line the walls that are covered with peeling paint and wallpaper. “Why do they call it the shrieking shack? Looks more like a place to party.”

Draco moves to stand next to me. “The locals say they hear screams from the ghosts of people who died here. Going back years and years.” 

My eyes widen as I turn to him. “Ghosts? You mean,” I look around. “People died here?” 

Draco chuckles and steps closer to me. “Not from any official records. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true,” he places a hand on my arm. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of ghosts. There are tons in the castle.” 

I shift on my feet, my head still reeling from the conversation we had earlier, and his touch on my arm reminds me of Tom’s on my thigh under the table. “Yeah, but I know those ghosts,” I look up at him before looking over my shoulder, up the staircase, looking for any ghost that may pop out. 

Reggie comes up behind me and places a hand on the small of my back, sending a bolt of pleasant sparks up my spine. “Don’t worry, little lamb. You’re with us,” he brushes my hair out of my face with a finger. 

With us . The thought makes something stir deep in my belly. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Longing? Trust? Desire? Nervousness? Lust ? When I’m around all of them now, the words seem to meld together into something I can’t describe. Making me want more. 

Slut. How could you possibly think of being with all of them? Jesus Christ, you’re single for a few days, and suddenly you want to fuck around with not just two different guys but five ? 

I smile nervously and move away from both of their touches, hugging myself around my waist as I walk through the house. I couldn’t possibly make a move on any of them, not when I can’t even be sure what I’m feeling. McGonagall’s words come back to my mind. 

“They all seem to be quite fond of you. I can’t help but wonder…”

I shake my head as I walk into the tattered and dirty kitchen, long abandoned by any type of cleaning materials. Would it be possible? How would it work? Do they take turns passing me around like some kind of toy? 

Do they share me all at the same time?

I shudder runs through me at the thought. I know talking to them about what I’m into earlier was more than just talk between friends. I think a part of me wanted them to know, to see their reactions and if they’re into that stuff too. I could be crazy; I could be reading into things that don’t exist, but it seemed that they just might be. 

They’ve made jokes about sharing. Granted, it wasn’t me specifically. But now that I think about it, I bite my lower lip. Maybe they did mean me. 

“Are you okay?” Tom comes up behind me, his front brushing against my back, making my breathing hitch in my chest. 

I respond without looking back. “Yes,” I look out of the dusty window that overlooks the path we came down. 

Tom’s breath cascades down my neck, sending a pleasurable shiver through my body as he whispers in my ear. “Are you lying?”

I pull my lower lips between my teeth and nod as I clench my thighs and shift on my feet to hide the action. “Yes.” 

Tom places a hand on my hip and turns me to look up at him. “Tell me what’s going through your mind.” 

I bite the inside of my cheek, weighing my options. I could tell him how I really feel, or I could lie and say it’s something else. Tom tips my face up to look at his. “I could read your mind, but I want you to tell the truth.” 

My heart flutters in my chest, and my lips part to answer him softly. “I… I don’t know how to feel,” it’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth. 

Tom’s eyes narrow slightly as he seems to gauge what I’m telling him. “How to feel about what? About us? Or something else?”

I nod his finger still under my chin. “Both. I don’t know, I just feel confused.” 

“Do you like how we make you feel?” 

His question catches me slightly off guard and I blink a few times, processing his question. “Yes,” my answer comes out in a whisper. 

“I see,” Tom nods, his eyes darkening. “Do you want more?” 

I nod without thinking. 

“Words, princess.” 

I shift on my feet under his gaze and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks. “Yes.”

“Then why are you confused?” His finger moves from my chin up my jaw, and his fingers brush through my hair. 

“I’m scared of what people will say,” I look up into his eyes. “After everything with—”

Tom presses a finger to my lips, silencing me. “I don’t want to hear his filthy name on your beautiful lips again. You don’t belong to him anymore. You never did.”

His thumb pulls down my bottom lip, and I feel myself shudder. “Then who did I belong to?” 

“Us,” Draco leans against the doorway behind Tom with Theo and Reggie. 

“Always us,” Reggie steps forward. 

Theo smirks and pulls his cigarette to his lips. “And it’s about time we showed you that.” 

My heart flutters, and desire pools deep inside of my stomach. “Here?” 

Tom shakes his head slowly. “No. Not here. I won’t allow you to lay on this filthy floor while we take you,” he leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “We’ll take you back to the castle, lay you out on your bed,” his hand skims the skin of my thigh, brushing the hem of my skirt. “And show you just how good we can make you feel. Show you how we can make you submit, make you want to submit.” 

Tom pulls back and I let out a slow, deep breath, looking at all four of them. Reggie steps forward, takes my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it without breaking eye contact. “That is if you’ll have us.” 

“This is all up to you. It’s your choice, bella,” Theo steps forward, too, as does Draco. 

“Everything is on your terms as it should be,” Draco looks me up and down. 

I only ponder it for a moment. I remember the cave and how something I never expected could be on the other side if I’m only brave enough to walk through. I look at all of them. Could this be my gemstone cave? Could they be my light in the dark, even if they are the dark? 

“I accept.”

Part Seven

[theboysfromaustin]

The party crasher story, just because I love it and it encapsulates what a chaos demon Kazuo can be.

-----

November 5, 1999

Lincoln Park High School, Chicago, Illinois

Kazuo stared at his locker, annoyed.  Another day, another slur scrawled across it.  Maybe it would have been less irritating if it said something the tiniest bit clever, but it was the usual 'FAGGOT'.

Sure, he was gay, but his classmates didn't know….probably.  They usually called anyone who wasn't contributing to the teen pregnancy rate of Illinois a faggot.  He hated his classmates and they hated him - he was sort of hoping the whole Y2K thing would take most of them out.  Maybe himself.  Life was pretty awful.  Then he sighed - due to the events of Columbine, he'd been repeatedly called into the counselor's office because the new fun thing for his peers to do was to paint him as a potential school shooter.

He wasn't like that, all he wanted to do was listen to music, draw, and be left the fuck alone, but the cadre of people - led by his former friend Jack, had other ideas.  School had been a never ending cycle of lunches being thrown on the ground, shoving, punching, being upended into garbage cans, swirlies, and wet towel whippings.

Gym was the worst, with the showering.  These were already men he found wildly unattractive, and seeing them nude was enough to make him retch.  The only good part was he could cocoon himself inside his long hair to cover himself.  His hair got pulled constantly, so he often kept it tucked under a hoodie, which he was wearing now because it was November in Chicago. He threw his books into the locker because fuck doing homework.  He was doing well enough anyway - could go valedictorian at senior graduation if he really wanted to apply himself, but he knew he'd get five words of his speech out beginning with "EAT SHIT AND DIE, MOTHERFUCKERS" and would get his ass yoinked off stage.

He was barely through his Sophomore year.  Two more years after, and then…

He really didn't know.  He guessed his dear ol' dad would push him into a job and steal most of, if not all of his money for cigs and beer, despite being on oxygen.  He'd never get away.  He assumed any money his mother may have left had already been taken by his father.  He had no money to make an escape.  If he could, he'd go find his grandfather in Austin….if he'd even take him.

And then maybe he could get the lawyer his grandfather worked for to protect him.  He didn't know the guy's name, but any time his dad bitched about his grandfather, he'd usually grouse about "that bastard lawyer." He sighed, readjusting his backpack.  All he wanted was to leave school without getting the shit kicked out of him.  It happened at least once a week.  Often two or three times, and he tried to vary his routine of how he left the campus, but damn if the bastards didn't keep finding him.  He figured without books weighing him down, maybe he could outpace them.

Kazuo was honestly surprised that after all these years, Jack still wanted to cave his head in.  Sure, Kazuo was a loner - not by choice, scrawny, kind of short and only had one eye, but he'd hadn't spoken to him civilly since kindergarten.  Maybe Jack had taken a few too many hits to the head playing baseball, and torturing him was the only thing he had going.

Maybe Jack had the hots for him, which, quite frankly was disgusting.

Kazuo skirted along the wall, peering out the double doors at the concrete expanse, out at the Chicago skyline.  His classmates milled by, leaving or heading to after school clubs.  Honestly, he had zero romantic interest in men his own age.  He liked older men - and not like, dudes in their twenties.  He really preferred men older than fifty - he was only 16, so he was aware it was weird now, but he'd be 18 soon enough, and maybe he could find someone to help him….to love him.

He dashed through the doors, trying to stay hidden in the throngs of students, hoping he was short enough to move undetected.  He hunched over to make himself smaller, Joy Division hoodie pulled over his head.  If he could get a few blocks away, he'd be free to….go home.

Huh.

Some days, getting the shit kicked out of him was the more pleasant option.

Before he could further contemplate the bullshit of life, his hood was grabbed and was yanked out of the crowd and bodily picked up, his ribs squeezed.  He bit down on the jacket sleeved arm, opting to go full feral.  He kicked, and his legs were grabbed.  The other students ignored his plight, but he was used to that happening.

"You thought you could get away?"

Jack's voice hissed in his ear.  Kazuo glared across the courtyard at his Biology teacher smoking a cigarette, then growled, "What do you want, Jack?  You need to hold me as gayly as possible?" That earned him a punch to the head from Ron, one of Jack's cohorts, "Shut it, queer." "Hey, I'm not the one cradling me close to my heart.  And crotch." Another punch, but Kazuo was annoyed enough by the constant attacks that he was going to be as snotty and degrading as possible.

"What should we do with him?" Marco, Jack's other stooge. Jack squeezed Kazuo harder, and he gagged, coughing.  Ron took the opportunity to grab Kazuo's legs so Marco could remove his ragged sneakers and socks, throwing them up into a tree.

Great.  Now his feet were cold.

With that, Kazuo flung his head backwards into Jack's mouth, hoping to bust a tooth, or at least his lip.  Jack yelped, dropping him, Kazuo immediately making a break for it, dodging traffic across Armitage Ave, fleeing as he heard the trio behind him.  He fled, dodging down an alleyway, tucking and rolling between a garbage can and a dumpster.  He grinned, eye shut as he leaned into the brick wall, pretty sure he'd lost them.

Wrong.

That's rough, buddy.

Within two seconds, he felt himself be grabbed and chucked headfirst into the dumpster, the lid slammed overhead.  He could hear the idiots cackling, but as they left, he heard one snippet of conversation - "Cant believe your parents left for the weekend, Jack, your party is gonna be sick!" Kazuo reoriented himself, shaking garbage off his hair, a malicious grin overtaking his face.  So.  Jack was hosting a party.  He knew Jack, and he knew there would be copious amounts of weed and booze.

Everyone would be way too wasted to notice if he showed up in disguise.

Perfect.

He popped out of the dumpster, shook the rest of the crap off him, and went to go fetch his shoes - but failing to get his socks - via hucking rocks at them.  Feeling better about the day, he headed for home.  He knew his dad would probably be home - he worked from home, but fuck if he knew what his old man did.  He had a couple theories - either he was running an off track betting business or was the world's worst phone sex operator.  Home wasn't too far away.

He carefully opened the door, peering into the living room.  His father was angrily pounding away at his new computer, cigarette in mouth, hard liquor in a glass next to him - he'd surprisingly given Kazuo his old Gateway, and he'd upgraded it to Windows 98 so now he could look at whatever lecherous things he wanted on AOL without worrying the old man would find out.  He slipped into his room, locking the door behind him.  He dug around the bottom of his closet, pulling out a backpack and unzipping it.  He pulled out a beige eye patch with a large googly eye glued to it.

It was dumb, but damn if it didn't always convince a bunch of wasted idiots that he had two eyes.  Also in the bag were a bunch of paint balloons and two five pound bags of flour, plus a pair of beige gloves.  All he needed now was a package of sliced cheese and round deli meat like bologna.  He needed all this to cause maximum damage at the party.  He also needed a couple peanut butter sandwiches, but it was early, and he didn't want to talk to his dad.  Kazuo also pulled out his platform shoes - they added a full two inches to his height, making it way harder to pin the chaos on him.

He repacked his supplies, pleased.  All he had to do now was wait.

—--

It was right about midnight, when most partygoers are good and drunk.  Kazuo had added a pack of sliced cheddar, a pack of bologna, and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to his arsenal.  He also had an empty bottle of cheap grain alcohol he'd filled with water and isopropyl alcohol to appease any overzealous doormen. 

Jack's house wasn't hard for him to find - he'd gone over plenty of times before the accident to play He-Man.  He could hear music playing, and he hummed softly, skipping once, pleased with the idea of destroying a good portion of his house.  He felt a minor twinge of guilt - Jack's mother was nice, not her fault he'd become a dickbag.  His father….eh.  He walked up the steps, a swagger in his step.  Kazuo put on his plain hoodie and gloves and opened the door, nodding to the sloshed teens, handing the closest one his bottle.

He went upstairs first.  It would be easier to work up to down - and it was quieter upstairs.  He peeked into Jack's parents' room - empty, and snuck in, surveying.  They had both a VCR and DVD player, which brought him great delight.  He pulled off his pack, turned on and opened the DVD player, flung out the disc and replaced it with a slice of bologna, hit play, then checked the VCR, turned it on, slipped in a PB&J, and hit play.  Next was the air vents, which he carefully emptied part of a bag of flour into.  

He turned his attention to the floor vent, and dropped in a couple slices of cheese.  Then, he slipped into the bathroom, grabbing a paint balloon.  Taking aim at the toilet from across the room, he hurled a balloon into the bowl, where it exploded - and not with just any paint - it was glitter paint.  He immediately gave the shower the same treatment.

He left the room, carefully closing the door, turning to Jack's room.  Oh, he had plans for that.  He cracked the door, scanning the room.  It was empty.  He did the usual - wall vents, food in the electronics, but the heating vent…

He stepped up to it, and unzipped his pants, laughing quietly to himself.  He'd choked down an entire can of asparagus just for this.  Kazuo sighed as he emptied his bladder into the ductwork.  Good luck getting this out.  The fact that it was November and Jack would need the heat only made this funnier to him.

He finished and zipped up, threw in cheese for extra evil, then left the bedroom and hit the bathroom across the way with paint.  Finished with the upstairs, he carefully made his way down, looking out over a sea of drunk teenagers.  He sidled into the kitchen, put a bunch of soda cans into the freezer along with a well-aimed paint balloon, and decided he should probably take off.  He looked back in on the living room, nothing that everyone was either asleep or so drunk they had the reflexes of a sloth 

He reached into his pocket - as an artist, he always had an abundance of Sharpies - and drew some elaborate dickage on Jack's face, then on several other people's faces for good measure.  Then he heard a girl's voice, protesting, and turned, seeing Jen Hansen drunkenly pushing an even drunker Marco off her, while he kept groping at her.  Immediately, Kazuo was angry.  Sure, Jen had never been nice to him, she was the quintessential mean girl, but she didn't deserve to be assaulted.

He approached, and lowered his voice, "Leave her alone, man," and took Jen's hand, "I'll take you home." He knew exactly where her house was because he'd egged it a few times.  "Thank yooouuuu," she slurred, putting one arm around him, leaning her head on his shoulder.  He led her down the front steps, while she squinted up at him, "Who are you?" "A friend." "You're cute." A hard blush overtook his face despite his raging homosexuality,

"You wouldn't think so if you weren't hammered."

She groaned, suddenly retching, and he steered her towards some shrubbery to let her feed the plants.  She finished, putting one arm around her as she shivered, trying to get her home as soon as possible.  He helped her up the steps to her house, watching as she unlocked the door and opened it.  Then, she turned, throwing her arms around him, "Thank you.  I love you."

Kazuo stiffened.  He knew it was because she was wasted, but it had been a very long time since anyone had said they loved him.  He blinked back tears, "Glad you're home safe, Jen.  Take care." She went inside, and he turned away, tears streaming down his face.

He ran.

Snow flurries began to fall around him as he kept running, making it back to the brownstone.  He slipped inside quietly, putting out the lit cigarette in the ashtray by the couch - an ashtray he'd made as a child because that's what you did in art class back then, call it a last-ditch effort to make his father love him.  Kazuo didn't see his father at all.  He headed for his room, undressed, and stared at himself in the mirror.

The scar that cut across his abdomen from the accident.

The scar on his back where his father had beaten him with a belt.

The enormous scar that took up the right side of his face, a glaring reminder that he had lost the only person in the world who really loved him.

"Look at me, mom…I…" His shoulders slumped.  Then he glanced at the wall, at a painting his mother had done, and sat on the bed, staring at it.  It had always comforted him.  It showed a man with graying hair in front of a lake.  He had very kind eyes and a gentle smile on his face.  Kazuo wondered who he was.

He wondered if it was his grandfather's boss.  Kazuo vaguely remembered his grandfather describing the man as a "gentle spitfire." He sprawled out in bed, pulling his ratty He-Man comforter up against the cold.  He had done both good and evil tonight.  He knew he wasn't a bad person, he'd just been dealt a shitty hand in life.

He shut his eye with a deep sigh.

Maybe, eventually, things would balance out.

[londonspirit]

Our Flag Means Death is special. From creating a surrealist version of the Golden Age of Piracy, to centering a later-in-life coming-out story, to including people or many races, gender identities, abilities, and cool freaking hairstyles, to moving production for season two from LA to New Zealand in order to highlight the beauty of the land, Lord of the Rings-Style, and build a majority Kiwi crew. It’s makes our pop cultural heart swell to see a production being so intentional with its decisions.

But nowhere is that intentionality more apparent than in OFMD’s music. More than just fun, jokey needledrops, each song in Season One acts as a counterpoint to the action, adding emotion and depth to what becomes a surprising queer love story. A lot of the credit for the show’s unique tone can go to Music Supervisor Maggie Phillips and her team. Leah Schnelbach recently got to speak with Maggie about baroque pop, “The Beautiful Ones”, making “the non-obvious choice”, and—the long-awaited SEASON TWO.

Season two debuts on Max in the U.S. on October 5, and Neon on October 6 and is coming soon to Sky Open in New Zealand.

(This interview has been lightly edited for clarity.)

How do you start? Do you get the script and let you mind wander, or do you pick a period and do a deep dive on songs from a period?

Maggie Phillips: It depends on the project. For [OFMD] I got the scripts—at least the first four or five—so I had enough to have a sense of the love story, and the themes. I made thematic playlists. Sometimes I do character driven playlists. But across the board it starts with scripts and playlists. Then I send the playlist to the director or showrunner and we start a back and forth. And this one, same, except that I’d worked with David Jenkins before on People of Earth, so I knew his taste already, and it’s very similar to mine, which is very melodic, we both like baroque pop, we both like a lot of classical elements in our music and in our pop.

And he’s very encouraging of me to—I realized when we worked on People of Earth—he pushed me to go weird. Some people have me rein it back, but he pushed me to go even further. So, I just start a general playlist, thematically driven, mostly romantic. We wanted to play up the romance in the first season, so a lot of romantic music and songs, pop songs about unrequited love, pining, heartbreak, heart-loss, it’s been a long time since I started these – longing, leaving behind a part of your life and moving on to another part, transition…and then another part was just like, ocean life! And the sea! I made a lot of playlists and sent them over to David, and what actually happens—sometimes we’ll pull from the general playlist. I work closely with the editors on specific scenes and send over specific playlists for each scene that we were listening for. I’d make playlists of 500 songs, and then listen to that for each moment—mostly end credits in Season One—and then send playlists over for spots. But that’s how it starts, and that’s the fun part.

That’s about twenty-five percent of my job. The rest is clearing songs and tracking rights and dealing with budgets, and blah blah blah. (laughs)

One of my favorites is Moondog. How did Moondog… happen?

MP: That’s a song that I’ve had, I love that song. His music is very avant garde, there’s only a handful of his songs that I thought could be synch-able. Even that one, I had saved on a playlist years ago, and hadn’t pitched it to anyone. It hadn’t worked in any moment, this I did not put on the general playlist, i tried specifically for the end of the pilot, and I almost didn’t send it because I thought, there’s no way they’ll go for this. And luckily the editor, the editor is sometimes the middleman, they’ll try out the stuff and show it to David. They’re in the rooms with David more than I am. So like sometimes I’ll send my stuff out to editors and not know which one they’re going to show. I’ll send them 15-20 songs, and they’ll show the director or showrunner three to five choices. But Hilda [Rasula], the editor of the pilot was very collaborative and communicative, and she responded and said which ones she liked and would try, and I knew this was one of them, so I was excited. There was a handful of songs that I loved for that pilot, but this one was one of my top favorites, and she said she was going to show it, but I still didn’t think this was going to be the one they’d pick.

Sometimes I’ll get an email saying we’re putting on [one of the choices], but I didn’t get it for this one, so I got to watch the pilot like an audience member not knowing which song they selected—I immediately knew it from the first note, and was like, “Oh they went with Moondog!” And then I got to watch and see how it works.

It worked beautifully.

MP: That was a really hard spot to nail, and that song is perfect because it’s melancholy and wistful, but there’s also hope. It hits both notes, and he just left his—you have to gloss over that so you can still love Stede, but he left his fuckin’ family. He’s having this intense mid-life crisis and he does what some people dream of, which is starting over, but most people don’t do, you know? I think we hit both notes with that song. And we wanted to hit the humanity on all those characters, we see Jim, we see a few characters in that montage. And the humanity of all of them being in the boat at sea all alone…

Heading out!

MP: Yeah! For the adventure of their lifetimes! (laughs)

It was perfect, I thought. I know from other interviews with you that you had a 300-song playlist for season one, were you able to use any for this season?

MP: For season two? Yes. I definitely we still… we still haven’t scratched the tip of the iceberg like there’s so many songs I have for this show… and there’s only so many songs in the show. There are fifteen in season one and even fewer in season two, and we only have eight episodes to work with. We use one in Episode 1: “Strawberry Letter 23”, the Shuggie Otis. We used one in the trailer, “The Beautiful Ones” by Prince…

That was uhhh pretty great!

MP: That was one of the first songs—I think the first song that David and I spoke about for the show?

Oh! Like, before season one started?

MP: Yeah, even before we spoke about “The Chain”—I can’t remember if “Beautiful Ones” came from David or me? But we talked about Prince and we both bonded on the fact that we loved that song specifically. That literally was the first song I had in my head for the whole show. I think in season one the estate was off-limits because it was soon after his passing, but then by season two his music was licensable again. I’ve been doing this for almost 18 years, and it’s the first time [I’ve licensed his music]. And he’s one of my top ten artists of all time.

When we posted the trailer, I’m pretty sure the tweet I wrote was just screaming about “Beautiful Ones”, I was so excited.

MP: My Instagram post I did like a purple heart, I made my own Prince purple heart background, and put the trailer on top of a ton of purple hearts, and I put a crown on top of one of them. Just the teenage glee of ohmygod, we got a Prince song!

Were there any songs that were absolute no, whether because they were overused, or they just didn’t fit?

MP: There’s one from season one and one from season two, and the one from season one is “Perfect Day”, for the reason you just said. I think it’s been overused, that was one I didn’t pitch, but I kept trying to beat it—it’s an amazing song. There’s a reason it’s been used a bazillion times, cause it’s a perfect song, right? I tried so hard to beat it, and I think I did, to be honest, but there’s an inherent familiarity and comfort when you hear a song you know, and I think that helps that scene. And David was just in love with it, and I understand why, and I’m sure it was very satisfying for the audience.

The one from season two—it’s a Kate Bush. I had advised against it, but, this one I don’t think we could beat it. I had used it myself, “This Woman’s Work”, in Handmaid’s Tale. It wasn’t a song I pitched. I pitched “Running Up that Hill”—which then was in Stranger Things—I pitched that for an end of an episode in Handmaid’s Tale, and the showrunner didn’t want to use that one, but it made him remember “This Woman’s Work”, and he put it into a very controversial scene, for fans of The Handmaid’s Tale—some people hate it, and some people loved it. So, I of course read all the backlash online about using song, and people have strong opinions about it. [OFMD] was right after the Stranger Things TikTok phenomenon, and I thought “We’re gonna look like we’re copycats”, but David was like… “I don’t care.” (laughs) he said, “People have a short attention span when it comes to music and TV”, and he’s right. And it was a Taika [Waititi, OFMD’s Blackbeard/executive producer/sometimes director) song, Taika really wanted that song, he’d wanted to use that song for many years. Then I saw it cut into the episode, and I think they transformed the song. They re-contextualized it and made it their own, even so the lyrics have different meaning than I’ve ever heard listening to it previously. They clearly had a vision, and it gave me chills to watch it.

I’m excited to see how it’s used in this context.

MP: And that’s what I love about my job, you put song and image together and they both change, and in this instance it was really powerful. But I mean, I always, unless it’s a show that doesn’t care about overusing, I always tell David if I have a reaction or an opinion, and one of the things I’ll react to is if a song’s been overused, or feels uninspired—but this one felt inspired once it was cut in.

I feel like this show is so off-kilter, and it’s always surprising. So the other one that I absolutely love was the use of the Beach Boys for the Blackbeard reveal. How did you jump to that? To me that’s their meet-cute, but it’s not actually cute.

MP: No, it’s demonic/angelic, weird vocals…I had tried to use that song in a different tv show, and we got denied actually, because it was a violent scene, so I had that song on a bunch of playlists. I love that song. I think that was one that was on my general playlist. And when I’m trying out music what I do for these scenes is I’ll do a brainstorm playlist where I’ll throw on a whole bunch of songs without knowing what’s going to work and without thinking about it, just like “That’s worth trying, that’s worth trying”—I call it my kitchen sink approach—I try not to overthink what I throw onto that playlist and then I just play those songs against picture, because you never know what’s gonna click, and that’s where you get the non-obvious choices, or like, the counterpoint choices, because you don’t know until you put them together how they’re going to play off each other. And so that was one that when I tested I was like, “Oh fuck, this is beautiful.” Then I sent it to the editor, and fingers crossed that they’ll have the same reaction. I try not to color…like I don’t say in my emails which ones are my favorite, because I want them to have an unbiased reaction. But that one worked, and everyone fell in love with it.

That one, well, they’re all my favorite, but that one might be my favorite favorite. It’s such a good contrast! Stede’s almost dead, Blackbeard’s covered in gore, and then there’s these angelic voices.

MP: Right? They’re saving each other. The relationship is that they’re each others’ saviors, right? I feel like that moment, that song sort of captures that.

But without being too sappy, it’s not a song I ever hear anywhere, so it’s startling. Bigger question: I know for The Dropout you did mid-‘00s indie, because it’s a period piece, horrifyingly, that’s becoming a period piece.

MP: I know right? That made me feel old, those were songs that felt like just the other day?

Yeah (laughter) but for this, obviously it’s the Golden Age of Piracy, but it’s also kind of a surrealist fantasy did you have in mind an era, like “Oh I’m going to use a lot of ‘60s pop to create a thematic contrast”? Or more hodge-podge?

MP: It was more hodgepodge-y, and then David and I both like baroque pop, we both love a harpsichord, and that style’s heyday was ‘60s and ‘70s, and that’s where my sensibility—I love music from that time period. There’s psychedelic rock, and there’s just so much cool stuff that happened back then. It has a timeless classic feel, and then there’s yacht rock happening.

I’m a sucker for yacht rock.

MP: I am too! And it fits the whole fantastical/dude/extreme-mid-life crisis. I hate to call it Dad Music, but there’s an element of that. And not that I think this is a male-driven show, but there is a lot of male energy, and it’s these two dudes’ love story, mostly. But the whole fantasy of escaping your normal existence and going off to live as a pirate has that whole dude-dad-driven energy. So that music works. But I think it if I look at my playlist, it was maybe half ‘60s-‘70s, and half more modern stuff, and that’s just the stuff that was working. For me, the way I listen for music is very emotional and gutteral it’s not as much thinking and making it logical and setting rules, it’s more just what feels right, and the we just kind of ran with it. With The Dropout we wanted a hard timestamp. I was given rules from the outset, and with Dropout, I loved working on it, but it was one of the easier shows I’ve worked on because we had those clear delineations. This song needs to be from these couple years, and it needs to have been a radio hit, there’s only so many songs you can choose from, but when you’re doing a show like Our Flag and there’s no rules at all…

Did you set any boundaries for yourself?

MP: The only boundaries I set was… stuff I hadn’t heard before. I wanted to honor the off-beat weird tone. This is something I’ve never seen before. There’s almost no comparable show. I wanted to honor that with music that was new and different.

The only show that feels similar to me is People of Earth.

MP: I loved that show so much. Not enough people watched that show.

It was so clearly ahead of its time.

MP: There’s been enough TV shows that are weird, people have… it lives in some sort of niche. But when People of Earth came out there hadn’t been enough of those kinds of shows.

Did you come into season two with a different approach at all, or was it more of a flow from Season One?

MP: The only thing that was different is that we get to dive into more of the characters, and we wanted to flesh them out a little bit. We picked a lane that was successful, and we want to stay in it. There’s so much I haven’t done yet [from the first playlist] I hope we get a third season.

Do you have a moment from a movie or TV show that is the perfect music cue for you?

MP: I like really understated music supervisions, like Succession or Roma—it’s such a beautiful movie, very understated, and there’s no score actually. The sound design is so beautiful. You don’t need music, they played up all the soundscape to score it. And there are songs, but they’re very diegetic, just like, on the radio, very elegant and quiet. I like a reserved, economical hand. Or if they make me laugh with their musical choices, like a bold unexpected choice that makes me giggle.

[lifegetslifeyasfuck]

Relationships: "When you know you know"

Relationships. A topic that arouses people all across the world. I can't speak for anyone else. But for me, relationships have been nothing more than a mess. Cut off engagements, Men who were in and out of prison, and the best of them all: Coming home just to find my partners things moved out of our apartment.. The list goes on and on. For the last year I spent time reflecting on myself and I realized something. I was so pissed off at these men for leaving, that I couldn't see, I was the common denominator in all of those situations and clearly my picker was/is broken. But, is it all me? Or is there a bigger picture here?

Relationships are defined as: The way in which two or more concepts, objects, or people are connected, or the state of being connected. So all in all a relationship could be as simple as the relationship with your favorite pen. Or your favorite pair of underwear. But, how do you know it's the right one? What makes that object or person the perfect fit for you? I mean the pair of underwear someone loves may be the pair that is always the last pair left in my drawer until it's laundry day. That is what is so intriguing about relationships. It is different for everyone and there is no correct answer. I have heard "when you know, you know" my whole life. There has been quite a few times that I thought I knew. But here I am, single.

Then the question popped into my head. How the hell do people make long distance work? How do they know that this person is worth waiting for? and how did they know that they fit? I know this is a very controversial topic so, I brought it up to a few friends of mine. The general consensus was, 50/50 chance. You make it or you don't. The first three friends I asked were the ones who were actually in long distance relationships and none of them worked out. Of course I had to ask them, "in your opinion, how would one be able to make this work?" As I expected they all told me the same things, Open communication, trust, compromise, making time to see each other and clear boundaries.

None of them recommended this method of dating so the only question I had left is why? Well the obvious reasons, sex, cuddles, a shoulder to cry on, getting flowers, dates and whatever else that is no longer easily accessible. But there was one answer that stuck out to me the most "Personally, I wouldn't really be interested in being in a long distance relationship unless I really loved the person and there was a clear end in sight."

And that's just it. Everyone wants to feel comfortable, warm and sure of a relationship. Whether it is romantic or platonic. So in the romance realm: what are relationships supposed to look like? Is it supposed to be like romantic movies like when Noah and Allie see each other for the first time after years and share that epic kiss in the rain? Or is it just supposed to be comfort and making sure your life is on the path to success? Relationships are the cover to our book. I mean we will use the paperback because it gets the job done but if you had to chose, would it be the hard cover or the paperback?

I was intrigued by the topic of long distance because I cannot think of one person that I have been with that I would've trusted or willingly gave up my sex life for, just in hopes to hold that title that we all secretly crave. But, what I found out today is there really is no right answer to any of my questions. Sorry to disappoint. I am definitely the last person to give relationship advice. However, I like to believe I don't have a choice in who my person is. There are people who were destined for one another. I see so many people my age on social media who found their Noah, their prince charming so, it's possible. There is someone out there for me too. I can continue to complicate the question, "How do you know if they are the one?" or I can simply stop looking and wait to know the feeling of just knowing. At the end of the day hardback cover or paperback? As long as I get to read the book that I was meant to read, I'm good.

[siyasims]

The Fatal Flaws Legacy Challenge

The premise of this challenge is that each generation is confronted with a “fatal flaw” that they either decide to overcome or revel in. The reason I wrote this challenge was because I realized that the sims I enjoyed playing most were ones with “negative” traits. I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope at least one other person has fun playing it :) 

The only generations that really require an expansion pack are gen 4: squeamish, because that particular trait comes from outdoor retreat and gen 7: lazy, because it requires you to adopt animals.

Google Doc Link

Notes:

This challenge is greatly improved by any mods that make actually traits matter, e.g. personality please, roburky’s meaningful stories.

This challenge is more story-based than game-play based, though there’s elements of both

You don’t need to complete the aspirations! They’re only meant as a guide + are also there for the sake of the aspiration trait.

You don’t need to complete the careers either, unless its a gen that specifically requires it.   

Feel free to go to university any generation if you feel like it suits your sim’s story/you want to.

Generation One: Mean

you didn’t grow up in the happiest or most functional of households. and so you moved out as soon as you could. now it’s just you, your dog, and your shitty job. you’re kind of an asshole, but you can’t help it – it’s a deep-seated defense mechanism from your past. other people can’t hurt you if you hurt them first, right? but as you grow older, you start to realise that, more than anything, you want the loving family you never had. if only you could find someone who could make it past your terrible social skills in order to see the big heart you have hidden underneath.

traits: mean, dog lover (base game: loyal) + family orientated (YA)

aspiration: big happy family

career: retail + can pick another part time career as an adult on top of that (optional)

rules

start the generation as a teen on an empty lot.

drop out of high school using a mod, or just simply don’t go.

make money from the retail career + dumpster diving, fishing, collectibles, anything, just never get a proper full time job. you never finished high school, after all.

when you age up into young adult, meet and woo a sim of your choice (optional: they have the good trait.)

be mean and rude to everyone come across until you fall in love with your future spouse. 

have at least three kids and become at least ‘friends’ level relationship with all of them.

Cats and Dogs: have a dog with the friendly trait, become companions with them.

Parenthood: if you want an extra challenge, age up from teenager to have the insensitive trait from negative empathy.

Generation Two: Slob

you’re in love with your roommate. your perfect, beautiful, neat-freak of a roommate. unfortunately, they don’t seem to feel the same way about you, and it’s your confession that causes them to move out. or could the piles of dirty dishes, the clothes on the floor, and the rotten food in the fridge have something to do with it? will you go against your nature to show your commitment to your one true love and try to win them back? or will you wallow in your own filth – forever?

traits: slob, romantic, geek or creative

aspiration: soulmate

career: freelance programmer or freelance artist (or another work-from-home career of your choosing)

 rules

move out as a young adult into a flat or an apartment with one or more roommates. one of these roommates must have the “neat” trait.

try to be as filthy as you possibly can. leave trash everywhere. never do the dishes. showering = optional.

fail a “confess attraction” interaction with the neat roommate aka. the love of your life. this should be relatively easy if you have one or both sims in bad moods. then have the roommate move out into another lot.

try to win your roommate back by cleaning up your disgusting house OR find another slob sim who loves you for who you are and complete the soulmate aspiration

have at least one child with your soulmate so you have an heir.

+ Eco Lifestyle: woohoo in a dumpster at least once in your life.

+ Bust the Dust: complete the fabulously filthy aspiration, and befriend at least one dust bunny.

+ Parenthood: for an extra challenge, become a young adult with the bad manners trait (from growing up with negative manners)

Generation Three: Hot-Headed

you’re a good sim, honest! actually, you love other sims. you even moved to the city so you could be around more of them. but that doesn’t change the fact that you have a teensy bit of an anger problem. you just can’t help it when you look at the state of the world! especially when you see other sims  suffer – you get so, so angry you feel like you’re going to explode! can you manage your anger enough that you can avoid hurting someone? or will you accidentally take it out on someone who doesn’t deserve it?

traits: hot-headed, good, green fiend or music lover.

aspiration: friend of the world.

career: Charity Organiser (or any career that fits your personal definition of good) 

rules

move out as a young adult.

make friends with at least five people in the same neighbourhood as you

get into a fight with at least one evil sim

do good deeds wherever you can! pick up litter, tip performers, help your neighbor fix their broken toilet etc. 

have at least one child/heir.

+ Parenthood: receive the compassionate trait (age up with positive empathy) 

   + volunteer at least once a week

+ City Living: move to a san myshuno apartment as a young adult

  + make friends with all the people in your building

  + meet your partner at the romance festival

+ Werewolves: if occults are your thing, werewolf gameplay really fits the theme of this generation

Generation Four: Squeamish

your parent might be a little rough around the edges, but they truly are a wonderful person. inspired by them to do good in the world, it’s been your life-long dream to become a doctor. you walk into work on the first day of your new job with a spring in your step, determined to do anything to succeed – except, hold on a minute, is that blood?! (This Gen requires Outdoor Retreat)

traits: squeamish, ambitious, high maintenance (base game: vegetarian)

aspiration: inner peace (or anything you want)

career: doctor (if you don’t have get to work, try becoming a vet instead or alternatively, you can try rebelling against your parent and becoming a criminal (boss branch))

rules

reach the top of your chosen career

role a die two sim hours into every work day. if it lands on 6, your sim freaks out and has to go home early.

have a mounted fish on the wall at your place of work. don’t ask why. its just the workplace fish.

be sent to granite falls to try to complete the insect collection (for medical purposes if you’re a doctor/vet, for mischief purposes if you’re a criminal). oh, and you have to stay in a tent. (note: if you manage to successfully complete the collection, cheat yourself a promotion)

marry a coworker and have at least one child, but you must either adopt or have your partner carry the baby – there’s absolutely no way you’re giving birth.

+   Spa Day: do yoga or meditate at least once a week to cope with the stresses of your job.

+   Parenthood: receive the good manners trait (age up with positive manners)

Generation Five: Hates Children

life has never been very serious for you. sure, you exchange promise rings with someone in high school, but that doesn’t actually mean anything, does it? with adulthood comes a rude awakening in the form of a failed degree AND a failed relationship. but now you’re free to focus on your one true passion, comedy. or are you? you somehow end up with a screaming, vomiting,  poop-machine on your hands. it’s your worst nightmare, but at least it makes for great comedy material. and just maybe you won’t be such a bad parent after all.

traits: hates children, goofball + unflirty (YA)

aspiration: joke star

career: comedian

rules

find a partner as a teen and exchange promise rings.

move out with your high school sweetheart as soon as you become a young adult

have the relationship slowly break down while cohabitating

break up right after a successful try for baby/risky woohoo + immediately move out

raise the resultant child on your own and never get into another romantic relationship

when your offspring ages into a toddler, they should be assigned the “fussy” trait.

become best friends with your child before they age into a teen.

+   University: enroll in a degree but drop out after one semester

+   Parenthood: try to reach level ten of the parenting skill

Generation Six: Materialistic

growing up with a struggling comedian as a single parent has made you hungry for the finer things in life. you hustle and grind, climbing up from the bottom, and earn yourself all the wealth and expensive, beautiful things you could ever want. you even get yourself a gorgeous spouse and kids to share your riches with. except - your marriage falls apart and it turns out there was a tiny little detail in the pre-nup that you didn’t take notice of. you lose everything, and you’re devastated. do you have what it takes to work yourself back to riches a second time? or have you decided that working a 9 to 5 job is kind of boring, anyway?

traits: materialistic, overachiever (base game: self-assured), adventurous (base game: loves outdoors)

aspiration: mansion baron

career: any part time job (teen) + business (ceo branch) + your choice

rules 

work a part time job as a teenager

as an young adult, get married and have kids with another materialistic sim.

reach level ten of the business career.

once you reach level ten of your career, have your spouse divorce you and take everything, including your job.

quit your job and move out with 20,000 simoleons into a starter home, or if you want your spouse to be really evil, into an empty lot with 0 simoleons.

 try and reach level 10 of another career OR pay your bills by living off the land, hippie-style (or doing any kind of adventure-y, outdoors-y career of your choice. for example, treasure hunter (jungle adventure), teaching skiing classes or earning royalties through snowboarding videos (snowy escape))

have your kids move in with you when you can support them.

+ Snowy Escape: go on at least one vacation to mount komorebi while you’re still married and get really into skiing, snow-boarding and/or mountain climbing.

+ move there after your divorce to spend more time pursuing your favourite hobby/s

+ High School Years: complete the “goal orientated” teen aspiration

Generation Seven: Lazy

(cw: animal neglect) you’ve always loved animals, but even though you were given everything else you wanted growing up, your parent was allergic and so you never really had pets past the goldfish in your backyard pond. naturally, as soon as you grow up and move out you adopt as many animals as you can! little did you know that taking care of other living beings is hard work. eventually all the animals you adopted decide to up and leave you due to your laziness. heartbroken, you debate trying again, eventually deciding to give animal ownership another go. but you first make yourself a promise - you’re never going to let any animal under your care suffer again, no matter the effort it takes! (This Generation requires Cottage Living or Cats and Dogs)

traits: lazy, childish, animal enthusiast or cat/dog     lover.

aspiration: friend of the animals

career: vet (cats and dogs) or farmer (cottage living)

rules

 upon moving out as a young adult, adopt as many animals as you can (at least 7). it will probably be chaos.

have them all run away/get taken away due to neglect.

after an appropriate period of mourning/self-reflection, adopt replacement animals, but only a manageable amount.

reach full friendship with all of your new animals and repent for your sins.

nap at least once a day.

whatever your career, take plenty of vacation days.

get married to a client (vet) or a local (cottage living)

have at least one child to be the heir.

+ Parenthood: if you want an extra challenge, receive the irresponsible trait upon aging up from a teen (negative responsibility)

Generation Eight: Snob

you’ve always had a sense of knowing better than everyone else, much to your family’s annoyance. whatever, you don’t need those backwards philistines anyway. you move out and decide that you’re going to make a living off your sharp eyes and critical mind, and make friends with like-minded sims. being amongst your kind for the first time is enjoyable at first, until inevitably they turn their criticism towards you. “what are they wearing?” you hear someone whisper, “you can tell they grew up on a farm.” embarrassed and upset, you decide to ditch your new friend group. will you ever find people who love you for who are? (Get Together recommended but not necessary)

traits: snob, art lover, clumsy

aspiration: leader of the pack (base game: painter extraordinaire or best-selling author)

career: art critic (base game – painter (patron of the arts) or writer (author branch))

rules

move out as soon as you’re a young adult, avoid contact with your family and any childhood friends you may have had.

make friends with other snobs in your neighbourhood, and routinely visit the museum together

after you reach level 5 or 6 in your career, or at a time you think is appropriate, quit your snobby friend group

make friends with new, non-snob sims.

fall in love with one of your friends and have at least one child to be the heir

get back in touch with your family after you have a child

reach level 10 of your career

+ Get Together: create a club that has the snob trait as a requirement, gather at the museum and critique the art.  

+ quit the club at when you ditch your snobby friends and start a new club that has ‘art lover’ as a requirement, have it be enemies with your old club.

Generation Nine: Noncommittal

there’s nothing you value more than your freedom. you flee the nest as soon as you graduate high school – finally nothing to hold you down! you bounce between jobs and relationships, never quit committing to anything, until an ill-advised one night stand changes your life. they fall in love with you, and one of you falls pregnant. to make matters worse, their father happens to be your newest boss, and in your paranoia you become convinced that you won’t be able to leave his child and still live. to avoid imminent assassination, you propose. so now you’re engaged and stuck in a career you only joined as a temporary way to make ends meet. from your perspective, there’s only one way you can go to escape your job and your impending marriage – up.

traits: non-commital, socially awkward (base game: loner), paranoid (base game: erratic)

aspiration: serial romantic

career: various + criminal (either branch)

 rules

move out as soon as you age up to a young adult.

have at least 5 casual relationships and try at least three different careers before joining the criminal career.

have a one night stand with a sim whose father is ranked level 9 in the criminal career. this one night stand results in pregnancy.

get engaged to your one night stand after getting walked in on by their father.

your goal is to get out of your relationship and your job by climbing through the career ranks until you outrank your fiance’s father (level 10).

after reaching level 10 of the criminal career, become friends with your fiance’s father and realise he’s actually a nice guy who probably wouldn’t have you assassinated.

decide to end the engagement as soon as you reach level 10 or slowly and reluctantly fall in love your fiancé now that you realise you’re not as trapped as you thought.

quit your job –  congratulations, you’re finally free!

+   High School Years: complete the “live fast ” teen aspiration  

Generation Ten: Evil

(cw: murder) you’re the definition of an extrovert – a social butterfly. an evil social butterfly. you’re not sure how you turned out this way. maybe it was how you were raised. maybe its just how you were born. maybe it’s just in your DNA. either way, you’re pretty sure you’re not going to change. there’s actually not a smidge of character development in sight. so - you might as well have fun with the life you were gifted, and be an agent of chaos until the day you die.

traits: evil, outgoing, cheerful.

aspiration: party animal

career: anything you want!

rules

complete the social butterfly aspiration as a child

as a teenager, have lots of friends, but pick one unfortunate classmate to bully.

move out and party like crazy!

go to a nightclub at least one night a week

host a party at least one night a week.

reach level 10 charisma and have a lot of friends

have at least 10 parties where at least one sim dies. they can die however you want, only you must be the cause in some way. if all else fails, just lock them in a room of your house and let them die of starvation.

keep all the graves of your victims as trophies

have a secret evil lair/prison in your basement.

have as many relationships as you want but only settle down once you find another evil sim.

die as a result of one of your evil schemes going wrong

+ Realm of Magic/Vampires: if occults are your thing, feel free to become a spellcaster/vampire so that your evil deeds are easier to accomplish.

+   High School Years: complete the “drama llama” teen aspiration

[cindyyberman]

finally. | jim halpert

synopsis ── jim has been in love with you for years and everyone in the office thinks it's time for him to make a move. too bad they're a bit too slow. ♡

── jim halpert x fem!reader genre ── fluff word count ── 813 note ── jim and pam have no romantic feelings in this even tho i love them ♡ marvel masterlist ; misc masterlist ; prompts ; character list ; request rules

Working at Dunder Mifflin certainly had it's perks, and your deskmates were one of them. Well, maybe not Dwight, he was just sort of obnoxious. But Jim and Pam were nice, the two of them quickly becoming your best friends.

Pam saw the way Jim looked at you, and she was the first person to tell him to go for it, eventually everyone else in the office caught on, encouraging him to ask you out.

But what they didn't know was that he already had.

He'd asked you out at the end of your very first shift together, everyone deciding to go out to Poor Richards. He'd walked you to your car and told you that you could feel free to reject him without fear of him making it awkward at work, and he'd asked you to dinner.

"I'd love to, Halpert," you'd smiled up at him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Now eighteen months later, your coworkers were at their wits end. Pam was "sick of thirdwheeling" and Dwight reminded Jim almost daily that your level of fertility was dropping by the day.

He was at his desk one day, working quietly alongside Dwight and Pam. You were in the break room, talking to Erin and every so often he would take a quick glance up at you. Dwight put his receiver down harshly once he'd said goodbye, glaring at Jim. "Will you stop that? You're distracting me from my work,"

"I wasn't doing anything," Jim retorted. "Just go back to whatever you were doing,"

"I didn't see anything," Pam said. "What's going on?"

"Jim will not stop staring at the break room," Dwight said. "And there's only two people in there so either he's suddenly gained romantic attraction to Erin or-"

"Shut up, Dwight," Jim said. "I'm not doing anything. Leave it,"

"When are you finally gonna tell her how you feel?" Pam spoke up, giving him an apologetic look for not changing the subject.

"Someone of her nature, an intelligent woman with lovely friends," he gestured to himself. "Objectively, she's attractive, with a stable job. Someone's going to want to mate with her,"

"Don't... say that," Pam grimaced at his choice of words. "He's right about the rest of it, though. She's really nice and very pretty and if you don't ask her out, someone else will,"

Oscar stopped his journey across the office to comment. "We talking about Jim's crush?"

"I do not have a-"

"No," Dwight said, making Jim breathe a sigh of relief until he continued. "We're talking about Jim's cowardice,"

Oscar let out a laugh before patting Jim on the shoulder, leaning down. "Just go for it, man. She likes you back,"

"She does," Pam agreed. "Everyone can see,"

Dwight nodded. "I don't know why, given that as I said she is at least an 8.3 out of 10. She has a symmetrical face, a good sense of business wear, and she is very flirtatious, especially with eligible men such as myself,"

Pam and Jim exchanged dubious looks. "Name one time she's ever flirted with you,"

"November 3rd," Dwight answered smugly. "She brought a new stapler but after mine became jammed after an incident," he gave a pointed look at Jim, who gave him a confused look back, maintaining his innocence. "She said she'd splurged and bought a more expensive one because it seemed nicer and seemed genuinely excited to use it for the first time. After she found out about my stapler she gave hers to me without question. Tell me, Jim. Has she ever given you her stapler?"

From his office, Jim heard Michael let out a muffled laugh at the sexual-sounding nature of the question, the three of them rolling their eyes at their boss.

"Okay, here she comes, Dwight," Pam shushed him. "Stop talking about how she's in love with you," she gave Jim another apologetic look.

As you reached your desk, Jim spoke up. "Hey, can you come here? I need to show you something," That had the whole surrounding office's attention, wondering if Jim would finally tell you how he felt. You approached his desk and as you reached him, he stood up and kissed you, hard, in the middle of the office.

Pam let out a clap, Dwight would deny to his dying day that he smiled, and the rest of their coworkers exchanged grins and whispers of "finally."

You pulled away, breathless. "Damn, Halpert. Pulling the moves on me in the middle of work,"

He kissed you again. "I needed to prove to them all that I'm not a coward," again. "And that I am good enough for you," he whispered.

You smiled, kissing him again before Dwight could scold you about PDA in the office. "So that's what you do when you need to prove them wrong? Got anything else you need to prove?"

Taglist: @tom-hollands-wife @bxnnywriting

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Possibilities [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Title: Possibilities Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 6 July 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warnings: Mention of food and alcohol Summary: Tom and you have been friends for a long time and because of that same reason you value your friendship more than to ruin it with some silly feelings. But the event you attend together offers you some surprises that might change your relationship forever.

Tom Hiddleston and Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

Real People Masterlist

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Events, galas, award ceremonies. You weren't a popular actress nor a famous singer, or social media influencer. You had a simple 9-5 job that would hardly ever get you into these events. But regardless of your status in society, you were known and not because of any talent you possessed that could have made you famous, but because your best friend was none-other than Tom Hiddleston.

You have been friends for years, you adored everything about the man. He was sweet and kind, always polite, but just as playful. It was a friendship you felt lucky to be in, a friendship that you held so close to your heart, it would have broken every little piece of you if it ever ended. Often, you found yourself staring at him with a little smile in the corner of your lips, watching his every move, the way he joked around with his co-stars on set, the way he exercised in the gym for a role, the way he winked at you with a mischievous smile as he caught your eyes on him.

"Do you need my autograph?" he asked with a wide grin as he opened the door of the luxurious car he booked for the event. Once again you have forgotten your eyes on him— his dashing looks, the perfectly fitted suit, the playful twinkle in his eyes. He never stopped teasing you about it.

"Shove off, Tom," you nudged him as he got out of the car and held out a hand for you, waiting for you to accept his help. So, you did. Wrapping your fingers around his hand, you let him help you out of the vehicle as you rearranged your stunning dress and ran your hand down its length to remove any creasing. Cameras were flashing, reporters' loud voices filled the pathway to the entrance, a long red carpet leading your way inside the building towering over you like a modern castle.

"If I didn't know better, I would think your interest in me goes beyond friendship," he chuckled as he held his arm out to you, waiting for yours to be placed over his, his eyes following every little movement of yours. A sudden rush of heat travelled up to your cheeks, your breathing slightly laboured as you tried to calm your heavily beating heart. He was not wrong after all. It's been years since you have been harbouring these feelings, but you hadn't had the heart to confess them. Tom was more important to you than to ruin it over some silly feelings.

Sometimes, when you caught Tom's eyes on you, watching you intently, a soft smile spread across his face, it made you think if maybe, just maybe he was harbouring similar feelings towards you. But the idea was quickly swept away by your doubts, the thought of such an amazing man falling for you seeming impossible. You knew your worth, you didn't write yourself down, but Tom has always been perfect in your eyes, and you couldn't imagine him wanting you even if at times a certain silly part of your brain whispered otherwise.

"I love your healthy self-confidence," you finally gathered your ability to be able to reply, earning a comical huff from him. You have been trying hard, to deny your romantic interest in him, but rumours about the two of you have become a reoccurring news and it didn't help your case to shove your feelings in the back of your mind.

"Ready?" He asked as his gaze turned towards the red carpet. Heaving a heavy sigh, you nodded and murmured a 'yes' as a response.

As soon as the cameras started flashing, hundreds of photos of Tom and you being taken, you conjured a sweet little smile that the tabloids loved. You were always nervous when it came to these events. It was Tom's job to answer some of the questions journalists asked of him, which meant they were to ask about your relationship. It was becoming repetitive, making you feel uncomfortable. The questions themselves didn't bother you but repeating over and over again that the man you have fallen for is merely a friend, felt like a stab in your heart, each time you responded.

"Tom! Tom!" One of the reporters shouted his name and he led you to the side of the red carpet, halting right beside the metal cordons. Questions were flying around, photos had been taken, but you didn't concentrate. Your senses were heightened as Tom pulled you in his side, his arm now wrapped around your waist, gently, but firmly holding onto you. Looking up at him, you studied his face, his ice-blue eyes focusing on the reporter, an excited smile across his face. He seemed so relaxed, so collected, meanwhile even events after events you were still nervous. As though he could feel it, he turned to you with a soft, reassuring smile, giving you a nod, silently asking if you were alright. For others, the movement could have easily been missed, but to you, it was like an earthquake, shaking your heart, making you fall even deeper for him. In a reply, you nodded and offered him a smile as you squeezed his hand that rested on your waist.

"So, Tom, this might be a bit more personal, but everyone has been talking about the two of you," he started, and your eyes immediately darted towards the man. You knew the question, heard it a thousand times already, so you prepared your heart to give the same reply as always. 'We are just friends,' you repeated time after time, hoping they would finally understand and let you be, but they didn't seem to budge. "You have been friends for a long time, and your fans have been talking about how close the two of you have become. Do you think, maybe in the future, there's a possibility for romance to blossom?" He asked with an expectant expression, a sly smile in the corner of his lips.

"As we have said before," you spoke up, ready to reply as you always did, "we—"

"You never know what the future holds for you, there are many possibilities" Tom cut in with a mischievous smile, your eyes growing wide as you looked up at him. Tom chuckled at your expression as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. "Tell me I'm wrong," he arched a brow questioningly, his words starting your heart off at a faster pace, your cheeks feeling warmer under his intent gaze, those blue eyes you often found yourself lost in.

"Well—, I mean I can't argue with that statement," you replied, feeling slightly awkward. A confused smile started growing wider on your face as Tom led you away. "Why did you do that?" You asked as you finally stepped inside the building, his arm still resting around your waist as you headed towards a large room filled with all sorts of foods and drinks, people dancing in the middle, the dim lightning offering a rather intimate mood. "You just created even more gossip," you scolded him, but seemingly he didn't mind. He led you to a table where his name was printed on a nametag and pulled the chair out for you before he took his seat beside you.

"I didn't say anything," he smiled at you as innocently as he could manage, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

"You did. Exactly because you were so secretive, people will want to read between the lines. They will think there's more to us than friendship," you huffed as you hid your face in your palm and heaved a heavy sigh.

"And is that so bad?" He frowned, earning the same expression from you.

"What?" A silent scoff left your lungs. "What are you trying to say?"

"Is that such a big problem if people think we are together?" He asked, his confident tone stunning you.

"Of course, not. I don't care what rumours are being spread about me, but I don't want them to gossip about you," you reached for his hand on the table and wrapped your fingers around it, giving it a gentle squeeze. His expression stayed emotionless; you couldn't read him entirely, but you knew he seemed off.

"I will go grab us a drink," he said as he stood up, leaving you frowning. You weren't sure what you said that made him upset, and regardless of trying to put on a straight face, you knew he wasn't happy with your response.

You watched as he walked over to a small table filled with the most delicious looking cakes and a couple of bottles of champagne, ready for the guests before they brought out the main course. Tom grabbed a battle of champagne and two glasses, filling up both halfway, before he placed the battle back into an ice bucket.

"What is it?" You asked as he returned and gave you one of the glasses.

"What do you mean?" He asked, taking a seat beside you.

"We've known each other for quite a long time. I can read you like an open book. What's bothering you?" Trying to get him to open up, you shuffled closer to him, your chair scraping the floor, turning heads in your direction. "Oops," you scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, earning a chuckle from Tom.

"Very subtle," he mocked you.

"Don't change the subject Mr. Hiddleston," you raised a questioning brow, a tiny smile hidden in the corner of your lips.

"Nothing is bothering me," he added, but your suspicious gaze didn't falter. "I'm being honest, darling," the sly little fox knew his nickname for you would make you soften up and he used every opportunity to say it when he felt cornered.

"Fine," you squinted. "But we aren't done! I'm not blind, I can see something is on your mind."

"Yes, ma'am, I can't wait for this conversation to come back around," he mocked you once again, making you huff as you gently punched his shoulder.

Throughout the night, said conversation was forgotten, the alcohol consumption rose, the amount of people dancing around the room grew, meanwhile others sat at their tables, trying to digest the previously served delicious meals. You couldn't deny that you had a good laugh with Tom and his co-stars from all sorts of movies he had been in. It felt like a little family, people coming together to just have a joyous time.

The way Tom smiled at his friends, praising each other, before turning to mock one another forced your eyes to rest on his excited features. He looked so alive, so happy and the feeling of the man you loved being in his element meant everything to you. Tom was radiating enthusiasm and you couldn't look away as you watched his ever-growing smile, his nose scrunched up at an unexpected subject, his head falling back as a loud laughter erupted from his lungs. He was always handsome, but when he was happy, it filled you up with a certain warmth that you couldn't explain. Like you always wanted to make him happy just to be able to see that cheerful smile spread across his face.

He turned to you, catching your gaze on him once again. His arm sneaked behind you, pulling you closer and leaning down to your ear. "You are staring at me again," you couldn't see it, but you could feel his smile spreading wider.

"I like to see you happy," you shrugged with a soft smile as you leaned back to be able to meet his gaze. His smile faltered, but his eyes softened.

"Dance with me," he said as he offered his palm to you, and you placed your hand in it.

"I take no responsibility for broken toes," you said with a silent chuckle as you followed him to the dancefloor.

"Don't worry, darling, it's worth the injury," he mirrored your expression as you stopped in the middle of the dance floor. A slow, romantic song started playing in the background, his arms finding their perfect position around your waist as yours sneaked around his neck.

It was a slow and peaceful dance, not requiring much knowledge and talent. You just enjoyed each other's presence, gazes meeting, smiles forming, swaying to the slow rhythm of the music. You didn't speak a word, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It never was with Tom. A soft smile, a quick glance, a simple gesture meant more than thousands of words when you were with him.

You laid your head against his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat, taking on a quicker pace just like yours did. "I miss you when you are not with me," he spoke for the first time as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. You didn't move away; his embrace was too comfortable, and you couldn't care about people watching you.

"I always miss you. You are the one travelling all the time after all," you chuckled lightly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"I could be only a mile away and I would still miss you," he replied as you pulled back a bit to meet his soft gaze, but there was no smile present across his handsome face. As the song finished, you found yourself standing in front of him, slightly confused about the conversation. "Do you want to go to the balcony? Have some fresh air?" He asked, taking on a more cheerful expression, but you knew him more than to believe it was genuine. In a response you nodded and linked your arm with his.

Following him through the sea of people, you finally arrived at the balcony, looking down to a smaller version of a park, a water fountain standing tall in its centre. You leaned against the rail as you watched the trees battling the silent wind, fallen leaves being blown across the walking path. Tom joined beside you, his eyes following the same direction as you did before they halted on your face. "You are being strange tonight," you spoke up, feeling his gaze resting on you before you turned to him, meeting his eyes.

"I'm just thinking," he added with a half-hearted smile.

"About?" You asked as you reached for his hand resting on the rail and placed yours on top of his. He turned his palm upside down and lifted your hand, hinting a small kiss on your knuckles as he heaved a heavy sigh. "Tom talk to me," you squeezed his fingers reassuringly, his eyes watching you, not leaving your gaze for a moment. "You have been rather quiet around me," you added.

His whole body turned to you, as though he was focusing his complete attention on you. Reaching towards you, he brushed your hair to the side, gently tucking it behind your ear. You leaned into the touch involuntarily, only realising your actions when he caressed your cheek with his thumb, before moving down and running it across your lips. The feeling burnt you, starting your mind off in a very dangerous territory, one that you have been avoiding. 'He is your friend' you tried to remind yourself. But once the tip of his thumb brushed along your lips once again, you couldn't stop yourself. Stepping forward, you placed your hands on his chest, steading yourself and rose on your tiptoes, pressing your lips against his.

Your own bravery surprised you, but Tom didn't seem affected. As soon as your lips met, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. He didn't hesitate, he wasn't surprised. He just held you, gently running his lips along yours, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. But as much as you wanted to enjoy the moment, realisation hit you. You were kissing your best friend. You gently pushed him away, stumbling back from the force, covering your mouth with your palm. "I'm so sorry," you breathed, panic rising in your chest. "I have no idea what happened, I don't know why I did that, I'm so sorry," your words were rushed, your heartbeat loudly pulsing in your ears.

But Tom's gaze twinkled. A soft, warm smile grew wider across his face as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm not," he said as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I've been wanting to kiss you," he breathed as he closed his eyes momentarily, slightly shaking his head. "I've been wanting to tell you how much I love you; I've been trying to gain the courage to say it out loud," he scoffed. "I'm a fool for dragging it out for so long, but I love you," his voice shook as he said the words, but his arms tightened around you, safely holding you against his chest. It took you a second to understand what he meant, that your feelings weren't unrequited, that he has been harbouring the same feelings you have.

A heavy sigh left your lungs, as though a weight fell off your chest. Your lips curved into a smile as you placed your hands on his cheeks, running the tip of your thumbs across his jawline. He mirrored your expression whilst leaning into your touch, planting a small kiss on your palm. "I love you too," you replied finally," the words rolling off the tip of your tongue easier than you expected. "I love you so much," you giggled, wanting to repeat the words over and over again, until you finally understood that it was real, that you weren't dreaming. "You never know what the future holds for you, huh?" You asked, repeating his words from earlier in the evening, earning a loud chuckle from him. "So, is this one of those many possibilities?" you raised a single brow.

"Could be. I have a couple more ideas," he said, his soft smile turning into a confident grin.

"You are terrible," you gently hit his chest as you grabbed his suit-jacket and pulled him down to you, meeting his lips halfway, smiling into the intimate moment you have been craving for so long.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Taglists; Send me a message if you would like to be added :)

[limey-writes]

Can you write how the mercs are when they are having a mini tea party with their crush (s/o) Include pyro and two or one merc of your choice. Tea party time :)

Awwww this is so cute i adore it so much <3

Pyro

-- They are so so excited to spend that time together with you!! They set everything up perfectly and make all sorts of pastries for you to share together. They get Engie to make the drinks and dress up for your tea time together!

-- Once you finally enter their room for tea time, you're presented with a lovely outfit to match theirs, they hold your hands to bring you over to the table, pulling out the chair for you to seat yourself as they mumble happily and sit across from you. Even though you couldn't see it, you knew they were smiling so big under their mask.

-- They of course do their best to talk to you the best they could, though having hanging around them enough you could somewhat figure out what they were saying.

-- Of course they were nervous, they wanted to make sure everything was perfect when it came to pleasing you, they just want to make you happy in any way they could! Everything had to go as planned and they had planned the best time for you two!

-- You had to admit you had a great time with them, they just were the best company to have around and ever so sweet to you. They pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to you, their mannerisms very shy yet polite. The paper was a simply yet adorable drawing of you two together holding hands, you couldnt help but smile at it which they immediately took as they did a good job

-- You of course compliment their baking skills, enjoying every new pastry they offer you to make you try all of them. They take any and all praise from you, please be kind to them as they are already planning your next "date".

Spy

-- He hates the word 'tea party', to him it's a normal time to get to know you. He says to himself as hes internally panicking after asking you to come into his smoking room for tea.

-- He fucks up everything he tries to put together and finally when things go right is when you walk in the door, watching the 'graceful' man almost drop a gorgeous porcelain teacup the second your presence graces him. He tries to act cool and invites you in, helping you to your seat.

-- He's very elegant in how he talks to you, trying his best to impress you with stories from his work, he tries to not smoke in front of you to keep his cool exterior as he is screaming so happily inside.

-- You on the other hand, feel very small under the man's gaze, watching your every move and feeling very scrutinized. Yet the look of embarrassment on your face was oh so adorable to him, he had to refrain from fawning over you then and there.

-- He compliments you subtly, appreciating the compliments you give him in return, he does his best to ease your nervousness he could feel radiating off of you. His gaze soothed from his firm stare, allowing you space to breathe a moment.

-- Spy only provides you the best tea and pastries, telling you where the tea leaves had come from and what recipe he used to make the pastries. You loves to listen to him speak, you're smile on your face as you listened gave him butterflies as he stumbled with his words when he caught sight of it.

-- Once you two had finished spending those sweet moments together, he quietly invites you to another tea time, this time though he'll make it a much more romantic date (:<

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[scuttling]

I said I love you, that's forever

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,619 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Fingering, Reader gets drunk, Brief mention of canon-typical violence Summary: This one is sexy, sweet, and fluffy and features Aaron getting used to his new, healthier body. Inspired by @sleepyreaderreads and this ask. Collection: Just The Way You Are Series, Part 1 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (Coming Soon!) Part 4 Link to A03 or read below! Being home when Aaron gets home is the best part of having a flexible work arrangement, you have to admit. You’ve been together for five years, but only living together for four months—for one reason or another, mainly his job, it took you a while to reach the cohabitation phase, but neither of you had minded much. You were always spending time together when he was free, and you enjoyed having your own space, so the arrangement worked out for the both of you.

Now, though, as he walks into your home office looking so handsome in a white shirt, black slacks, and burgundy tie, a soft smile on his face, you know without a doubt that you made the right choice by moving in with him. You wouldn’t give this up for anything.

“Hi. How was your day?” he asks, leaning over you for a kiss. He intends to make it quick, but you put your hands on his body, lengthen the kiss, hum against his lips.

“Hmm. It was good. Better now, though.” You hit the keys necessary to lock your desktop and stand, stretch to wrap your arms around his neck. “How was yours?”

“Not bad.” He says it casually, but you can see the stress in the lines around his eyes, his mouth, and you raise a brow in question. “The unit’s being audited. A percentage of our consultations need to be reviewed, updated psychological evaluations completed—on top of everything else, it’s a lot,” he admits with a sigh, and you nod your understanding, brush your fingers through his hair.

“I’ll call Elena and cancel dinner.” You’d planned weeks ago to go out with one of your friends for Indian food, to meet her new boyfriend, but Aaron is clearly having a rough week and it’s only Wednesday. A quiet night in may be just what he needs. “We’ll stay home, I’ll order takeout. We can relax.”

“No, no. I know you’ve been looking forward to this; it’s really alright.” You tilt your head, something of a frown, and he takes your face in his hands, kisses you twice on the mouth. “It’s alright. I want to go out. I want to take you out,” he says, voice low, pulling you in for a slower kiss, and you melt against him, slide your arms around his back instead, pull him closer.

“I want to keep you in,” you murmur when the kiss breaks, and he raises the corner of his mouth in a sexy smile, presses his lips to your nose.

“And miss meeting the one?” You both laugh lightly, because Elena finds the one every couple of months, but she’s a hopeless romantic, always means it at first. It’s endearing, especially when you and Aaron feel a little like an old married couple. “Let’s go out, have a good time. If we stay home, I’ll be tempted to work.” He takes a step back, lets you head out the door and down the hall to your bedroom, so you can get changed; he follows behind, sits down on the bed while you go through your closet.

“I’m sure I could find ways to tempt you not to work,” you say, pushing dresses down the rack until you find one you like: it’s an emerald green mid-length dress, with cap sleeves and a slit up the front, not too formal and not too sexy, perfect for the restaurant where you will be eating.

You pull your t-shirt over your head, bend to slide your leggings off, and Aaron makes a soft noise in the back of his throat.

“Consider me tempted.” You turn around, roll your eyes playfully, and put on the dress, sit down next to him to slip your feet into a pair of nude sandals; you lean in for a kiss, palm pressed to his chest, and it quickly becomes something deep, passionate. Aaron brings a hand to rest against your throat, and you have half a mind to take the dress back off and cancel those plans after all, but you know he wouldn’t let you do that anyway.

You pull back, bite your lip, and give him a very pointed once-over, then stand to finish getting ready. You can feel his eyes on you the entire time. “I’m just saying, he should be on the side of a tub of protein powder or something,” Aaron says later as he unlocks the front door, letting you step in before him. “His arms are bigger than his head.”

“He’s a personal trainer, baby. It’s his job to work out and look buff—he’s like a walking billboard for his business.” You slip your shoes off, hook the straps around your finger, and stroll toward the bedroom. “Elena really seemed to like him.”

“I give them three months.” He’s just a few feet behind you when you turn to shoot him a slightly admonishing look, even if he is probably right. “She seemed more focused on his twelve pack than anything else.”

You toss your phone onto the bed, remove your dress with a soft laugh. “Their relationship is still new; it’s all about the physical. You remember when we were like that, don’t you?” You aren’t exactly surprised when he comes up behind you and glides his hand across your bare stomach, when he brushes your hair away from your neck and kisses you there.

“We were never like that. It was never just physical for me,” he breathes into your ear, and you close your eyes, sink back against him, tilt your neck for more kisses. “I loved you before I loved you. I always just knew.”

“Fuck, Aaron,” you sigh, and you lay your arm along the one on your stomach, reach back with the other to press him closer to you. You lick your lips, turn your head so your face is near his, and he leans in to kiss you and slides his hand into your panties, rubs his fingers over your pussy.

You’re already a little wet from his hands on you, his mouth, but as always, he turns you on effortlessly; your face heats, your heart races, your breath quickens. Your pussy becomes almost unbearably slick, your moans against his lips gentle and pleading, and he removes his hand and slides your underwear down, guides you onto the bed.

You watch, panting, as he removes his tie, then takes off his belt, his pants; you can’t go without touching him for long, and you move to sit up so you can reach for him, pull him closer. You work at the buttons of his shirt from the bottom while he starts at the top, and you take it off together, then slip your hands into his boxers and push them down.

You immediately want to take him into your mouth, thick and hard as he is, and you slide your hands up his stomach, beneath his undershirt, in anticipation of that; you don’t get very far before he lays you back on the bed again, on your side this time. His forcefulness makes you ache to have him inside you, and he crowds in behind you, slides an arm beneath you and wraps his hand around you, over your breast, holding you tightly. You tip your head back, whimper, because he’s going to be so good to you as always and the waiting is almost too much to bear.

“You know I’ve got you,” he whispers, squeezing you, and you nod in response; he lifts your leg and hooks it back over his thigh, then pushes inside you, sinks fully into your wet heat. You exhale, a sigh of pleasure, and he mouths at your jaw, nibbles at your ear while he thrusts slowly but completely. “Hmm. This may not be new, but you’re always perfect for me. Doesn’t that feel so good?”

“So good, so good.” It’s difficult for you to really move in this position, though you rock your hips almost involuntarily into his thrusts, but he takes care of you, nips at the back of your neck, pounds inside you, brings you so close so quickly you almost forget to breathe. Your hands are on him anywhere you can reach, desperate for contact. “Aaron, mmm, god.”

“I know, baby.”

He puts his free hand behind your knee, bends your leg, folds it up by your chest so he can pump his cock faster, harder, and you feel surrounded by him—his hands on your body, his hot grunts of effort in your ear, the faint smell of cologne that lingers after a long day familiar to your nose. You're a little overwhelmed by it all, but pleasantly so, and when he comes you come, clenching tightly around him as he spills deep.

“Perfect,” he whispers tensely, nuzzling against your throat, and he slides out, brings your leg down, runs his hands tenderly over your body like you’re something delicate. “I love you.” You turn your head toward him, say it back, and he presses his palm to your cheek, treats you to a deep, wet kiss, then brushes his thumb over your lips. “Every time I kiss you, it feels like the first time.”

“For me too,” you say with a tired smile, running your fingers through his hair, and he kisses you again before patting your hip and telling you to go get cleaned up, that he’ll take care of the bedding. When you come back, he’s in his boxers and t-shirt, legs tucked under a fresh comforter, and you slide in next to him and curl up beneath his arm. It’s a couple weeks later when you decide to bring Aaron lunch at the office; things seem much calmer lately, but the team’s cases have been back to back, and he’s been out of town a lot. You have to take the opportunity when you can, and that means showing up with a bag of Mexican food and a smile and hoping he’s not too busy to eat with you.

You get checked into the building and head for the BAU bullpen, stopping to chat with the team for a few minutes. You loosely plan for dinner or drinks in the future, make a promise to pop in and see Penelope before you leave, and then head up to Aaron’s office, knock lightly on the doorframe.

“Hungry, handsome?” Aaron looks up from his stack of paperwork with a smile, then slowly runs his eyes over you—you’re wearing a sweater, jeans, boots, nothing revealing in the slightest, but he makes you feel very warm and very naked nonetheless.

“Yes. For lunch, too,” he says, and you roll your eyes, a little bashful, and enter his office, setting down the bag of food you brought after he clears space on the desk. He stands, pulls you close for a hug and kiss, and then you unpack lunch, spread containers out over the desk. “Burritos? Are you trying to beef me up?” he asks, and you look up at him, lift your brow.

“Were you expecting salads? I’m feeding a super special FBI agent here, you need your strength.”

“We’ve only been living together for five months and it’s already getting hard to button my pants,” he grumbles, but he peels back the foil on the one labeled pollo asado without further complaint, takes the hot sauce when you hand it to him.

“So we’ll go up a size. It’s a good thing you’re not living off of coffee and vending machine protein bars anymore. You’ve been needing someone to feed you up for a while—and besides, I don’t mind if your pants are unbuttoned,” you say, licking sauce off of your thumb. “Nothing hotter than a well-fed Fed.” He rolls his eyes, and you sit down to eat.

When the hour is up, you pack up the leftovers, give him a longer, slower kiss goodbye, and pat his stomach, which makes him groan. “Any harder and the button might pop,” he jokes, and you laugh, shake your head.

“Don’t be dramatic. I love this tummy. Might even grab onto it later, you know?” You slowly wet your lips, then smile, and take a step back, take the paper bag and head out the door. “See you tonight, love you.”

“Devil woman,” he calls after you, and you grin the whole way to Penelope’s office.

“Light in the darkness,” she says when she opens the door to find you on the other side. “How did god know I needed to see an angel today?”

“Oh, I don’t know about all that, but I have some extra chips and guac from lunch if you need a pick me up.” She eagerly accepts your offering, and you take a seat next to her, dip a couple of chips half-heartedly, still full from your burrito. “So how have you been? Busy supporting the cutest group of crime fighters since Scooby Doo?” She laughs, nods her head.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the extent of it. When it rains creepy crimes, it pours, apparently. I think we’re all in desperate need of a vacation at this point—and a puppy.” She hits a few keys, pulls up a screensaver that is just a compilation of fluffy puppy photos, and you both sigh.

“Aw, a puppy would be nice. I don’t even dream about vacations anymore; I’ve come to terms with the fact that Aaron will never be the vacationing type.”

“Not even the honeymoon type?” she asks, looking at you over her glasses, and you crunch on a chip, shake your head.

“I doubt it, and we’re not there yet, anyway. I’d consider myself lucky if he took more than two days off in a row.”

“He’s always been like that—working himself too hard,” she says sadly, as if to let you know it has nothing to do with you. You know that, but can’t deny it would be nice to have more than the weekend with him. “As long as I’ve known him, at least.”

“And I get it: what you guys do is important, and I wouldn’t want him to change himself for me. I guess we all just have our things.” You smile, and she does too, reaches out to pat you on the arm.

“Could be worse, honey. Could always be worse.” She hits a few keys on the keyboard again, and up pops a man’s mugshot. “This guy’s girlfriend had to find out he’s been killing women and chopping them up in an industrial food processor.”

You’re glad you already had lunch, because the imagery is enough to make you lose your appetite for several hours.

Your stomach eventually comes around, and you and Aaron have a quiet dinner—chicken, potatoes, and “a salad, since you’re watching your figure now” you tease—and then you ask if he’d be okay with calling it a night a little early. He agrees, and you take him to bed and undress, then slowly pull off all his clothes, running your hands over his body as you go.

“So big and strong,” you murmur as you brush your palms over his shoulders, press your lips to his bare chest. “Unbearably sexy.”

“Used to be stronger,” he sighs as you trail your mouth lower, sink to your knees, smooth your hands down his thighs.

“I used to be perkier; still want me, don’t you?” You look up at him, wink, and he reaches down to cup your cheek with a big hand; you nuzzle into it, happy, content, just like always.

“I’ll always want you.”

“Good. And I’ll always want you.” Just in case the words aren’t enough, you bring your hands to his stomach, massage it a little, run your tongue slowly over the length of his cock. “Mmm. Lay down for me?”

He does, and you climb on top of him, lean in to kiss him slowly, deeply, skimming neatly trimmed nails over his chest. You kiss along his throat, down to his stomach, and then wrap a hand around the base of his dick and put your mouth on him, the other hand pressed lightly against his stomach while you suck him off.

Your pace is easy, your hand moving in time with your tight lips and hollow cheeks, and you squeeze his tummy, moan your pleasure, and flick your eyes up to his face. His lips are soft around a sigh, but his brows are tensely knit, and he brings a hand to your chin, caresses you lightly when he floods your mouth, when you swallow for him and lick him clean.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, and you crawl up his body, kiss his cheeks and his lips and then whimper when he presses your back against the bed.

His fingers find you soft and wet and open, and he pushes two of them inside, leans over you to mouth wetly at your throat, your breasts. You weave your fingers into his hair, grip his shoulder, moan his name, and he makes you come quickly, expertly, in that practice makes perfect kind of way. He kisses your lips as you sigh, sink against the bed, then rubs his hand over your chest and hums.

“Perky,” he says in your ear, and then you both laugh, and you pull him down on top of you for a quick cuddle before going to the bathroom to get ready for bed. A couple of Fridays later, it’s your turn to host girls night, so you’re in the kitchen putting together a charcuterie board and mixing up cocktails when Aaron walks in, looking casual and cuddly in jeans and a quarter-zip fleece sweatshirt. You know he plans to set up camp in his office, but you kind of wish he wouldn’t just so you’d get to look at him some more.

“Gorgeous man,” you say, peering up at him as you wrap your arm around his waist. “Can I interest you in a paloma?” You lift up a pink cocktail and he laughs lightly, guides your hand back toward the counter.

“You can’t, but I will take a beer for the road.” You shrug your shoulders, let him go so he can walk over to the fridge; you take a sip of the drink you offered him, wince a little—it’s a bit strong for a girls night in, but it won’t kill anyone—and Aaron caches the expression, holds back a smile. “Are you going to end up drunk tonight? Should I prepare for the worst?”

“Ha ha. I don’t plan on it, but if I do, just throw me over your shoulder and put me to bed.”

“It’s cute that you think that works,” he says, bending to kiss you on the cheek, and then the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it, baby. Keep… rearranging your cheese.” He smiles, you smile back, a little exasperated, and he goes to answer the door.

A short time later, you and your friends are gathered in the living room, sprawled across the sectional sofa with drinks and snacks. You’re maybe a little tipsy, and when the topic turns to Elena’s now ex-boyfriend, the personal trainer, you’re just uninhibited enough to weigh in.

“I don’t know what you saw in him anyway. He spent so much time in front of the mirror, I would have been insecure that he was going to leave me for himself.” Your friend Jada laughs, and you preen, take another sip of your drink.

“She just misses his dick; the new guy isn’t working with much. What’s his name? Chester? Charlie?”

“Clifford,” Elena says, pulling out her phone, “and no, he’s not working with much, but he’s really cute. Look at him.” She shows you a photo from her camera roll, and Clifford looks just like the personal trainer, but with brown hair instead of blond.

“Not my type,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand, “but clearly he’s yours, so congrats, really. You can work around the small dick thing.”

“What is your type?” your other friend Michelle asks. “I’ve never been able to pin it down.” You open your mouth to answer but frown after a moment.

“I’ve never really had one, I guess. I know what I don’t find attractive, but what I do find attractive?” You think on it for a minute, and all you can imagine is what you already have. You can’t help smiling wide. “I mean, if I had to say, I guess just Aaron.” Your friends chime in with a chorus of aww, and you shush them. “I just think he’s perfect, you know? He’s smart and sweet and secretly funny; tall, and strong, but not in a ‘spends all day at the gym’ way—no offense. He’s a little softer, I can wrap myself up in his arms. It’s nice.”

“I’m with you,” Jada says. “A hard body might be nice to look at, but I need something to grab onto in the middle of the night.”

“Yes! Something to grab onto, and Aaron is perfect for that. He’s such a good cuddler, and he’s heavy, in a sexy way, like when he’s on top of me.” Okay, so you’re definitely a little drunk, never this loose-lipped about your sex life, but it’s all true regardless. “And he’s nice to look at—so nice to look at. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”

You could go on talking about Aaron for the rest of the night, but topics change and you have enough sense not to ramble any further; you don’t have the sense to stop drinking, though, so by the time your friends leave, you’re puttering around trying to clean up the kitchen, and not doing a very good job of it. Aaron finds you, makes a soft sound and puts his arms around you from behind, effectively stilling your motions.

“Let’s go to bed, baby,” he murmurs into your hair, and you sink back against his body, sigh happily.

“I want to go to bed—I want to go to bed with you. I always want to go to bed with you, because I love you.”

“I know, sweetheart, I love you, and we’re going to go to bed right now. We can clean up tomorrow.” You let him lead you down the hall, but you only make it halfway to the bedroom before you turn around in his arms, try to pull him down to your level. He’s so tall it can sometimes be annoying.

“I love you. I want you, always. You’re my type.” He laughs, bends to kiss you softly and tries to walk you backward toward the bedroom.

“Thank you. You’re my type, too, and I want you always.” You nod, because that’s good. You should be his type, since he loves you. That just makes sense.

“I want a puppy—a fluffy baby puppy with you. I’ll be the puppy mom and you’ll be the puppy dad.”

“A puppy,” he repeats, and you make it to the bedroom: you can tell because he sits you gently on the bed, helps get you out of your jeans. “We could get a puppy, if that’s something you want. I can walk it in the mornings before work, you can walk it on your lunch.”

You make a happy sound, because you hadn’t expected him to say that. You figure asking for one more thing can’t hurt, while you’re on a roll.

“I want a vacation, too, please. A beach vacation—I want to see you in swim trunks, your hair all wet, and I want to feel your skin warm from the sun.” He pulls your top over your head and walks away from you; when you make a sound of protest, he assures you he’ll be right back, and he returns with one of his t-shirts, helps you put it on.

“You want a beach vacation?” He turns down the bed, maneuvers you under the covers, then starts undressing himself. “What brought that on?”

“I don’t know. Just want to go away with you,” you say, and you can feel yourself drifting now that you’re cozy in bed, wearing Aaron’s clothes, soft pillows all around you. “A vacation, or a—a honeymoon.”

Aaron says something in response to that, but you can’t make it out, too busy falling asleep and imagining the scent of sunscreen and the feel of thick fingers rubbing it into your shoulders. You wake with a bit of a headache, and a dry mouth, and a warm body at your back, an arm loosely slung around your waist. You groan and press back against Aaron, and he leans forward to brush his lips over your ear and chuckle lightly against it.

“I think you went a little overboard,” he says, and he smooths your unruly bedhead back away from your face. “There’s water and ibuprofen on the nightstand. If you’re feeling up to it, I think a shower would do you some good. I’ll make breakfast.” He presses several soft kisses to your cheek and chin, and you close your eyes, hum your contentment.

“I love you, do you know that?”

“I do know that,” he breathes, and he runs his hand over your hip in a way that makes you wish you had more energy and less aching in your temples. “You said it a lot last night—I also couldn’t help overhearing you say I’m the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.”

“Well that’s true. Incredibly handsome,” you agree tiredly, and he presses his lips to your neck in the form of soft, smacking kisses.

“You also said you wanted a honeymoon,” he murmurs, and you open your eyes comically wide, slide up to a seat, look down at his face to try to read his expression.

“I did?” He nods, clearly trying not to smile at your surprise.

“Yes, you did. I’m not clear on the details, though—would that include a wedding, or were you planning on skipping over that part?” You lean over him, hide your face against his shoulder, and he laughs softly, rubs his hand up and down your back. “We’ve never talked about it, but it seems that’s something I should have at least brought up. We just took our time moving in together, and I didn’t want to rush that if you weren’t ready. Are you ready?” he asks quietly, and you pull back to look at him—his open expression, soft features, curious eyes.

“In theory, or in practice?” You have to ask, because this is Aaron, and he’s amazing, but he’s not a grand gestures type of man—if he’s asking you to marry him, you want to be very clearly on the same page to avoid miscommunication. He smiles, runs his hand down your arm.

“In theory.” You think of what it would mean, how it would feel, being married to the best man you’ve ever met, the kindest, most open-hearted (if occasionally grumpy) person, and the answer comes easily.

“Yes, I’m ready in theory.” His smile grows, and you match it, leaning down for a kiss. Then, he moves out from under you, reaches behind himself, into his nightstand, and rummages around for a moment before returning with a blue velvet box that he just holds, so casually, in his hand.

“How about in practice?” Your heart sinks to your stomach in the best way, and you can’t find the words even though you know exactly what you want to say. You bite your lip, and your eyes water a little; Aaron presses his palm to your cheek, and you meet in the middle for a slow, sweet kiss, exhaling softly when you pull apart.

You nod your head.

“Yes, I’m ready in practice.” You kiss again, a bit less sweet, weaving your fingers into his hair, and he pulls you down, makes you laugh, covers you with his body and kisses your face until you’re both out of breath.

“That’s good, because I want to make an honest woman out of you if we’re going to have a baby.” You freeze beneath him—did you talk about children last night, too, in your drunken haze?—and he chuckles, leans back so you can better see his face. “A fluffy baby puppy, remember? I’ll be the puppy dad and you’ll be the puppy mom.” You smack his chest, which he finds hilarious, and then you put your hands on his arms and sigh.

“Let me see that ring, please.” He props himself up on his elbows, opens the box for you: it’s sparkling, beautiful, exactly what you would have chosen for yourself, and you pluck it out, hold it up, and then hand it back so he can slide it onto your finger. “How long has this been in that drawer?”

“Since you moved in,” he says, and he takes your hand, kisses it, and admires your new accessory. “It was in my sock drawer before that, and I’m honestly not sure how long it was there. Two years, at least.” You frown just so you won’t cry, and he leans in to press his lips to the downturned curve of yours. “I told you, I always just knew.”

You deepen the kiss, run your hands over his sides beneath the soft t-shirt he slept in; his fingers move to the hem of the t-shirt you slept in as if to remove it, and you pause, pull back.

“No, wait, I’m gross. How are you even kissing me right now?” Aaron rolls his eyes, presses his mouth to yours repeatedly despite your half-hearted protests.

“Because I don’t care about morning breath, I’m marrying you.” He puts his hands in your hair, continues kissing, and you know resistance is futile; he wants you regardless, just as you are, and you would feel the same if roles were reversed—you do, every day.

“Mmh, okay but. At least let me. Shower first,” you mumble against his lips, and he rolls his eyes, leans back so he’s on his knees hovering over you, hands on his thighs.

“Would that make you feel better?” You nod happily, and he climbs off the bed, pulls you to your feet. “In that case, you go shower, and I’ll make breakfast as planned. And then, if your conditions are met, princess,” you wrinkle your nose, and then you both laugh, “I think I would like to make love to my fiancée, if that’s something that would interest you.”

“I’m very interested in that,” you agree, winding your arms around his neck, and you allow him one more kiss before you shuffle toward the shower, standing under the spray long enough to feel fully human again.

You drink the water, take the ibuprofen, and throw on his quarter-zip sweatshirt from the night before, and then meet him for eggs, toast, fruit, and kisses. He’s cleaned up the mess from last night, brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and you fall a little bit in love all over again.

After breakfast, you make it as far as the couch, flat on your back with the sweatshirt hiked up around your stomach and Aaron’s head between your thighs; you moan, tug on his hair as he drags his tongue repeatedly through the wetness that clings to your pussy, and when he makes you come you close your legs around his shoulders, squeezing tightly, back arching off of the couch.

“Mmm. Should have locked you down a lot sooner,” you pant, encouraging him to climb on top of you. He licks his lips and leans in for a warm, soft kiss.

“I’ve been locked down since our first date. You wore a blue dress and I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” You pull his shirt over his head, and he pushes his boxers off, guides his cock inside you and plants his hands, noses along your cheek. “And now you’re mine.”

You can’t remember the last time you had sex in broad daylight—or the living room, for that matter—so each roll of his body, heavy and smooth against yours, is that much hotter as the sun shines in through the window, as birds chirp from the tree just outside. Your moans feel louder, more indecent, and you hold onto his ass, run a hand up his back, while he groans in your ear, whispers things like fuck and baby and mine.

“Aaron, please,” you sigh, digging your fingertips into his hips, and he kisses you, thrusts harder, knows what you need without having to hear it. He’s getting close too, huffs hot breath against your cheek, and you squeeze him tighter, press up against him. “Yes, hmm. I’ve got you, baby.” You move a hand to his hair, carding fingers through it, and he rests one gently over your throat, kisses you deep and wet, passionate, pounds against you until he comes.

He slides his hand down your body, rubs his fingertips over your clit, and this time your orgasm is softer, and you bite at his shoulder just to feel more connected, even though he is still inside you, heavy above you. You cling to him, catch your breath, and then you kiss a little before hurrying to get cleaned up and hoping you don’t make a mess of the couch.

When you reconvene in the living room, windows open, curtains blowing softly in the breeze, Aaron is on the couch with his laptop on his thighs. You plop down next to him, peer over his shoulder, and he raises his eyebrow and smiles.

“What do you think of Golden Retrievers?” You rest your head against him, look at the screen full of fuzzy yellow puppies, and sigh, content.

Taglist 🤍: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing @uchihasteph @mugi-chwan95 @madamsnape921 @hxtchncr

[kashimos-hajime]

pretty face on a pretty neck | b.b.

summary: they aren’t fucking dating. not fucking friends, either. no, bucky just fucks romanoff’s best friend until she’s fucking stupid, begging for it, and leaves in the morning because that’s how the universe fucking works. and sometimes, he wishes it didn’t work that way.

WARNINGS: a tiny bit of smut (18+), fingering, choking, swearing, drinking, brief mentions of cheating, bucky’s just really fucking jealous, mentions of a shitty relationship and self-doubt from it, the dark knight spoilers, fluffy end!! pairing: modern!bucky barnes x fem!reader, brief steve rogers x fem!reader lmaoo  word count: 5.5k

a/n: this is a cute lil piece written for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​​​​​​! my prompt was “you called me, remember?” inspired by kiwi by harry styles. 

For a moment, Bucky wonders how the fuck he got into this situation.

Then again, he’s not complaining.

The view is fucking stellar.

You weave through the crowd, glistening like some glazed dessert that he can’t wait to get his mouth on. Your lips are shining with a swipe of that sweet lipgloss he loves to suck off and you’re wearing that black dress.

The black dress. Shorter than short, showing every inch of skin yet not enough.

You toss your head back, exposing that neck that he loves to bite to Steve who grins, glad his joke landed. Stifling a scowl, Bucky grabs his scotch and throws it back, desperate not to grab you and throw you into a stall just to mark you up as his.

You had made him promise, after all. No socialization outside their little nightcap sessions that often lead to… well, Bucky’s game for anything really.

A cigarette is pinched between your lips and Steve helps you light it with a flick of his lighter, the burning embers glowing in the dark, seedy bar. Leaning on the bar counter, you talk to Sam wiping down his station and he nods, eyes dragging over your face and Bucky cannot tear his gaze away as Sam pours you three shots of vodka. You blow out a lungful of smoke, cigarette pinched between two fingers before glancing at Steve and making some sort of bet, based on the way your lips curl.

They go down like water, dripping down your chin and you laugh when Steve wipes it off your collarbones before he grabs your chin and smashes his lips against yours. You immediately reciprocate, mouth opening as he bends you over the bar, his hair golden and his hand trailing up your thigh.

“Fucker,” Bucky mutters, finally managing to rip his gaze away. A heat blazes through his stomach.

Stupid fucking party for damn Romanoff’s birthday. Sometimes he hates being some of the oldest friends that redhead knows. It makes him feel creepy, wading through a sea of college students that are only one or two years younger than him. Steve himself is finishing his last year, so he’s sure he doesn’t share Bucky’s plight of feeling old.

He wishes he could just approach you and ask to leave, pin you against the wall of his apartment, take you like he knows Steve’s going to later, but he can’t.

You aren’t fucking dating. Not fucking friends, either.

No, Bucky just fucks Romanoff’s best friend until she’s fucking stupid, begging for it, and leaves in the morning because that’s how the universe fucking works.

And sometimes, he wishes it didn’t work that way.

“Not enjoying yourself, James?” Birthday Girl Romanoff asks, appearing at his shoulder and he turns to her, shifting in his seat.

“Steve’s too busy chatting up your friend for me to do anything,” he replies, keeping his tone light and Romanoff glances at where Steve’s made his way to kissing up your neck, your fingers carded through his hair.

“Give him a break,” Romanoff says. “They both need to get laid.”

“You don’t think she’s getting laid?” Bucky asks incredulously. “Every fucking guy I’ve met has said they wanted to get with her at least once.”

“Sounding a bit jealous over someone you claim to hate, James,” the redhead teases, sipping on her mojito with raised eyebrows.

“I’m just saying. All the boys were saying they were into it.”

“And you?”

“She’s… a brat.”

“Seems to me that you’re into that,” she hums, leaning on his shoulder. “Honestly, it would’ve been better if you two met before her and her stupid boyfriend did. Ever since she moved in with Rumlow…” The woman trails off and Bucky absently fills in the blanks, she’s faked every single orgasm she’s had with him. “I don’t know. He’s a fucking prick. Doesn’t treat her like she deserves.”

“Does he—“

“No. Just… never a priority, is she? Why else is she here alone?” Natasha pauses, as if debating how much to tell him, then adds, “Then he gets all pissy about where she’s been. On his beck and call, isn’t she?”

“Asshole,” Bucky replies distantly. Steve has his hand basically up your dress and he watches as your legs pull him closer, your lips running along the shell of his ear. “You’re endorsing your best friend cheating on her boyfriend, you know, when we could just be beating him up”

“Hey. She said she was going to break up with him. I can’t make those choices up for her and I’m not about to land any of my friends in jail trying to be my ride or dies.” Romanoff shrugs, glancing at her friend. “Besides, she doesn’t have anywhere else to go, does she? It’s not like she can move into my dorm or move back into her parents across the country.” Bucky watches as you hook your legs around Steve’s waist and he hoists you into his arms, disappearing into the crowd.

By the direction, Bucky can guess the destination and some distant part of his head whispers, She could move in with me.

“Might want to avoid the bathrooms for a while,” he comments and Romanoff snorts, the ice crackling by her straw as she stirs her drained glass.

“I’m going to go get laid, too,” she replies frankly. “Don’t stay brooding in the corner, Barnesy-bear. Your face is one worthy of being sat on.”

“Thank you.”

With that, the redhead slips into the crowd and Bucky gets up, plucking his jacket and leaving the bar. His pants are tight with the thought of your mouth and the sound of your gasping breaths echoing in his ear. The feeling of your fingers scratching down his back makes him roll his shoulders back as he flags a cab.

So what if you’re fucking Steve?

It’s not like he’s exclusive with you.

He can’t fault his best friend for having excellent fucking taste.

As he enters the cab and tells the driver his address, he wonders how the fuck someone like Rumlow snagged the title as your boyfriend when there are so many other options.

Steve being one, but he’s still living on-campus.

Bucky doesn’t want to say it, but maybe he, with his own apartment and steady job and intimate knowledge of your desires and interests and needs, is the other.

.

It’s two weeks later when he finally sees you again, at Romanoff’s birthday function at the beach. Something with closer friends, in broad daylight at a beach house Romanoff’s parents own. She and Sam are already there by the time Bucky gets there, unpacking in rooms for a weekend stay.

“Take any room you like,” Romanoff calls from upstairs and Bucky does so, choosing one of the few rooms on the main floor just as another figure walks in.

“I’m here, Nat!” Your voice echoes against wooden walls as Bucky pokes his head out of his room to see you there. He doesn’t know whether he should feel guilty or not that he’s glad Steve hasn’t sated your hunger when you show up alone, shorts riding up your thighs and a t-shirt that is so sheer it does nothing to conceal the bikini top you wear beneath it. “I’m taking my usual room.”

“Fine with me!”

With that, you walk down the hall, eyes meandering over the living room and kitchen. Bucky’s throat closes up when you walk past the stairs to stop at his room and you smirk all saccharine at him.

“Hey, Barnes.”

He scans your face for a moment. “You came. Thought you’d still be sucking Steve’s face off like you were back at the bar. Or… sucking his dick. Whatever floats your boat.”

“Well, that was a one-off thing. Heat of the moment,” you dismiss, leaning against his door frame and he hates the way you look against the wood. Makes something in him stir, makes the blood run hot and his mind focus on one image in particular.

“What’d your boyfriend say when he saw your neck fucking marked up?” he asks, uncaring of the thin ice he stands upon. You frown, arms crossing.

“I was careful,” you reply tightly, “and I didn’t let him leave any marks.”

Bucky can’t help the small flash of satisfaction at hearing that. “You’re not careful with me. I like seeing your neck tatted up with it,” he comments, his hand twitching to wrap around your throat as he lifts his finger to trace the soft, pulsing vein along your neck. You tilt your chin up, eyes narrowing with amusement.

“I’m not yours, Barnes.”

“What you say tells me differently, princess.” Dropping his hand to grab your wrist, he pulls you into his room and slams the door shut, pinning you against it with a harsh push. You exhale sharply, the breath pushing out of your lungs as your bags drop with a disant thump. His senses zero in on everything about you, the light scent of the sunblock smeared into your skin, the cotton twisting beneath his fist as his other hand finds your neck on its own accord. “You’ve been distant lately, kitten.”

He can feel your racing pulse against his palm as you smirk, hands wrapping around his waist and pulling him flush against you. Every inch of his skin is pressed against yours as you hike a leg up onto his hip. His hand at your waist immediately goes to cup it and you loop your arms around his neck innocently.

“I’ve had a lot of work to do. Brock and I…” You let out a soft hum as if to ponder but he knows it’s just to piss him off, “spent some time alone. Romantic trip out of town. Then, I had other things to do.”

“Did you?” It’s not a question Bucky wants answered as you nod demurely, lips twisted into a smirk. He wants nothing more than to yank your shorts down, spin you around, and have you screaming his name as he takes you again and again. He’s been blue balled for two weeks and you haven’t answered any of his calls.

Now, he knows why.

“So, that stupid boyfriend of yours was with you, huh?” he asks, not waiting for an answer as he leans in close. He can taste the vodka in your mouth still, the vodka he never got to taste two weeks before in a bar, along with something fruity. Your gum, maybe, or an orange that you sucked clean off its peel. “And then what? Did you hop off after you faked your way through a few nights with him and head for Steve’s? Hm?”

“Temper, temper, James,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his. His entire body is alight, every nerve shooting sensations through his limbs as your fingers curl against the nap of his neck. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“Jealous, yeah.” His hand on your thigh trails up and inward, sneaking past the hem of your shorts as you lower your leg to hook on his calf, pulling him infinitely closer. His dick is pressing against his swim shorts, completely obvious and painfully hard against your navel as he shifts his hips just enough to let his hand sneak further up your shorts. “Why would I be jealous?”

His fingers find the silky slip of your bikini bottom and brush over the junction of your hip, smirking at the tremble he can feel course through your body.

“You wanted me that night at the bar,” you whisper as he slowly trails deeper inward. “Tell me that isn’t true.”

“Who didn’t, hm?” He smirks when you turn your face away, biting your lip at his fingers dancing around a spot already slickening with anticipation. “C’mon, princess. You telling me you didn’t wear that black dress for me? Look at me.”

You refuse and he rubs his thumb into the side of your neck, dipping his head to bite at your collarbones.

“Look at me, princess,” he whispers, lifting his head to see your defiant gaze meeting his. “Tell me the truth about the black dress.”

“I didn’t wear it for you,” you bite back softly, “to fuck me in.” His hand tightens, just barely around your neck and your eyes flutter shut. Oh, how badly he wants to ravage your lips, lock you in this room and just take you in every way you want…

“Trying to make me jealous, kitten?” he rasps as your hips roll against his dick and you bite your lip, chin tilting up as your nails dig into his skin. Because it worked.

“So what if I was?”

“Then, you’re going to have to pay for it.” He spins you around and moves to shove his shorts just past his hips. You let out a sharp exhale at the pressure of his hand against the back of his neck, your hands pressed flat against the door. “You got anything to say for yourself, princess?”

His swim shorts fall and he tugs your shorts down just past your ass, tracing the smooth curve of it with an arrogant curve to his lip. His lips find your neck, nipping lightly before raising to your ear.

“I asked you a question.” His hand lands on your ass, kneading it with warm, familiar fingers and his words are a warning. In the silence, he can almost hear you rolling your eyes, struggling not to moan when he feathers smooth skin, tempts you with tiny brushes between the legs.

“You gonna keep talking, Barnes, or you gonna prove a point?”

His fingers hook on your bikini bottom, pulling the elastic away with an amused grin before letting it snap back against your skin.

“I don’t know. Are you gonna continue being a fucking brat?” He squeezes your neck, fingers digging into the soft flesh and you almost seem to melt against the door before he drags those bikini bottoms down too. Rolling his hips flush against your ass, he smirks when you shudder and try to thrust him in with a messy jerk back. “Aw, did you miss this?”

“Wouldn’t miss a thing about you,” you reply but it comes out strangled as his other hand wraps around your hip, travels down your navel. It wraps around your waist, keeps you tight against him as you smother his wrist between the door and your hips. When his fingers find your bud, you let out a soft sigh at the pressure he begins to rub into you and he smirks, biting the shell of your ear.

“C’mon, princess. You can admit it if you like,” he murmurs. Your fingers dig into the wood as you try to push yourself—in what direction, away from his hand, towards it, Bucky doesn’t know. He reaches farther down, fingers tracing through slick heat and he chuckles huskily against your skin, biting lightly into the junction of your neck and shoulder. “‘S that all for me?”

“Shut up,” you growl. Your eyes flash to him and he pushes you flush against the door, your head falling back against his shoulder as cock nestles itself between your cheeks. So close, not quite there. His hand on your neck travels forward, crooking inward and his fingers wrap around a silky neck from the front. He can feel every beat of your heart, the raspy whistle of your breathing. Lips falling to your exposed neck, Bucky sucks marks he knows are going to last if he doesn’t stop himself soon but two weeks has been two weeks too long— “Barnes.”

“Relax… it’s been a while since you’ve had a proper fuck.”

“Cocky bastard.”

“Needy brat.”

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers work at a languid pace inside you. He knows every nook and cranny, every angle that brings you euphoria and he grinds his palm against your clit with every thrust, arrogant smile growing when you melt back onto his shoulder, lips slightly parted.

“Don’t have time for foreplay,” you finally manage to croak and you turn to look at him, eyes surprisingly clear for having his fingers in your soaking heat and working you up a steady incline.

“It’s the fucking beach, kitten. They won’t be in a rush to get anywhere.” Your lips are tantalizing up close and he chuckles, fingers pressing gently into your pulse. “How quiet can you be?”

“Try me,” you breathe, chest heavy and eyes filling with assured focus, “bitch.”

Challenge accepted.

Nudging your legs ever so lightly apart, he is about to push in. He can feel your heart beating through your back, a quick, racing drum and your breasts heave with every anticipating breath.

“James! Y/N! Wanna meet Steve at the beach?”

Natasha’s voice breaks the humid tension like a hot knife through butter, and your eyes fly open as if you’ve risen from a trance and he growls, not quite moving yet.

To say nothing raises suspicion.

He hates it here.

“Sure!” Bucky yells back right into your ear, much to your displeasure and he shrugs, trying to repress the smirk as his hand drops and playfully squeezes your breast. You return with a subtle nip to his jaw and he steps back. Your shoulders drop and you turn around, leaning against the door with a soft, condescending smile. Your eyes are blown with a mistiness and your thighs press together as he sucks his fingers clean. Your gaze narrows, he smirks with glee.

“What was that about not being in a rush to get anywhere?” you ask, dismissively sweeping your gaze up and down his body before grabbing your pants and pulling them up. His eyes follow the slow trail of the fabric and he sighs softly between parted lips. “Play one of those audios I know you’ve got on your phone. Can’t ever get enough of me, can you, soldier boy?”

“Don’t put yourself on a pedestal, princess.”

“I’m not.” You pick up your bags and open the door, letting cool sea wind sweep into the room that was cloudy with heat and lust. He can’t help the smile that digs into his cheeks despite how disappointed he is as you shrug innocently. You play the part so well. “It’s just the facts.”

Not for the first time, Bucky is left with the thought that Rumlow doesn’t deserve a second of your time.

.

It’s near the end of the month, the very last day. The thirty-first of May.

You broke up with your stupid boyfriend three days ago. He knows because he looked at your Instagram only to find all the pictures with him gone.

But he wasn’t stalking. He was just…

Curious.

Also, Natasha FaceTimed him and Steve, ranting all about it. So, he came upon this naturally.

Not stalking at all.

“Hey.” Bucky’s lying flat on his bed, naked and the sheets are too warm as he hears you pick up with a disgruntled sigh. “You awake?”

“Am now.” You don’t sound too heartbroken but your voice is a bit thicker than he remembers as you sniff. “What do you want?”

“Are you sick?”

“No, I was crying.”

He arches an eyebrow at your blunt response but doesn’t continue that line of interrogation. “Where are you staying?”

“Why does it matter to you? What do you want?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come over, princess,” he replied dryly. “But if you’re on the streets, I can come pick you up.”

“I’m not on the streets,” you reply sharply in a way that makes Bucky doubt your words. “But fine. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Princess,” he begins but you cut him off.

“I just needa pack some things. See you in twenty.”

You hang up without another word. He lets his cellphone drop with a heavy sigh, sitting up and pulling on some boxers and some ratty old university hoodie.

It’s another fifteen minutes before there’s a knock on the door and he moves from the kitchen to the door, abandoning the orange juice he poured to pass the time. Swinging open the door to reveal that pretty face, he smirks to hide the concerned expression threatening to overtake his face. You look like hell, heavy eye bags and a wariness that he’s not used to seeing on your bold face. You’ve got luggage by your legs and a backpack is strapped to you as you regard him.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

“You called me, remember?” you reply dryly. He steps aside, inviting you in. Walking in, toeing off your sneakers, and shedding your jacket, you let your backpack drop as Bucky pulls your luggage in. “Woke me up and everything.”

“Yeah, I bet I woke you up from your beauty sleep,” he snorts and you roll your eyes as his eyes trail over the dull skin of your shoulders, the limpness of your hair. He closes the door behind him, an unfamiliar tug pulling at his stomach. “Your boyfriend didn’t even give you time to find a new place?”

“No. And he’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

“Just a guy you used to fuck on occassion who couldn’t even make you come,” he says sagely and you sigh, rolling your eyes again.

“Are you describing yourself?” The words make blue eyes flash to meet yours and you smirk at the dangerous warning glimmering in his irises. Cocking your head, you shrug and lean against his dining table. “So, what do you want?”

“Why do I ever call you here if it isn’t for fucking you, huh, princess?” he muses, but even he can’t find the reason anymore. Whatever libido he was housing had melted in the time between you hanging up and you arriving at his apartment. As you stand before him, his blue eyes flicker from your exhausted face to the way your body seems strung out and on high alert. He sighs, too. “I didn’t want you in some seedy motel where the locks don’t work and the concierge is probably on the registered sex offender’s list. That sound good enough for you?”

You smile, the only thing familiar about you, and it sends a wave of relief through him. “Being nice isn’t your colour, Barnes.”

“Go take a shower,” he retorts, plucking your bag from the floor by your feet and he notices you don’t protest when he grabs your jacket and throws it in the hamper. “Then, we’ll talk.”

“Fine.” You’re unnaturally obedient as you head silently for the bathroom and he brings your luggage to the living room, setting it by the couch and laying it flat. Unzipping it quickly, he grabs the clean clothes he can find right off the bat and goes into his room to put them on his bed so you can grab them as soon as you come out. You’re standing in his bathroom, shedding your tank top and he grabs some clean towels.

It’s a strangely intimate silence as he offers you the towels and you dip your head in thanks. He can see the beginnings of a bruise on your bicep and he reaches tenderly for it, fingers barely brushing your skin.

“Did he—” The anger comes unbridled, hot and heavy and dark, in his voice and you don’t even jerk out of his touch. You’re completely relaxed in his presence as you look at your reflection in the mirror, so unlike a few minutes before when you’d been a ball of tension and you shake your head. His thumb gently digs into your skin and he can feel the pulsing heat of it. It’s fresh. Not even a day old, probably.

“No. I was walking and it was dark. Guy was coming out of a cab and didn’t see me standing there. Got whacked by the door,” you assure, pulling your arm out of his loose hold. Unbuttoning your pants, you continue to undress as he stands there, eyebrows knitting together. The air is wrought with an energy he’s unfamiliar with and he withdraws but your hand reaches for his wrist. Wide eyes dart to your face and he’s shocked by the surprisingly soft smile pulling at your lips. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, uh, sure. Hungry?”

You let go of his wrist and his skin is tingling. He rubs at it absently as you nod, your strange smile ever present. “Starving.”

“I’ll whip you something to eat.”

As he’s stirring Kraft Dinner around in a bowl, he listens to the shower run and thinks.

Or doesn’t think.

Time seems to pass in such a strange way. He’s cooking for you and you’re in his shower and nothing about this is normal or something he’s used to, but it’s not something he hates.

The shower turns off just as he’s sliding the mac into a bowl and he pours you a glass of water before finishing his own abandoned cup of orange juice.

Your footfalls are light and you smell like his shampoo as you sit down at his kitchen island, clad in the clothes he laid out for you.

“It’s just some Kraft I had lying around,” he says uneasily, pushing the bowl towards you but you take it anyway with a shrug and a easygoing smile. You look more awake after the shower and colour has worked its way back into your lips. There’s new life in your eyes as you eat and Bucky, satisfied, heads for the couch just to watch whatever’s on until you’re done.

Everything seems so strange, mundane, almost… domestic as you eat, scroll your phone, and he watches The Dark Knight just because it’s on. He watches the movie blindly, his mind still going a mile a minute and his body unintentionally becoming attune to yours in a way he only knows with when he’s fucking you.

But now, he knows how you move, knows when you’re putting your bowl in the sink and knows when you’re walking towards him by the way his heart starts beating just a millisecond quicker, the gentle give of his couch as you sit down beside him. Your eyes burn into his cheek and he glances at you out of the corner of your eye.

“Come here,” he allows, lifting his arm from the pillow and you scoot closer, pulling the pillow into your lap and hugging it tight. He rests his arm along the back of the couch. “You didn’t die of food poisoning. Pity.”

“You’d have to be truly something to fuck up Kraft Dinner, Barnes,” you reply dryly, smirking at him and he suppresses a snort as you tuck your knees up. “It was good. Although, I hope you’re not living off of that stuff.”

“I do take out every once in a while,” he says with a shrug and you roll your eyes.

“I’m a college student and I can cook better than you.”

“You’re one year younger than me. We’re not so different.”

“Whatever you say.”

Bucky can’t help the amused smile edging its way onto his face as you fall into silence, watching the movie, too. One thing Bucky’s always liked about you, even if he didn’t like anything else, is that you share a lot of the same interests as him. They had whole rants on how terrible some movies were, or the disappointment that was some TV finales. It always made pillow talk a fun time, if they ever made it to that stage. 

It was more often than not either of them would wake up before the other and just head out without a single word.

Bucky finds he likes your companionable silence more than he thought he would. Maybe he should’ve indulged pillowtalk a bit more. By the small, sated smile on your lips, he wonders if you’re thinking the same thing.

“You know,” you say after a while, “when I said at the beach house that you wanted me…” Your voice rouses Bucky from his trance of staring at the TV. The credits are rolling and he hadn’t even realized. So lost in his thoughts he was near the end, thinking about Rachel’s letter to Bruce and hyper aware of your every shift in your seat beside him, the movie seemed to pass by in a blink.

Something about the long lost melancholy of lost chances…

Bucky’s never been fucking sentimental, but even he can see the chance that Bruce Wayne really… really missed out on, and the blue-eyed man doesn’t want to be in that position ever. To do the right thing only to find out it’s too late. Because she died in the end, didn’t she? She died and he was alone even though he tried…

“What?”

“At the beach house,” you repeat. “When I basically told you that you wanted me…” you say with a roll of your eyes, “it was just teasing, foreplay.” Then, more seriously: “But I guess I was being like Two-Face. Double entendres, innuendos, all that.”

“You’re going to become a vengeful, homicidal DA?” he quips wryly and you huff in faux irritation, poking him lightly in the chest.

“No. God, use that brain inside that pretty little head of yours for once.”

“Aw, you called me pretty.”

“Barnes.”

“Fine. Continue.”

“Well, what I was saying… When I said you wanted me… God, this is stupid. Feel free to just punch me in the face after, but…”

“But?” Eyebrows knitting together, he looks at you and you pull the blanket up to your face, embarrassment telltale in the way you avert your eyes. He gently pushes the blanket down, muting the TV and waiting patiently. You look more alive that you did the first minute you walked into your apartment and you look like you want to bury yourself in the blankets but he’s not going anywhere and you stare at him, lips pressed into a flustered line. “I’m not going to punch you in the face. You can just tell me.”

“I guess… I just... I wanted to believe that you wanted me,” you state, shaking your head, “for me. Like some affirmation that there’s a possibility you could ever want me like that, and… I’m being dumb. I swear I’m not usually like this, all sentimental and shit, but it’s just I feel like shit and you don’t care about any of that and Brock… I broke up with him because I know he doesn’t love me even if he says he does and that I deserve better but I just… it gets to me, you know? It fucking gets to me when I’m all alone and now I am alone and if he didn’t put me first... maybe it’s because I’m not wanted.”

“Hey, princess,” he murmurs, reaching for your hands and you surrender to him easily as he cranes his head to keep your eye contact despite you ducking your head. “I don’t judge you for any of that shit and that’s wrong. He’s a fucking prick, and people want you here. Romanoff, Steve, Sam…” Me.

“I know. I know and I just… I’m scared because I have nowhere to go. And, you’re always honest with me, and just slap me in the face because… I can’t believe I’m asking you this what if… what if everyone’s gonna treat me like Brock did? What if no one will ever really want me?

There’s a beat.

Then, two.

He’s squeezing your hands so hard he’s surprised you haven’t drawn away but then he realizes your fingers are clutching onto him even tighter, his bones wincing as you crush his digits.

“It’s stupid. I’m stupid—”

“No, you’re not.” Bucky shakes his head and you—fourth year college student and someone he shouldn’t be attached to because you two are so different but he is because you two are so alike—are something else. No one has gotten under his skin like you have.

You’re not fucking stupid. Because I do want you. In a way. In more than one way. And you are irritating and burn so fucking bright and you’re fucking bold, but—

I want you.

He doesn’t say any of that.

And it’s complicated, but that’s how the universe fucking works.

“You’re free to stay here for however long you need to,” he tells you quietly, seriously. “I don’t care how long it is, and there are no catches. Just… just don’t give that fucker another chance, yeah? ‘Cause there’s always gonna be someone who wants you, kitten. Someone who’ll treat you right.”

You smile faintly, knees tucked to your chest and hair still a bit damp from your shower. You’re warm, soft, with no cigarette smoke clouding your silhouette and no glossy sheen of alcohol. You look like you in a way Bucky’s never known before.

He thinks this beats you in any kind of black dress.

“Okay,” you accept and you lean over first to kiss him. It’s a soft peck to the corner of his mouth, an innocent, flitting thing, but Bucky doesn’t mind. He eases against the couch and you lean against his chest, cuddling close against him. His arm falls around your shoulders, holding you tight to him and you melt against him just like he does around you.

For a moment, Bucky wonders how the fuck he got into this situation.

Then again, he’s not complaining.

The view is fucking stellar.

[hermannsthumb]

i would literally die for you to do a stardew valley au where newt moves to the farm to escape idk academic life or uprising-esque corporate work and meets herman who’s an astronomy researcher and they have romantic stargazing based heart events

man I have been thinking about this for like two months. I love it so much. full disclosure I have never played stardew valley so i'm approaching this from the perspective of, like, cheesy hallmark romcoms, and what I learned from two of my friends who were very happy to explain the plot to me. sometimes it's fun to just write hermann being like "oh this guy is pathetic I want him"

----------

The interesting thing about Newt's whole mini breakdown-slash-midlife crisis is that it's not even technically a breakdown or a crisis, because he fully saw it coming, and not even in the melodramatic way he anticipated. There were no drastic stylistic choices made pertaining to his hair (no dyeing, no cutting or spiking or shaving into one of those undercuts with the buns) or general overall appearance (no letting a mustache grow out, no new piercings or tattoos), no impulsive purchases (Newt already owns a motorcycle), no wild career shifts (despite Newt's longing to hand in his two-weeks' notice and get the old band back together), no regrettable public displays (Newt didn't go on national television and start talking about aliens), no wild relationship shifts (Newt is, and has been for a long time, tragically single, so there was not even a relationship for him to consider shifting out of). What happened was that one day Newt was standing at the front of a classroom, lecturing on the mating cycles of tree frogs to a bunch of tired-looking freshmen, when he suddenly realized that he didn't care about the mating cycles of tree frogs anymore, and he needed to get out of the classroom—off of the entire campus—immediately, or he might tear his hair out and start screaming or something. He thinks he did a very good job of hiding this from his freshmen, because when he stopped mid-sentence and told his class he was letting them out early, the most he got in return were a few gratefully surprised smiles.

He was called into the department head's office that Thursday. She was a stern-looking woman somewhere in her late sixties, and there was not a day that Newt had seen her that she was not clad in an ironed pantsuit (the coloration of which varied day-to-day) with her hair pulled back into a bun so tight that it made Newt's eyes water. Newt wouldn't call her maternal in the slightest, but when she frowned at Newt across her desk, he was given the distinct impression of being reprimanded by his mother. Well, someone's mother. "Dr. Geiszler," she said. "I heard you weren't in attendance at any of your lectures Tuesday or Wednesday."

"I was feeling...sick," Newt told her.

"I also heard you disappeared halfway through your afternoon lecture on Monday," she said.

"I think it was a stomach bug," Newt said.

"It's been brought to my attention by several students that they overheard you on a local public radio show—" She looked at her notes. "—discussing the existence of alien life, and your numerous theories pertaining to alien abductions, which you seem to consider a threat to you, personally." She looked at her notes again. "Four calls on Monday and twenty between Tuesday and Wednesday. And one thirty minutes ago this morning."

Okay, Newt didn't go on national television to make a spectacle of himself, but he did go on local radio. Big deal. "Um," he said. "I've been feeling a little overworked lately."

"Dr. Geiszler," the department head said, "I think you should consider taking a sabbatical."

If Newt were the suspicious type, he would say that the emergence of a long-lost relative in his life suddenly dying and leaving Newt an extremely quaint bit of farmland in an even quainter little village in the middle of nowhere coinciding directly with that suggestion almost too perfect to be a coincidence. Not to the degree of, like, foul play being involved—because that would be a little too paranoid, even for Newt—but part of him can't help but wonder if the dean of arts and sciences might've just taken one for the team and passed along their own quaint little farm to Newt to help him get the rest he needs far, far out of sight of the university, and definitely out of the range of the local public radio. Newt was their little boy wonder; he supposes that's gotta count for something. But he accepted the offer, which he supposes has gotta count for something too. Newt's a changed man. He's practicing, like, self-care shit. Plus he hasn't taken a vacation in ten years.

"Who's this guy again?" Newt asks his dad on the drive to the airport. "Mom's...brother?"

"Her uncle," his dad corrects. "You met him once, don't you remember? Your first birthday—the Sesame Street one."

"My first birthday," Newt emphasizes.

His dad shrugs. "He sent you more birthday cards than your mother ever did. One every year."

Newt remembers the birthday cards, but he secretly has always been under the impression that his dad sent them to him under a false name so Newt wouldn't feel sad when, inevitably, none of his classmates would show up to his birthday parties. (This was probably because Newt was usually wildly younger than his school peers, and it's difficult to imagine that a bunch of twenty-somethings would've wanted to go roller skating with the weird little teenager in their Human Genetics lecture who used to lisp out know-it-all answers through his braces.) "I guess," Newt says. Still. "You know 13 Ghosts? The movie?"

"Here's your terminal," Newt's dad says cheerfully.

***

When Newt's plane lands, his journey from airport to quaint little farm property isn't really all that quaint: backpack, carry-on, guitar case, and complimentary checked bag in tow, he transfers between at least two buses and a train (and Newt doesn't mean like a subway or Amtrak, either, he means a legit train, like, just chugged up from 1880 train, possibly Newt time travelled to board it train) before he finally comes within five miles of the property, which turns out to be on the very edge of the (quaint, little) town. It also turns out that the edge of town is also where civilization comes to a standstill, no more buses or trains and definitely not Lyfts, which is very unfortunate for someone who has no car and about fifty pounds worth of shit dragging behind him. The reception on his phone is almost nonexistent anyway, so he's not sure he'd be able to hail a ride if he even had that option. His GPS app is still working enough to show him the exact miserable route he'll have to spend the next two hours walking, which—Newt learns as he begins trudging along the side of a dusty, deserted stretch of road—becomes even more miserable real fast when the sky changes from gloomily overcast to unleashing a torrential downpour of rain.

There better be heat or at least a fireplace at this place, or Newt suspects he might freeze to death in the middle of the night. Fucking unbelievable. If the rain soaks through his backpack and ruins his laptop, he's suing someone, possibly the dean of arts and sciences.

A handful of cars have passed Newt so far in the thirty minutes he's been walking, mostly farm-type vehicles—a pick-up truck with a tarp covering hay bales in the back, and another hitched to a trailer Newt thinks is housing horses—but the first to do anything but splash him with mud or slow down just enough for its driver to stare, bewildered, at the little weirdo stomping through puddles, is some sleek, and speedy, little European car that comes to a screeching halt when it rounds the corner and comes upon Newt. And Newt does mean speedy, too. At least twenty miles above the speed limit kinda speedy. Newt assumes the driver was just worried about hitting him with his insane driving, something which Newt was also worried about, so he's pleasantly surprised (and a little relieved) when the car gently pulls up next to him. The window rolls down: a bespeckled and grumpy-looking man around Newt's age and shrouded in a comically large green parka scowls out at him. He looks so unpleasant that Newt's not sure he wants a ride even if the guy's offering. "What on Earth are you doing in the middle of the road?" the man snaps.

He's British, which is kind of weird, very stuffy-prim-proper-tea-and-crumpets English. Probably speeding because he's late for dinner with the Queen or something. "I'm not in the middle of the road," Newt says. "I'm on the side." He has to shout to be heard over the patter of rain on the pavement and the top of the guy's car, which he's sure is making an even better first impression.

"You're still walking in the road," the man says. "Side or not. You ought to be walking in the grass—I can't see a damned thing in this weather, and I very nearly hit you."

Newt bites his tongue before he can say something incredibly rude about how that probably wasn't the only reason he almost hit Newt. "Thanks for the tip, super helpful," he says instead, which is still probably kind of rude. "Is that all?"

The man narrows his eyes at Newt behind his big, round, librarian glasses. He sniffs. "Don't you have an umbrella?" he says.

"Nah, dude," Newt says. "Well, I guess technically yes, but it's kinda buried in my suitcase, and I'm not sure—"

The man hefts out an umbrella from the passenger's seat with a small grunt and practically throws it through the window. Newt drops the handle of his guitar case and lunges to catch it. "Um," he says, "thanks?"

"You look like a bloody drowned rat," the man says.

He rolls the window up and pulls away, leaving Newt gawking after him. A minute later, his car backs up again. The window rolls down. "Oh, get in," he sighs at Newt.

"You know," Newt says, after he's hefted his luggage in the extremely tiny trunk of the car and slipped inside, trying (and failing) very, very hard not to drip too much rain and mud all over the interior, which is so spotless it looks fresh off the lot, "I feel like I should tell you I don't usually do shit like this. Hitchhike or whatever. You could be a serial killer or something." He pulls off his glasses and wipes them off as best as he can on his shirt, which has stayed decently dry under his leather jacket. "What I'm saying is I'm not totally dumb—" He stutters into silence when he slips his glasses back on and gets a proper look at his savior: wide gash of a mouth, prominent cheekbones, a sweatervest that's been out of style for at least four decades, a haircut that screams DIY almost painfully and makes his ears stick out even more than they already do. He's kind of hot, if you're into the whole stern professor thing. Like, you know, Newt is. He suddenly feels annoyingly self-conscious about his bedraggled appearance. What did he call Newt? A drowned rat.

"That I can hardly believe," the guy scoffs. He peels off. Newt clings to the arm rest, just a little. "Wandering the road in weather like this. Where are you even headed?"

"Just—" Newt squeaks. "Just, um, a couple miles up the road. I can tell you when I see the street sign." He hopes, anyway; he can't really make out much beyond his window. Just blurry shapes and things. A huge-ass farm hopefully shouldn't be too hard to miss, but he guesses if anything, he could at least get a ride to somewhere warm and with food. That's a big one, actually, food. Newt's kinda starving. "I'm Newt, by the way," he says. "I'm here because I inherited—"

"I really don't care," the man says.

"Oh," Newt says. "Um. Right."

Another sigh. "Oh, alright. I'm Dr. Hermann Gottlieb. I only say I don't care because the odds of us ever meeting again are extremely unlikely, so it's not use getting to know one another. I don't mean to be rude, of course."

"Uh, yeah," Newt says. "Okay."

He angles one of the air vents towards himself and tries to warm his hands. Hermann reaches out and turns the heat up a notch. "Thanks, man," Newt says. "And thank you so much for the ride, like, seriously, it's freezing out there, and I'm exhausted." Hermann hmps, but he doesn't tell Newt to shut up or anything this time, so Newt decides to press his luck. "I inherited some property kinda out of nowhere from my great-uncle," Newt says. "He has a farm or something around here. Had. Anyway, I'm on—" He clears his throat. "Um, sabbatical for a few—months—indefinitely—and I thought it would be nice to spend it somewhere quiet, far away from the university, you know? Read some books, watch—TV?" Is that what normal, non-high-strung people do on vacation? Watch TV? Sure. "Relax or whatever."

Hermann turns bodily in his seat and sweeps his eyes up Newt, from his muddy docs, to his skinny jeans, to his leather jacket, to his triple-pierced ears and the tattoos poking out of his collar. He raises an eyebrow. "You're a university professor?"

"Yeah, dude," Newt says. "I study—well, I kinda study a lot of things, but mostly I do biology."

Hermann shakes his head. "Here I was thinking your tour bus broke down," he says. "Though that doesn't answer my question about why you were walking in this weather—you really did look quite pathetic, you know. I thought the wind might blow you away."

He smiles at Newt, but it's not entirely kind—a little smug, a little mocking. Newt will take it, even if it makes him look like he bit into a whole lemon. "Because your public transportation here sucks, dude," Newt says. "I didn't really have a choice." His stomach rumbles sadly, and he remembers that the last time he ate something today was the world's most pitiful bag of roasted peanuts on the flight. "Ugh, okay. Forget the stupid farm. Is there a diner or cafe or something around here you could drop me off at? I'm starving."

Hermann hums consideringly, and taps his fingers against his steering wheel. "There is, yes, but it's a bit of a ways ahead. I suppose—" He taps his fingers a little faster. Hermann has kind of big hands. Is that a weird thing to think about someone you just met? Newt's not actively trying to be weird, the big hands thing is just an objective fact. "Well, I suppose you've not exactly settled in, have you? What I mean is it's not as if you've got—groceries, or those sorts of things. My house is only the next turn. You're welcome to stop in and have a coffee, and some dinner."

That's definitely the kind of thing a serial killer would offer, but Newt is honestly so hungry he doesn't even care if he gets serial-killed as long as Hermann lets him have a peanut butter sandwich or something first. Anyway, it might be nice to get to know someone in town, especially someone who is clearly going to be his neighbor—Newt's great-uncle's place can't be more than a minute away from Hermann's. But mostly Newt's just hungry. All of his self-preservation instincts have fled in the face of that. "Holy shit, please, do you mind?" Newt says. "You rock."

"It's no matter," Hermann says, but he sounds pleased, and there's a cute kind of blush creeping up his collar.

Hermann's house is the next turn, and it's a turn that Hermann makes too sharply, sending Newt thudding against the side of the car. Maybe he can walk to his great-uncle's farm from here, because he thinks he would like to never, ever have to be in a car with Hermann again. Weird, albeit kind of charming, company, but should absolutely have his license revoked immediately and forever. Hermann pulls a cane out from the tiny backseat and leans on it with a quiet groan when he exits the car, flipping up the hood of his stupid parka against the rain. "Don't bother with that now," he says as Newt scurries back to the trunk for his suitcases. "I'll give you another lift. Really, Newt, leave it, it's rather chilly and I'd like to be inside."

Hermann's house is more of a farmhouse, really, and it looks like no one's bothered updating anything since it was built over a hundred years ago. Several of the window-shutters, and all of the house numbers, are dangling by a thread, the siding paint is peeling, a depressed-looking pumpkin patch next to the front porch is overgrown with weeds, and the path to the door is marked by mossy stepping stones that Newt almost slips on twice as he and Hermann dash in for cover from the rain. Hermann's door is unlocked, which probably means he isn't hiding any deep dark serial killer secrets, but it does mean he's not very smart about his own safety. "Take off your boots, please, if you don't mind," Hermann says, shedding his heavy parka before Newt has even shut the door all the way against the wind. "I'd rather not have to mop up the mess later. You may hang your coat with mine, if you'd like."

Newt obeys both requests, hanging his leather jacket on a vacant hook next to the parka, and kicking off his filthy docs into a plastic tray tucked below it, before trailing after a satisfied Hermann into his kitchen. The interior of Hermann's (quaint) farmhouse is unsurprising, given the Dr. he dropped earlier: packed bookcases lining the walls, stacks of papers and journals on every available surface (they're scientific journals, which is kind of a pleasant surprise—Newt wonders if they're in the same field), a truly impressive pile of dishes in the kitchen sink that Hermann hastily attempts to hide from view with his back. "Er," he says. "Make yourself...at home, I suppose." His eyes dart back to his dishes. Newt spies at least three teacups. "I'll set a kettle on. Or coffee pot?"

"Tea's fine," Newt says. He moves another dorky sweater folded over the back of kitchen chair and drops into it. It's cluttered in here (very bachelor academic chic, this could be a window into his own apartment back home), but honestly pretty cozy, especially once Hermann lights up a fire in the massive kitchen fireplace. As he stirs a generous amount of sugar into the cup of strong tea Hermann hands him, Hermann busies himself in his fridge.

"I've not much in the way of groceries myself, really," he confesses, poking around one of the shelves. Over his shoulder, Newt can see some wilted produce, a bottle of some fancy German beer, and a carton of skim milk. "I meant to go out for some earlier today. How would you like...toast?"

"Dude," Newt says, "I will eat anything."

Hermann makes them toast with strawberry jam spread on top, another pot of a tea, and readies a plate of apple slices, and Newt devours his helping of everything in a matter of seconds. Hermann picks at his toast, watching Newt, before finally just sliding it across the table to him. "I don't mind," he says. Newt could kiss him. "You say your uncle had a farm?"

"Great-uncle," Newt corrects. He swallows a mouthful of apple. "He died last month, I guess, and apparently he liked me enough to leave it to me. Actually, I don't think it's that far from here? Maybe a street over?"

"Oh," Hermann says. "Of course."

He pushes himself to his feet with his cane and opens the curtains covering a window above the sink: through the haze of rain, Newt can make out another house looming barely a few hundred feet away. "It's not far at all," Hermann says. "I'm afraid we're next-door neighbors. That older fellow who used to live there was your great-uncle? I rather liked him. He was very quiet, it was lovely. I certainly hope you are too."

Newt wonders if he's thinking about the guitar case currently sitting snugly in his backseat. "He sent me a birthday card almost every year," Newt says. "So, like, what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? You don't really seem like a farmer type." Hermann looks like he would only feel at home in a library.

"Research," Hermann says. "Well, ostensibly. The sky is incredibly clear out here—no light pollution. You can see for miles. So to speak, anyway." He nods his head towards a small screened-in patio off of the kitchen, where—through the glass door—Newt can see more stacks of notebooks, a small chiminea, a chair, and an absolutely massive telescope, aimed up at grey sky through an open screen. "I find it quite relaxing. Peaceful. Often I find myself sitting out there for hours, just watching the stars."

"Do you ever see any UFOs?" Newt says.

Hermann rolls his eyes. "Eat your toast," he says.

Hermann insists on driving Newt the miniscule distance next door once the rain lets up a little and Newt starts to feel bad about overstaying his welcome (and also for eating most of the food Hermann has in his fridge—after the toast and apples and tea, Hermann also dug out some pickles and leftover veggie curry for Newt, and a shared dessert of chocolate cookies that Hermann keeps calling digestives), despite Newt's protests that he can just heft his belongings across their backyards without a problem. "I should think not," Hermann grumbles. "I won't have you stomping about and tearing up the grass and turning everything into mud. Anyway, it's still raining, and we ought to make sure you can even get inside the place first."

The key that Newt's dad passed him that morning fits in the lock of his inherited house without a problem, and he opens the door just enough to slip his suitcases inside before walking back down the driveway to say goodbye to Hermann (who chose to remain in the warmth of his car). Newt's honestly pretty surprised Hermann didn't peel away the moment Newt got the front door opened. He's also pretty surprised that Hermann actually rolls down his window to hear what Newt has to say. "Thanks again for everything, man," Newt says. "You have no idea how much I appreciate it. Like, really."

"Mm," Hermann says.

"I was wondering if, like," Newt flushes a little, "you'd want to see each other again some time? Maybe soon?"

"It would be rather hard not to," Hermann says. "We practically live on top of each other."

"I mean, like," Newt sighs. He used to be better at this kind of stuff. Or maybe Hermann is just missing his signals—or playing coy. Well, as coy as a guy in a sweatervest can play. His eyelashes do look like they could be particularly skilled at fluttering demurely. "We could hang out like we did tonight? But have an actual dinner? Or, like, maybe we could use your telescope together?" He adds, just in case, "Alone? Just the two of us?"

"Hm," Hermann says. The king of monosyllables. He gives Newt another weird, terse smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkle warmly. "I think I should like that."

Newt will take it. "Cool!" he says. "That's—awesome! Goodnight, then, I guess?"

"Goodnight," Hermann says.

From the window of his drafty new bedroom later that night, once the rain has stopped and the sky has cleared completely of clouds, Newt watches Hermann's house lights shut off, and a small glow ignite itself in the darkness of Hermann's screened-in porch. Even to Newt's unaided eye, he can tell Hermann is right—the sky is especially bright here.