#drag race gas

[legends-of-drag]

Bonus:

“I turn back rolls into bank rolls.”

Alyssa Edwards

[virgopropaganda]

When the sun comes up and I’m not ready to face the day

[vonxodd]

PYTHIA // 'international queen of mystery' ball ❥ global all stars 01X03

[t4yce]

ATHENA LIKIS • global all stars 1.01 "garden of eden" runway

[josematalobos]

LUFTWAGEN IV

DEEP-ROCK Motor Oils

https://es.wallapop.com/item/champion-dealer-service-cuadro-original-vintage-1013018626

[vohanna]

[unstablequeerbitch]

Pedal to Metal on Netflix

This show started as a drag race gone wrong and ended with terrorists.

I am just flabbergasted, because how the hell do you start a show with dragracing and tuners everywhere to religious terrorist group?

This ain’t me being a jerk to religion, he straight up, had them, put guns on the table and started blessing them in the Lord’s name, and did a whole thing about apologizing for doing crimes his name, and made the Lords tears, wash the sins away… as they are currently setting things on fire, burning places down and threatening people with guns

I started the show because it looked like it could be a fun little car show… in within 10 episodes, it spiraled into that.

[jackiedaytona]

anon i'm obsessed with that fast and furious idea. steve goes from the soulless drudge of traffic stops to getting asked "you wanna take the pink one today, baby?" and stealing a kiss before they hop into an absurd car to go zooming around

[fdelopera]

Yo Goyim! Looks like I'm going to need to give some of you a crash course on what antisemitic language looks like, because I've been seeing entirely too much of it from some of you here on Tumblr.

Now, I think it's time for a Jewish history lesson, because I've been seeing way too many Nazi-related conspiracy theories going around. If you hear contradictions to the basic information that I am about to share (i.e., if you hear someone saying that the Jewish people are "a race that originated in Europe"), it is likely that you are hearing a white supremacist, anti-Jewish conspiracy theory.

So, here's the basics of Jewish history. Jews are indigenous to the Levant have been there for thousands of years. The Levantine people that Jews descended from have been in that area of the Levant since the Bronze Age. Jews as a distinct people have been there since the Late Bronze Age. Before it was Palestine it was the Kingdom of Judah, then Judea, and then Judaea, and that is literally where we are from. The word Jew means "a person from the Kingdom of Judah." The Romans renamed the area Syria-Palaestina (which they borrowed from the Greek name Palestina) in the 2nd century CE after destroying the Second Temple in Jerusalem and leading another campaign to try to eradicate the Jewish people (guess what, we're still here, motherfuckers).

And even after the Romans tried to annihilate us, even after they scattered many of us into European diaspora, many Jews came back, again and again over the ages, and there have nearly always been Jewish communities in the region throughout history.

And if you come for me or try to dispute any of this history with white supremacist bullshit, I am a Jew who has studied way more Jewish history than you. And as politely as possible, you can take your white supremacist conspiracy theories and fuck off into the sun.

Okay, with all that out of the way, let's get into it!

Gloves are coming off, because this is just a sampling of the Nazi dogwhistles I've been seeing here on Tumblr about the Jewish civilians who were tortured, murdered, and worse:

- If you say shit like, "The Jews got what they deserved"...

GUESS WHAT? You're talking like a white supremacist, and you need to fucking check yourself.

- And if, on the other hand, you say shit like, "The reports were probably overblown. I think those were paid actors. I don't think those Jews were murdered. No Jewish children were killed. No Jewish bodies were desecrated" blahblahblah...

GUESS WHAT? You get to sit with the Nazis at their table for lunch.

- If you tell Jews "go back to Europe where you came from"...

GUESS WHAT? Not only are you telling the descendants of Jewish refugees to go back to the Spanish Inquisition, the Russian pogroms, and the Nazi gas chambers, as I explained in this post, but you are also repeating a white supremacist conspiracy theory about the origins of European Jews.

Jews are a Levantine people from the area of the Middle East currently called Israel (formerly called the Kingdom of Judah, and then Judea). While there was some emigration to Europe during the late Roman Republic and the early days of the Roman Empire, the first mass migration of Jews to Europe was a forced migration. Gentiles from the Roman Empire dragged us there as captives after 70 CE, the year Rome destroyed the Second Temple.

- And if you're telling yourself that there are "good Jews" and "bad Jews," and those Jewish civilians were "bad Jews," so they deserved to be tortured and killed...

GUESS WHAT? You're spouting white supremacist ideology.

Antisemitism takes a long time to deprogram.

A lot of gentiles grow up with anti-Jewish ideology that they have never questioned.

And a lot of Christians are kept ignorant about Jewish history because preachers and priests fear it would make Christians question the many inaccuracies in the Bible.

But the first step in noticing antisemitic beliefs is to notice when you start singling people out *because* they are Jewish.

And I have been seeing some of you gleefully celebrating the murder of Jewish civilians *because* they are Jewish.

And that is antisemitism.

That is one step closer to the next generation of Jews getting shoved into the gas chambers. And there are only 16 million of us left in the entire world. We're 0.2% of the world's population. And we cannot afford another Holocaust.

And if your response to me saying that is, "Well, those Jews deserve it."

Guess what. You are making it easier for Nazis and white supremacists to spread hatred and commit acts of violence against Jewish people. And you will have to live with that blood on your conscience.

So...

If you are a gentile, and you see other gentiles repeating these kinds of white supremacist dogwhistles about Jewish people, here's how you can help:

1. MOST IMPORTANTLY: Help them direct their focus away from attacking random Jewish people online and towards helping Palestinians.

Actions that people can take right now are contributing to verified charities and relief organizations that help the people of Gaza. Only donate to organizations that are verified by CharityNavigator.org and CharityWatch.org.

2. Call that shit out. Tell people that they're being antisemitic, and explain that Jew-hatred is dangerous to Jewish people. Antisemitism gets Jews attacked and it gets Jews killed. In the US, many synagogues require round the clock security to protect against white supremacists who want to murder Jews. In Pittsburgh, my old home town, a group of Nazis from north of the city planned the murder of Jewish congregants at Tree of Life Synagogue, and so far only one of them (the gunman) has been arrested and convicted of the murders. The others are still at large.

3. Explain to them that it is antisemitic to celebrate someone's death *because* they're Jewish. ALSO, it is antisemitic to blame a random Jewish person for the actions of ANY government, whether that be the Israeli Government or the US Government.

4. Explain to people that they're not going to solve this conflict by posting antisemitic statements and memes online. All they will do is alienate the Jewish people in their lives and make those Jews feel scared and unsafe. And they will contribute to this current wave of antisemitism.

Antisemitic hatred doesn't help Palestinians. All it does is put Jewish people around the world in danger.

[alteredphoenix]

Manifesting a shounen manga that won’t fall apart at the end because of a fucking war arc like the majority I’ve read in the past decade. Doesn’t even have to be ongoing, either, just point the way and I’ll take a peek.

[storiesofsvu]

Bump in the Night

Aaron Hotchner x reader warnings: language, some anxiety/fear, aaron to the rescue type vibes, nothing serious, just a creeper. This was supposed to be a drabble... I do not know what happened...

While you weren’t actually part of the BAU, you were best friends with Penelope which meant that any girls night’s, baking tutorials, birthday, Christmas or Halloween celebrations, you were invited. Over all of those events you’d become a friend of everyone on the team, a happy face for them to see after a long week or more away. You regularly helped Penelope get things set up for them or were the one out running errands or picking up treats while she was finishing work. It was as if the two of you were their own personal slice of sunshine, which was exactly why Hotch always felt a blooming of warmth in his chest whenever Garcia mentioned you’d be in attendance or he’d round the corner and lay eyes on you.

The two of you clicked, he surprised himself, already coming out of his shell on the first night you’d met, something he usually reserved until he’d had time to fully profile someone and make sure their intentions were good. Instead you had him laughing by the end of the night, a sight that you definitely wanted to see again. There was a mild flirtation, but nothing that anyone else ever picked up on, and not one that ever moved past a little tease here or there, an offhand comment about how you were prettier than the girl eyeing Aaron up, or that the muscley firefighter really wasn’t your type. You were friends, which was all you really needed.

Friends morphed into good friends over the course of the year that you knew each other. First it was a run in at a coffee shop, Aaron halfway out the door in a rush to work, just enough time to flash you a warm smile and say hello before parting ways.

The second time he was pulling into a gas station, spotting you hanging up the nozzle a few pumps down before you got back into your car to peel away down the street.

The third was the produce section of the grocery store, you spotted him first, eyes darting through the items in his basket, nearly making him jump when you suddenly spoke from behind him once you’d figured out what he was making for dinner.

Number four was a bright sunny Saturday afternoon, Jack had insisted on going to the park with a few friends and Aaron ended up chaperoning. One of the kids spotted a friendly dog and when they raced of to pet it, he realized you were on the other end of the leash and made a comment that he didn’t know you had a dog. With a glittering laugh you explained you were dog sitting and the moment Jack realized you were a friend of his dad’s; Aaron was the one stuck dog sitting while you were being dragged around the playground.

The fifth was a late Friday evening, Jack was away for the weekend and Aaron had stopped to pick up a bottle of wine to have with his take out. While he stood staring at the bottles he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye but didn’t look up until he heard the familiar laugh as you snuck in front of him to grab your favourite. He asked if you had a hot date and you practically snorted, saying the only company you had that night was a pair of sweats and your couch. You then raised a playful eyebrow and teasingly asked if he’d been stalking you and his cheeks instantly tinged pink, nearly fumbling his words as he tried to explain he lived around the corner. Your hand on his elbow suddenly brought him back down to his senses and he was able to laugh it off when he clued in that you were completely joking, explaining you’d been wondering the same thing.

Upon the discovery that you were in adjacent neighbourhoods and that you worked from home, you exchanged phone numbers. On the off chance the jet was delayed, you could pick up Jack from school, stopping at the park for an hour until Aaron was home, maybe even get started on dinner and homework. If there was a last minute case and Jessica was still at work, you’d head over to be the in between buffer so Hotch could leave right away. He was insistent on you calling whenever you needed anything, he picked up your mail when you went on vacation, helped out with the leaky pipe in your laundry room and came in very handy when it came to changing the light bulbs you couldn’t even dream of reaching.

Currently, Jack was away at summer camp and Aaron was swindled into finally using up some of his vacation time. The first few days he’d deep cleaned the house from top to bottom, next it was a similar treatment for the yard. By the time he’d reached the second Tuesday he’d ran out of things to do until he ran into you at the corner store and you suggested seeing a movie considering neither of you had anything to do and the movie theatre air conditioning couldn’t be beat. With the heat on the rise, and a plethora of summer blockbusters you continued the new tradition each night that week. Most days you drove together, Aaron either picking you up or walking you home from his place depending on the weather.

Friday you’d been out with friends for a late lunch, had a handful of errands to run and were closer to the theatre than home, meeting him there. When he asked if you needed a ride you let out a small laugh, explaining that you’d driven, but thanked him anyway, the smile evident on your cheeks as he wordlessly insisted on walking you to your car at the very least.

Car windows down you had music going on the drive home, pulling into the driveway and enjoying the song for one more chorus before finally turning off the ignition and collecting your things. You made your way through the front door, relocking it behind you and tossing your keys down onto the small table in the entry way as you toed off your shoes.

You were making a beeline through the house to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water when a couple of thumps from the other side of the wall caused you to jump, your heart leaping in your chest. You left the kitchen light off, tip toeing through the room and you realized you’d left the kitchen window ajar earlier to get some fresh air in. Letting out sigh of relief you pushed it down so it was only open an inch or two, though your eyes caught movement across the yard, a clattering that sounded like your garbage bins and your brow furrowed, wondering why the automatic security light hadn’t caught what you figured was a raccoon.

Padding across to the doorway you flicked the light switch a couple of times, normally if the light was activated already that did the trick, but this time the yard remained pitch black.

“For fuck’s sake.” You muttered, digging around in a cupboard until you found a spare bulb before unlocking the back door and stepping onto the porch. Reaching up you went to unscrew the bulb and let out another annoyed sigh that it was actually just loose, so you screwed it back in, shielding your eyes as it burst to life.

The screen door swung shut behind you as you stepped back inside and you noticed a small duffle bag on the edge of the porch that at first glance didn’t look that familiar, but you didn’t really think much of it. A few people on your street often leant things to one another and you had been waiting on a couple of gardening tools, but you weren’t about to look into it now. The hairs on the back of your neck were still standing up and you were ready to be back inside behind locked doors, especially as your motion stilled and the light flicked off once again.

As you crossed through the kitchen to finally pull open the fridge you heard yet another clatter from outside and your stomach dropped when the security light flicked back on. Fridge quickly shut you backed into it, up on your toes in an attempt to peer out the window, praying it was just an animal. There was a light scuffling right at the back porch and you were so thankful for having immediately locked the door.

You were even more thankful for the lock when your eyes finally caught the movement, a hand creeping up through the railing near the duffle bag and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips. At the sound, the hand froze and you immediately leapt forward, slamming the kitchen window all the way shut and you saw a shadowy figure dart through the outskirts of the yard, just out of reach of the light. Your heart thundering in your chest you were honestly surprised you were able to dig your phone out of your pocket and find Aaron’s contact.

“Hotchner.”

You felt a brief wave of relief wash over you at how quickly he answered, “I’m really wishing I’d taken you up on that ride now…”

“Why?” His voice immediately tensed, “what’s wrong?”

“There’s someone in my yard…” you let out a breath you’d been holding when the light outside flicked off, your shoulders starting to relax, “pretty sure he was there before I got home.” A crash echoed through the air and you jumped, your voice wavering when you spoke again “fuck he’s still here.”

“I’m already on my way, keep the doors locked, the lights off and stay away from the windows.”

“Yeah.” You muttered, heart racing as you heard his car start through the phone and he assured you he’d be right over before the phone line clicked.

Trying to keep your breath calm you kept your eyes trained on the window, backing into the pantry door so you were concealed by the fridge but could still see if the light went off again. It was only a matter of moments later you heard a car squealing to a halt out front, the door slamming shut followed by Aaron’s voice. You caught his shadow moving around the side of the house and the light in the backyard flicked back on when he announced himself, the gate booted open and you were just able to see someone launching themselves over the back fence into the alley before running off. All they needed was the threat of a federal agent and the assumption of a gun to peel off into the night.

You felt your breathing calming down as the sound of running got further and further away, finally dropping down into a chair at the kitchen table. Aaron, being Aaron, wasn’t satisfied with just running the perp off, doing a full sweep of both your front and back yards, checking the alleyway, under the porch and any nooks and crannies anything or person could possibly have been stashed. You heard him on the back step and glanced up to see him sifting though the duffle bag, a frown on his face, his lips pressed into a firm line. With a huff he scooped up the bag and sauntered across the yard, dropping it on the other side of the fence with the garbage before making his way back to the door. A brisk knock echoed through the kitchen followed by his voice,

“He’s gone, it’s just me, Aaron.”

You couldn’t help but let out a breath of a laugh, as if you hadn’t had your eyes on him the entire time, making sure everything was okay. Crossing the room you finally turned the kitchen light on, unlocking the door and letting it swing open.

“Hey.” You smiled softly, “thanks.”

“Of course.” His lips formed a tight smile as he stepped into the house, locking the door behind himself, “just to be safe I want to do a sweep inside, stay put.” His hand squeezed at your elbow as he moved past you and you were left awkwardly standing in your own kitchen until he returned.

“No psycho killers?” You asked, a shaky laugh in your throat.

“All empty.” He nodded, his features softening as he noticed the rapid rising and falling of your chest, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” You tried to wave him off but he took a step closer to you.

“Come here.” He crooked his hand and you surprised yourself with how quickly you closed the gap between the two of you, enveloping yourself in his arms. Aaron squeezed at you tightly, tucking you under his chin and just letting you breathe until he felt the tension begin to melt away from your body. “It’s alright. He’s gone and I highly doubt he’s coming back.” His lips brushed against the top of your hair as he spoke and something about it calmed you even further, finally pulling out of the embrace.

“What was in the bag?”

“Trophies.” He replied with a sigh and he only caught himself when your eyes widened. “No, no, not those kind of trophies.” His hand squeezed at your shoulder, “sorry. Keepsakes, prizes, expensive things that can be pawned or sold to the highest bidder. My guess is he was only here to get your valuables, you spooked him coming home and he just wanted the bag back, he probably hit a few houses on the block before here.”

“God he was on the porch.” You shivered, “probably right as I walked in.”

“And your instinct was to grab a light bulb?” Aaron’s lips twitched up in a teasing grin and your brow furrowed until you followed his gaze and realized you hadn’t let go of the object yet.

“No.” You huffed, “the backyard light wasn’t working, I went to change it but it just needed to be tightened.”

“You were out there?”

“Yeah.” You shivered again, this time heavier, “he was probably less than a foot away. God, that was stupid.”

“Agreed.” He frowned in your direction, “that happens again you call me right away, alright?”

“You think he loosened it?”

“Most likely. Easier to stay in the darkness, not alert the neighbours of anything weird. You’ve always said Mrs. Ferguson was a bit too nosy.” His lips flicked up into a grin again and you let out a small laugh, “he probably cased the neighbourhood, have you been keeping the same daily routine recently?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “movies with you. But we almost always go at the same time and tonight’s movie wasn’t any shorter or anything, so why would I have been home before he expected it?”

It was Aaron’s turn to fumble over his words, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink while he quickly ducked his gaze, letting out an awkward laugh before he glanced back up at you. “I guess now would be the proper time to admit that when I drive, I tend to take the scenic route…”

Your head titled in a curious and adorable way that didn’t help the burning in Hotch’s cheeks, “what? What’d you mean?”

God you were absolutely going to be the death of him and he knew it. This summer had finally brought something to the edge for Aaron and he’d been holding back, happy with the time he got to spend with you. The evening hangouts had began to start to feel more and more like dates with each one that went passed and he’d been hoping that you would start to think the same and be the one to break the tension. Instead, he found himself feeling flustered, standing in your kitchen at nearly midnight having to explain it to you.

“Don’t get me wrong, the movies are great, but there’s something about the way you light up afterwards that just makes me smile.” He started and you felt a fluttering begin in your stomach, one that finally wasn’t due to fear, “hearing you gush about things, delve so deep into characterization or the cinematography of it all, seeing you so passionate about it.. it just makes me happy. Honestly, it’s my favourite part of the day.”

“Oh…” you replied, the realization washing over you and for a moment Aaron was afraid you were about to step back, ask him to leave, but then you giggled and the smile broke out on your lips, “so you’re just a big ole’ softie?”

He shook his head, the smile bright on his cheeks, “I’ve grown to adore the time we spend together. I was planning on taking a detour tonight too, Pintango just launched a lavender honey flavour this week—”

“And you remembered that I couldn’t shut up about wanting to try it after the movie last week…” you felt your cheeks heat, “embarrassing on my part yet endearing on yours.”

“And lucky on life’s behalf that it didn’t happen, you’d be down a few heirlooms and pieces of technology.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You wrapped you arms around yourself, “my adrenaline’s high enough lord knows I’m not gonna be able to sleep anytime soon.” With a sigh you glanced across at him, “don’t suppose you feel like sticking around for a bit? Keeping me company while I ramble on and on about useless facts?”

The sly smile on your cheeks nearly melted Aaron and he laughed softly, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

He followed you out to the couch, letting you get comfortable while you voted on a number of different movies before finally settling on one. A movie and a half later and you were relaxed into the crook of his arm, his hand just daring to softly play with your hair. You let out a long yawn, sinking even further into his side and he chuckled softly.

“You should get to bed, get some actual rest.”

“I’m still on edge. I don’t want to have to call you to come running for every bump in the night.”

This time Aaron did squeeze at your shoulder, shifting on the couch so you were forced to sit up straight and he could catch your gaze.

“I meant it when I said I wasn’t going anywhere, at least not until sunrise. That creep’s likely going to come back for his bag, that’s why I dumped it in the alley rather than bringing it inside. I don’t want you to be alone for that.”

“Mmm…” you hummed, a sleepy smile on your cheeks, “you’re sweet. Thank you.” Leaning in, your lips brushed against his cheek and Aaron felt his stomach do a flip flop. He squeezed at your hand, giving you a soft smile as you finally stood up off the couch. “Make yourself at home.”

“Sweet dreams.” He replied and you weren’t sure whether it was his words or the sleepiness that was making everything feel warm and fuzzy as you made your way to the bedroom.

It was a few hours later when you rolled over, only awake enough to shift your body into a more comfortable position until a thump outside had your eyes shooting open. It was very quickly followed up by the hissing of two cats and you let out a huff, rolling back onto your side.

Your bedroom door was left cracked open and there was a sliver of light and the tiniest hint of noise coming from the living room meaning Hotch was likely still awake. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for a hoodie to tug over your head before you padded out to the living room, finding your overnight company peering out the window blinds. At the sound of your footsteps he glanced back over to you, his body relaxing.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” you waved him off with a small yawn, “couple a cats outside my window.” You covered a second yawn with your hand and Aaron barely moved from his spot, curious as to why you were up already. You glanced from him to the couch, a mug of coffee on the coffee table, and finally to the television. “Hey…” you started, picking at the sleeves of your hoodie, “I get you’re doing the whole protective thing—and I appreciate it! I really do…but uh.. there’s no reason for you to stay awake all night.” You took a breath, the butterflies in your stomach fully awake and doing laps, “might as well come to bed.”

“Oh, well I was just going to wait until morning, head home to nap…” He started, unsure of what he even wanted to say. He was pretty sure you’d just woken up, and there was a pretty high change that your choice of words weren’t exactly what you intended, “but if you’re feeling okay, I could make up the couch?”

“Aaron.” You laughed, “the sun’ll be up in a couple of hours anyways, you need to sleep too.”

“I still want to make sure you’re safe, I’ll be alert out here.” He offered and you chuckled once again.

“And if he comes in through the bedroom window? No better place to protect me than right beside me.” You extended out your hand, “c’mon, humour me? Maybe I talk in my sleep and you’ll get to listen to more of those ramblings you seem to adore so much.”

It appeared the lack of adrenaline coursing through your veins and a couple hours of sleep made you not only fully comprehend what Aaron had admitted to earlier, but much more ballsy about acting on it. He laughed softly, feeling the heat creeping up the back of his neck and after glancing between you and the couch he knew that the latter was going to do a number on his back if he actually slept on it. So he flicked off the television, scooped up his phone and your hand slid into his like a glove so you could lead him to the bedroom.

You wordlessly climbed back into your bed, curling up on your side, letting out a soft sigh as you nuzzled into the pillows. Aaron watched you for a moment in the low light, a warmth blooming through his chest at just how at peace and comfortable you were with him around and he realized maybe there was something he liked even better than your ramblings.

“If you’re just gonna stand there and stare at me all night maybe I should kick you back to the couch.” You teased, your eyes cracking open and he let out a huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he snuck under the blankets.

“This okay?” He asked, trying not to take up too much of your space.

“Yes.” You replied, a smile on your lips as your eyes fell shut again, “but I can’t be held responsible if we wake up cuddling.”

Aaron chuckled, relaxing into the pillow as his breathing finally began to slow, chest rising and falling at the same time yours did, lulling him into sleep quicker than he could have imagined.

*

The stream of light coming through the blinds and the chirping of a bird outside your window was what woke him up first, his eyes scrunching slightly before they finally opened. His lips curved up into a grin, as it certainly did seem like you wouldn’t be the one responsible for any cuddling. You’d barely moved from where you’d curled up the night before, just rolled over to face the window, yet Aaron found himself wrapped around your back, arm circled around your waist, his head barely on his own pillow.

He shifted slightly, attempting to stretch out the stiff parts of his body without moving entirely and waking you up. However his attempts proved futile as you let out a soft groan, eyes scrunching at the brightness of the room before you stretched out your legs and rolled over to face him, a sparkle already in your eyes.

“Morning.” You murmured.

“Morning.” He replied, smiling softly.

“So not only are you a softie, you’re a sleep cuddler… what other secrets are you hiding?” You asked with a tease and he laughed.

“Would you believe me if I said I crocheted in my downtime?”

“Not in a million years. You don’t have any downtime.” Laughing, you swatted at his chest before sitting up, fully stretching your body out with a soft groan.

“Guess that one was a little too obvious.” He replied with a chuckle, sitting up at the sound of his phone pinging. He swiped open the notification as you swung your legs out of bed, scrolling through a couple of things on your own phone as you padded toward the hallway.

“Work?” You asked, his footsteps following you down the hallway toward the kitchen, “or do you have time for coffee?”

“No.” He pocketed his phone, “but unfortunately, also no. I promised Garcia I’d help her install one of those cat wall climbing, enrichment, obstacle courses.”

“Cute.” You shot him a smile before scooping out the appropriate amount of coffee for yourself.

“But if you’re free tonight…” he stepped toward you as you turned back to face him, “maybe I could pick you up, we could go get some ice cream?” Somehow Aaron’s heart wasn’t thundering in his ears this time and the smile you looked up at him with really was about to make him melt.

“I’d like that.” You replied, the butterflies in your stomach calmed, spreading warmth through your entire body.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it’s a date.” Smiling, his hand reached out, smoothing back a piece of your hair before trailing down your cheek, “I’ll see you at seven.” His hand on your chin he tilted your head to the side, lips brushing against your cheek, lingering for just a moment before he stepped back. You couldn’t help but smile at the slight blush on his cheeks as he gathered his things and headed toward the front door.

“I’ll see you at seven.” You repeated his words, “and Aaron?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t ever be afraid to call.”

“Oh believe me, I won’t.”

______________

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[ghoulbrain]

Happiness is a Warm Gun

18+ 4.5k ghoul x f!reader. predator/prey roleplay, lite bondage lite cnc into enthusiastic consent, heavy gun kink/play, pet names, clothed/naked sex, creampie, aftercare. ends tender bc i can't help myself. gif credit. written for my darling @luckytiggertalia, who asked for excessive gun kink and captor/captive. thank you! 🖤 written as a successor to Saddle Up, Sweetheart, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Being in a relationship with the world’s most notorious bounty hunter lands you in some strange situations, but none stranger than those you concoct for yourselves. You run, and the Ghoul hunts you.

The Ghoul is one of the fiercest bounty hunters in New California, yet regardless of how terrifyingly efficient he is, everyone knows he only takes on payouts worthy of his time. With his long shadow stretching out across the west, most hunters are reluctant to take on bounties over a certain threshold, lest they accidentally come between him and his quarry.

Which, at this moment, just so happens to be you.

You’ve made it to a Red Rocket truck stop just half a mile west of Junktown. What was once a glorified gas station in a world long-gone now serves as little more than a hollowed out shell providing shade for all manner of miscreants and creatures wandering the dusty wastes, still decorated in tiny reminders of life before the war.

Crouched down behind a counter, your back pressed to the grime painted wall beneath a window, you spot a heavily aged cardboard carton labeled Grey Tortious Famous Cigarettes wedged at the very back of the second shelf behind the counter. Clicking your tongue softly, you reach for it, using the barrel of your pistol to catch the corner of the box. Carefully–and quietly–you drag it close enough to grab.

Your hopes aren’t high, but–

Jackpot.

Smiling faintly, you extract a crumpled but still half-full pack of cigarettes from the carton. You glance around, eyes wandering until you spot the decrepit remains of some poor bastard collapsed against the far wall, still garbed in their threadbare signature Red Rocket uniform. With a slight nod, you fish a single cap out of a small pouch on your belt and slide it onto the shelf.

“Pleasure doing business,” you murmur to the corpse, tucking the cigarettes carefully into the pack strapped to your thigh.

A shrill whistle, the kind you’d call a dog with, snaps your attention back to the moment. You press your back tight against the wall, sucking in a sharp breath to hold.

“Alright, darlin’, y’little goose-chase is over,” the Ghoul calls into the lot. Your heart begins to race. He sounds close. “I’m man enough to admit y’outfoxed me back at the yard, that was clever. But’cha got nowhere to slip to now,” he says, voice gradually growing louder. It’s not long before you can hear the crunch of his boots in the gravel.

You screw your eyes shut, steeling yourself with a silent breath before opening them again. He’ll have to circle the building to get where you are. The crunch of his boots is louder with each step. If he keeps yapping, it’ll be even easier to track the moment he moves out of eyesight of the window you’re hiding under, and you’ll be able to creep out to get behind him. Your grip on your pistol flexes, finger poised off the trigger.

The footsteps outside grow quiet enough that you can no longer hear them over the thundering of your heart. He hasn’t said anything, but you give it an extra few seconds to be safe, holding your breath as you gingerly lift out of your crouch, careful to keep your head beneath the window frame, eyes on the door across from you. Even if he sees you, you’ll have time enough to–

You’re jerked backwards suddenly by your jacket, a scream yanked out of you as you’re pulled against the window, knocking into it.

“There y’are,” he says through his teeth, hauling you up to your feet. Fuck, he faked you out with his steps. He holds you against the window, the edge of it biting into your back, his fist curled tightly in the collar of your jacket. “Give it up, darlin’. Y’all mine now,” he coos, his voice a sinister rasp at your ear. 

Out of desperation, you drop your pistol and throw your arms up, slipping out of your jacket and stumbling forward onto your hands and knees. Your boots skid on the floor as you scramble to your feet, launching into a run. You look over your shoulder just in time to see him vaulting in through the window, scaring you into running faster.

Where you intend to run is a problem to be solved as you go.

Unfortunately for you, the Ghoul is a step ahead. Gunfire startles you halfway out of your skin, but it’s the sign that falls in your path that stops you in your tracks. You look up and see a woven cable swaying, frayed from where the crazy son of a bitch managed to shoot it clean apart. You gear up to bolt to the left, but it’s already too late. The tell-tale hiss of a rope whipping through the air is your only warning before the lasso tightens around your arms and sternum, one sharp yank pulling you off your feet and down onto your back.

The world spins. You let out a soft groan, moving to roll onto your side, but he keeps you from it with a hardy pull, gathering the rope in his hands as he walks to you.

The Ghoul lets out a low whistle, his shadow falling over you. “Close, but no cigar, sweetheart,” he drawls, crouching over you. 

Disoriented, you stare at his upside down face. He’s got his head tilted, lips parted in a crooked sneer of a smile. His eyes are dark enough that you can see yourself in them, glinting with predatory glee. You can’t hide the trill of excitement that runs through you over being looked at like that. He clicks his tongue.  

“N’aw, don’t you look plumb tuckered,” he says, voice laced with condescending sweetness. “No rest for the wicked, m’afraid,” he says, slipping his hands under your arms and hauling you up to your feet.

“You could’ve killed me,” you rasp, throat scorched by the dry desert air.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he deflects, amused. “Y’all in one piece, ‘ain’t’cha?” His breath is a warm tickle on your neck. With the rope tight across your sternum, arms pinned to your sides, he slides his gloved hand up your thigh, over your hip. His fingers tap along as he does, tickling your ribs, cupping your breast before sliding all the way up to your throat. 

The barest hint of his lips brushes the spot just behind your ear, the feeling so faint you could have made it up entirely. You shiver, pulling sharply away, but he pulls you right back in, the worn leather of his glove soft around your neck, his grip firm. 

“Mmhm, seem perfectly intact t’me,” he says, giving your throat a steadying squeeze. “No need t’put up a fight, angel. Y’comin’ with me either way.”

This time he presses his scarred lips properly to your skin, the feel of them warm and wet. Wanting. You swallow the lump in your throat, clench your thighs against the heat building between them. 

“Let go of me,” you say, fighting to put conviction in it. 

“No can do,” he says, his breath prickling goosebumps from your scalp to your thighs. “I’ve struck the motherlode with you.”

 The rope is tied low and tight enough that you can’t elbow him or shoulder your way free. Impulsively, you move to kick at his leg, but he outmaneuvers you, catching your kick with his boot and spinning you around so suddenly you gasp.

“Oohh, y’ve got fire,” he says, lips pulled thin in a devilish smile. “I’m gonna enjoy breakin’ you.” Something hard presses into your rib, and you don’t need to look down to know it’s the muzzle of his revolver. He draws the hammer back into place with a distinctive click. 

“Why don’t you be a good li’l captive and mosey on ahead?” He says, turning you until the gun is pressed into your lower back. You suppress a shudder. That’s when the world suddenly goes black, the press of the gun briefly vanishing while fabric is pulled tight over your eyes.

Wherever he’s taking you, he wants it to be a surprise.

The Ghoul walks you at gunpoint. He keeps the rope between you taut, the barrel of his gun pressed firmly to your back. The venture there is quiet, your gait tense with anticipation. A sick little thrill runs through you every time he yanks the rope or gives you a deep jab with his gun. There’s pleasure in his voice when he tells you, “Mind your step, sweetness.”

He knows precisely the effect he has on you, even if it took him time and a half to believe it.

His knuckles dig into your back as his fingers hook over the rope, holding it like a harness as you descend a flight of stairs. He catches you when you stumble on the last step, but it still startles you.

“A warning would have been nice,” you say, turning your head blindly, angling to try and get any glimpse of your surroundings from beneath the blindfold.

“Apologies,” he drawls, not sounding very sorry at all. He nudges you forward with his gun. “I like watchin’ you struggle.”

“Yeah, you make that very–” A hard tug on the rope cuts you off and stops you in your tracks. The rope comes loose after that, full circulation returning to your hands in a rush that makes them tingle. The Ghoul’s steps resonate in the room–it sounds large, mostly empty–as he walks away from you. You stay still for a hesitant moment, head jerking at the sound of something scraping across the floor towards you.

“Awwh, ain’t you sweet, waitin’ for permission,” he says, making you flush. You quickly reach up and pull the blindfold from your eyes, blinking to adjust to the dimly lit room. 

It looks like a cleared out storage facility of some kind, with cement support beams lined up in a row down the center of the room, the walls lined with ransacked steel shelving. There’s a wire frame bed braced against one of the beams, heaped haphazardly with some pillows and blankets. 

The Ghoul sits on a rusty wrought iron chair in front of you, staring up from beneath the wide brim of his hat. From his thigh, he has his revolver fixed on you. 

“Atta girl,” he says as the blindfold hits the ground. “Now take off the rest.”

The low resonance of his voice easily commands the room. You swallow the lump in your throat, glancing down the dark barrel of his gun. Biting your tongue to keep yourself from showing too much excitement, you hurriedly reach for your–

The gunshot is deafening in the echoing expanse of the room, drowning out your scream. Already high on your own anticipation, the shot of adrenaline that goes through you with the startle nearly knocks you off your feet. 

His gun smokes in the wake of the shot that narrowly missed your reaching hand.

“Slow,” he tells you, cocking the hammer once again with his thumb.

The pound of your heart is rivaled only by the aching throb between your thighs. Breathing shallowly, you keep your eyes trained on him as you–slowly, this time–reach for your belt, pouches shifting as you unbuckle it. You lay it carefully on the ground, mindful of the treasures you acquired at the gas station, before you kick off each boot.

His gaze is heavy on you all the while, eyes dark and attentive to your every move. Your focus is on the tip of his gun, how it subtly follows along with your hands. You peel each layer off without taking your eyes from him, a shiver moving through you once your hands touch bare skin, purposefully sliding them down your hips, your legs, and then moving them slowly back up as you stand back up, stepping out of the garments pooled on the floor.

He tilts his gun sideways and beckons you forward with it, tipping his head back, dark eyes tracking your every move as you approach him. One at a time, he spreads his legs. “On y’knees, darlin’.” You obey, sinking down–slowly, he told you slow–onto your knees between his legs, bringing yourself to eye level with his gun. The cement floor feels harsh against your bare skin.

“Y’got my gun dirty runnin’ me out into the wastes like that,” he chides, leaning forward, pressing his gun to your sternum. With agonizing slowness, he drags the muzzle up through the valley between your breasts, to the notch beneath your throat, pressing into it briefly. He continues up, the metal cool against your burning skin, though not by much. He hooks the barrel under your chin and tips your head back.

“Clean it for me,” he says, pushing it between your lips.

While you open your mouth too readily for the game at hand, he doesn’t protest. The taste of the gun is bitter and metallic, but what strikes you most is the black powder residue. It’s charred with a sharp tang. A moan escapes you for the way he pushes it deeper, forcing your lips wider apart.

“Don’t be shy. Give ‘er a good spit shine, sweetheart,” he encourages, pulling the gun back only to push it deeper yet. You comply, welcoming the slide of it deeper, pressing your tongue into the grooves on the underside, your eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. “Good,” he says, voice rough with the effect you’re having on him.

Hands braced on your own bare thighs, your nails bite dull little crescents into your skin. The rock of your body is entirely subconscious, your eyelids fluttering. It’s easy to lose yourself to the work at hand, to luxuriate in the weight of his gaze on you while he uses you, fucking your mouth with the full barrel of his gun. He’s so committed to the fantasy, you can’t help but buy into it wholly.

By the time he pulls the gun away your chin is spit slick and your tongue is tingling where you’d been pressing it to the barrel. He gives an appreciative whistle while inspecting the wet shine of his gun. “That’s better,” he says, gaze sliding to you. He stands, grabbing a thick handful of your hair to haul you up to your feet with him. The noise you make is humiliating. Needy. His answering grin is wicked.

“Time t’oil it,” he says, voice frayed at the edges. He doesn’t let that trace of impatience impact his movements any. He walks you to the bed with that same loose devil-may-care swagger, assured that he has all the time in the world to take you apart piece by piece. 

The mattress’ metal coils groan with your weight as he tosses you onto the bed, standing at the edge of it. The bed stands taller than most, bringing your pelvis parallel to his when you’re on your knees. He grabs your thigh and yanks your ass up into the air, smoothing his hand over the swell of it. He gives a sharp little slap to your rear that wrings a gasp out of you. The way he smooths his leather clad hand over the smarting spot afterwards almost feels like an apology, even if he’s really just admiring his handiwork.

“Spread,” he orders simply. You do so eagerly, widening the splay of your knees, folding your arms to rest your head on. “Look at you,” he breathes with genuine wonder, gripping your ass cheek and holding it firm while he inspects you. You can already feel what he’s looking at, how wet you are from his teasing. “Y’fuckin’ drippin’ for me.”

A shiver rolls through your whole body at the feel of his gun against your inner thigh sliding slowly upwards. Your hips give a reflexive little buck at the first touch of that warm barrel against your soaked cunt, your clit throbbing so hard it aches. “Don’t move,” he tells you. He sounds wrecked. He moves it back and forth, teasing your clit with just the muzzle of it before drawing back, and your thighs tremble with the effort to keep yourself still when all you want is to chase that precious relief.

The hiss of his zipper is the most thrilling noise you’ve ever heard. The gun disappears from between your thighs.

“Up,” he tells you, taking a rough hold of your shoulder and yanking you upright before you have the chance to comply. He holds you still while he lines himself up, the familiar thick head of his cock grinding through the wet slide of you, the length of him rubbing from taint to clit. “Y’made this big mess just from suckin’ down my gun? Christ alive, darlin’. You’re somethin’ else,” he says through his teeth. The ruin in his voice makes it feel like praise, and that feels good.

Almost as good as the slow burn of his cock pushing into you, the sound of it obscenely loud and wet. You tip your head back against his shoulder and reach back over your own, grabbing at his coat, holding onto him for dear life while he sinks deeper and deeper, pulling you back until your bare ass falls flush against him. Feeling his clothing against your bare body intensifies that intoxicating feeling of vulnerability. Never in your life has the thrill of danger been safe to explore.

Not until him.

He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting almost as soon as he’s bottomed out. 

“Fffuck,” you exhale, eyes screwed tightly shut. You start to lean forward, but he catches you by the throat, pinning you back against his chest at the same time he fires his gun, shocking your eyes wide open. Your body goes rigid, cunt seizing up so tightly around him he hisses out a breath.

“C’mon, little bunny,” he whispers in a vicious grit, pressing the still-warm muzzle firmly against your temple. “Bounce for me.” He cocks the hammer back, the smell of black powder filling your senses. 

You nod fervently, lifting up on your knees and using the mattress to bounce yourself on his cock, gravity bringing you down into every one of his hard thrusts. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sighing his pleasure in strained little sounds. His hand slides down your throat to your chest, cupping your breast and squeezing, thumbing your nipple until you shudder.

“Close,” you moan, fist twisting in the fabric of his coat, your other hand clutching the wrist of the hand he’s fondling you with. “Please.”

His only response is to slide his hand down further, fingers slipping between your thighs. His middle finger finds your clit first, the friction making your hips jerk out of rhythm. He persists, fingering your clit in smooth circles while he fucks you hard.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot and wet on your neck. “All that fight’s gone now, ain’t it? Just a needy li’l thing beggin’ t’cum.” You’re so close you’re starting to shake, breath caught in your throat. “Go on, angel. Lemme hear how pretty you can beg.”

His fingers slow enough that your ascension falters. “Please!” You rasp immediately, squeezing his wrist, begging in every way you know how to. “Please, m’so close, please make me cum, please,” you plead, voice pitchy, your thoughts empty of everything but pleasure. He’s fucking you hard, chasing his own release just as fervently.  

Just like that his touch returns to full force, deftly working your clit until your pleasure crests and your pleas turn to cries. Your orgasm hits like an earthquake, a sudden eruption that renders you silent, your lips falling open on a noiseless scream. Your body locks up like a vice, euphoria turning your vision white and emptying your mind of all thought while pleasure cascades through you in hot liquid waves.

He doesn’t stop, though his thrusts slow. He fucks you deeply through your orgasm, savoring every quiver around his cock while he uses you. You don’t hear him come, but you feel it, the deep rush of heat that he empties into the core of you, his body going still against yours. Your whole body shudders and you exhale a broken little noise, dizzy from the magnitude of it all. Everything around you feels bleary, your vision fading in and out. For a moment, you feel as though you might float away from your body entirely, your consciousness barely holding on, but the feeling of him pressed against your back, holding you to him, grounds you.

He moves the gun from your temple and holsters it, adjusting his grip so that he can ease you down onto your stomach, slipping from between your legs. You pant hot puffs of air into the bedding, your vision blurry at the edges.

“Coop,” you call, signifying the end of your little game of pretend.

“M’right here,” he soothes, his bare hands upon you not a moment later. There’s a marked difference in the way he touches you now, a subtle tenderness that he’d forced out of his touch for the sake of play. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it until now, feeling it as if for the first time. 

He slides into bed next to you, having shed his gloves, coat and bandolier. You find the strength to slip an arm around him, clinging despite the tremble in your limbs. The next several seconds–moments, maybe hours, you can’t be sure–pass by in a haze of touch.

He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. He makes you aware of your entire body, grounding you with sweeping touches to every part of your body. It’s an intoxicating intimacy that leaves you feeling warm and drunk, still hungry for more.

 At some point Cooper gets the blanket over you, skirting his scarred fingers up and down your arm beneath it. The adrenaline crash that follows your orgasm is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, leaving you exhausted on a level beyond physical.

“Still with me?” Cooper asks after a time, fingertips tapping idle patterns on your skin as if to call you back to your body. “Mhm… Intense,” you say, the lone word slurred by your lazy tongue.

“Warned you,” he gives back, sounding nearly as ruined. His voice is deeper than usual, thoroughly frayed at the edges. It’s true, he had warned you that you were playing with fire. It’s unclear how much of that had been play, and how much was just him. Still, it had been… thrilling. Amazing. Everything you’d hoped it would be. 

“How ‘bout it, darlin’, do I scare you yet?” He asks, making it sound like an inevitability. He must believe it is.

You sigh a low hum, pretending to give the matter great thought. “Mmm… Mm-mm. Not one little bit,” you say, the words hardly legible.

“Shucks,” he says simply, feigning something like disappointment.

“Why’re you so determined to scare me off?” You ask, adjusting where your head lay on his shoulder so that you can look up at him. You’ve grown accustomed to his unique silhouette, but more than that, you’ve started to figure out what it is that makes him handsome. He’s got a wide chin and a fine jawline, and on the rare occasions you see it, a charming smile.

Much of it is in his eyes. They never fail to make your heart stutter.

“A saner question would be why you’re so determined t’stay,” he counters, those very eyes dropping to meet yours. You can’t help but smile, which–as per usual–catches him just a touch off guard.

“I got a thing for pretty men,” you say, caught up in your own musings.

His expression flattens. “Very funny,” he says, and you realize he thinks you’re mocking him.

“Hey, I mean it. I was just thinking about how handsome you are,” you say, reaching up to touch his jaw.

“There’s a specific kind’a philia for finding corpses handsome, y’know,” he says, though in his afterglow the words lack their usual sharp cynicism. They come to him more like habit than anything else.

“You’re not a corpse, Cooper,” you tell him firmly, cupping his cheek in your palm. “You don’t need to keep living like one.”

He considers you in silence for a long moment. With the back of his knuckles, he brushes your cheek. There it is again; that deep sadness that sometimes appears in his eyes when he looks at you. As if he’s mourning something.

“What?” You whisper. “Why do you–”

He kisses you, swallowing the words clean off your lips. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you, kisses you, kisses you through your meager protests until your lips move with his and you sink back down into the warmth of it. He grows progressively more relentless with it, stealing your breath until you’re forced to break away, turning your head for air.

“You can’t kiss your way out of every–”

“I know,” he interrupts you, lifting his head to level you with a hard stare. “I know, alright? But it’ll come on my terms, in my time, yeah?”

You stare, pinned by the weight in his expression. After a beat, you nod, feeling dazed by both the onslaught and his words. It’s the only time he’s acknowledged that there is something, which you suppose is progress. “Okay,” you say softly, and then again more firmly, “Okay.”

His expression softens, taking in the look of you before he kisses you again. You reciprocate, pressing into his lips with the weight of your conviction, willing him to feel how much you really do mean it. 

“Thank you for today,” you murmur, settling back down against him. “I never thought that I’d be able to… do something like that. And live,” you say, adding the last bit with a rueful smile. “I feel safe with you.”

You wait for some kind of dismissive or self-deprecating remark from him, or even a sly jab at you and your sanity, but neither come. You glance up and find him staring at you, thoughtful and–if your eyes don’t deceive you–a little sentimental.

“I don’t make promises,” he tells you, sounding resigned. “But for what it’s worth, I’d never want t’do somethin’ I thought might hurt you.”

“You’re sweet,” you say, that same sentimentality slipping into your own voice. If not a bit ominous.

“Not really,” he replies, adjusting against the bedding, his eyes falling shut. “Y’standards are just too low.”

You sigh, closing your eyes with an incredulous little smile. “Shut up.”

The two of you drift into comfortable silence, his fingers idly traipsing the contours of your body. It’s like he’s memorizing the feel of you, hyper-aware that these intimate moments together are stolen. You reciprocate, seeking out what bare skin you can with gentle brushes of your fingers. He’s never admitted as much, but you’ve long suspected he struggles with pain. He’s rarely ever unclothed, and sometimes you see him wince when he goes too long between hits of those vials.

Cooper started living on borrowed time long before he met you, but it doesn’t stop you from hoping that he might someday see something more permanent in you. With you.

In the meantime, you’ll make the most of every second.

[t4yce]

EVA LE QUEEN • global all stars 1.02 “local currency eleganza” runway

[steviewashere]

Steve and Eddie being teenage boys (even in their twenties, even though they technically are no longer teenagers), a list that I've been making in my head (some of them are stupid and some of them are sweet, but this is a long list, be warned):

Steve teaching Eddie how to burp the alphabet after drinking soda. He's phenomenal at it. Like...almost disgustingly so. It ends up turning into a one up competition pretty fast after that.

Eddie who knows how to drag race and takes Steve on ridiculously fast drives down empty streets at night (when Steve's had a terrible night). He steps on the gas and goes: "Weeee!!!" as they speed. (Please don't speed. It is dangerous. But for the sake of entertaining their pea brains, this is what they do.)

Eddie and Steve who have been participating in a several month long tagging game. They slap each other on the back of shoulders as hard as they possibly can before skittering off like a little goblin.

Steve and Eddie think it's soooo fucking funny to blow up condoms like balloons when they're stoned.

Steve and Eddie who get stoned and they go shop for munchies at the local grocery store, both hysterically giggling at figuring out how to be "normal" people in public. (They are failing miserably.)

Steve who makes Eddie play basketball with him sometimes. And then he purposefully tosses the ball at Eddie rather than the basket. It devolves into wresting in the grass, heads in elbows, knuckles across scalps, kicking each other in the shins.

One time, Steve falls asleep at Eddie's on the couch. And instead of being all sweet and doting, Eddie finds a marker and draws a penis on Steve's face. He gets water poured on his head the next time he falls asleep at Steve's as payback.

Steve and Eddie comforting each other through nightmares and hardships and healing injuries, both in sort of constipated, mumbled ways. Pats to the back and leaning in close to each other, resting heads on shoulders. Passing cigarettes or beers back and forth just to pass the time, not really talking. Exchanging words afterwards like, "You're a great friend," and "You're the best person I know." Because they both need that and recognize that, even outside of the petty, childish things they do to each other.

Eddie, who understands that the pool at Steve's is a sore spot, instead of prodding them to get in, he plans out a whole water balloon fight to stave off the summer heat.

Steve, who knows that music has been a source of calm for Eddie over the years, makes sure there's always a cassette that Eddie can play in case it gets too quiet.

Eddie and Steve who shit talk each other in the arcade, beating each other's high scores if only to rile the other one up.

Steve who always checks Eddie's ID before he goes into the adult only room in Family Video. Despite knowing that Eddie is definitely over the age of eighteen. Sometimes he denies Eddie entry in front of Keith just to make him pout. (He thinks it's cute.)

Eddie and Steve watching porn together, criticizing the moans the entire time because they know for sure it's fake. And on the same note of moans, Eddie who gets a call from Wayne and Steve fake moans in the background the entire time. Steve gets a call from his parents and Eddie shouts really loud in the background for Steve to pass the joint back. They just glare at each other before getting in another tag fight throughout wherever they're at.

Eddie who goes into Family Video after Steve strikes out again. Who just walks up to the counter and starts acting like one of those girls, twirling his hair and pouting his lips and blinking his eyes, making his voice high pitched. (It gets Steve to giggle instead of pout, so Eddie calls it a win.)

Eddie guzzling an entire can of Coke and then spraying it out of his nose when Steve makes him laugh too hard. Steve's never made anybody laugh that hard.

Steve and Eddie who claim it's not gay to make their boners kiss. I mean...what? Who said that?

Steve and Eddie who play-punch a little too hard when playing punch buggy on vacation.

Speaking of vacation, Steve and Eddie going to a beach over the summer. They chase each other up and down the sand. They roll off of the sand hills. Eddie buries Steve in the sand and applies sunscreen to his face as he just accepts his fate. Steve helps Eddie make a sandcastle, a secret talent of his being how structurally sound he can build one.

Steve and Eddie playing with Legos while talking shit about Family Video customers. They toss Sour Patch Kids into each other's mouths as they talk. Sometimes hitting each other in the face purposefully.

Steve and Eddie who get drunk one night and go catch a wild possum. Robin screams at them to put it back because, "No, you dinguses, that is not a cat!"

Eddie and Steve taking care of each other on bad pain days. Trying to entertain the other with stupid jokes or shitty movies or gossip.

Eddie sharing his uncle with Steve when he finds out that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington are terrible motherfuckers. Who makes sure Steve is comfortable in his home around Wayne.

Steve conspiring with Wayne to make sure that Eddie always has the best birthday parties. Because the one thing he really held onto from his King Steve years was how to throw a small get together, and how, especially, to make it extremely awesome and memorable.

Steve who gets Eddie new albums he's been eyeing for his birthday. Ones Eddie knows he'd never be able to afford on his own, always a little sullen when he looks at the price. Steve who still has access to his dad's credit card and will max it out just for Eddie to get his fill.

Eddie makes homemade things for Steve's birthday. Cards and trinkets and drawings—things Steve's old high school buddies never considered as gifts, even though they have the most impact on Steve, even though they matter the most.

Steve and Eddie who love each other, insurmountably. Despite sometimes being major buttheads to each other.

[7seas-of-ryy]

I Need You | Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Author’s Note: I promise there will be fluff! The build up will be worth it :)

Summary: You're taken by strange men who claim you're their target. Will someone save you or will you save yourself?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Torture, blood, angst, let me know if I need to add any others :)

Fear. You had been through so much yet you were paralyzed with fear. They were all closing in on me, taking their time knowing there was no where for me to run. You glanced around one last time, hoping Azriel was just late and he would show up and save you. You needed him.

He wasn't there and he wasn't going to show up. Your mind was racing, this is it. This would be the end for me-

"Back away from her and I'll let you all live" a voice growled

As you turned your head you saw Cassian in a fighting stance. You couldn't move, couldn't fight, you felt cowardly. The fact that none of them looked worried, scared you further.

"Oh if it isn't the Prince of Bastards himself. You see, Cassian, we expected one of you to be here with her or try to save her. We assumed it would be the shadowsinger but you will have to do."

You felt lightheaded, looking at Cassian you realized he must feel that way as well from the slight swaying he was doing. He fell to his knees and that was when you realized they had released some type of gas to knock you both out. Before you could think more about it, darkness took over.

You woke in a dungeon. Your hands bound in chains above your head, you feet chained to the floor. Your head felt like someone poured cement in it.

"Sunshine..psst....hey wake up" Cassian was whispering at you.

Cassian. He had somehow shown up and tried to save me. Why had he been there? You'd think about that later. For now you needed to figure out where you were and how to get out.

"What's going on?" You asked Cass

"I think we're in the Autumn Court. None of them had any of the court symbols but it looked like their men. Do you have any idea what they want? They said you were their target?" He painfully spoke as if he was fighting to get the words out.

It was only then that you looked at him, truly looked and saw his bruised and bloody face.

He saw the recognition in your eyes and told you, "it's ok, you were still out so they wanted to play with me a little. Show me some hospitality, that's all." the sarcasm rolling off his tongue.

You heard the door creak and you both watched as three men walked in. Two you didn't recognize and the other was the leader.

"Ahhh how exciting! Our guest of honor has woken up" he said and sounded truly happy.

He walked straight over to you and back handed you so hard you saw stars. Cass screamed and tugged at his chains. The man watched Cass with a grin and continued his assault on me. He punched me anywhere he could, using me as if I was a training dummy. Then he nodded at his two cronies and they made their way over to me. They started to...no, please no. They were taking off your clothes.

"Oh calm down, we're not gonna touch you like that. We just need more access to your skin so I can view my handy work." He spoke

Cassian was screaming, "Cowards, hurt me instead. Leave her alone"

Once I was fully bare, they left. Cassian looked ashamed that he couldn't stop it. The blood from my face dripped to my body and the pain was too much, I welcomed the darkness, hoping I would just fade away.

I woke to someone taking my chains off of me and dragging me by my hair out of the room. Cassian was fighting against his chains as much as he could, yelling, growling at them.

"No, you son of a bitch, leave her alone! No!" you heard his continued pleas as you were thrown into another room.

The leader was here.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions. If you answer them, you might get to leave. If not, I'm going to torture you to get the answers and then kill you" He spoke as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

"Does Nyx have any special abilities?" he asked

You inhaled sharply. Why were the asking about Nyx?

"Hmm, lets try another, where are the keeping Nyx? Do they have any wards protecting him?" the man asked

You wouldn't tell him anything. You loved Nyx, Feyre, and Rhys with all your heart and would die protecting them. You were a coward when they kidnapped you, not even fighting back. But now you would hold you ground for the ones you loved.

"Don't feel like talking to me...? Don't worry, you will." He spoke lowly

He tortured you and beat you until you felt you were near death, then dragged you back to the dungeon and threw you in. His men chained you up again and left me.

"What did they do to you?" Cass spoke softly, not looking for an answer. He just couldn't believe his eyes. You were bruised and bleeding everywhere, wheezing like you had a couple broken ribs, and he could see the silent tears flowing from your eyes.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't strong enough, I'm so sorry, so sorry..." Cassian kept repeating as you let your head hang and faded away.

When you woke, you saw your friend had a few more bruises than before. No where near as bad as you but still bad.

"They asked me about Nyx" you squeaked out

"Hey, you keep holding on, we're going to get out of here. Do you hear me? I'm not letting you die here." Cass said as the man appeared again.

"Good Morning! We're going to try something new today. I'm going to hurt you - repeatedly - in front of him and we'll get him to break seeing as you don't like to talk to me. Oh, and I know where to stab to keep you alive so we can do this for a while" He said grabbing a long dagger and walking over to me.

You looked forward and saw the panic in your friend's eyes. No, this would only add more guilt to him.

"Cass look at me. I'm ok, it's gonna be ok. I promise I'm ok," You frantically spoke looking at the man chained in front of you, "Don't worry about me, I can take it, I'm ok-" you started screaming from the pain. He stabbed your back with his dagger.

You don't know how long this went on or how many times you were stabbed, you had blacked out for the fourth? fifth? time. When you woke, someone was taking your chains off again. As you waited to be dragged to the other room for more questioning, you heard Cass speak.

"No, I'm fine. Help her instead."

You felt strong arms wrap around you and lift you up. You slowly opened your eyes to see Lucien carrying you out of the dungeon.

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Desperation

When you disappear from the Arkham Knights base, he's intent on getting you back. ~1.1k words

If the Arkham Knight knew that you'd be so against releasing fear gas over the entire eastern seaboard, he wouldn't have let you have nearly as much freedom around his base as he did. He really didn't consider that your moral compass would keep you from staying with him.

He's frustrated, as he tears through the streets of Gotham searching for you. If you wanted him to change his plans, you only needed to ask. Sure, he might have lied about the details, but the two of you could have at least talked before you decided leaving him was for the best.

He doesn't understand how you've managed to evade him for this long. He's checked every one of The Bats safehouses he knows you know about and a few you didn't. So where the hell are you?

He slams his fist into the wall of another empty safehouse. This is ridiculous. You don't get to run from him, don't get to be anywhere he doesn't know. How is he supposed to know you're safe like this? Know you're not making a bad decision? Not doing something that'll end in you hurt– kidnapped– dead?

His throat tightens as he storms out of the room, mentally running through where you could have gone to hide from him. He has his men stationed at the port, at hotels, at the subway stations, the airport, the highways out of Gotham. There's no way you've gotten out of the city.

'Unless you escaped before he noticed you were gone,' his mind supplies unhelpfully. The Arkham Knight scowls, as if that was possible. He stalks across the rooftops, mind racing. The second he gets his hands on you, he's putting a tracer on you. He should have done it sooner. Never should have let this happen. You're not supposed to be away from him. He needs you with him, needs you close.

Where did you go? Where did you go?

"Boss," a voice cuts through his helmet.

"What?" He snaps, voice sharp and angry and dangerous.

"We had a sighting of them."

He almost lets out a sigh of relief, "Location?"

You cursed rapidly under your breath as you dart through the alleys of Gotham. Stupid- stupid to get spotted by one of Jason's payrolled men. You knew you were lucky to have recognized him, but The Arkham Knight must know where you are by now.

You debate chancing the sewers, Killer Croc is supposed to be in Arkham, and if you're careful you could avoid Grundy. You don't have a plan– didn't have a plan when you left. You just needed to get out, needed air and space and time to process, to really come to terms with the fact that Jason isn't your Jason anymore.

Everything seems to be flying by in a whirlwind as you move through the shadows. Your thoughts frazzled, you don't even know what you want. Do you want him to find you? Do you want to go back with him? Do you want to keep running?

You don't really get a say in the matter when the Arkham Knight drops down a mere five feet in front of you, blocking one of your two exits out of the alleyway.

You let out a strangled noise of surprise as he storms towards you. You stumble back, eyes wide, "Jason–"

"What are you doing out here? Do you know what time it is? How dangerous this is?" He grabs your arm, grip tight to keep you in place. You can hear the desperation in his tone even through the modulator.

"I just– I needed to think–" You stumble out, eyes darting over the neon blue glow of his helmet.

"You can think inside the base, where it's safe." He tells you firmly, already dragging you along the alley.

You dig your heels in, "No, Jason. I can't go back there."

He turns back to you, voice low and almost threatening, "Why not?"

"I'm scared."

He falls quiet. You both do. He lets go of you. "Of me?"

"No! No, Jason, not of– of course not of you. I'm scared of– I'm scared that I understand. That your plan makes sense and I– I understand. At least, why you need this. Bruce failed you. I failed you." You start to reach for him, for the boy you fell in love with, the one lost underneath the armor and guns and nightmares. You stop short, it's hard sometimes, to not blame yourself for what happened to him.

He meets you halfway, the man he is now, the one who you don't quite know how to love yet, grabs your hand and pulls it to his chest. "I don't blame you."

"You should," You protest, but don't remove your hand, "I'm guilty too. A part of you must know that."

He shakes his head, squeezes your hand, "I don't care."

"You should," You repeat, angry and bitter with yourself.

"It doesn't matter, even if I did," he sighs your name and tugs off his helmet, letting it drop to the ground, "You're coming back with me."

You frown a little, something you can't quite name flicks in your eyes. In another life, he would have said he needed you, that he wants you with him, that he can't bear to be apart from you. But that's not who he is anymore, it's not what Arkham turned him into.

You don't know how to say no, not when his eyes are hard and his jaw is set. His only sign of vulnerability is the slight acceleration of his heartbeat, the way his fingers twitch against yours. All you can offer is a nod.

The lines of his face soften just enough to make your heart flutter and he leans in to press a firm kiss to your mouth.

It's still unfamiliar, the way he kisses you now, but you can't help but want to learn. It feels impossible not to, not when you know what he really means with his actions. Not when he whispers that he can't lose you, that he still loves you into your skin when you're half asleep at night.

You just start to kiss him back, just start to lean into his touch when he pulls away, letting go of you to dip down and retrieve his helmet.

He pulls it on in one practiced motion, hiding anything that was readable on his face from you, "Let's get you back."

Your face falls a little as he turns and starts walking away, but you follow him. Of course you do. Your chest aches, your head still feels muddled with what you've learned, but when he silently reaches his hand back for yours, your steps no longer feel so heavy.