#but that the guy wouldn’t come back to harass the employees

[deancoded-deangirl]

I am in the truck shaking and trying to breathe slowly and not throw up but my stomach is in knots and terrified.

[pucksandpower]

Man’s World

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari engineer!Reader

Summary: Charles refuses to just stand by and watch as you get disrespected

Warnings: misogyny and lewd comments

You’re admiring the sleek lines of the red Ferrari F8 Tributo in front of you, running your fingers lightly over the glossy paint. The showroom is quiet this early in the morning, just a few employees milling about getting ready for the day.

Charles had to stop by to sign some merchandise for a charity event and asked if you wanted to tag along. You opted to wait out front and enjoy the eye candy while he took care of business.

You circle around to the back of the car, appreciating the aggressive styling and massive rear diffuser. As an engineer for Scuderia Ferrari who often extends your expertise to working on their road cars, you know every detail of this machine intimately. Your hands itch to pop the hood and inspect that glorious twin-turbo V8, but you resist.

This isn’t your workshop back in Maranello.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the group of guys entering the showroom until one whistles loudly. “Hey baby, those legs look good enough to wrap around me real tight,” one calls out.

You freeze, feeling your heart rate pick up.

“Don’t be shy, we just want to get to know you better,” another says as they swagger over.

You press back against the car, sizing up the situation. Four of them, all clearly well-off based on the expensive watches and designer clothes. But their eyes are cruel as they look you up and down.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” The apparent ringleader asks. “Hoping to sink your claws into some rich guy and take him for all he’s worth?” The others laugh nastily.

You lift your chin. “Actually, I happen to work for Ferrari.”

The man snorts in disbelief. “Yeah right, and I’m Michael Schumacher. There’s no way a woman knows anything about these cars other than where the passenger seat is.”

You clench your fists, biting back a scathing retort. The thought of educating these misogynistic jerks gives you immense satisfaction, but you know it won’t do any good. They’ll never change their prejudiced attitudes.

“Don’t listen to him, darling,” one says, giving you a lecherous look. “I’d be happy to take you for a ride, show you how a real man handles power between his legs.”

You’re about to tell him exactly where he can shove his stereotypes when a familiar voice interrupts sharply.

“That’s enough.”

You look over to see Charles striding angrily toward you, green eyes blazing. The men surrounding you look irritated at having their fun spoiled.

“Can we help you with something, pal?” The ringleader asks sarcastically.

Charles ignores him, coming to stand protectively beside you. “Are you okay, mon amour?” He asks under his breath.

You nod, relief washing over you now that he’s here. “I’m fine.”

Charles turns an icy stare on the men who’d been harassing you. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t speak to my girlfriend that way,” he says coldly.

The leader looks Charles up and down dismissively. But then a spark of recognition crosses his face. “Wait a minute … you’re Charles Leclerc!” He elbows his friends. “The Formula 1 driver!”

The others’ eyes widen as they take in Charles with new understanding. “Whoa, seriously?” One exclaims.

The leader chuckles, clearly trying to recover his bravado. “Well, what do you know? The famous racer has a pretty girl on his arm.” His lips curl in a smirk. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s obvious she’s just using you for your money. No way she knows anything about these cars other than how much they cost.”

Charles crosses his arms. “As it so happens, my girlfriend is an engineer for Scuderia Ferrari, so I’d bet my entire net worth — and my car collection — that she knows more about the cars in this dealership than all four of you combined and then some.”

You have to bite your lip to hide a smile at the dumbfounded looks on the men’s faces.

“An engineer?” One sputters. “You can’t be serious.”

You level a challenging stare at them. “Deadly serious. I’ve personally worked on over a dozen projects for Ferrari, including the SF90 Stradale hypercar we just launched.” You point across the showroom. “There’s one right over there, in fact. Mid-front mounted 4.0L twin-turbo V8, delivering 769 brake horsepower combined with three electric motors. First plug-in hybrid Ferrari ever put into full production.” You smirk at the slack-jawed stares your technical rundown elicits. “So yes, I’d say I know a thing or two about these cars.”

Charles grins proudly and squeezes your hand. But the leader is not ready to back down just yet.

“Anyone can memorize a monologue,” he scoffs. “I don’t buy it. You’re clearly just clinging to this guy for his money.”

Fury rises in your chest. You open your mouth to retaliate, but Charles beats you to it.

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about,” he snaps, green eyes blazing. “I’d be very careful with what you say next.”

The man smirks, crossing his bulky arms over his chest. “Or what, tough guy?”

Charles takes a step forward, jaw clenched. The man towers over him but Charles doesn’t flinch.

Right as it looks like things might get physical, you quickly take Charles’s arm. “He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Charles hesitates, nostrils flaring. After a tense moment, he relaxes his stance and turns his back on the leering man.

But it seems the group isn’t done provoking you yet. “That’s right, listen to your sugar baby,” one of them calls out. “Wouldn’t want you messing up that pretty face for the cameras.”

Charles whips back around, shaking with anger now. Heart pounding, you cling to his arm in an effort to hold him back. “Charles, please-”

“No, Y/N.” He shakes off your hand, stalking toward the men. “I won’t stand here and let them insult you.”

You watch helplessly as Charles gets right in the leader’s face, nearly nose to nose. “You need to apologize. Now,” he grits out.

The man narrows his eyes. “Apologize? For what? Stating the obvious?” He smirks coldly. “Face it, your little girlfriend is nothing but a gold diggin-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. With lightning speed, Charles’ fist connects squarely with his jaw. The man stumbles back with a pained shout, hand flying to his face.

“Charles!” You hurry to his side, alarmed. Charles is breathing hard, staring down at the man doubled over and groaning. The man’s friends back away nervously.

Chest heaving, Charles turns to you. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t listen to him insult you for another second.”

You meet his fiery gaze steadily. “It’s okay, I understand. Thank you for defending me.” After a beat, you add wryly, “And remind me not to get on your bad side.”

That startles a small laugh from Charles. The tension in his shoulders eases. He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “No chance of that, mon ange,” he murmurs. “You bring out the best in me.”

***

“Ow, ow, ow!” Charles hisses as he gingerly holds his right hand. His knuckles are bruised and bleeding.

You sigh, grabbing the first aid kit to tend to your dramatic boyfriend. “I told you not to punch him, Charles. You don’t know the first thing about throwing a proper punch.”

Charles pouts, wincing as you take his hand in yours to examine it. “I was just trying to defend your honor, mon amour. That man was saying such crude things about you.”

You shake your head, amused by his protectiveness. “My hero,” you tease. “Next time just walk away. I don’t need you breaking your hand over some entitled idiot’s comments.”

Charles hangs his head. “I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just saw red when he kept insulting you.”

You smile softly, touched by how much he cares. You start cleaning the wounds on his knuckles with a disinfectant wipe.

“Ow!” Charles cries out dramatically. “That stings!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” you chide. “It’s just a little antiseptic. I have to clean it so it doesn’t get infected.”

Charles pouts some more but stays still as you finish cleaning the abrasions. You apply an antibiotic ointment carefully before beginning to wrap his hand with a bandage.

“I really messed up my hand, didn’t I?” Charles mumbles dejectedly.

You nod. “You definitely did some damage. Nothing serious, but you’ll be sore for a while.”

Once you’ve wrapped his hand securely, you bring it to your lips and place a gentle kiss on the bandage. “There. All better.”

Charles gives you a lopsided smile. “My own personal nurse. How did I get so lucky?”

You grab an ice pack from the freezer and hand it to him. “Here, put this on your hand to help with the swelling and pain.”

Charles sighs dramatically but does as instructed, holding the ice pack gingerly against his injured hand.

You glance at his wrapped hand, the knuckles already starting to bruise beneath the bandage. “Does it hurt terribly?”

Charles considers the question. “Honestly? Yes, it really does. Punching someone is not as easy as it looks in the movies.”

You laugh. “No kidding. That’s why you leave the punching to trained fighters, not Formula 1 drivers.”

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” Charles mutters. “What will the team say when they find out I injured myself in a fight? And I’ll never hear the end of it from Pierre.”

You pat his leg reassuringly. “Just say you hurt it working out. No one has to know about your misguided attempt at honorable combat,” you tease.

Charles chuckles ruefully. “Good idea. The last thing I need is for this to become paddock gossip.”

You both sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, Charles icing his hand while you snuggle contentedly against him.

"Thank you for patching me up and taking such good care of me,” Charles gently brushes the hair from your face with his uninjured hand. “Even when I do stupid things."

You grin. “It’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it. Especially since you did almost break your hand for me.”

You settle back against Charles comfortably. He may be reckless and impulsive at times, but you know he always has the best intentions at heart. And you'll always be there to care for him if those good intentions backfire.

For better or worse, this protective man is the love of your life.

[diejager]

hiiiii! can i request a miguel x reader? miguel is a big shady business man (kinda like king pen) who owns a strip club and reader is one of the strippers who everyone knows not to mess with since she’s miguel’s girl. a guy starts sexually harassing reader and miguel kicks his ass and puts him in his place. if you’re cormfortable, i would like smut ❤️

Property Cw: smut, possessive behaviour, DUB-CON, worshipping, sex workers, strip club, pimp, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, marking, stripper/sex worker!reader, tell me if I missed any.

Despite the place being a strip club - one on the higher end of the city - there was one rule that it followed to a T without exception: do not touch the workers without consent, yet this pig decided to forgo this fundamental rule put in place in ever strip club and touched you when you’ve told him many times to back off. His sweaty and grabby hands moving across your skin left you shuddering, his hands leaving you feeling disgusted by his touch.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, moving between the bodies to get away from the man.

“C’mon babe!” He moved to try to grab you, insistent that he only wanted to share a drink and talk, “Please! One lap dance!”

Men like him just couldn’t take no, it frustrated you. That might’ve been what he said : one lap dance, but you knew his type, he would demand for more after you were done and become forceful if you didn’t comply. You tried to distance yourself from him, your heels thumping quietly on the velvet flooring, hurried and annoyed while the man followed you, his fingers grazing the naked skin of your shoulder. You wore a blue teddy, the darkest shade of navy strapped to your skin, the bust acting as a corset to push out your breasts and the thin fabric cupping the swell of your ass. It was almost sheer, the few ribbons and decorative texture hiding anything too intimate from the public and garter straps holding your sheer stockings up your thighs. Your attire seemed to be the source of his obsession and of his liking, even following you to the boss’s VIP corner.

“No!” You swung your arm back, hurrying to the bodyguards standing between the VIP and public area of the club, “I told you-”

In your frantic hiss, you walked into a wall, groaning softly. The wall was more so a wall of sculpted muscle than a plaster and drywall, a firm hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his protective embrace. A wide and firm palm gripped your stomach, kneading the soft flesh under the lingerie.

“When she says no, it means no, cabrón,” Miguel growled, his broad stature overshadowing the man that followed you. When you turned your head, Miguel had his wrist in hand, the man winced and whimpered at the tight hold, strength threatening to break his wrist, “You got that?”

He nodded, running away with his tail tucked between his legs, out of the club and as far as he could from the beast that held you gently. Turning you around, he led you up the stairs connected to his upstairs suite, a personal balcony that overlooked the proudest part of his kingdom.

“He’s done.”

He wouldn’t be coming back, once Miguel gave the order, the person wouldn't ever be allowed back into any of his establishments. He had rules that he wanted to be respected, towards his employees and especially you, his sweet girl that he picked up from the previous pimp in the area he now controlled with an iron fist towards the cruel and abusive.

His mezzanine was spacious, a soft, faux leather couch, a black able and a private bar area in a corner for him to indulge in his drunken pleasures with or without guests. You’ve always liked this place, a distance from the music and crowd on the ground floor, it was a solace in the busy club. He sat you on the table, the cool surface making you flinch while he faced you, the leather dipping with his weight. He tenderly cradled your cheeks, thumb running along the curve of your painted lips, his eyes roving down your coverage, smooth skin uncovered to his hungry eyes and calling for him.

“Oh, mi dulce Musa,” he cooed, his lips kissing a line down your neck, the dip of your collar, the smell of your breasts and the warmth of your cunt, wetness pooling over the fabric of the teddy he gifted you. “I’m happy you came to me first.”

He hooked a thigh over his shoulder, spreading you on your back as he slipped a finger under your lace, pulling it aside to look at your glistening folds. Sliding two fingers between your labia and collecting your slick on his calloused pads, spreading them open to admire your cunt, clenching around air —hungry for his thick digits. He bowed his head, pressing a kiss on your throbbing clit, pulsing and needy, circling the entrance of your drooling hole, feeling it clench. Wrapping his lips around your nub, he sucked on it as he plunged in, two fingers stretching your tight warmth, guiding his hand in and out.

You cried out, bucking your hips against his rugged face, grinding upwards with a slow mewl. You felt stretched wide, a finger of his counted two of yours, long and sturdy, pumping into you with a goal in mind, tapping your gummy, sweet spot and pulling you apart from the seams. You moaned, shuddering under him, body wracked with tremors when he pumped a third finger, untangling you from the seams of your salacious and confident image you built from your time as a sex worker. You were a wanton mess, back arching and legs quaking, painted nails curled around Miguel’s hair, pleasure coiled tightly in your core.

His pace was steady, hand driving in deeply, coaxing more slick out of you, curling against your warmth. You clung to him desperately, head thrown back and teary eyed as you balanced on the precipice of your climax, an agonising thrum of pleasure beating between your thighs. Sensing your end, he rolled your clit with the tip of his tongue, giving you a bit of solace before he sunk his teeth into the meat of your thigh. You wailed, jerking around as your pussy closed around his fingers, your heat squirting over his hand. It was a blinding fire, eyes rolling back into a white cloud, sightless after your earth-shattering orgasm.

He whispered sweet compliments, laving over the bloodied mark with the flat of his tongue, slowly pumping in and out of you until you rode off your release, legs still shaking and hands still curled around his head. He kissed his bite, red eyes drinking in your debauched figure with his mark, a sign of ownership over you, the red indentation of his teeth bleeding you.

“Mía. Mi dulce Musa,” he whispered, gazing at you lovingly, predatory eyes glowing bright red under his lashes and wild curls.

Taglist: @yas-v @elliewilliamsbae @rinieloliver

[wawamouse]

Oz Rewatch 3: S6E03: Sonata da Oz

Plotlines

Eugene Dobbins guesting

Keller and Beecher are saying goodbye; Keller attacks Lopresti; Schillinger goes to visit Loewen, who berates him; Yood tells Beecher that Winthrop killed his father; Loewen threatens Devlin; Beecher is released from Oz; Loewen is killed in the hospital

Stella reaches out to Pablo Rosa; Norma visits Rebadow to ask him to talk to Busmalis

Cutler fights Pancamo for Robson; Glynn gives Pancamo back the kitchens on the condition he leaves the Aryans alone

Martinez continues to be ill and harassed by Brass; Chico visits Martinez to shank him but ultimately chooses not to, angering Morales; Martinez dies in the night under Nurse Grace’s care; Gloria fires heron the spot and informs Glynn she’ll be publicizing the autopsy results; Glynn decides to hold a press conference about the toxins in Solitary;

Brass tells Murphy that Martinez confessed that Morales ordered him; Morales is placed in Solitary where Brass cuts his achilles tendons

Hoyt has a mental breakdown on Death Row; Mukada asks Sister Pete to examine Hoyt; Mukada releases Kirk’s possession to his mother

Sister Pete tries to take Jericho from Cyril, who resists and is upset; Cyril is set to be executed; he is put through electro shock to deal with his emerging mental illness and return to a mental space fit for execution

Redding tells the Homeboys they will be working in the telemarketing office

Said is visited by the publishers who tell him the legal battles involved; Said decides to publish Augustus’s boo himself and pay the employees minimum wage; Idzik, posing as a reporter, kills Said

I accidentally started episode 4 instead and had to DIVE for the play controls before McManus announced Said’s death to Emerald City 😅 So she already heard the part that was like "Yesterday, a man came to Oz pretending to be a journalist" and was suspicious when Said went to meet with a supposed reporter at the end of the episode. Whoopsss

Me: What does Yood get from egging this on? Sister: He gets to keep his companion.

Sister: He’s got that prison-itis where he just starts telling everyone his plans. He’s going to die in this episode.

Sister: No time for hugs! Leave, leave, leave! Get out first and then come back and hug him in the visiting room! Quick! Before the door closes!

Sister: Your boy is moving up in the world. Rebelling… Now that he made up with Miguel, it's time for a new leader…

Sister: Uhh, are they banging? Miss ma’am? What are your fingers doing?

Sister: I don’t get it, either… (proceeds to muse for several minutes)

Sister: Wait, wait, wait. They publicly revealed that Solitary is full of poison and they’re still just putting people in there?

Sister: His ideas are getting too big… Something's going to happen. Said: Mentions he's meeting a reporter Sister: NOOOOO... he's going to DIE.....

Stray Thoughts

Sister was impatient to see Beecher leave

Sister thinks Eleanor is Secretly Evil

Final Thoughts Sister: I was wondering why there wasn’t really a Said storyline this season, and it was because now he’s gone forever… I wonder if the writers got lazy and just killed him so they wouldn’t have to figure out what to do about all the legal battles. Damn, and now we won’t get to see Beecher come visit him and hug him in the visiting room… And who will be leader now? Arif? I guess so, but he seems to have control problems. They’re not going to bring a new guy in just to be the leader, because this is season 6. Everything’s falling apart… What are we going to do? What’s the point? Said’s dead…

Sister: The Irish guy (Murphy) got stupider. Me: Ryan? Sister: No, the other one. The guy who just went along with things. Me: Oh, Murphy. Sister: Yeah, maybe. Also, if I worked there and they said that part of my workplace was contaminated, I would not be stepping foot in there. Not only did they know that area was making people sick, but they put people back there and continued to voluntarily step into the space. I’d be pissed. I’d be calling OSHA. Me: Did they mention that they are already fixed the situation and we just forgot? Sister: I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure he just said to keep it hush hush and then stuck them back in Solitary… Sister: Also, if they’re cutting him up in Solitary, how are they supposed to make up an excuse? Don’t they have to take him to the hospital? And they’re cutting his heels, so that’s like a slow torture and they’re all exposed to the contaminants. Like, shouldn’t that one lady be sick, too? The one who keeps going to all of the prisoner’s cells? And she works there? Ooh, is that what the plot is going to be? Retribution at last? Is the lady going to die? Hm… I guess it depends on how the show wants me to feel about them… 20 years later…

Me: Any predictions for the rest of the season? Sister: The lady may or may not die… Mm, I was going to say maybe the prison will close, but they didn’t even close it when it got blown up. They just moved everyone to a different part, so I guess not. Umm… McManus will leave, depending on what happens. The Poet guy may try to take control from Redding, and the telemarketing office is going to do credit card scams…. Miguel? I don’t know… He didn’t really have a storyline this episode, either. Other than being horny. Also, the priest is having some demon plot line… You know, kind of rude of Mr. Reverend to disappear and instead of hanging around on Mr. Priest’s shoulder, he lets the devil ride there instead. He should be coming over like “shoo, shoo, this is my guy”. Like, if you’re supernatural, and the devil is supernatural, then you’re on the same playing field. You could tell him to fuck off, that’s your shoulder. Or, you could send prophetic dreams to him and be like “there is no devil on your shoulder” like the biker dude said. That way Mr Priest isn’t all paranoid, looking at his shoulder and thinking he’s haunted.

Sister: I think Cyril will die. Me: Which episode, do you think? Sister: Episode 5…

[fleckcmscott]

Making Motions

Summary: Months ago, Y/N shared an unexpected flight of fancy. Arthur decides to take it to heart.

Words: 3,652

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: @sweet-nothings04​ requested to see Arthur enact the fantasy mentioned in Ch. 3 of Stepping Stones. 👓 This is the result! Hope you all enjoy this story! Thanks for your support! 😊

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Three sandwiches in a row. Three lunches gobbled in a meeting. Three breaks skipped to pace the length of an oak conference table. But going up against NCB required more than a will to find a way, so Y/N took another bite of pastrami on wheat and settled on the windowsill.

Popular wisdom held that harassment was a worry solely for women. That they were never, ever perpetrators. Having come of age before she could get a loan on her own, experienced an era in which an employer had sought her ex-husband's permission to hire her, it'd been a hiccup for Y/N to get past that assumption.

But power had a way of begetting bad behavior, which in turn begat ever more power. And when Aaron Williams had stumbled into her office, embarrassment trembling his squared off fingers, she'd believed him.

Lana Miller, Gotham's Golden Girl, charmed the city on the six o'clock news. Bringing You the Truth! as the slogan went. Bleached teeth smile, gleaming grey gaze, a confident cadence that demanded trust.

She'd set her eyes on Mr. Williams a month after he'd signed his contract. Blocking his way as he'd try to exit the production control room, suggestive comments that'd escalated to the outright lewd. An offer to put in a good word with management if he'd visit after a broadcast. ("I hold a lot of sway with the boys upstairs.")

When a meeting had devolved into her nude on his desk, that grey gaze had turned steely. He'd kicked her out and filed a complaint.

A cardboard box shoved at his chest, an order to leave the premises by noon. That a handful of others had reported bullying hadn't mattered to The Top. Ratings were too high, too critical to hassle the on-air talent. A behind the scenes guy was expendable, a money saver even. Big deal if he blabbed about it over beer with buddies. That kind of tale had been blabbed before. Bye, bye trouble, hello to the next desperado trying to break into showbiz.

Wage theft, safety violations, employee misclassifications. Those were matters Dube, Ellis, & Flat handled on a regular basis. Filing a motion in court often got the Mom and Pops to behave. Publicized cases, though? Speculation aired on tabloid television? The firm wasn't used to that.

Williams v. National Center for Broadcasting had spent the past year collecting dust in the corner filing cabinet, waiting for its turn on the docket. NCB had stalled every way it could. Frivolous Motions to Dismiss, fillings for discovery every month as if a past due bill. A flurry of due process that felt like old money showing off. Then, low and behold, another case settled, and their matter was set for a two-week trial.

The delay had allowed Y/N plenty of investigation hours. He saids, She saids were hard to prove, and anything she could find to put a dent in the network's excuses was worth the effort.

She'd snuck into NCB studios as part of a tour group, just to refamiliarize herself with the place. When a copy editor discovered her in the stairwell, pretending to be a new employee had been the easiest solution. ("Oh, you must be Brenda's replacement! Personnel is one floor up.")

Mrs. Cunningham was a barrel of woman, a cigarette held perpetually in her left hand. Y/N asked about Spencer Fox, a counterfeit sounding name that kept appearing in NCB's filings. "He's an old friend," she'd claimed. "I wouldn't mind getting back in touch."

The older woman shook her head. "He moved to California nine months ago, pilots and renewals. Damned if I know when he'll be back."

At that dismissive declaration, Y/N had to shove her hands under her thighs to hide her excitement. Fox had sent in an affidavit, stating he'd witnessed no harassment during the period in question. Now she could testify that was meaningless. Mistreatment is easy to miss from three thousand miles away.

Turning to sift through manila folders, Mrs. Cunningham tapped ash into a pink ashtray, florals printed in the glass. "What did you say your name was? Treble? Your paperwork isn't here." She'd offered a pained expression. "You look more fun than Brenda. God, I hope you are. She had bitch stitched in her seams."

Y/N wished circumstances would have allowed her to get to know this woman better. As a thank you for her trouble, she'd sprung for two vending machine coffees, shaken her hand, and slipped through the nearest emergency exit.

"I'm not even that good looking," Mr. Williams said, fingers trembling again. He flexed his knuckles, left knee bouncing like a snare drum. Mannerisms that held a touch of Arthur. "I don't know why she picked me."

Placing her sandwich on a napkin, she took a coffee carafe from the center of the table to refill his cup. "Her actions have nothing to do with you and everything to do with a lack of consequences. But we're going to change that, aren't we?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I guess so."

"Good. Now let's review court etiquette and your testimony again."

She covered the basics. Stand when the judge enters and leaves, always address him as Your Honor, don't chew gum during the proceeding. When on the stand, pause before answering. Make sure you understand the question being asked. Be clear and concise.

"Don't guess, either," she continued. "It's fine not to recall everything, even expected. Remember you're under oath. An 'I don't know' is better than speculation." She'd seen too many people twist themselves into Slinkys trying to say the right thing, to justify themselves. "And don't volunteer information. If you get nervous, focus on our team. We're here for you." She popped the last bit of crust between her lips, wiped her fingers, and grabbed her binder.

The lines between her brows deepened. Fingers paged through the documents faster and faster. She regarded Mr. Williams over the top of the binder. "Let's take five minutes." Then she rose and jogged to her office. The file had to be there...

Just as she strode in, her phone rang. One hand sorting already sorted stacks, she set it to speaker. "Dube, Ellis, & Flat, this is Y/N."

"Hey, it's Arthur." Her heart leapt. She grabbed the receiver to listen closer. "I was wondering if we could meet for lunch? I'm kinda in the mood for a Reuben. They're on special today." Patricia had gotten him hooked on the combo of sauerkraut and corned beef.

Y/N's heart sank back to her ribs, a pang starting below her left breast. A glance through half-glass walls. Her colleagues were gathering materials for this afternoon's meeting with expert witnesses. She'd be expected post-haste.

"I'd love to but we're so busy here," she said. Then added, a tad defensively, "You've seen the news coverage."

"Oh." The solitary syllable came out low and slow.

She closed her eyes. She hated disappointing him. As of late, she'd found herself doing so too often. "I promise to be home on time tonight. I'll make it up to you-"

"There's nothing to make up."

"-when all this bullshit is over. Tell you what. I'll save you my coleslaw."

"No, you need to eat."

"Y/N!" Her name bellowed across the room like an air horn. Not scolding but sure to get her attention.

A pause. "You better go," Arthur said.

She raised her hand in a One Minute gesture. She wasn't about to cut this goodbye short. "Thank you for understanding. I don't take it for granted."

"Yeah. See you tonight."

"You will," she affirmed. "You will."

~~~~~

The cordless handset clicked in the cradle. A lean hip hutted against the counter, a cutting line against bone. Arthur pressed his head to the light blue cabinet door. He drew in one long breath.

He'd meant what he'd said. There was nothing to apologize for, there was nothing to forgive. He'd read the headlines, heard the lowlights on GCR, skimmed editorials in the paper. NCB was continuing its age-old tradition of shitting on the little guy.

And he knew what was at stake for Y/N. Challenging those who abused their advantage was important to her, had been since they'd met. Christ, it was how they'd met. He couldn't be prouder of her for believing in something, for having convictions strong enough to take it on. Yet, tendrils of dissatisfaction spread across his chest, a vise he couldn't loosen no matter how much he longed to. An annoyance as much as it was truth.

She'd helped him. Plenty. Taking messages from clients, ensuring his gigs were on the kitchen calendar so they could plan around them. On evenings he was home late, dinner was ready and on the table. She rubbed his lower back if it ached, massaged the stubborn knots that tended to swell by his misshapen shoulder. (He was over forty now; his body liked to remind him.) She listened when needed, left him alone when requested.

A couple Tuesdays ago, he'd dropped in his chair, palms flat on his desk. A sinking slowness had snuck into his schedule, leaving him bereft, feeling unwanted. As if he should do more but with no clear vision of what. He'd worried the seam of his legal pad, curled torn strips of yellow paper with his thumb. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."

Clad in mauve tunic and black leggings, Y/N had knelt beside him. Offered a tender look with love as its foundation, gentle debate twinkling her pupils. "Do it until it stops making you happy," she'd said, ruffling his oily hair. He'd leaned into that touch like she was water and his ruminations flames to be doused. "But even then," she'd continued. "Don't quit. Think of it as taking a break. That way you can make sure you want to live without it."

He'd taken her advice, kept his calendar clear. A choice rather than circumstance. So far, it'd been a good decision, one that allowed him to write more jokes, make more observations, work on his timing, work on himself. Already, the itch to return to Carnival had started in his inner wrist, traversed his lanky arm. Led to an impromptu dance in the living room, when he hadn't moved to a beat in days.

She was a resilient woman, wore an exterior as tough as bull hide. But he saw through all that. Deepened wrinkles framed her mouth, flattened cheeks, eyelids that drooped well before bedtime.

Y/N had restarted his pulse. There had to be a way for him to do the same.

Heaving a sigh, he tapped a Stutton into his palm. Grabbed his lighter from the counter and headed for the fire escape.

Just as he was about to light up (a few seconds too early, he'd crack the window, she'd never know), a folder on the coffee table forced a doubletake. Egg timer set, limiting herself to half an hour, she'd worked on a binder last night. He'd brought her a coffee, kissed the top of her head, skimmed the top notes in her loopy script.

Arthur's lips pinched. From the beginning of their courtship, she'd stressed that she'd tell him what she could, but privacy laws and her own code of ethics prevented her from sharing a whole hell of a lot. But this was their coffee table in their living room in their apartment. Obviously, the folder had been forgotten. If he were to steal a peek, who would know? Maybe it held the key to giving her a hand.

That convenient line of thought drove him to pluck it from the table and flip it open.

Green bar printer sheets, two columns of questions in dot matrix font. LIKELY and HYPOTHETICALS in all caps. Squinting, he held the pages a foot away. How many incidents were there? Did you report them to anyone? Can you describe your relationship with...

A sudden image came to him, a spark of awareness. A flight of fancy imparted in a hospital garden, sitting side by side on a concrete bench. Cool breeze on raw, goosepimpled skin. Whiffs of strawberries and musk.

Yes. Yes, that would work!

He raced to the bedroom closet, nearly stumbling in his haste. A suitable shirt, striped tie, brown trousers, freshly polished Oxfords. Only a couple more props were necessary. A bit of research at the video store, the jotting of his own questions.

From interviews on the highest rated shows to dating the prettiest girl in the world, fantasy was one of Arthur's longstanding habits. Although the weaves of his dreams had changed - less dire, more aspire - his mind still titled towards the land of make believe. He had no doubt he could pull this off.

Eager as a gumshoe, he patted his wallet, tossed on his jacket, and flew out the door.

~~~~~

Though the temperature hovered around fifty, patches of sweat darkened the armpits of Y/N's bow tie blouse. The breakneck pace of the day had overheated her, ponderings of all tomorrow would bring. And where the hell that file could have disappeared to.

Due to electrical work, she had to exit the subway at Ditmas Avenue. Five stops early. She skipped the offered buses to walk the rest of the way to 4A. That always helped her sort her thoughts, decompress. Put her mind in Pay Attention to Home mode rather than lingering on a missed comma in an affidavit.

Besides, she adored her adopted hometown, the aura of the city, the souls of its people. The street musician blasting a trumpet on the corner, the homeless woman wrapped in a blanket who asked for the time, the guy in a beanie selling bootleg VHS tapes, laid out on a ragged blanket. Y/N loved them all. And, if she was lucky, walks led to unexpected joys. Like the stroll from Burnley that'd led to a certain greasy donut shop in Otisburg.

A sort of silliness accompanied her, the kind only fatigue can bring. Silly as best experienced with Arthur. She'd stopped at Ed's Grocery for a surprise dinner of breaded pollack fillets with white rice and ketchup - a take on a fish stick dish he'd often made as a teenager - and a lone flower, the apology he'd said wasn't needed.

Coat hung on its hook, kitten heels kicked off, court bag dropped to the floor, she moved to put the fish in the fridge. Brown Eyed Susan in hand, she aimed for the living room to find her husband, seize the kiss she'd craved since his call.

She stood stockstill in the entrance. Fingers curled about the stem. Her lips gaped.

Buttressed on the wall to her right, under the windows, sat the television and coffee table. To her left, the cream couch was now six inches in front of their console stereo in a parallel line. A yard from the bedroom door stood a lone dining chair, the remaining three had been arranged in random spots about the room. A sort of imitation of an audience. Or a gallery...

Was this what she thought it was?

Pulling at his belt loops, Arthur entered from the bathroom. With the sheer will of a gallon of hair gel, deep mocha locks had been forced into a side part. He wore a violet and gold striped tie, fixed neatly at his neck in a half Windsor knot. The pale yellow button-up was a shirt he donned far too rarely, his medium brown trousers the perfect fit for his narrow waist. Black suspenders gave him a look more 1940s than modern. A classic, classy man. It was a style that worked, one she loved on him and only him.

He nodded at her, mischief curving his lips. "I'd like to call Y/N Fleck to the stand?"

"Arthur..." Chuckling, she shook her head, crossing the carpet. She reached to embrace him, petals brushing his bicep. "What in the world?"

He caught her hands. His were warm and firm on her skin. "I wanna help. I rented 'Adam's Rib.'"

"Isn't that about a murder trial?"

"Yeah, the husband and wife are lawyers. Anyway, I think I got the hang of it. I know you sometimes get nervous when you testify. I thought it'd be good to practice, like what I do for my shows."

Wetness stung the corners of her eyes. She blinked it away in haste. That he'd recall the fantasy she'd shared at Arkham, a goofy trifle she'd disclosed during his toughest of times, moved her deeply. He was a wave upon the sand of her soul.

Clearing her throat, she slipped the flower in his breast pocket and patted it twice. He angled his head to admire it, gave her hand another squeeze. "I better hurry before the court holds me in contempt," she said, and passed him to sit on the setoff dining chair, the presumed witness stand.

A piece of paper emerged from his sleeve, a magician's move. He unfurled it with a flick of the wrist. Her brows shot up and held. "Where did you find that?" she asked, incredulous. She'd recognize that dusty printer paper anywhere, the list she'd spent a better part of the afternoon scouring for.

"The coffee table." He plucked a pair of reading glasses from his trouser pocket. Espresso browline, rounded wire bottoms, a pair that looked as if it'd been selected from the display stand at Groves. When he put them on, the temple tip momentarily caught in his hair. 

She felt her insides melt. It was a glimpse of the future she longed for.

His gaze rose from the paper. "Raise your hand."

"Which one?" As innocent as an intern on her first day.

"Uh, the right," he said, indicating with his chin. He straightened his posture, feet squared with his shoulders. "Do you swear to tell the truth?"

"I swear to tell you anything."

A laugh caught behind his teeth, green eyes sparkling. "What's your name?"

"Y/N Fleck." She spelled it for good measure. A third of court transcribers left off the h.

"And what's your job? Have you had it for long?"

"I'm a senior paralegal at Dube, Ellis, & Flat. I've held that position for just under a year. I started there as a paralegal in 1982 - before the Flat. Prior to that, I worked in firms both in Gotham and Missouri."

"I see. Do you think you're a good boss, Ms. Fleck?"

"Misses, actually." At the correction, pleased pink stained his cheekbones. She crossed her legs at the knee. "And I'm no one's boss, but I am good at what I do."

"What did your client say happened?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to object to that question." She tapped her chin in mock suspicion. "It's dangerously close to hearsay."

"What does that mean?"

"That you'll have to ask the complainant directly, not me."

"Okay, well..." Eyes narrowing, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "How did you prepare for trial?"

Flirty and fun was what she wanted to be, but reciting it all, even the compact version she offered, exhausted her all over again. "I reviewed the filings submitted by both parties. I assisted in preparing the complainant and expert witnesses to testify. I snuck into NCB Studios - an old habit I developed awhile back. And I put on many, many pots of coffee."

"That sounds like a lot. Gotham is lucky to have you." A tender look that said and so am I.

"It has been. A little too much." She let out a weary sigh, everything at risk an abrupt weight on her shoulders. All she'd wanted tonight was escape and laughter and him, but now... She folded her hands together in her lap to maintain her composure.

Lowering the list, he ventured a step closer. Earnestness softened the lines of his face. His head dipped down and towards her. "How are you feeling about next week?"

Suddenly, she was the case he'd decided to investigate. She shifted in her seat. "That depends. Are you retained by the plaintiff or the defendant?"

"I'm on your side," he said, kind as a pat on the back.

Fresh perspiration stained her blouse. Five seconds of pondering before she dropped the brave face. "A little scared, to be honest. I'm glad the judge decided to keep the proceedings private - we don't need a circus in there - but I'm still going to angle for the back door. NCB has so much money, and so much of the public is behind Lana Miller. I just want our client to get what he deserves. And for NCB to pay for protecting the wrong people.” She smoothed the pleats of her skirt, bottom lip planted firmly between teeth. “I've worked hard on this. We all have. I need it to be worth it."

"It will be." He knelt on one knee before her, his breath warm on her chin. He plucked the flower from his pocket, took her fidgeting fingers, and placed the bloom in her palm. "Is there anything else you wanna tell the court?"

A gulp cleared the breath locked in her throat. "Just two items. You're an ace lawyer, Attorney Fleck. If you're ever looking, you should apply to my firm."

"And what's the other?"

On a grin, Y/N cupped his cheeks. "You forgot to ask if you could approach the witness." Then she kissed him. "I love you."

He caught her by the collar. "Kiss me again."

She did. Sweet but sure, the testimony of her whole heart. Her forehead bumped his glasses, his nose collided with hers. When they broke apart for air, she stood and took his hand. "I'd like to submit a Motion to Dismiss. It's time for us."

Arthur's thumb traced hers, his feet already guiding them to the kitchen. "No objection, Mrs. Fleck."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​​ @fleckficgirl​

[sensei-venus]

Poly Yasmonn eith their shy chubby gf at the mall. They wakk away for 5 seconds and comes back to find a guy trying to hit on their gf and making her super uncomfy. Yasmine and Moon just into protective mode asap

(Unedited) (Support Me Links🌺) (Girlboss Yasmine, Soft Proactive Moon, Mentions of Hawk being Moon’s ex but they are friends, Slight hint at homophobia??)

“Ahhh! This looks so cute! What do you guys think?” Reader said as she spun around to show off the new clothing find. It was a yellow and white sun dress. She shook if around on the hanger at her two girlfriends.

Both of the girls looked up from their own racks that they had been going through. Moon's eyes sparkles as she looked at the dress. She clapped out of excitement saying “That is so cute! It would look great on you! Oh do they have a pink or blue one? We could match!”

she walked over and started looking though Reader’s own clothing rack. Reader pointed at the area she found the dress in.

“Yasmine come look at this dress! Don't you have a sun hat that would match this perfectly? I think I saw you wear it at the beach a few weeks ago.” Moon said as she stopped at a particular dress. Yasmine cocked her head before abandoning her own area and walking over.

Moon was right that the dress matched one of her old sun hats. It was a short but slightly friled at the bottom pink dress. Her Sun hat was the exact same pastel pink. A small smile spread across her lips as she went though the selection of dresses. The sound of metal coat hangers filled the air as she shoved the dresses around. She huffed as she meet the end of dresses.

“They don’t have my size, all of them are to small or tiny.” She pouted, now she really wanted that dress.

Yasmine had promised both of her girlfriends to a beach date. That’s why they where even at the mall, looking for cute new outfits to wear out.

“Maybe you can ask one of the employees and see if they have your size in the back or something? Wouldn’t hurt to ask.” Reader says as she notices a employee walk out of the back of the storeroom.

“Can you hold my dress for me? I’ll go with her and ask.” Moon says as she hands her own dress to Reader, the girl nods as she takes it and puts it over her arm along with her own dress. Yasmine picks out one of the dresses and heads off with Moon to find a employee. They find someone at the register and explain the situation.

Within two or three minutes the employee was able to find the right size of the dress in the back. Both girls are excited and decide to head back to Reader to tell her the good news.

Both girls are all grins and smiles as they head over to their girlfriend.

Their smiles fade as they over hear a conversation coming from the area they left Reader in.

“Come on it will be fun, just me you and my friends over in the food court~”

“No thanks….”

“Come on it’s not like your doing anything here, and I doubt you have a boyfriend.”

“I’m actually here with my girlfriend-“

The guy who is way to close to Reader interrupts her before she can even finish what she’s saying.

“Don’t tell me your a fucking lesbian, your just trying to get out of having a good time with a guy like me-“

Yasmine has enough of hearing the asshole talk to her girlfriend like that. She Frits her teeth a little as she stomps over to the two. Moon doesn’t even try to calm her down as she walks away, she just follows behind her with a frown. They both cross their arms as the walk up behind Reader who is clearly upset now. She grips at the dresses on her arms.

The poor girl is chewing her lip raw and her eyes are even shaking a little. Her posture is even hard as she looks like she can’t walk away.

Moon attaches herself to Reader by putting a arm around her. She snuggles into her side and just glares at the guy.

“She’s clearly not interested in you now stop harassing my girlfriend you grade a asshole. Also you should try not to hit on people’s girlfriends, it’s tacky as hell.” Yasmine says as she gets into the guys face a little. He backs off a little as she steps closer to him.

“Step off or I’ll call my friends, my ex knows karate asshat!” Moon says with no hesitation.

“No way bitch-“

“Hawk”

The guy pales when Moon mentions Hawk. Clearly understanding she wasn’t playing when she said the threat. He backed up a bit more before taking off and leaving the store. This left all three of the girls alone.

Moon rubbed at Readers arms as the girl started to relax now that the guy was gone. She tried to give a small smile as she kissed the girls cheek. Yasmine turned around and walked back over to the two of them. She cupped Reader’s cheeks and makes her look up at her. She sees the small frown on her face, clearly still a bit shaken from what just happened.

She rubs small circles on her cheeks saying “Hey it’s ok, that was creepy as hell.” Reader nods back saying “ I was just looking though the clothes and he just walked up to me and started trying to flirt and talk to me. I kept saying no and that I wasn’t interested, he just kept going and wouldn’t leave me alone.” Her voice trailed off at the end. Her eyes downcasted.

“Hey it’s not your fault! You did nothing wrong, he was a creep for trying to come on to you even after you made it clear your weren’t interested. We shouldn’t have left you alone like that.” Moon says.

“I’m a big girl I can handle myself.” Reader smiles and pouts making both of the other girls laugh and roll their eyes.

“Ok your right but still…next time you come with us. Your are girl, your off the market.” Reader giggles as Yasmine leans over and gives her a kiss to the lips. It’s short but sweet, it makes Reader’s belly bubble and flutter all at ones. They pull away and Yasmine hugs her into the side along with Moon.

“Ok so let’s go buy these dresses and I’ll take you guys out to lunch, they have that new vegan and vegetarian place open a few blocks away.” She grins as both of the other girl smile and and start raving about the new restaurant.

All three of them buy their new dresses for their up and coming beach date. They go about their day with smiles and laughter sheared between the three lovers.

[maiosx]

Videogame Question Time

Who is the number one person in the game industry and why?

Kiana Kaslana. Has the best character design, best story arc, follows god, has a gun and a sword, has an evil avatar too.

Who is the second?

Seele from Honkai Impact 3. Most powerful character in the game. Stronger than Kiana and Mei.

What is the strongest vehicle in the entire game industry?

The sub in GTA Online.

What is the strongest character with non magical attributes?

Doom guy.

Who composed the best soundtrack in a video game?

Shadow of the Colossus

Who is your favorite character?

Sam from Metroid Prime or Raiden Mei.

If you could change any videogame storyline what would you do?

Half Life 2 Ep 2 Alyx’s dad dies and they don’t have a person to give her directions in HL 3 so they never made it… I would’ve changed it to the combine just trap him or something instead and doggo has his coordinates but Gordon has to fix him bc he gets injured by the combine when her dad gets taken and he tries to help him then they fight g man and it ends with him telling them they created black mesa to fight gladOS and the aliens were their friends bc gladOS was trapping Cave Johnson’s employees underground so Gordon would have to infiltrate their base with Alyx to try to stop her and that’s what causes the beginning of Portal 2 where the whole place has collapsed bc in the end of the game Alyx would have a baby with Gordon but Gordon and Alyx run out of food and die but that baby is the prisoner that gets out of the Portal 2 chambers and sends Wheatley to the moon which then triggers half life 4 where he and the bad aliens there form a pact and they come back to earth and now Alyx’s baby is fighting the combine and the aliens at the same time and in the end she wins by infiltrating black mesa and stealing the dna of the zombie crab aliens and using it to make stronger and smarter aliens than them.. so it becomes like alien warfare that eventually becomes halo 2 but only the covenants story arc and you end up realizing that master chief was against the prisoner of portal 2 and say nah fuck Microsoft and that’s the ending of Half Life 4 bc Gabe Newell worked there and I’m pretty sure that would be the best ending and reason they actually created Halo… to compete with Valve but the main reason he created that game and never finished it was bc those are probably the correct storylines to HL3 and HL4.

What is your favorite videogame and why?

Sky children of the light, has a social system that should exist on social networking platforms so we wouldn’t feel harassed by community members or like randos.

What is your favorite videogame memory?

Sakura Miko playing Pokémon on the Switch and she finally gets a pink one she’d been being wanting for days. She was crying and screaming it was running to her and fell asleep by her.

What do you think about the videogame industry as a whole?

I don’t like it. I think Valve publishes good titles and so does Apple but Microsoft and the rest of them have like bad boy status to upkeep and it’s like Todd from Bethesda fucking up Fallout 76 Online just to say yeah we made this online game you can drop props in.. like nobody was asking for that. Skyrim with mods was good but it was good bc it had enb shaders and good looking clothes with like 4k textures and nexus support. Fallout with Forge creator was not and nobody that made that game understands the roleplay aspect of games.. like you will not have ppl RPing dying in a wasteland in the 1950s… that’s weird but ofc ppl would roleplay The Witcher series or Cyberpunk.. Todd from Bethesda is weird and those MS ppl bought a weird studio too.

[x3rrorx]

We’ve got nothing to hide so I’m gonna show what was actually said in our chat.

So first I wanna start with,

You guys have also caused me distress and open to threatening messages and harassment. You girls have also exposed me to all of your follows to all of my social medias and my location. You guys yourself have insulted, belittled, harassed, bullied, etc etc etc…

Second thing I wanna point out is,

There is 1 messaged in the discord relating to violence. It was said as a joke but I understand the concern. But can we go back to the tweet you made about a Sumerian records employee you made about “beating their ass”… who probably doesn’t even know who the hell you are or had anything to do with the video Sumerian posted on their social media.

So… you’re okay with making threatening statements on others and letting you friends threading me BUT god forbit someone makes 1 joke towards you.

OUR DISCORD CHAT

JULI’S TWEET

The hypocrisy you guys keep spewing needs to stop girl. It truly does. Like I said many times before, I come with receipts.

You have brought people into my private chat to spy on us but you want me to have an open adult conversation with you. So would it be okay for one of my people to be in your guy’s private chat? Your chats with your RB and MG? Would that be alright? Oh right, no… no it wouldn’t. That would be invading your privacy. But it’s okay for you to invade everyone else’s right?

“a punch” vs. “beat her ass” 💀

Anyways,

Enjoy that photo I took of Noah when you cuddle it to sleep at night. You want me to send you some more? 🤔

[peoplesgraves]

Yandere verosika x reader x yandere Blitzø!! But blitz and verosika hate each other.

The Choice

Yandere Blitzo X Reader X Yandere Verosika

“Ugh Verosika. You haven’t been banned from this club for being a drunken whore yet?” Blitzo glares at the succubus opposite him.

The pair stand stiff like they’re in a western about to draw. The air around them is tense but everywhere else in the club is pulsing with demonic life.

“Blitzo. Usually I’d be glad to insult you until someone more important came along but I have something more important to do.” She waves her hand in a shooing motion and turns away from the imp.

He rolls his eyes and turns back to the bar as well. Tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for shift change and mumbling what a piece of shit Verosika is under his breath.

Shift change comes not a moment too soon and both demons rush the bar as you take the previous bartenders place. You smile at the pair and prepare yourself to milk them of all the money they had. “Hey it’s you guys. I don’t think you’ve ever both come to visit me at the same time”

Both demons break their gaze from you to glare at each other. Ordinarily they wouldn’t ignore you for anything but Blitzo and Verosika had a past and tonight would finally decide the biggest loser of their relationship.

“Oh you sucubitch. No way are you going anywhere near them. You’ll give them super herpes or something!” He puts a hand in his hip and uses his free hand to poke Verosika’s chest like a child would.

Verosika only rolls her eyes “oh like you’re any better. Aren’t you in some freaky relationship with the bird prince? Oh and your employees. That’s like sexual harassment.” She crosses her arms and smirks, leaning down to be closer to his level “even in hell that’s not cool Blitzo.”

Blitzo starts to respond until he’s cut off by you. Both look distraught at having been seen like that by you and are surprised to see you snickering.

“Wow and I thought my relationships sucked. You guys must’ve really hated each other.” Both rolls their eyes

“Understatement of the year. Look clearly we both like you and hate eachother so you have to chose.” Blitzo throws a thumb over his shoulder and points to the packed dance floor “I’ll be on the dance floor shaking what satan gave me, join me once you kick this bitch to the curb.”

He disappears in the crowd and Verosika speaks her piece. Her eyes are half lidded and her voice is silky smooth. “Meet me in the bathroom and I’ll make you fall in love.” She reapplies her lipgloss and gives a winning smile. “I know you’ll make the right choice.” She blows a kiss and disappears just like Blitzo had.

[nicnacsnonsense]

I see Ed as engaging in three different types of violence, broadly speaking.

1) Violence as an emotional reaction. As stated above Ed actually has a pretty good handle on his temper, so he really only loses it when someone maliciously digs into one of his vulnerable spots. As such, I don’t think he typically regrets this type of violence (with his dad being the big exception) because if he’s at the point that he’s losing his temper, then he’s at the point that even once his temper subsides he’ll still feel the other person deserved it. I think he probably derives some pleasure from this type of violence, just in the very human way of finding violence cathartic when you’re angry, especially when directed at someone who has just hurt you. However, I wouldn’t really say he enjoys this type of violence because my impression is he’d just as soon not be maliciously attacked in his vulnerable spots in the first place.

2) Frat bro violence a la Calico Jack. This type of violence I would say he enjoys, but that’s kind of the point. This is violence being used as a consensual camaraderie building activity between a group of people. Now, there is a problem with the way that Calico Jack does it where people are being “jokingly” harassed and peer pressured into joining in, but I don’t think Ed has realized that that means their consent isn’t genuine. The one time he did become aware that one person hadn’t consented, when they blew up Stede’s armoire without asking first, Ed was immediately apologetic. There’s also the comment he made on the beach about not wanting to cut another guy’s toe off for a laugh anymore which suggests that while Ed has enjoyed this type of violence in the past, he’s not finding it as satisfying anymore.

3) Violence as a tool. I mean, he’s a pirate, violence is going to be a necessary part of the job sometime. This is where I would put cutting off Izzy’s toe btw; it’s not an anger response, it’s a deliberate action to get an insubordinate employee back in line.

This one is a bit fuzzier, but I would guess that he deliberately emotionally distances himself from this kind of violence so he doesn’t have to feel bad about it, which to my knowledge is a pretty normal coping skill in a job that requires violence. But if we were to break through that distance some of it he probably still wouldn’t feel bad about — I doubt he’s ever going to lose any sleep over killing those Spanish naval soldiers — but some of it he probably would feel guilty over some of it. This may be some of what’s going on when Jack is talking about the ship Ed burned down; Jack is deliberately emphasizing the humanity of the people who died in order to horrify Stede, but he ends up cutting through some of Ed’s armor and making him uncomfortable as well.

I have to assume this type of violence can bring Ed satisfaction of a job well done, but I don’t think he gets any sadistic sort of pleasure from it. When he threatens to stab that one French sailor’s eye out, he sounds unhinged while making the actual threat, but immediately prior when speaking to Stede his tone was calm and professional; the unhinged violent man is an act that is an effective way to get the job done. Plus if Ed really enjoyed violence that much, what would be the point of coming up with all those fuckeries?

hey weird question lol but do the people making posts like "fans need to accept that ed is a violent sadist who loves physical violence and stop ignoring all the violence he does on screen” realize that complaining abt fans portraying an indigenous character as not violent enough is a uh. kinda weird stance to take?? lol????

like as of right now it’s kinda up to interpretation how violent ed has been in the past and how genuine ed's sad little "maiming's different, love a good maim" is. personally, i think ed is capable of plenty of violence, but i think his alleged enjoyment of violence has less to do with him having sadistic tendencies and more with enjoying the frat-bro type of camaraderie that comes with engaging in a well-established culture of casual violence among pirates.

some people think ed is less violent than that. i personally disagree with interpretations of ed where he has a gooey innocent marshmallow center (even tho i do love to joke that he's done nothing wrong in his life ever) that's been hidden for years. that interpretation bothers me, but in that petty fandom way where i just roll my eyes and move on.

some people think ed is a cruel sadist who gleefully loves torturing innocents. i disagree with this interpretation, too, but unlike ed woobification this one makes me deeply uncomfortable. and i know i'm not the only person who feels that way. i'm not bothered in a petty fandom way, i'm bothered by the racial implications of interpreting an indigenous character as exceptionally and brutally violent.

and im even more bothered by the ppl who think the fandom's version of ed is not violent enough and make posts about that. like. that's a weird stance to take, and an even weirder one to make posts arguing abt. idk. i think mayyyybe people should take a step back and rethink that that one???

[superhero--imagines]

idk if I can handle going through my Percy Jackson phase again but your beach date with him was just so cute<3 what other dates do you think he would like?

Ahhh there’s so many!

Late Night Food Date

I don’t think it’s a secret that New York is the city that never sleeps.

Which means more often than not you and Percy end up harassing some poor college student at three in the morning with your McDonald’s order.

You trade bits of banter and conversation over fries and ice cream—you’re convinced the employee has a soft spot for you since they didn’t tell you the machine was broken— laughing when he insists on feeding you a fry.

And he looks at you, with sauce all over the corner of your mouth, like your the best things he’s ever seen.

Bookstore dates

Let me preface this by saying Percy himself doesn’t inherently like bookstore dates.

But if you like bookstore dates? Then yeah, he likes bookstore dates—always has. 😤

It’s hard for him to sit still, so if you’re growing for a book in one spot, or you’ve popped it open to read the first few pages, he’ll say he’ll be back.

Usually he’ll pace around the store, he always comes back with a gift. Either coffee/juice or pastries, or sometimes books or stationary he thinks you might like.

He has a picture of you sitting on an arm chair reading a book in the fancy four story Barnes and Noble from uptown in his wallet he stared at when he misses you.

Target/Whole Foods/Grocery Store Dates

So this one is like half an errand because you’re usually doing Sally’s grocery shopping to give her a break but—

He loves the domesticity of it, walking around the store with you, pushing a cart while you scan the grocery list.

Sometimes you guys pretend that you’re a married couple, making up outrageous stories/arguments when you notice people are eavesdropping.

But in his head it kind of feels like you are, especially when you point to a candle or a couch and say: “Wouldn’t that look so nice in out living room when we get our own place?”

He’s just waiting to make it official.

He likes other dates too, like going out for dinner or watching a movie, or even just hanging out at each other’s houses, but I think these are his favorite!

[jarofstyles]

hey besties, pls do a football player Harry (soccer in case ur american lol) and physical therapist y/n !!

I know absolute shit all about football (soccer bc we are American) but we can give it a go!!! Plz don’t be mad I don’t know anything about it cause it’s ✨make believe ✨

If you like this, check out our Patreon!

—-

He was a little shit.

A beautiful, charming, irritating, little shit.

When Y/N has signed on for this team, being the medic was something she had been passionate about for years. Having her own accident and making it so she couldn’t properly play anymore, it was her mission to still be involved in the game so how. Y/N’s own injury and healing process had her become more and more interested in the profession, and here she was.

It wasn’t everything she had dreamed of, as nothing ever was, but it was good. She got to sit field-side every game, close to the action. And every injury she got first look at. She helped the guys with their stretches, their previous injuries and keeping them from Re-injuring themselves, taking care of them and making sure their physical shape was the best it could be.

In general? She was happy. But there was one man who was a thorn in her side and a pain in her crotch.

Harry Styles.

The man who decided it was his personal mission to follow her around like a puppy dog. Popping up in her singular moments of peace during game day. Texting her and asking about very, very small twists of ankles and giving her the ‘🥺 maybe you should come and look at it…’ whenever he did so.

Not to mention his complete and utter want to get into her pants.

Now it wasn’t as if she couldn’t handle a few sexual jokes. Y/N was a big girl and knew 99% of the time, the guys on the team knew their limit. And Harry? Harry, in reality, was a gentleman. Never touched her inappropriately, ever. But the problem was… she kind of wanted him to.

There was no actual clause against staff members and players being together or hooking up. Nope, just frowned upon. Maybe a slap on the wrist. However Y/N knew, she knew that the moment anyone caught wind of her potential affections for any team member or acting on it? It would end with everyone thinking she slept with them to get the job.

Y/N worked long and hard. Tireless hours for make sure these men were healthy, fit, and at their best. She wouldn’t sleep with anyone for any job, and she was actually respected by this team which was something a lot of women weren’t in this field. She could not and would not throw it away for a good dicking.

Fuck, did she want to sometimes.

—-

Harry had these hands. The perfect hands, in her opinion. Big, strong with thinner fingers. Long fingers. A good sized palm, not overly veiny, just perfection in male hand scales. Luckily (or unluckily, whatever way you’d put it) she got to handle them often.

“S’sore today, doc.” He winced, sitting on the table in front of her. Harry’s wrist throbbed. It was rainy, and it was usually a wreck when it was the perfect condition. The ache was annoying, and he knew she had a solution.

Her lips pouted softly as she gently took the hand in place, thumbing over the part of the wrist where rhe injury had occurred. She had learned a while ago where to press, how to rub and get it to lessen before she wrapped it up. “Yeah… old injuries tend to never let you forget.” She sighed, pushing her glasses up into her hair.

Harry never could get over how fucking gorgeous Y/N was. From her nose to her lips, the pretty sparkle in her eye, the curve of her hip… he was obsessed. Not to mention the fact that she was so gentle with him. So kind and sweet, though he knew he got on her nerves with his teasing sometime. She could handle it and he always tried to watch to make sure he wasn’t going too far, but he couldn’t help it.

He was a silly boy with a bit fat crush.

Y/N didn’t bite for any of them. Everyone had attempted when she first came on, testing the waters. Her pretty face was welcome to all the blokes in the team, and there was something incredibly attractive about a woman who could heal. Nonetheless, she never gave in to anything.

In Harry’s case, he knew it was different. He could see her smile at some jokes, see her get the bumps on her skin when he brushed her a certain way. But she avoided the eye contact. Avoided the touches. And it drove him mad.

Of course she wouldn’t know he had actual feelings for him because he was a giant coward most of the time. He hid his affection in the dirty jokes and the teasing squeezes of her waist and teasing. He was a thick skinned man but a full rejection form her would hurt.

Her soft fingers gently massaged over the wrist, making him groan. His head tilted back and he let it out, hissing slightly when she pressed too hard. “Oooh, don’t worry sweetheart. Y’know I like it to hurt a little.” His wide smirk made her roll her eyes huffing under her breath.

Y/N was not having a great day. She had been harassed by an Ex all fucking night over her new job. Making all the damn assumptions that she was getting ‘trained by the team’ in a much more vulgar way, and she had cried half the night. To say she wasn’t in the mood was an understatement, but she was trying.

Harry was not what she needed today, because it made her feel worse. Her blatant attraction to him made her feel guilty. She should be professional and leave it with. The way she had squeeze her legs tighter while he groaned didn’t help her case. The ugly words of how they’ only kept her around for a potential fuck’ was ringing in her head.

Harry though, he was a little oblivious. Her hands were so talented, and he didn’t watch her face for once as she hit a good spot again and he let out another remark.

“Jesus, that’s good. Do those magic hands work everywhere?”

That was the straw that broke her. It wasn’t his fault necessarily, he was just playing. But her eyes watered, hand yanking away as she turned from him, walking over to the bench. Trying to compose herself was hard as the tears burned so hard in her eyes, hands shaking slightly.

Harry startled, not used to that. She never flinched away like that, never ignored his remark and walked away. Usually told him to fuck off, rolled her eyes, something. But the energy in the room immediately shifted and he was uncomfortable. What had happened?

Cautiously, he cleared his throat and stood up from the bench, licking over his dry lips as he spoke again. “Uh… Y/N?”

“S’all I’m good for, right?” She muttered under her breath. Frantically wiping under her eyes she tried to focus on the paper in front of her but she could feel Harry approaching.

He furrowed his brow, not sure if he heard correctly. “Wha-“

Y/N whipped around fast, eyes teary and wet. “I said, that’s all I’m good for right? Only good for my hands and sex and all that pleasure you can get from me?” She hissed. “Only good for a romp in the sheets and a pretty face to heal your wounds and put on band aids. Only good to make you get off and feel good and then what? I’m left here with nothing.”

The tears left her, her hands shaking as she grabbed her bag. Harry felt his stomach drop. Never, ever had he wanted to make her feel like that. Her crying? That wasn’t something he ever wanted to see again. He felt like he had taken a ball to the gut, hard. Those eyes he adored being full of pain, full of tears was his own personal hell.

“Y/N… wait, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ he tried to follow her to the door, stopping abruptly when she lifted a hand up to him. Her stomping had made him nervous. Now she was leaving without talking to him and he felt like a complete dick. It was their normal teasing, but he had crossed a line.

“Don’t. Just…. Just leave me alone. I’m going home.”

—-

As much as Harry had wanted to chase after her, he had already made her cry once. He wasn’t risking it again.

The icky, gross feeling in his stomach followed him all day. He was gutted. Not only has he apparently crossed a line with someone he respected, he had a fucking crush on her. The man was convinced no other feeling was worse than a crush being angry at him. Even if it sounded juvenile to place it like that.

Harry liked Y/N. He never ever wanted to make her upset in any capacity, let alone feeling like a sex object or violated. He prided himself on respecting women. And he had fucking failed. He needed to make it right, and fast.

-

He had found her address. In her employee file, and he knew that was bad but he needed to check on her. Regardless of what happened beforehand, she was upset by him enough to leave and go home and he wanted to make sure she was genuinely okay.

It was an overstep and Harry knew it. He had to try, though.

He arrived at her door step with a box of cupcakes and some flowers. Gently kicking the floor, he heard the door open and his heart broke a little more.

Y/N standing in front of him with swollen eyes. She had been crying, seemingly a lot. And she looked upset still. Though he expected her to close the door in his face and tell him to fuck off. But she didn’t.

Instead, she broke into tears again, throwing herself into his chest. Her arms wrapping around his waist, he nearly tumbled over but righted himself as he startled. Quickly he found himself recovering, wrapping his free arm around her and holding her. He was able to maneuver slightly and drop the cupcakes on her entry table, flowers as well before having his arms free.

“Hey…. Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” He whispered softly, gently placing a hand on her back. Rubbing it up and down, letting her cry into his tee shirt. It was worrying. Whatever happened was beyond him, but he wasn’t going to let that take away from the fact he had added and made it worse.

“I’m sorry.” Her muffled response was sobbed into his shirt. “I’m sorry for yelling… and saying you thought those things, you were playing and I…” she pulled back worth tear streaked cheeks and Harry’s look of pure concern making her lip wobble. “You didn’t do it. It was… he kept sayin’ that all the team wants is in my pants, and you make me feel guilty because you’re so…. Beautiful, and I never slept with anyone to get this job! Never. And then he wouldn’t leave me alone-“ she hiccuped, looking up at Harry as he caressed the back of her head.

“Who, lovely? Who wouldn’t leave you alone?” He asked with a calm tone. Of course he wasn’t. Someone was harassing her. And Harry would fucking take care of it. It boiled his blood to think of someone making her feel less than.

“My ex.” She sniffled again, slowly calming. Harry had that quality, she thinks. “He-He broke up with me for taking the job. Said… said that I was going to be a personal whore for all of you. And not do my job.” She took a shuddery breath. It was embarrassing admitting this to him, but he had been on the receiving end for a meltdown that wasn’t his to fix.

“Well, can I tell you something?” He brought his thumb up to wipe away some of the sticky tears from her cheeks. “You arent. You’re no one’s whore. You’re a respected, talented and intelligent member of our staff. You so happen to be incredibly beautiful, which obviously makes people find you more bewitching… but I know that we all look at you as a professional talent. They may have tried their luck at the beginning but you laid down the law quickly and they all understood.” He whispered.

“Me? I was trying my luck, because you’re incredible. And I think you’re lovely. But that isn’t a conversation for now. Let’s make some tea, hm? Relax. I brought you some cupcakes. I need to properly apologize for being inappropriate to you. Regardless if it was a joke…”

—

He sat next to her on her couch. The poor girl was better now, washing her face and a mug of tea in hand while Harry had helped himself to a vase and put the flowers inside. Carnations. He thought they were pretty, didn’t know the name until Y/N had fawned over them.

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you.” She said softly, her big sweatshirt swallowing her up. Before Harry could interrupt, she put a finger up. “I know that you were just playing, Harry. I let you flirt with me like that. And I enjoy it.” She could feel herself get warm in the face. “If you’ve noticed, I let you get away with it. I enjoy it. And you didn’t do anything out of line. I was sensitive… I was still raw and I hadn’t had much sleep because he had blown up my phone and regardless he was telling me things he said in person over and over again. So…” Y/N shifted in her seat and used her sweater paws to bring the drink to her lips. “When you came in… I felt guilty for finding you attractive. For liking what you said to me.”

Harry sat for a moment, quiet. So she had liked it…. And felt guilty. Now knowing the context? It made sense. For the life of him he was trying not to hold in to the fact that she enjoyed it, but he couldn’t. It made him excited.

“Okay. That makes sense. Usually.. I do a better job at reading your physical cues. Sometimes I can see something isn’t the right thing to say because you’re tense already. But I was in my own world cause you were making the pain go away and I felt good. It isn’t an excuse, though.” He gently grabbed her hand once she set down her warm tee, thumbing over the knuckles.

“I felt like such a dick. I still do. You know that? And it isn’t because I’m attracted to you. But it’s because I didn’t think about the position I’m putting you in by flirting.” He moved a little closer. “I would never try and jeopardize your job. I’ve been blinded by my own feelings for a while and I was trying to feel it out but I didn’t think to think it was because someone else or a group of people would look down at you for it.” He frowned.

It was so unfair. They wouldn’t care if he slept with her. But they’d ridicule her for sleeping with him.

“I just want to let you know now as well… I wasn’t trying to come on to you to have a hookup.” He hummed. “The feelings I’ve got are genuine. Alright? They aren’t just too get into your pants. And I never want you to feel as though that’s your only purpose. Ever. You have so much worth, and while I’m positive you don’t need me to tell you that, I want tok anyways.”

He was unreal. She really thinks so. How did a man just… be like him. He was a fan favorite and had charm but behind the scenes he was even better than anything they said.

“Yeah. I think I was afraid. Because… I’m the same, you know?” She shyly admitted. “You’re charming and I didn’t want to admit I let your charm get to me, but it has. It has very much. And I like you. I don’t know what to do about it, but I think it’s only fair I admit it myself as well when you’ve put yourself out on the line.”

Harry’s grin grew, dimples pocketing in his cheeks. She liked him back. His heart was ringing in his ears, the shy little look into her eyes making him want to explode. Fucking adorable girl making him feel such intense emotions…. It was incredible.

Thank god. He thought he was going insane.

“We don’t have to do anything in the sense of our job right now. But since we both know… would you want to explore it? I would say privately. Just get to know each other better. Talk. Hang out. Cook food together… maybe kiss.” He smirked slightly at the end, making her let out a laugh. Her laugh soothed his Damn soul.

“I think I’d like that.”

——

Part II maybe? Who knows

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied (Part Two)

Series: Undercover Hotch fic/series™

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader 

Word Count: 4,408 | Rated: T | Warnings: swearing, discussion of domestic abuse, possibly compromising positions(?), an almost kiss

Tropes: bedsharing, fake married, mutual pining

Chapter Summary: after holding hotch's hand for a few minutes, it wouldn't be a problem to hold it for most of the morning? because now the retreat gimmicks begin as the two of you search for information while dealing with the events.

A/N: sorry for the delay on part two -- had some family things going on this month <3. look out for part three :) Thank you to @bucky-of-the-opera for always letting me bounce ideas off of her and generally being amazing.

“Where do we start?”

The retreat lodge was larger than you imagined — with sprawling grounds that weren't just limited to the main lodging area where the couples stayed — but extended beyond to woods, hiking trails, and beyond. Hell, you glanced out the window at a nearby mountain, you wouldn’t be surprised if they owned a mountain as well.

“I have no idea,” you murmur, your arm intertwined with Hotch’s, as the two of you stepped into the lobby for the patented mix-and-mingle with the other couples before breakfast. Not only mind-numbing, soul-churning mingling — but with other couples with marital issues -- exactly what every vacation needs, “this place doesn’t seem big on technology — I haven’t seen a single computer or cellphone,”

“The front desk only has paper logs,” he shakes his head, “I asked about the lack of technology in the rooms. A noted policy of no tech — including the employees. I don’t think we are even allowed our cellphones after this breakfast.”

You scan the couples beginning to shuffle down now, “If there’s no tech here, where do you think they keep their guest and employee files?”

“I don’t think breakfast is ready yet, sweetheart,” he replies, as your gaze snaps to his cheeks burning, as you realize a couple approaching your six, “but I’m sure you won’t have to wait too much longer,”

“I’m right there with you,” the husband winks at you, his stomach shaking as he laughs even before he jokes, “if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to lose one of my only reasons for coming to this place,”

And something tells you it isn’t much of a joke either.

“But not the reason for coming here, isn’t that right, dear?” his wife assumedly smiles at you, icily, “Molly Chapman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and you are?”

You introduce yourself, forcing a straight face on as you manage to say your alias, offering your hand, “This is my husband, Thomas,” as Hotch introduces himself to Molly’s husband, Harry, who claps your boss on the shoulder.

“So,” Harry leans in, almost clandestinely, “what are you two in for?”

“Harry!” Molly chastises him, but her eyes hook onto your expressions, her lips pursed in disapproval if only to hide her smile.

“Well, if it helps, me and the missus here need some help communicating,” he crosses his arms, shaking his head, “never learned much about that growing up,” and he elbows Hotch, “but I’m sure you can relate — we’re practically in the same generation,” And you nearly snort, trying and failing to hide your smile — which Hotch notes, as you see him shoot a small glare your way.

Harry and Molly don’t notice, too busy reprimanding her husband again, before she sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose, “It’s just as well, we are all going to find out about each other’s problems anyway,”

And you furrow your brow, “I saw group therapy on the itinerary — is it mandatory?”

“It is,” Molly nods, “Dr. Rosen, the therapist who helped design the program, insisted on it — otherwise it would just be a vacation, not a couples retreat,” and she raises an eyebrow, “didn’t you read that in the paperwork when you signed up?”

“I did most of the paperwork,” Hotch intercedes, his fingers intertwining with yours, “my love here was busy wrapping up some loose ends for work so I ended up taking the lead on it,”

“Oh well now I know what’s wrong with you two,” Harry chuckles, as Molly elbows him again, half-heartedly, as he gestures to you, coffee in hand, “you wear the pants in the relationship, got that one wrapped around your finger, now don’t you? Not surprising, with the age gap and all--” as he looks you up and down, winking at Hotch, as you gape at him, “nicely done, sir.”

Your blood begins to boil, several insults picked out and fine-tuned on your tongue as you open your mouth, “Well—”

“We’re working on it,” Hotch clears his throat, jerking his head toward the now ready breakfast buffet, “Harry, it looks like—”

“Food’s on!” and he’s scurrying away to the table, as his wife follows suit, giving both of you a nod, as you glare at his retreating back.

“Food fucking saved his life,” and your eyes slide back to Hotch, as he gestures for you to head over to the breakfast table, “and so did you,”

“Well, I figured you murdering someone on our first day here would attract some unwelcome attention,” he steers you away from the direction of the Chapmans, his hand now slipping around your waist, and you do your best to ignore the flip of your heart, focusing on the fancy finger foods the retreat put out for breakfast, until you feel Hotch’s fingers drum on the small of your back, “do you see that?”

You glance at him, following his gaze until your eyes fall on a door that says ‘Employees’ Only’ around the corner, the manager slipping through the door, locking it behind him. You glance away nonchalantly, helping yourself to some mini-breakfast sandwiches and some fruit, “Do you think they keep the employee files?”

“Maybe,” he breathes in your ear, as he reaches over your shoulder to grab some food, making you shiver at the closeness, “but how do we—”

“Welcome!” a voice booms from the foyer, sweeping arms as he steps forward cutting through the dining room, “Please everyone take a seat. Help yourself to some breakfast.”

You both make your way to a table, and Hotch pulls out your chair for you, giving a small smile, as he takes his seat beside you.

“I hope you all are beginning to get to know each other, but that is not all you will be getting to know today,” he clasps his hands, he bared his teeth with his fake white smile, “I am Richard Rosen, and I will be guiding you through your time during this six-week retreat, where you are not only going to learn about our facilities, about mindfulness, and about yourselves,” his eyes scan the crowd smiling, “you’re going to learn about each other.'

Oh, how wonderful.

You had read up about this guy last night — went to Harvard — Harvard College in Indiana, and got his certification in Psychology after four weeks of surely intense training. After that, he opened his own practice in New York City, which folded after several complaints ranging from sexual harassment to fraud. Unfortunately for his clients (and fortunately for him), there wasn’t enough evidence to get his lack-luster certification yanked. He then moved from city to city, learning from his mistakes, and never stuck to the same city for long enough for someone to catch onto his treatment packaged charade. Until eventually, he settled upon White Mountains Retreat, where he was allowed to stay in one place, but with a revolving door of patients.

He was one of your suspects — no record, but had easy access to the couples, and intimate knowledge of their relationships.

"But our time will begin together tomorrow,” he beams at all of you, “Right now, I'm going to pass it over to the man who you will be coordinating your incredibly list of daily activities during your stay here — the man responsible for all the wonderful memories you will make — Mr. Brock Hillen," Rosen steps aside, welcoming Hillen to take over, and he doesn’t wait a beat, checking his watch before disappearing down a hall.

“Where’d he go?” you murmur, and Hotch shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” Hotch murmurs, lips barely moving, “but do you see that?”

And you spot cuts on Brock’s arms before he tugs the sleeve of his shirt down to cover it, “Could be consistent with causing those injuries our victims,”

And Brock Hillen was no less suspicious than Rosen — with a criminal record to match. With two charges of domestic assault, Hillen already had a history of violence with his ex-wife, but since she divorced him, he has had no other charges. Yet, because of his record, he went job to job, until he found himself as the Activities Coordinator of White Mountain. Could it be that his rage over his wife leaving him led to the murders? Maybe something in the last few weeks that triggered it.

“Hello all!” he greets, holding his arms out, his fake blonde hair nearly blinding under the bright light of the chandelier that hangs above him, “thank you Richard, for that all too kind introduction,” he begins his spheal on the healing nature of the resort, the efforts of his team in coordinating the next six weeks for them, and you begin to lose interest around his third sentence with the word “enchant” in it.

And your eyes can’t help but slide to Hotch a moment, whose arm rests on your lower back still, the metal of his watch gently pressed against your shirt, and you swear his thumb brushes against your spine. You almost want to brush it away, his touch is so gentle, so sweet, so intentional, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t.

“For our first event,” and now you’re blinking back to Brock — to the reason you were here — to catch a killer, “I’m going to have you do one of the very things that Richard mentioned — an activity that will allow you to you learn more about yourselves and each other,” and he gestures around you, “as well as the grounds themselves,” Other employees start handing the couples a clipboard, “your task will be to get each of your stamps from around the retreat — this obviously includes our grounds and other facilities, including our spa, chapel, gardens, and so on.”

“Seems like a perfect opportunity to look around,” you murmur — as Hotch takes the clipboard, flipping through the scavenger hunt -- at least there wasn’t some cheesy shtick to this activity.

“To symbolize the journey you all will be embarking on together as couples, you must complete the task hand-in-hand,” Brock brings his two hands together, “please, there will be staff all over the facilities, if you need a hint, feel free to ask, and I will be here as well to provide any assistance,” he gestures to employees behind the couples, “now, at the sound of the gong—”

At the sound of the what—

And then a loud crash fills the air, rattling your eardrums, making you jump, “Take each other’s hand, and begin!”

Couples begin scattering about, pulling each other along — you spot Molly dragging Harry away from the breakfast table.

And Hotch rises beside you, offering you his hand, clipboard in his other hand, “Ready?”

You glance from him to his hand.

Probably not, but— your fingers intertwine with his, his calloused fingers warm, and the cool metal of his band brushing against your skin—

“Ready.”

What other choice did you have?

~~~

“How many more do we have?” So far, the first few stamps have taken you all around the other facilities — the spa, the garden, the sauna — but none inside the retreat center itself. Not a single one had given you a change to find where the files were kept in this place.

“Two more left,” he murmurs, “I assume the last one will take us back into the main building, so the other must be—”

“At the chapel,” you glance at the map of the place you were handed by an employee who took pity on you two after you had wandered around the grounds — completely lost, “at least we don’t have to bother figuring out the riddles now,”

“You mean you don’t need to bother,” you shake your head, “i’m sorry, I’m just—”

“Are you okay?” he asks, as the two of you stroll towards the chapel, everyone else out of earshot, “the first day can be—”

“No, it’s not that,” you look around the grounds, and you resist the urge to flex your fingers, but he notices you tense — and you know he would drop your hand but he can’t, so he steps away a little, “It’s not you—”

“But it’s you?” he chuckles, as you bite your lip, “I know it’s a lot,” he sighs, as you two reach the chapel, a relatively small building built on top of a hill. It’s a white marble building, its one spire splitting the sky above it asunder, practically gleaming in the sunlight. The double mahogany doors are drawn open for the couples, another just leaving as you two arrive. You watch him stare up at the chapel, “it is for me too.”

You frown, as the employees at the entrance greet you, and direct you to sit near the front together for a few minutes — to take solace in the quiet before you receive your stamp. Hotch hands them the clipboard as you both wander down the aisle together.

The aisles are lined with white pews, light streaming through beautiful stained glass windows. Your footsteps echoed against the stone floor. You step and sit into the pew beside Hotch, sitting back a moment. The chapel itself had no denomination — it was clear it was made for the sake of religious and non-religious functions — likely an intentional choice not to exclude any religion or atheists for that matter.

After all, money was money in their eyes.

You two are quiet a moment, your hands still interlaced for the sake of the employees still watching the two of you, “I think for me,” your voice low, “it’s just weird to be this close with anyone,”

“You mean physically or?” you shrug.

“It’s part of it — it has been a while since I’ve shared a bed with someone,” you purse your lips, “but like you said, it’s hard for me to let someone see me, like all of me,” and you glance at him, “and it’s hard when you’re literally the leader of a team of, you know.”

“I know,” he leans against the back of the pew, “it’s impossible to hide things from the team even when when we don’t spend every minute with them, and now that we’re spending the all of the next six weeks together--”

“There won’t be much we can do to hide,” you nod, looking down at the floor.

And that was what scared you the most.

The employees hand you back the clipboard at that moment, excusing you both back, and the two of you step out of the chapel, “I just want you to know,” you say, as the two of you reach the bottom of the hill, “you don’t have to hide anything from me,” and he raises an eyebrow, as you add, “if you don’t want to.”

“Do most people hide anything because they really want to?”

“No I meant,” you chew your lip, “This is probably hard for you, and I don’t want to act like I know what you’re going through — I don’t,” you would never deign to think you knew what it was like to lose your the love of your life, your best friend, and mother of your child in one fell swoop, “but you don’t have to pretend,” not with me, you want to add, but you don’t — you can’t.

He blinks a moment, eyebrows raising only for a millisecond, before he sighs, “It’s easier to pretend,” he presses his lips together, as another couple approaches, “and that’s what we’re here to do,” and he begins to walk forward, gently pulling you along, as your cheeks burn, your head fixed on the ground, until he adds, “but I appreciate it,” and you meet his gaze, several emotions in his eyes, before he tears it away, “thank you.”

You don’t get to respond, as the two of you step inside to find only most of the couples still hadn’t returned yet — still collecting the last of the stamps, and most of the staff floating around the grounds to corral and nudge stragglers along. And their absence left an opportunity.

So you glance around, before tugging a distracted Hotch along, wandering around a corner, “What—”

And you grab him by the shoulder, pinning him to the wall, cheeks burning all the while, not daring to meet his gaze, but its just the same because you hear the small gasp of your name that leaves his lips in a whisper, and his body tenses against your palm.

You lean up closer, before slowly craning your neck around the corner, “We’re a couple at a retreat looking to sneak away,” you murmur, lips barely moving, as you lean closer, nose brushing his neck — god he smells good — but you refuse to let your lips brush against his skin, “or that’s what it will look like to anyone.”

His tenseness melts away, and he’s pliable to your touch, as your fingers graze his neck now, your thumb resting against his cheek, as he stares down at you — so adoringly as you tug him by the shirt away from the wall, following you with such ease.

You’re next to the employees only door — your fingers reach for the knob, turning — “It’s locked,” you murmur, and his brow furrows, as you cup his cheek, guiding his gaze to the lock.

And he’s spinning you around gently so that you’re pressed to the wall, your breath catching in your throat, as he looms over you, his fingers cupping your chin. His arm around your back, pulling your lower half close to him, but he’s holding the door knob in place while he tries to pick it with his other hand.

Your cheeks burn as he looks down on you, his gaze freezing you in place, far too close — his breath warming your lips, taking the breath from your lungs and replacing your blood with lava. And you can see so clearly — the cut of his jaw, the soft lines of his face, and the curve of his lips—

And then the lock clicks open.

He’s turning the knob, as you spare one glance over your shoulder to see if anyone sees either of you, but then the door is shutting behind you. You feel the wall for a light switch, and you flick it on, while you hear the click of the door locking again.

And you blink, a glorified break room — a few tables and a basic refrigerator stuck in the corner, a worn couch stuck against a wall, and a sink stuck in the corner with a subpar dish rack — far from the accolades that were in each guest’s room — but then again, the employees weren’t paying through the nose for the rooms.

You two stay close, as your eyes scan for anything that could be a camera — even one that isn’t obvious — placed in a smoke detector or lamp shade, “No cameras,” he pulls away, and you try to swallow the lump in your throat, tucking away the embarrassment to dwell on another time (likely right before when you’re trying to sleep).

But then again, the guests weren’t the ones working 18 hour shifts on their feet.

Hotch calls for you, pointing towards a few file drawers stuck in the corner, and the two of you head over, running your finger down the label on the drawers, “These are all client records — administrative, financial — nothing on the employees.”

“They must keep the employee records somewhere else that employees don’t have access to,” and you’re rifling through the folders, for something — anything.

“I haven’t seen any other employee areas,” you shut the drawers, and then you glance around, your eyes falling on another door in the corner of the room — “unless—”

“It must be Rosen and Hillen’s offices,” you walk over, reading the placard — Administration Offices, “locked?”

“This isn’t something that can be picked easily,” Hotch shakes his head, “it has a bump guard — it prevents—”

“--lock bumping,” and Hotch looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll tell you my reason if you you tell me yours,

He snorts, “I learned it sometime between 6th grade and military school,” and it’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, “my father — he—”

“You don’t have to—” you shake your head, “unless you want to—”

“I’ll just say, it wasn’t a good childhood,” he raises to his feet.

And you can’t help but give a small smile, “But look at how well you turned out,” and he’s shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Hotch,” you make him meet your gaze, “you’re a good man — don’t doubt that.”

His eyes meet yours again, warm, as he looks away to the floor for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching, “Thank you,” he breathes, and he’s stepping forward, “I—”

And then the doorknob is jiggling. Your heads snap to the door, before looking back to each other.

Shit.

Before you know it, his wrist is around yours, and he’s tugging you to the couch, as you fall backwards onto the soft cushions. He’s halfway kneeling between your legs, his body draped over you, and he’s leaning closer, murmuring an apology as he lips draw close to yours, “Hotch—”

And then the door is opening, as his lips nearly brush yours, “Hey!”

An employee stares at the both of you, as you both stumble to your feet, adjusting your clothes, “This is employees only — what are you—”

“Sorry!” you yelp, jumping to your feet, “so sorry,” and you brush past them, Hotch following at your heels.

And the two of you find your way back to the lobby, your heart still in your throat, as you tug on your clothes, “Thanks for the —” your cheeks burn, “I mean, good thinking—” you shake your head, "you know what I mean."

He snorts, his fingers finding yours again, giving them a slight squeeze, "Anytime," and your heart oh-so-helpfully skips a beat, tongue-tied, but luckily you don't have to response as Hotch glances at you, "you never did tell me how you learned about lock picking."

You shrug, “I have a checkered past,”

“That’s not much of an answer,” and you shoot him a half-smile.

“I have to keep you interested somehow don’t I?” you reply right as Brock begins to speak again.

The event wraps up with another talk from Brock — who has an employee approach him towards the end of his talk, whispering in his ear, and he nods, waving him off, “and one last thing — I know you all came to rejuvenate your marriages and partnerships through this retreat and we fully encourage you to do so but—” you swallow thickly, realizing just which employee must have whispered in his ear right then, “please refrain from doing so in restricted areas that are not for our guests.”

You cannot even bear to look at Hotch, keeping your gaze straight ahead, grabbing a drink on the tray, and sipping at it — and you wondered if you were masking your mortification well.

Probably fucking not.

~~~

Brock then adjourns them for the rest of the day — not wanting to “overwhelm them” on day one (or rather padding their time here with nothingness) — welcoming them to have their meal in the dining facilities or up in the rooms.

Most people head off to their rooms, while others linger in the lobby — chatting amongst themselves — he spots Harry rushing off to the dining facilities, his wife in tow.

The rest of the day goes off without much to-do. Hotch glances around — not a single thing of note learned about the guests or the staff. The other couples are all sociable to some extent — some more reserved than others, but none of them fit the unsub’s types so far — placing you two directly in the paths of the unsub.

By the time it’s time for bed, his body is aching for nothing but sleep — and it looked like you had the same idea. Already slipped under the covers, you’re curled up, half-asleep as your eyes flutter heavy with sleep.

Neither of you felt the need to stand guard in the room — the doors were securely locked for each of the couples, and the team was monitoring the situation at the local precinct. But you both kept your weapons close by — concealed in case someone happened to find their way in.

“Are you asleep?” Hotch whispers, and you mumble, shaking your head, turning to glance at him — your shoulders tense and brow furrowed.

“Is something going on?”

And he shakes his head, “No, sorry,” and you relax back in bed, but your lips still pursed, “I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier,” and you tilt your head — and he almost smiles at your sleep-induced confusion.

“Earlier?” and then it floods back to you — as you blink, glancing away from him, “oh—”

He shakes his head, “I just don’t want you to think I was—”

“Hotch, I know you weren’t,” you slowly sit up, “if you hadn’t done that, I think we would have been on our way home on our first day,” you chuckle, “and I know you wouldn’t take advantage — especially when we have a job to do.”

Right, a job, he chides himself, It was a job.

“If you want to sleep—”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” you yawn, turning around and getting comfortable again, “good night, Hotch.”

And he looks at you, a small sigh parting his lips — until he finally settles in bed beside you.

His arm resting across his forehead, he glances at you again. He had spent so much of today holding your hand, his fingers nearly flexing at the memory. It had been so long since he had held someone’s hand, so long since he had worn a ring on his finger, so long since he called someone his partner.

It felt so nice.

Nice — not only because he hadn’t realized how much he had missed having someone, someone beside him, someone there — but because —

Because it was you.

And he knew that because — he didn’t want to let go of your hand.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#248

“C’mon in. Have a seat. David? Right? It’s weird calling you by a real man’s name, after spending a whole weekend calling you ‘Cunt’ and ‘Fag’ and ‘Shit Head’. Don’t be surprised if I slip up and start calling you that again. But you, you keep calling me ‘Boss.’ When I offered you this job last Sunday, it was after one hell of a wild weekend fucking your brains out. Is your cunt still gaping or did it snap back into place?...

“You look surprised. Well let me tell you something. I love using faggots like you. Fuck, I don’t hide that fact at all. I wouldn’t have offered you this job unless I knew you could take a pounding from my nine-and-a-half-inch baseball bat of a cock. And while it is not expected of you as part of your job responsibilities around here, I will be slamming into your cunt whenever I want. I saw that look in your eyes when I told you I had an opening here. You were already fantasizing about submitting to your boss. I know you were. I’ve seen it with dozens of fags before. Yeah, I offer jobs to freshly fucked tricks. I have always liked fucking with men, especially on the job site.

“After my wife died eight years ago, my 1,200-acre ranch seemed empty. The oil drill on the northside has me swimming in money. But I wanted fag cunt. I need to use it. I created this warehousing business with one thing in mind, satisfying my cock. I looked to have a dozen or so men that could walk up to any one of them and say I need a blowjob, and I would get one on the spot without worry of a sexual harassment charge. Or to walk through the warehouse and see a new employee getting spit roasted. And it all feels normal.

“From your test run this past weekend, I know you can swallow me, with difficulty, but still manage. You drank my piss, so I know you have done that before. You spent hours eating my ass. I can’t remember the last time my shithole was treated with so much love. Your cunt put up a fight, but by Sunday night, you had one hell of a gape. You even bled a little on that first fuck.

“Wanna see?... I took this photo when I told you to push out some of my load. Here, take it. Yeah, I like taking pics of freshly used cunts. I bet you haven’t ever seen your hole blown up on a twelve-inch glossy. Look at the detail. You can see specks of your cherry. I know you weren’t a virgin, but you were a virgin to me. That’s what matters. And this isn’t some sort of blackmail thing where we keep this a secret.

“Hell, every one of the workers there will know I bred your cunt. You wouldn’t have gotten this job without first having my load in your ass. Every one of the guys you will work with in the warehouse has had my load in his cunt. Every single one! All fourteen of them. You are number fifteen. In fact, Mark, the cute puppy you met when you came in has my morning’s load in his ass right now.

“I have known Mark the longest. He and I go back a long way. We designed this place, and he’s the one who helped me set things up so that I won’t get into trouble. He’s the only one who interacts with the public, if anybody should come by which they never do. I say that because the warehouse is around back. That’s where you will be working not up here. Let’s go take a tour of that. But first, Mark would kill me if I don’t ask you, you want the job knowing what you know?... Good. I would have been surprised had you said no. We have contingencies set up should an employee not want work in such an environment. But I know how to pick ‘em. He hee.

“Grab that pic of your leaking cunt and bring it with us. We’ll go out the back. The warehouse is purposely a few hundred feet from the office. Mark suggested that. He really keeps me honest when it comes to all this shit. In the warehouse, clothing is optional. For the most part, no one wears anything. I have asked the two managers to wear a wife beater to differentiate themselves from the others. The real reason is that they are built like brick shithouses, and they look great in a tank. Hector, the manager you will be reporting to wears a black one and Aaron, the other one wears white. Don’t know why they do that, but they do. If I’m going to be in here for a short time, I just haul out my cock and balls only, otherwise I’m naked from the waist down.

“You had indicated that you are in temp housing in town. I told you that I have housing on property. Those three buildings back there are it. Hector and Aaron each have one, and the large bunkhouse is for any of the other workers. During your probationary time, you will be living with Hector. If you loved my cock, you’ll love his. He’s more into cock worship. The final thing before we go in is compensation. The job you are hired for really only requires 15 to 20 hours per week, but you will be paid for 40.

“Hector and Aaron will make sure you do your share of the actual work. That leaves 20 hours or so to play with the others. It doesn’t have to be all sex, but have fun. The hourly rate is three times what the job normally goes for. You will be provided with a room if you want. You get half the work, three times the pay, a place to stay, and all the cock you can handle. The only thing you give up is your privacy. Now, you are not tied here; you can go into town on your own time. But when you are here on property, you will be expected to comply with the rules. Hector will go over all that.

“Inside and to the left are the locker room and showers. That locker at the end is yours. It’s the smallest, but you are the one with the lowest seniority. Go ahead and strip down. I’ll go get… never mind here he is. Hector this is Dan,… or David or whatever the fuck his name is. Fag, this is Hector, although he’s going to insist you call him ‘Sir’. Look at those muscles! They make his cock look average sized. But fuck that cock of his is just as fat as mine. It’s going to be in your ass in a few minutes. We always break in the new employees the same way, a gang bang. No, don’t put your boots away. Everyone wears theirs as they work. There’s no lock on your locker. Don’t worry about it….

“Hector, are the guys ready by the wall? Good. Good…. Fag, around this corner is the break room. Across from it, see where the guys are standing? That’s what we call the wall of cunts. See the pics there? They are the assholes of every man here. Everyone has my load leaking out, except for that one on top. That’s my shitter. Hector and Aaron’s are in their own row underneath me. You are going to be very up close with Hector’s every night. Everyone else’s is below. I like to think of it as an org chart of leaking cunts. That spot over there is for you to put your pic. Go on. We’ll go around and share names later. I would rather you learn all their cocks first. The pic looks good there.

“Men! The fag here is a piss drinker and an ass eater. Make sure we take advantage of his talents. When I come back, I expect him to be shaved from head to toe, covered in piss, his face reeking of ass sweat, and his cunt loaded up. Over the next week, I want him to taste each of your shitholes. Guys, this is probably the best rimmer I have encountered in a long time. Oh, Hector is ready! Fag, welcome to the company.”

[strangelysamantha]

elderly advice ❀

rafe cameron x plus!reader.

warnings: slight bullying for weight, harsh words, mention of a grandpa, use of word baby, swearing, physical and verbal fighting.

words: 1,964.

summary: when you work at a golf course as a cart girl, you are happy because that means you’ll be seeing rafe more often. but, there’s a downside when you realize that kelce and topper will see you more often as well, and with seeing them more often, you also get to hear their harsh words.

request? nope :)

a/n: i’m just overflowing with idea’s right now. :) i hope you all enjoy this story. it’s angsts at the beginning but it turns into fluff i promise! like and comment if you enjoy this story so i know what you guys want me to write more of. ily thanks! <3

my masterlist

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“you’re a fat ass who shouldn’t be working here. point blank, there’s nothing else to be said.” kelce stared at you in disgust, his eyes dragging up and down your body. topper laughs in agreement, “damn straight. we are trying to golf, not be distracted by a beluga whale who doesn’t belong here.” you quickly hand them their drinks. you ignore their remarks, just trying to finish your shift. tears slowly fall from your eyes but you wipe them as soon as they touch your nose. “can i get you anything else?” you ask, slightly urgent to ensure you leave before your boyfriend comes back.

rafe and you had been dating. not in secret, everyone knew you two were dating. which included kelce and topper. despite them knowing that, they didn’t stop being rude to you every chance they got. they believed you weren’t worthy for rafe, and that he could do much better than you. “yeah, actually. can you give us some space? damn, you are fucking all over us.” you shake your head, speed walking away. you take a deep breath, trying to slow your breathing so you could stay calm. after a few minutes of air, you got back to work. out of the corner of your eye, you see rafe had joined his friends. you avoided going over there, especially since you had just served them.

you walk over to an older man, he smiles lightly at you. “thank you.” he replies softly, taking the drink you were handing him. “why do you let them talk to you like that?” he asks, clearly indicating he had seen the whole event that just happened. “i don’t- i don’t know what i can say. if i say what’s truly on my mind, i’m afraid i’ll lose my job.” your lips curl into a small smile. you acknowledge him nodding his head before you walk off to the next table.

when you turned around, the old man you once saw had got up and moved. you search around to ensure he wasn’t complaining about your service and that’s when you finally spot him at rafe’s table. your breath gets caught in your throat. you profusely apologize to the table you were currently serving, before you start to walk in the old man's direction.

the old man looked familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. once you get closer to the table, you can hear their conversation. you arrive at the table, swiftly shielding your body with the circular drink holder that was once placed on your flat palm.

“is there a problem?” topper asks, smiling. the old man chuckles, “do you believe there should be a problem?” he asks. your heart beats faster as you fear what the man's next words might be. obviously you don’t want topper and kelce to treat you with hostility, but you didn’t want to go against them in fear that rafe would choose their side. “no sir, no problem here. you are the one who came up to our table.” kelce exclaims before putting on a fake smile when glancing at you.

your eyes are wide, and you calmly tap the old man's shoulder. “i’m sorry sir, is everything okay? is there something you need in particular? i would happily assist you and grab you anything you need.” he glances down at you, now noticing that rafe had placed his arm around your waist. he clearly notices rafe's gesture and laughs lightly. “girl, you deserve so much better.” you nod slightly, but he continues. “i’m assuming that this is your boyfriend?” he asks. rafe smiles, “yes, i’m the boyfriend.” you couldn’t understand the tone in his voice. whether it was protectiveness, jealousy, or just plain amusement, there was definitely something off.

“well, isn’t this a funny picture?” you frown at his words. your eyes plead to him to drop it and move on but he shakes his head, not budging. “that boyfriend of yours sweetie,” his eyes are trained on you. “does he know that his friends harass you every chance they get?” rafe's’ smile has fallen from his face, anger now bubbling up. “what are you talking about?” his eyes narrow, waiting for his response. “i hate to break it to you, but those friends of yours mistreat your girlfriend daily. i’ve see it everyday, she’s just walking around doing her job, and your hooligan friends fat shame and cuss her out. but obviously as her boyfriend you knew that right?” he questions, rafe's grasp on your waist tightens when you begin to walk away. his hands prevent you from walking off.

“not so fast.” rafe says, now standing. “who is this guy?” you hesitate, but he answers for you. “this guy is her great grandpa who has just flown to town a week or so ago.” your face drops as the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. your great grandpa. you hadn’t ever met your family, unless they lived in the house with you. you had only met him once for a family reunion when you were seven.

“oh. sir- i’m sorry i didn’t mean to…” grandpa cuts him off immediately, “i shouldn’t be the one you are apologizing too.” he nods, but before rafe can register it you had already ran to the employee only break room. you slide down the wall, your arms wrapping around your legs as you begin to weep. it’s hard to breathe as you realize that rafe now knows. the next interaction with rafe is detrimental as it will showcase if he truly loves you, or if he would rather choose his friends. 

“sir! you can’t be back here! i won’t hesitate to call security!” your fellow employee called out. you had a huge inkling that they were talking to rafe. “call the security, i don’t give a shit. i need to go back there, my girl is back there and i know she’s not doing okay.” rafe pushes past them and sees you crying on the floor. his heart burns in his chest as he sees the distraught state you were in. “baby…?” he questions.

“yes, rafe?” you respond, your head still hiding in your palms. “baby look at me, please.” you hesitated, but inevitably lifted your face up. he rushed over, sitting in front of you, “what do they say?” he immediately asks, while he wipes away your stray tears. you frown recalling the numerous events where his friends would bully you, “which time?” you ask. his heart drops at your words. he hated to admit it, but he was oblivious to what they were doing to you.

“please. you have to tell me what they were saying to my baby.” he frowns, his voice being lighter than you’ve ever seen it. “rafe-,” you try to tell him to drop it, but he shuts you up immediately. “what the fuck do they say to you? i’m not playing any games.” you breathe out, “they just say i don’t deserve you, and that you could do better, and that they think i’m a fat waste of space.” his grip on your hand tightened. “what the fuck...” is all he said before he stood up and stormed out of the room.

you quickly wipe your tears away, before following after him. by the time you catch up, he’s already yelling at both topper and kelce. “why the fuck have you been saying that shit? it’s not your fucking place to say shit like that about my girl!” rafe’s hand were grasping at toppers t-shirt. your hand covers your own mouth as the event in front of you unravels. “trust me rafe, we’re doing you a favor.” rafe scoffs, pushing topper, as he stumbled back. “fuck you mean man? i don’t need any favors from you.” rafe’s yelling caused a commotion as half the guests were now staring.

you frown, not knowing what to do. “alright. so what? we make a few jokes. it’s not our fault she’s so sensitive and takes everything to heart.” kelce laughs, and so does topper. “for real, she’s being extra like always. what’s fucking new.” topper exclaims, he now has regained his balance, rafe stands straighter. “you guys are assholes, you know that right? i mean what? you thought i’d never find out?” topper laughs, “well obviously, we knew she’d never tell you. i mean, we’ve been messing with her for fucking months man.” rafe’s anger grows stronger, he knew it had been going on for a while, maybe a week or two. but months??

rafe looks back at you, his eyes softening. you’d been dealing with his friends, taking every low blow and jab just so you could be with him. rafe’s attention returned to kelce and topper. “we will talk about this later. fuck both of you. that’s fucked up, regardless if she was my girl or not. such fucking dicks.” rafe pushed them both one last time before hurrying to your side.

his arms immediately find a placement against your hips. you avoided eye contact. “come on baby, let’s go.” he grabbed your hand and walked you to his car. luckily your shift had ended so you wouldn’t get in trouble with work. once inside his car, he starts it. before he pulls out of the parking lot, he’s staring at you, a question lingering in his mind.

“baby?” he quietly asks, his entire demeanor changing from just a few minutes ago, his hand reached for your thigh. “yes?” you reply, finally gaining enough courage to maintain eye contact with him. “why…” he hesitated but decided to ask anyway. “why didn’t you tell me that they were doing that? if i had any idea they were doing that… i mean, they wouldn’t even hear the end of it.” you frown. “do you want the truth?” you wait for his response. “yes.” you nod, “well. i was scared that you would pick them over me.” he was speechless. his jaw clenched as his grip on your thigh tightened.

“baby. i would never condone what they were doing. they are fucking assholes. they were undoubtedly trying to ruin the best thing i have. i would never choose them over you. i don’t- why would you even believe that?!” his eyes were soft, pleading for any excuse you could muster up. “i’m sorry, i was just scared.” he nodded, he finally drove you to your house.

once inside your house, you two were sitting on your bed in comfortable silence. you were sitting down playing on your phone, as his head was laid against your thighs. “you know i love you, right?” he asks. you nod, your hand massaging in his hair. “i know rafe. and you know i love you too.” he nodded, one hand gripping your thigh, as the other drew shapes against your skin.

“i’m really sorry they treated you that way. if i had any idea-.” you cut him off immediately. “rafe you couldn’t have known. it’s okay i promise. please, it’s okay.” he shakes his head. “it’s not okay. they are supposed to be my friends but now i come to find out they tried to actively run you away. it makes me fucking mad.” you nod. “well i’m still here. and i don’t plan on running away.” he nodded, sighing. “thank you.” you lean down and press a kiss on his hair. “of course.”

silence surrounded you again. “can i still beat the shit out of them?” he asks. you gasp. “rafe! no!! they aren’t worth it.” he slightly laughs. “fine. only because you said no.” he snuggles his face deeper into your thighs, playing with the fabric of your shorts. “i’m happy here.” you shake your head, setting your phone down. “only because you are between my thighs.” you feel him smile. “exactly.”

[shades-of-stony]

ABO Stony AUs!

Celestial Navigation by  sabrecmc

Summary:  18 year old Omega!Tony finds himself Bonded to Captain Steve Rogers. He isn't happy about it until he is.

Note: Does it need any explanation? This fic is an all time classic and favorite in the Stony fandom!

Object: Matrimony by BladeoftheNebula

Summary: Omega Tony Stark craves adventure and an escape from the life his parents have planned for him in New York. He places a listing in a marriage catalogue to seek a match with an alpha out West, and Sheriff Steve Rogers answers his advertisement. But finding a nice alpha doesn't mean it's all smooth sailing from there..

- A Mail Order Bride AU -

Note: A 10/10! This has all the splendid elements of ABO with an added twist of a West setting and time! 

 The Team Omega by AngeNoir for PhenomenalAsterisk

Summary:  Steve Rogers is thawed, stressed, and not quite sure what Director Fury wants with him. Giving him a unit of all alphas, even if most of them Steve had fought alongside when the alien menace had nearly wiped out the entire city of New York... The thing is, more than four alphas wouldn't work in a unit with one another, not for long. Everyone knew that. Steve knew that, intimately, with the Howling Commandos.

Which was why Director Fury had, apparently, assigned them an omega.

Frustrated at the inability to even choose his team, let alone choose the omega that was supposed to keep the peace between everyone, Steve storms back to his unit's assigned quarters. There, he meets Tony Stark, grandchild of Howard Stark, clearly unhappy with his position and just as clearly unwilling to break contract with the U.S. military complex. So why was someone like Anthony Stark here, in Steve's charge?

And how could Steve even act upon his genuine attraction, with the power imbalance clearly in place?

Note: I admit, this has one of the best takes on ABO I read in a while! It’s a good read!

 If You Love Me I'll Love You Too by Carsonian

Summary: Starrk hands Steven a knife, leatherbound and strong, to fulfill the rite. The Alpha must go first. Steven takes Anthony’s hand, slices a clean line across the palm.

“And in the sharing of blood, I am become yours.” Steven recites.

Anthony takes the knife and returns the favour.

“And in the sharing of blood,” He looks up, eyes dark and unfathomable, “I am become yours.”

Note: A well-written ABO Stony fanfic with a dash of arranged marriage and Middle Ages (though the time period wasn’t exactly specified). It takes on how Steve and Tony navigates through their forced marriage and how they learn to care for each other!

Tribute Given, Treasure Gained by sphagnum

Summary: “Steve,” the Captain said, hand over his chest.

Tony licked his lips. Was he supposed to give his name, or remain silent until he was asked a direct question? The Captain--Steve, apparently--already knew his name, he had to, it had been included on the settlement he and Stane had signed. Was this a test? Time was passing and Steve was still waiting with his hand on his chest but Tony had to figure out the right answer fast or when Steve moved he might--“

Tony,” he blurted.

“Tony,” Steve repeated. He hadn’t come any closer. He said something short that might have been pleased to meet you or you look good on your knees. Tony had no way of knowing and he wasn’t going to risk echoing it. He kept quiet. See, Howard? I do know how to shut up when my life depends on it.

Note: A nice ABO with Warlord!Steve! This is a great read, with the steamy smut on the end being a nice cherry on top!

While We Pretend to Sleep by Typo66

Summary:  Tony pretends to be an alpha. Then he forgets he had been pretending. One thing he remembers is Steve. Steve tries to help out in his old fashioned, ethically strict way. Tony likes making big gestures. He has never been subtle.

Note: Another Stony classic! This is a great take on ‘Tony denying his nature’! A deifinite 10/10 read!

Rockabye by BladeoftheNebula

Summary: Cute alphas didn’t appear out of nowhere to help ruined omegas. That was a widely accepted fact.Tony Stark had always known his life wouldn’t be easy as a genius omega in an alpha’s world. But not even he predicted getting knocked up and forced to move to a small town in the middle of nowhere.

Note: A fun read where Firefighter!Steve lend a hand to pregnant Tony! It also takes place in a Small Town kind of setting, which is an added bonus!

In the middle of the night by defenceless_stark

Summary:  In the past, alphas used to only mate with other alphas and maybe the occasional beta or delta. Omegas were seen as useless and scum to alphas. Omegas would only stay in a pack if they could keep up and they were only protected if they were the head alpha’s offspring. Over time, alphas soon discovered that omegas were useful for producing offspring, due to their high fertility rates and weaker genes, so, in most cases, only the alpha’s genes will pass on. Alphas soon evolved to an omega’s scent, making them possessive and dominant over omegas which led to an increase in abuse and mistreatment. Steven Rogers was expected to be an omega, but much to everyone’s to surprise, he was an alpha.

Anthony Stark was expected to be an alpha, but much to his father’s disappointment, he was an omega.

Like any omega, Tony had his fair share of omega abuse and harassment. But unlike any other omega, he wasn’t one to sit around and take it.

Note: If you are avid ABO fan, this is a Stony fanfic that you wouldn’t want to miss! 

In A Rut by rougewinter

“You don’t have to do this, Tony.” Pepper said as she tightened her white knuckled grip on the clipboard in her arms. “I’m sure we can find someone else.”

“Yes. I do.” Tony said, surprised that his voice came out steadier than he expected.

Or the one where Steve goes into an Alpha Rut and Tony is the only one who can help.

Note: A short but sweet-well, not sweet since it has that dose of great smut! make sure to check it’s sequel where Tony is in heat! (Heat Up by rougewinter for avengemehamlet)

Please don’t (give me what I want) by masterlokisev159

Summary: After the events in Siberia, a new law is declared and Steve and Tony's newly reformed relationship is torn to pieces.

Then Tony goes into heat. And Steve is adamant to save it.

A post-civil war story where Tony is put in a position where he cannot consent to anything at all. Steve, the strongest alpha of all time, is furious.

Note: For those Stony shippers that wants a bit of angst! 

Perfect Man for the Job by Ilearnedtoreadforthis

Summary: After his ordeal in Afghanistan, omega Tony creates the Stark Housing Initiative: Executive Level Development (or S.H.I.E.L.D., for short) to provide housing to returning veterans. When alpha Steve Rogers applies to manage S.H.I.E.L.D., it turns Tony's life upside down.

Note: This is a cute employee/boss story with a dash of ABO! 

World Acclimation by Del_Rion

Summary:  When an unexplained phenomenon washes over the entire planet, the Avengers are left to struggle along with the rest of the population. Chains of command, relationships and friendships alike are put to the test as new biological imperatives take hold, and only one thing is certain: the world will never be the same.

Note: This is one of my favorites! It has a unique take on ABO that I don’t see often. And well, Am still hoping for the next installment. Though, read the tags carefully!

You Are Not Broken, Just Bent. by NazakiSama166

Summary: He won't break!

No matter how much he was tortured, no matter how much he was beaten, starved, threatened... He won't, he won't, he won't!

Until he did...

--- When Shield uncovers a hidden sub-basement in the house of Obadiah Stane, they find a tortured omega and his pup. Everything went down the drain when that Omega turned out to be Tony Stark, Howard Stark's son that went missing six years ago.

Note: Anyone in the mood for angst?

WIP: 

Finding Pack by Naferty

Summary: In a world where pack means everything from status to fame to survival and to family, newly pack-less Tony Stark is trying to survive after those he once trusted betrayed him, and starting over by searching for a new pack to take him in, but with his age and status weighing heavily on his shoulders finding someone to take a chance on him might be easier said than done.

What pack wanted an old infertile omega in their ranks? Certainly not the famous Avengers pack led by the equally famous Captain.

Note: This is a bit of a slow burn Stony fanfic that ticks all ABO boxes! It’s an all-time-favorite and classic! 

Secrets Don't Make Friends by sayah1112

Summary: Tony Stark has a secret. Several, in fact. Outed to the world as an Omega, he finds himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. His only hope at salvation rests upon the strong shoulders of a certain Captain Steven Rogers. The problem? Rogers hates his guts.

Note: Another favorite of mine! This is a great hurt/comfort fanfic centered on stony!

This is just part 1 guys! I’m kind of a big fan of ABO so I have a few more to recommend!