#got a pocket full of subside

[isaiahomega]

"So who's the ditz and who's the dull?"

[razrbladekiss]

LOVE BITES | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: its been two years since joel broke your heart, and now you’re thrust into the most awkward situation imaginable. no thanks to tommy, of course.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.9k, literally pulled this outta my ass in an hour.

WARNINGS: angst. joel is a bit of a jerk and so is tommy but reader can hold her own. 🤭 tiny bit of fluff. plenty of dialogue to scratch the itch inside of my little pea brain!

“What can I getcha?” You call over the music, leaning against tacky wood as you greet yet another inebriated middle aged man. Your tits shine beneath dim light—highlighted with perspiration, liquor and the purple glitter that Cassie thinks’ll get you more tips—and you smile. “Bud Light?”

“Please, doll.”

Your eyes roll. The pet names are one of the worst parts about working at Fuel, but you suppose it’ll never subside. It’s sleazy, here. The place teems with parasitic men—old, sweaty metalheads that’ll never touch a bar of soap even if you bribe them—but they pay your bills with the gratuity they slip into your pocket, so you find it in yourself to tolerate it.

Plus, every so often an attractive stranger comes in and fills your evening with something more interesting than a story that usually starts with “were you even born when this song came out?”

It’s not clear why you’re targeted behind the bar—you’re not the youngest and certainly not the chirpiest—but you surmise that these figments of the male species must have some sort of affinity for being bitched at. Because as soon as someone says something even slightly misogynistic, you’re coming down on them like a wall of fucking bricks.

You’re outspoken. Kind of brash. But it makes for great conversation with some hot guys every so often.

Fuck this shit.

Feigning that internal indignation—and yearning for some kind of drama—you resume your work.

“There ‘ya go, Gil.” You pop off the cap, handing him the bottle and offer a smile. He takes it with a nod, bumbling away from the bar and you turn away to dry some glasses.

It’s busy, but not Saturday night busy. It’s wall-to-wall, but it doesn’t seem as tightly-packed as usual. You’re not rushed off your feet, you’re not being overrun with strange and usual orders from men whose eyes are needing to be held open with toothpicks, or the odd underage girl that managed to slip past Dean while he was checking ID’s.

Something is off.

And it isn’t for the fact that the same three Motörhead songs are playing on a fucking loop, either. Something is looming.

Something a little bit more tense.

“Hey.” Cassie tips her head in a nod toward the crowd while pulling the beer tap. “Look who just walked in.”

You squint your eyes. It’s a struggle to heed any new faces, for the light is so dim and room full of cigarette smoke, but you scan nonetheless.

“I can’t see.” You tell her, taking a few glasses from atop the bar to wash. “Is it that hot guy you always flirt with?”

Her cheeks turn thirteen shades of crimson. She shakes her head.

“No. He’s in Cancun with his wife.”

“Oh.” You say wryly. “So, he’s not interested in you then?”

She blinks in your direction. “We had sex on Thursday.”

Your jaw hits the floor. “Oh.” You repeat your earlier tone. “So, you’re his side piece?”

“Yes. And happily so.” Cassie slips the beer to her patron, and turns to you with an elbow propped against the sticky wood. “But enough about Luke…Can’t you see him? He’s got the denim jacket on—hair a little slicked back.”

Confused, your gaze drifts into the sea of drunks. You’re drawing a blank.

“Oh my GOD.” She grabs a hold of your shoulders, and turns you toward nine o’clock. “Look!”

You follow her line of sight, still blindly searching. Until he comes toward the bar, and you go through all seven stages of fucking grief as he ambles toward you.

He’s got a face like thunder. Eyes dark, nostrils flared.

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed.” The unyielding grip set against your shoulders is released, though Cassie stays close by. For back-up—and slightly inquisitive—purposes.

Tommy. Fucking. Miller.

You haven’t seen him since the night that Joel broke your heart, and you’d be a fool to surmise that the underlying hostility has died off in the two years that your eyes last met. He was a prick to you, that night.

But you’re not scared of him. Never have been. He’s a pussycat.

Aside from that night, the most confrontation between the two of you came on a very warm summers evening, when Tommy was barbecuing and you told him that his burgers needed a little longer when he tried serving them. He pitched a fit, threw the spatula in the air, and left Joel to take over.

He never could take criticism.

“Get out.” You tell him, hand firmly gripped against the Guinness tap. “I mean it, Miller. Get out.”

He ignores you, taking a seat at the bar and your jaw rolls.

“Fine.” You fake a smile, wanting nothing more than to throw a whiskey sour in his face. “What d’ya want, Tommy? Jack ‘n coke? Bud? A slap—“

“I dunno. But now that I’ve seen you, I want you to call my brother.”

Cassie takes a step back when you nudge her, needing to go through this alone.

“Phone works both ways.” Blunt, you say. You pour him whiskey—neat—despite him not elucidating exactly what he wants. “He’s a jackass, Tommy. I ain’t got time for jackasses no more.”

He rubs his lips together after taking a pull, putting firmly the glass against the bar.

“You left him—“

“Wrong. He broke up with me.”

“You left him.” Tommy repeats himself. He’s getting agitated, now. “He didn’t really want you to go. He didn’t mean to say all that he said—“

You scoff, throwing a dish rag over your shoulder.

“Well, he said it. He kicked me out.” You start, ready to reel off all the bad things Joel did to you. “He blocked my number, told everyone that I left ‘cus I was never happy with anything—“

“He loved you, and you were just a spiteful bitch.” Tommy defends, slightly more brash than what he once was.

“Wow. You’ve grown a pair of balls since I last saw you.”

“Oh, fuck it off with the mean shit.” He growls, staring pointedly at you. “You’re not like this, so stop pretending.”

You put a few glasses away beneath the bar, and stick clean scoops into the ice cube tray.

“I was crazy about him, he didn’t need to give me anything more than what he already did, Tommy.” With a small voice, you tell him. “We all know that.”

Tommy runs a hand over the back of his neck. But you’re not willing to argue the case any further—not with a man who downs his liquor in one single shot.

“So, is this why you’re here, huh? To spend the entire night chewin’ me out? ‘Cus if you are, then you can fuck off. I get enough shit from the assholes that come here every night.”

He shakes his head. “Wasn’t on my agenda. Didn’t know that ‘ya worked here, so I guess its been a lovely experience for the two ‘a us, ‘ay?”

Your eyes roll. You pop the cap off another beer for Gil as he stumbles toward you, handing it to him while taking his cash at the same time.

“And why are you here? ‘Cus I didn’t peg you down to be the heavy metal type. That was always reserved for—“

Your face falls. This time, your heart actually starts to pound within the constraints of its ribcage, and you feel nauseous. You’re lucky that no glass is held tightly beneath deft fingertips, or else you’d be having to sweep the shards of it off of the floor.

“Joel.” You murmur as he pads over to Tommy.

He leans against the bar, looking at his brother. He mumbles something about this place being a dive, how loud it is, and that he needs to be getting back ‘cus Sarah’ll be gettin’ worried if I’m not home before midnight.

You’re blinking at him, but he doesn’t notice you’re standing right there. Not until he pins a cigarette between his lips and fishes about his pocket for a light, but comes up empty.

Joel turns around, patting his shirt and jeans pockets, before his eyes flick upward and mouth gapes open. The cigarette is stuck to his bottom lip by the slick of his saliva, and a sheer stroke of luck.

He yanks the stick from his mouth, before he’s pointing at Tommy with it.

It’s almost comical that Love Bites is playing from the jukebox. Though, it makes a fucking change from Whiskey In The Jar.

“This why you fuckin’ brought me here?!” He barks, and you’re glad that it’s so loud in there or else he’d be causing a scene.

Tommy holds his hands up in defense. “I didn’t know she worked here!”

“He didn’t.” You cut in, earning a glare from the man whose heart once lived in your pocket. “What? Do you really think he’d put you—us—in this position willingly?”

Joel looks between the two of you, easing the accusatory gesture. He slips the cigarette between his lips again, and you—begrudgingly—hurl a lighter toward him.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. He just takes it and sparks the cigarette, cupping the cherry as the light takes.

“You’re welcome.” You snark. Joel slides it over to you without even so much as looking upward. “You’re used to that, ain’t ‘ya? Taking things from me when you’ve got no business to?”

He says your name warning, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes are dark. A lot more dismal, than usual. Saddened, maybe.

And his face is gaunt. Still as handsome as ever, but complexion slightly sallow. Though, you just put that down to the fact that winter doesn’t offer too much sun for him to tan, in Jackson.

“I didn’t do shit to you.” Joel upholds, flicking cigarette ash into the ceramic dish atop the bar. You tense up at his tone. “You wanted more than what I could’ve given you, so we both knew it wasn’t gonna work—“

“I loved you, Joel!” You bark across the bar, leaning over a little. He drops a glance to your tits—exposed and glittering—and swallows thickly the lump in the back of his throat. “I wanted to be with you—get married, start a family—was that such a bad fuckin’ thing?!”

“Y’knew I didn’t want that.”

You blink back the tears that are desperate to push over your waterline, and nod. “But if you communicated that to me earlier on in the relationship, then maybe I would’ve shunned those ideas.”

Tommy looks between the two of you, hating the prickly tension. Because—two and a half years ago—you two were the strongest couple he ever knew. Regardless of the age gap, you were obsessed with one another.

But now you’re strangers, standing at opposite sides of the bar.

“Take a break, hon.” Cassie tells you from a distance and you’re peeling off the waist apron faster than you can even acknowledge what she’s saying.

Marlboro reds are being yanked from the ass pocket of your jeans, and the lighter that you had let Joel borrow is snared firmly within the palm of your left hand.

You storm to the front of the bar—ignoring the friendly crowd of regulars, friends, and new-faces—all the while devoured by this overwrought tension that’s bubbling up from the deepest caverns inside of you.

Joel follows you, reaching for your wrist but you shirk the feeling because it’s turning you sick. Just the sheer feeling of his skin—calloused and rough—ghosting over yours is enough to churn your stomach and force those ill feelings to flood back into your system.

You step outside, the din of much-to-loud music now muffled by the steel doors—only clear when someone walks in or out of the bar—and let your back hit against the brick wall with a dramatic thud.

“Sorry.” Joel says, though you know he doesn’t mean it.

“For what, exactly? Dumping me? Making me look like the bad guy, just ‘cus I wanted something?”

He runs a hand over his face, before he’s shifting forward to let a drunken—completely in love—couple pass by the two of you. He joins you up against the wall, his right boot colliding with it.

“I didn’t make you look like the bad guy—“

“Bullshit.” You say. “I see Sarah about town sometimes—she doesn’t even acknowledge me anymore, Joel. I spent five years of my life playing mommy to that little girl, and now I’m like a stranger to her?”

He hates how you’re throwing this back into his face, but he supposes that he deserves it. However, he will not give in to you that easy.

“You never played mommy. She always called you by your first name.” Like he knows it’ll hurt you, he says. “You were just a glorified babysitter, to her—“

“Oh, get fucked!” You bark, teeth clamped together. “You can’t say this shit when you don’t mean it, Joel! You know that she loved me!”

Your words materialize into the saddest tone he’s ever heard from you, and he’s suddenly feeling awful for even musing such a thing. He’s never this mean.

“Fuck—I’m sorry. You’re right, that was an awful thing to say.” Regret depletes him. But it’s too late. Tears are flowing from your beautiful eyes, like a dam that’s burst its way over the river banks, and Joel hates himself for doing this to you. Again.

When he broke things off—and ruined your life—he thought it would be easier to build a wall around himself, and lie to people about the nature of your departure. He told everybody that you left on your own terms, that you wanted things that Joel could never give to you—though, if he had just kept an open mind, then maybe he could’ve.

Because for months after you left his home, he found himself glued to his cellphone, desperate to call or text you to tell you how sorry he was for doing what he did.

That he was too hasty—too fucking mean—to say that he didn’t want a life with you. Because he did.

But it’s too late.

“Piper missed you, Joel.” You wipe away fat tears with the palm of your hand—knowing your mascara has smudged but not being able to find it in yourself to care—and tell him about the dog that the two of you once cared for together. “She sat by the door every morning waiting for you.”

This is killing him. Having you in front of him, but knowing that things will never be the same again.

“She’s four, now.” You smile a little bit. “She didn’t grow any bigger than what a German Shepherd should’ve, but she acts like it. Thinks she’s a fuckin’ rhino, or somethin’.”

Joel chuckles, feeling his own sadness loom in his tear ducts.

“She loves babies.” That maims you, a bit. “Cassie’s sister had a little boy in February. Piper sits by the crib whenever we visit. She would’ve loved being a sister.”

“I bet. She was always such a protective dog.” He stubs out his cigarette, though makes no effort to go back inside. “Especially when it came to you.”

“I’m her mom.” You tell him, blankly. “I feed her. I take her on walks. I groom her. I’m the only person that’s remained a constant in her life since she was eight-weeks old—“

“And I’m sorry for that.” A little stern—not enjoying being discreetly chastised—he says. “But we were never going to work—“

“And you thought that you’d tell me that after five fucking years?” You flick your own roach to the ground now, letting your back peel away from the wall. “Joel, I wasted half a decade with a man who couldn’t see us going anywhere, and you just expected me to be fine with that?”

“You didn’t waste your fucking time with me.”

“I could’ve had a family, by now!” You yell, your cheeks damp once again. Eyes stinging. “Joel, I could be somebody’s mother. Somebody’s wife.”

He feels awful that he’s taken that from you, but surmises that it isn’t too late.

“I know that you did it all before you met me—I know that was something that I was signing up for when I started dating an older man,” you take a breath, “but I thought that you might’ve changed your mind. Because I thought that you loved me—“

Joel grabs firmly your hands and shakes them, getting you to look at him. His eyes plead with yours.

“I did love you.” He breathes deep. “I think there’s a part of me that still loves you. But I couldn’t give you what it was that you wanted—“

You yanked your hands from his grip—for the second time this evening, actually.

“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t, Joel? Because to me, it seems like you were scared of committing to me for fear of something bad happening.”

“Don’t—“

“Not everyone leaves, Joel.” Softly, you tell him. “I was never planning on walking outta your life, so I don’t know why you were so scared to commit to me.”

Because I’m fucking insecure?

You look down at your watch, realizing that you’ve been out here far, far too long.

“Look.” You make eye contact with him. You miss the way he so boldly meets your gaze whenever you speak. “I’m sorry that you thought I was too high maintenance—that you’d never be able to keep me satisfied—but I was. There was never a doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t have had the best life with you, Miller.”

“But you wanted kids—“

“And I had Sarah. Of course, I wanted to mother my own children, Joel, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It just hurt to know that you didn’t want to give me that, when I was always so willing to do it for you.”

His eyes close slowly, realizing how much of a fucking prick he’s been these last twenty-four months.

“I’m sorry—“

“I need to get back in there.” You say with a small nod, gripping firmly the heavy-set door to the club before you’re stepping inside and leaving Joel completely dumbfounded.

I need to make this right.

It’s twelve forty-three in the morning when you finally amble up your driveway, and you’ve actually never been this happy to see your house before.

The kitchen light dim—though still bright enough to see Piper’s silhouette by the door—fills your heart with an immediate sense of comfort after such a long fucking day.

Carefully guiding yourself up the wooden steps so that you don’t fall, you edge nearer to your front door. But not before your boot is colliding with a little bag perched on the top step.

There’s a tag—your name inscribed—and you feel your face fall. Do you have a stalker?

But any premonition is squashed when you take the bag inside—wary, of course—and open it up. Piper is running laps around you all the while your hands fish around the pink cardboard.

“Oh?” You take out an envelope, and your heart sinks.

It starts with your name, and a little wonky heart next to it. Not to mention, it’s written with a pink gel-pen.

I’m sorry for being a jerk, I’d understand if you hate me. Today was fucking horrible, and I’m a douchebag. Not just for today, but for this whole thing. I’m sorry for making everybody think that you’re a bitch, and I wish that I would’ve told you sooner that I didn’t want children, or to get married again. Now that I’m thinking about it, it doesn’t seem all that bad. I’m also sorry that Tommy was a dick, he said he texted you but it bounced back—must’ve blocked his number. But honestly I don’t blame you. We’re assholes and you never deserved us in your life baby.

Take this card as an apology, if you want to. But take those candies and the dog treats, and have a nice evening with our little girl. I’ve unblocked your number and put my own inside of this envelope, so I hope that you’ll call me and we can make things right again.

Love always, Joel.

You wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, and pull out the dog treats alongside the nerds gummy clusters, and smile. He knows you both so well.

“Here, Piper girl.” She comes barreling over to you, almost sweeping your knees from beneath you. “Look’it what your daddy bought for you.”

Her ears prick up at the mention of Joel, and it’s at this moment that you realize you’ll be seeing him again a lot sooner than what you originally thought.

[cambion-companion]

"Hold Monster"

Based on this amazing post and artwork. I couldn't help but write something for our beloved INT 8 Tav from 1st POV since that's what I feel most comfortable writing.

Raphael x reader!Tav | Tav thinks the hold monster spell works in a very different way

You certainly hadn't intended to trip and fall into the portal, landing face-first on the polished marble floor of Raphael's entryway.

Your presence had been noticed immediately by Raphael who, upon recognizing you, wore a rather aggrieved expression. He set down his quill carefully and rose to full towering height, a slight twist of bemusement curling his lips. "Here I assumed you could go an hour without indulging in foolishness." He strode toward you and gripped you by the scruff like a wayward kitten. "You just caused me to lose a bet with Korilla."

"I really don't know how this happened!" You protested against his grasp as he dragged you back towards the portal. "I would've knocked if you had a door!"

Raphael released you with a slight push, his wings flexing as he glowered down at you. "Innocent or not, a trespass will be received as such."

"Ah! Raphael, it was an accident!" You began to panic as his eyes glowed a bright gold and flames began to dance upon the tips of his fingers. "Oh, not again." You groaned, wracking your brains for something to counter his retribution."

You withdrew a small amount of silver from your pocket and shrieked. "I cast hold monster!!" Then charged at the cambion head-on.

So surprised was he by your yell and sudden movement, Raphael couldn't react in time before you leapt upon him. You wrapped your arms and legs around his torso and hips, clinging to him like a rabid spider monkey.

The force with which you jumped him caught both of you off guard and Raphael toppled to the floor, his wings failing to catch his weight in time. You felt his grip pierce your sides as he stared up at you in utter shock for a moment. The spell had worked, it seemed.

You panted. "I don't want my bottom singed again like last time. That wasn't very nice."

Raphael grimaced, his face sharpening again as his surprise subsided. Emotions warred across his features. "You are a most confounding creature. If I believed you at all capable of rational thought, you'd be a pile of ash this very moment. Now...get off."

"Sorry, I can't." You shook your head sorrowfully. "The spell lasts a minute."

Raphael growled low in his throat, his wings stretching as he slowly got to his feet. You still clung to him, holding him tightly as you could.

With great care and powerful restraint, Raphael removed you from his person limb by limb.

"Wow, you're strong." You said with awe, panting a little from the exertion. Seeing the look on his face you backed slowly towards the portal. "Okay, I can see you're busy. I'll be going now."

"I should think so." Sparks of hellfire danced between Raphael's fingertips as he looked at you, his expression much like one who is considering how best to skin a deer.

Once you'd disappeared back to the material plane, Raphael grunted and looked around his immaculate manor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the infernal air. "For the crown."

[bettyfrommars]

Betty baby

how about a little one shot with Eddie and reader hooking up in readers car after a date 🥵

Ziggy my love, anything for you.

I did a lil twist on your request. I've been gone for a bit and this was the first thing I wrote when I got home yesterday, thank you for the much needed inspiration 🥹

Waste Away With Me

Eddie x older!fem!Reader

18+ONLY, smut, age gap, Eddie is in his early 20's and reader is in her early 30's, mutual pining, adoring!eddie, secret crush, friends to lovers, car sex, fingering, mutual masturbation, finger sucking, reader wears a skirt, well-timed but unfortunate Jimmy Buffet lyrics, reader is lonely and thinks she'll never find love. wc: 3.5k

--------

Eddie hadn’t meant to wait up for you to get back from a date with another guy like some lovesick dork, but it happened anyway.  

He was sitting on the couch in his trailer when he saw the headlights sift through the curtains and heard the gravel crunch under the wheels of your approach, settling in between your trailer and his.  

He tapped his cigarette into the full ashtray and looked at the clock; his heart fluttered in his chest, grateful that you were back earlier than expected.  Either the movie part of the dinner date had been skipped, or there had been little to no hanky-panky afterwards, and this fed into the delusion that he still had a chance with you.  

He waited impatiently to hear the clank of the heavy, metal door to your Buick LeSabre open and slam shut, hoping to hell you’d hadn’t brought this new guy home with you.  He could handle the thought of you going on a date with someone—barely—-but the possibility of you inviting someone back to your bed, or you getting serious about some other dude was too gut wrenching to bear.  

Don, your date’s name was Don, and when you’d told Eddie that he’d asked you out, Eddie wanted to show up at the fabrication shop where he found out Don worked and set his hair on fire.  

If the guy even had hair.  

You were maybe a decade older than Eddie, and Don was pushing 40, so maybe he was balding and hopefully you preferred long, shaggy hair and bangs that desperately needed a trim.  

What if Don made you laugh? The thought made Eddie scowl.  What if those adorable lines around your mouth made their appearance and you snorted a little bit all because of stupid Don? Eddie shot to his feet and went to the window.  

A good 10 minutes had passed, and he hadn’t heard you get out of your car, so he decided to take a peek through the side of the curtains.  What if Don was in the car with you, what then? What if he was kissing you? 

His stomach in knots, Eddie had to know, either way.

He experienced relief to find that you were, indeed, alone, but something else was wrong.  

Your hands were covering your face and your shoulders bobbed.  Your hands fell to your lap long enough for Eddie to see through the windshield that your mascara was running down your cheeks and your skin was wet with tears.

You fumbled with the single, pathetic, balled up tissue in your hands, as you sobbed.  The sobbing subsided for a few sniffles before there was another hitch in your chest and a whimper made you bury your face in your palms again.

But then a knuckle tap on your window made you jump.

Bent forward, with his face level to yours, Eddie was at the passenger side door, holding his hand up in greeting, lips folded in over his teeth into a pensive line.  As an answer to his silent ask, you moved your purse off the seat so that he could get in.  

You inhaled the warm, familiar scent of his Old Spice, nicotine, and leather.  There was an extra note of cologne on him that evening, as if he’d just sprayed something on before he came out.  

He saw you struggling to wipe your nose with that threadbare Kleenex and handed over the handkerchief from his back pocket.  

You held it out in front of you with pause, as if you were considering something.

“You can blow your nose on it, I don’t mind,” he said.  “In fact, it would be an honor.”

That elicited a snort-chuckle from you, and you did not blow your nose with it, but you did wipe snot off your lips and chin with a sad snarf.  

The inside of the car was dark, but for the yellow glow from the radio as Hold Me Now by the Thompson Twins played.  Eddie saw the familiar end of a cassette tape sticking out of the stereo as if it had just been ejected.  

“So, the mixtape I made for you was that bad, huh? Too many ballads?” As if to suggest  that his horrible taste was what made you bawl your eyes out.  

You let your head fall back against the seat.  “No, I love it,” you said, dry throat making your voice crack.  “It’s the only thing I’ve been listening to all week.”

“Really?” He said it too fast, he was too excited. When he gave it to you, he said it was “no big deal” and he’d been making them for all of his friends, but that was a big fat lie.  He’d spent weeks planning out which songs to add to it, and in what order they should go in, so that it all flowed and told a story.  

A story about a next door neighbor with a serious crush.  

You pushed the tape all the way in until it clicked and Send Me an Angel by Scorpions softly lit up the speakers.

One of Eddie’s favorite things about you was that you were normally just as chatty and weird as he was.  A couple times a week, he’d come up on your porch for a beer, or go inside to share a joint, and the two of you would talk passionately for hours about some real oddball shit.  You were excitable and goofy, just like him, and you’d recently confessed that you hadn’t felt this comfortable with someone in a very long time.  

He overheard you telling one of your friends the other day that he was “like a brother” to you, and nothing could’ve smashed his heart or his hopes harder.  Being referred to as a family member is sweet, but also suggests that you’ve entered strictly friendzone territory.  

“Doooo you want to talk about it?” He stammered, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.  He’d be happy to just sit there and listen to music so you wouldn’t feel alone, if that is what you needed.  

“Not really,” you said in a small voice.  “I’m just never going on another date for the rest of my life, that’s all.”  

Eddie sat up and turned his whole body towards you, leather jacket squeaking on the seat, and made a fist on his knee.  “He didn’t…hurt you or anything, did he? If that Don guy said or did anything to make you upset I swear to god I will—”

“No, no, nothing like that,” you met Eddie’s gaze and were a bit taken aback at the intensity you found there.  “He was just so…boring, and we had nothing in common, and I felt so alone.”

Eddie sat back and swallowed.  A part of him wanted to kick up his heels and do a jig when you called Don boring, but the other part of him hurt to see you so sad.  

You sniffed and wiped under your eyes with his handkerchief.  “I’m the only one of my friends who’s still single, and I think I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I’m going to waste away in this trailer park and die alone.”

Eddie cocked his head, adding the touch of a smirk to his lips. “We can waste away together, here in Margaritaville.”

“You did not just quote Jimmy Buffet.”

“Oh, yes.  Yes, I did,” he bit his lip to hold back a smile. “Have you seen my lost shaker of salt, by chance?”

You stared down at your lap, indulging in a laugh or two before your expression turned somber again, forehead creasing.  “Why does everything have to be so hard? I thought finding true love was supposed to be easy, or at least easier than this nightmare of a reality I’m living in.”

“This is easy. We make sense,” is what Eddie wanted to say, but he choked and adjusted his feet on the floorboard instead.

You groaned and put your head back again, closing your eyes.  “I’ve been feeling so lonely lately, Eddie, like maybe I am the problem and I’m just unlovable.”

“Now that is crazy,” Eddie shifted closer, taking hold of your forearm to give it a squeeze.  He searched your profile, eyes landing on your parted lips.  “You’re so easy to love. I love—-”

My god, he really almost said it, out loud.

You turned  your head and opened  your eyes, waiting for him to finish.  

“...this song,” he recovered, turning the volume up a single notch. “I love this song.”  

It was Tangerine by Led Zeppelin.  

You closed your eyes again, feeling another tear building at the rim of your lashes.  

“But really,” he continued, shifting the volume down again.  “I mean, I get it, “he huffed air out of his nose and moved his hands around as he talked.  “Even when I’m with a bunch of people I still feel alone sometimes.  Like I’m the only person in the world who feels the way I do.”

“Yeah,” you gave a big sigh.  “Something like that.”

Another problem was that suddenly, almost overnight, you had developed feelings for your young, metalhead neighbor.  You pushed them down as much as you could and forced yourself to go on this date with Don to try and distract yourself from having sexual thoughts about a guy that was ten years your junior.  What would your friends think? A few of your friends were snobs, anyway, and expected you to marry a doctor, or at least an accountant; some stable man who could give you the picket fence dream.

But that was their dream, not yours.  

Besides that, Eddie had plenty of love interests.  You hadn’t seen him bring a date back to his trailer in months, but you’d been to one of his Corroded Coffin shows, and you saw the way the extremely cute college and high school girls looked at him.  

Eddie wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.  “I know I don’t have to tell you how beautiful and smart and amazing you are.  I mean, I’m sure you already know that.”

“Do I?” You asked, earnestly.  “Do I already know it?”

“Well,” his eyes shifted, not sure where to land.  “You should, I mean, none of the women in this town could ever hold a candle to you.”

Yikes.

Speaking of candles, was he blowing it?  The way things were going, it was only a matter of seconds before he admitted to jerking off to thoughts of you every time he got in the shower.  

You were both facing each other with your temples on the headrests.  “It means a lot to me,” you couldn’t meet his eyes, so you stared at his adam’s apple.  “That  you think I’m beautiful and amazing.”

“I should tell you more often, then,” Eddie said softly, his heart racing.  “Because I mean it.”

You looked down at your lap and the way you were absently picking at the ends of his handkerchief.  “I wish I’d met someone like you when I was your age.”

The statement confused him a bit and he squinted. “Someone…like me?”

“Oh, you know,” you cleared your throat. “Someone I have a lot in common with, someone who makes me laugh,” you trailed off.  “Someone I’m really attracted to.”

Eddie froze.

No one moved or said anything for a full minute.

“You’re attracted to me?” His voice trembled.  

“Isn’t it obvious?” You gave a sharp, self-deprecating laugh. “Sometimes I’m sure the entire trailer park knows, and they're all judging me.”

The revelation made a little squeaky sound escape his throat.  “But you said I was like a brother to you?”

You gave a confused smile for a split second, wondering where he might’ve heard such a thing, and then recognition dawned.  “Oh, well I told my friend Judy that because I talk about you so much, I didn’t want her to think that…that you and I were…or that I was…”

“That you and I were what?”  Eddie’s ears were ringing, all kinds of hope bubbling in his chest.

You got quiet again, wondering how far you wanted to take this conversation.  

“Listen,” Eddie shifted to look at you with flushed cheeks.  “I might be reading all of these signals wrong, but I want to kiss you so bad right now, it’s fucking killing me–”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

And then you dove for each other and had a meeting of mouths that was all teeth and wrestling tongues.  Your seatbelt jerked you back, and you pulled away from him only to unbuckle it and throw it from your lap with a metal thump.  

You’d never experienced this before; it was less like being kissed and more like being devoured, all feverish sucks and nibbles and eager moans.  He held your face in his hands as you began to climb up and over to him.  “If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up,” he hushed against your lips.

The seats in your ‘68 Buick were spacious, and once your knees were straddled on either side of him, you cupped your hands around his throat and said, “touch me Eddie.”

Eddie’s hands stopped in the air, unsure of where to go, but then intuition had him put them on the bare skin of your thighs under your skirt and move them up your panty line.  He brought a thumb down and passed it over the material, “you want me to touch you, like this?” As he said it, he found the top of your slit through your underwear and began pressing small circles there.

“Yesyesyes,” you pulled off of him just enough to meet his eyes.  His cock twitched at the way you bucked your hips in his lap, eager for his touch.  

“I love it when you look at me like that,” he breathed.

“Like what?” You slotted the side of your nose against his and brushed your lips together.

“Like I make you happy,” he punctuated it by dragging his thumb up and down in that concentrated area.  

You threw your head back, exposing your throat for him to lick a stripe up, sucking some skin in softly to nibble.

You were fully grinding on him as you found his mouth again with yours.  “I want…to make…you…happy…too,” you said between hot kisses.

His thumb smoothed down low enough to feel how much of your arousal had soaked through. “Honestly, sweetheart? I could die right now and be the happiest man alive.”

You could feel his cock grow thick and stiff in his denim as you rode him, and one of your hands went down there to fumble at the button and zipper on his jeans.

“I want to touch you,” your pussy actually rippled like a jellyfish climbing in the sea at the idea of having him inside of you. Once your thumb met with his leaky tip, you circled the head and Eddie groaned.

“Sit back for me,” he whispered.  With his thumb still working your clit, you let your back rest on the glovebox and watched him pull his impressive length out.  He kept his eyes on you, giving it a few short jerks while flicking his tongue out to wet his lips.

From that vantage, with your skirt up around your waist, he could see how damp the light purple of your panties were, and more milky liquid appeared at his tip.  You pulled down the straps of your dress and released your breasts from the cups of your bra.

“Oh my godddd,” Eddie’s thumb worked faster on you, trying not to stroke his cock the way he wanted to because he was about to cum.  “You’re so sexy, holy shit.”

You pushed off the dash and came closer, needing to be close to him.  With your arms around his neck, Eddie’s fingers bypassed the cotton barrier and sank into your slick honey pot with a hiss and a curse.  First one finger, and then two, and you reached down between the two of you to stroke him, making you both exchange moans of pleasure.

“Wait wait,” Eddie halted, continuing to thumb your spot. “I’m gonna cum like, right now.”

“That’s okay,” your hand stilled, but you bobbed up and down so that his fingers were fucking you.

“I can’t,” he gulped, breathlessly resting his forehead on yours. “Not before you.”

The thing about Eddie was that he could get hard again really fast for a second and third time, at least that’s how it was when he masturbated, but he wasn’t sure how to tell you that.  

You shifted back against the glove box again, pulling your underwear to the side so that he could watch his fingers go in and out of you.  You guided his hand out and brought his dripping fingers to your mouth to suck on them, loving the way his callouses felt on your tongue.

Eddie's eyes were locked on the action, muttering, “ohmygodohfuck.”

“Let’s do it together,” you breathed, biting your lip.  You brought your own fingers to your slit and began the same circles Eddie had done, speeding them up.  Eddie dipped his fingers inside of you again, scissoring them, picking up as much of your gift as he could before bringing them out in a mess to wet his cock with it. Your mouth fell open, watching his length glisten as he stroked it, never breaking eye contact with you.  

His gaze dipped to your breasts briefly to watch you twist your hard nipple between thumb and forefinger, whimpering as your other hand moved faster.  “Eddie..Eddie! See what you do to me?”

“Ahhhh,” Eddie held his thumb on his tip, right on the verge, and buried two fingers from his other hand inside you again.  Your tight walls fluttered, clenching him, and the look on your face as you got close was too much for him to handle.

“This is—-oh fuck I’m cumming,” he gasped.

“Cum on me, cum all over me,” you begged, just in time for him  to aim the joystick in your general direction, pumping hot white ropes onto your hand and cunt.

You watched him milking it as he twitched, and you rubbed his spend down your folds.  You held his wrist to keep his fingers inside of you, and then your eyes were rolling back as your release exploded.  

In the aftermath, the two of you took a minute to catch your breath.  There was cum and saliva everywhere and neither one of you seemed bothered.

“This is the best part,” Eddie mumbled, taking his fingers out to suck the result of your orgasm off of them.  

“Shit,” you lifted your head and looked around with a giggle.  “We fogged all the windows up.”

“Good,” he clutched  your waist to shift you and pull you closer.  “That way no one can see us.”

Your car was blocked between the two trailers, but being seen by someone out walking their dog at night was always a risk.  A risk that did not seem to have an ounce of importance at the moment.  

You put your forehead to his and smoothed your thumbs over his cheeks, rocking so that the drips from your cookie box landed on his exposed length.  “What I meant to say earlier is that I have this big, stupid crush on you, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie adjusted your skirt so that you were properly covered, and pulled you flush to him so that no one could get a cheap look at his girl's gorgeous tits.  

His girl.

He wasn’t sure if you knew it yet, but you had his heart, and you could do whatever you wanted with it.  

You ducked your head down to rest it on his shoulder and his hand cupped the back of your neck.  “I’ve been wanting to ask if I could maybe take you on a date sometime?”

He was serious, but the timing made you laugh.

Eddie always made you laugh.

“I’m never going on another date ever again, remember?” The side of your mouth pressed into his shoulder and you wiggled closer to him. A part of you wondered if you were squishing him, like maybe his legs were asleep, but his hold on you was unrelenting.  

“Oh damn, that’s right,” his other hand rubbed up and down your back. “I missed my window of opportunity thanks to Don.”

“I guess we’re stuck with more of whatever this was,” you murmured.

“Poor us,” Eddie smirked.  “We might have to do more of this again in a few minutes.”

“If we have to.”

“Hey,” he nudged you so that you lifted up to meet his dark, searching eyes. “Kiss me if you’re mine.”

You were both smiling as your lips met, and it wasn’t long before you led him by his hand into your trailer while he hummed the chorus to Margaritaville.  

[letsquestjess]

Hiya! I was wondering if you could write a crosshair x gn!reader where the reader gets frequent nosebleeds and gets dizzy sometimes? (I’ll be going to an ENT soon to figure out what’s going on)

Hi there! Thank you for the request! 💜

I’m sorry you haven’t been well. I can relate to the dizziness, it’s an awful feeling, but I hope you’re doing better now 😊

Little Wobbles (Crosshair x GN!Reader)

Summary: After finding you during a dizzy spell, Crosshair does everything he can to help you.

Word count: 776

Warnings: Mentions of blood.

-- -- -- -- --

It only took a few seconds for the well-known wooziness to wash over you. Gripping the navigation panel tightly, you let out a groan, cool metal grounding you in a meagre sense of stability. It’ll pass, you told yourself encouragingly. Give it a minute. 

The ship’s floor seemed to sway, mimicking the sensation of being propelled into hyperspace, yet you hadn’t moved since arriving on the charming planet, opting to prolong your stay to enjoy the captivating environment. 

Your nails scraped the console as you fought to steady yourself, reminding yourself that the ship was stationary and so were you. It was a fleeting dizziness and it would subside. 

This had been happening more frequently recently, a sure signifier of your decreasing stress levels. It was a common occurrence after stressful situations, that surge declaring its departure as it left your system. It was a momentary flare up, a wave crashing against the shore before shrinking into the serene ocean. 

Breathing in and out, you centred your balance and allowed your body to adapt, regaining your full height. As you readied yourself to move again, you winced at the tickle in your nose as it transformed into the unmistakable wet trickle of a nosebleed. Your hands fumbled through your pockets, and it quickly dawned that you had forgotten to replace the empty pack you had used up a few days ago. 

With a muttered curse, you turned towards the bunks, managing to keep the surprised squeak trapped in your throat as Crosshair’s intense stare bore into you. His toothpick landed in the bin with a satisfying plink, and he approached with a curious tilt. 

“What happened?” he asked. “Have you been training with Wrecker again?”

“Just a nosebleed,” you sighed. Your effort to sniffle away the droplets of blood only prompted more to collect above your lip. 

As another bout of vertigo took over you, Crosshair caught your elbows and guided you into one of the hazard seats. Crouching, he snatched a tissue from his belt and wordlessly got to work blotting the red beads. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

The dizziness faded, and you observed the nervous sheen in his eyes as they darted from your easing nosebleed to the rest of you.

“I’m fine,” you interjected, cutting off any opportunity for him to voice his worries. “It happens sometimes.” 

“How long has this been going on for?” he questioned. He grabbed a water bottle from the side and dampened a fresh cloth to removed the stubborn splotches that refused to budge without some persuasion. 

Although you wanted to assure him you were fine, he seemed so absorbed in his concern for you that you were hesitant to disturb him. “A while. It comes and goes, but there’s nothing to fret over. Little wobbles.” 

Once he had discarded the bloodied cloth in the sink for washing later, he cradled your face, encouraging you to remain still while he inspected you with great care. Despite being cold, his fingertips provided relief from the heat of your dizzy spell. “The bleed has stopped, and I don’t see any more blood on you. We caught it before any got on your clothes,” he murmured, as though ticking off items on a mental checklist. “How are you feeling?” 

“Still a bit off, but better than I was a few minutes ago.”

“I’ll handle your tasks today,” he said, dismissing your objections with a firm shake of his head. “Get some rest.”

“You don’t need to do that, Cross,” you replied. “Once I’m back on my feet, I’ll be okay.” 

“If you keep arguing, I’ll tell Hunter.”

His mischievous threat lingered in the air, and you stared, daring him to follow through on his words. He lifted an eyebrow, rising to your assertion.

“You wouldn’t,” you said. 

“Try me,” Crosshair challenged. Using his thighs as leverage, he straightened and extended his hands towards you. “Reckon you can get up?” 

Accepting his help, you managed to stand. The dizziness diminished little by little as Crosshair directed you to the back of the ship and aided you onto the edge of the lowest bunk. 

He disappeared for a moment, and you heard the distinct sounds of rummaging as metal tubs were shuffled and wrappers rustled. Upon his return, he set a cannister of cold water and a tray of snacks on the shelf next to the bed. “Rest,” he insisted. 

“Thanks, Crosshair,” you said, picking a mini cookie from the top of the pile and popping it into your mouth. 

“In this squad, we look after each other,” he replied, dimming the lights for your comfort. “Including those who get little wobbles.”

[thehistoriangirl]

Without Compromise [1]

I said the first one had smut, but I lied KDJDJKF it was getting too long so... the smut will be in the next part! For now I can only serve contained horniness 😌 Hope you like it!

Viktor x Fem! Reader-------3.5K-----SFW

[ M A S T E R L I S T ]

-> Next

Synopsis:Viktor had never enjoyed any snobby party held in the luxurious districts around the Academy, though he can't deny this one is rather... peculiar. Still, when accompanying Jayce to another boring celebration ends with him stuck in an awkward situation when a stranger wanders inside the lab asking for him, he can´t help but comply with the unpredictable threads of a mockeing fate--how else would he, from all the assisting guests, be inside in this mess?

Chapter Summary: When you bump into Viktor at a snobby Valentine's thematic party, his boring night turns into a more interesting path.

Tags: | Blind Date | One Night Stand goes wrong -> | Matchmaking Shenenigans | Strangers to Lovers | Friends with Benefits | Slow Burn kinda? | They got the horny for each other |

Taglist: @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr

This has been such a terrible idea. And, sadly, the thought only completely dawned on Viktor when the gates of the gigantic hall closed, illuminating the room with the flicking golden hues of at least a hundred candles, painting the whole ambiance of pinks, whites, and reds from all the roses hung in arches.

He was trapped. First manipulated by Jayce’s puppy eyes begging him to accompany him to this snobby party, even when Viktor had retorted that such celebration was for “renown bachelorettes and bachelors”, which he wasn’t—as much as Jayce wished to argue with him.

Co-creator of Hextech or not, he was still a man from the Undercity. Out of place here.

He was a ride too far from home, too.

Humming, he thought that perhaps he could tell Jayce his feet were aching now that almost all the tiny tables were occupied by couples trying to hit it off in the name of the celebration. But if only he could see where Jayce could be.

Viktor sighed, knowing how ridiculous he sounded; both for his whining and for his inability to find Jayce’s gigantic figure among the crowd.

“Try to have some fun, Vik!” He cheered, patting his shoulder as he put a glass of amber liquor on his free hand. “I’m going to go greet the hostess Mrs. Laviz for her thoughtfulness. I’ll be back in no time.”

Well, Jayce was a terrible liar, which could only be because he meant to return promptly but was caught by other guests on his way back.

Of course, he would be, Viktor tapped the still-full glass of alcohol. Who knew how many people were trying to end the night paired with Piltover's Golden Boy? After all, wasn't this party for that?

He had felt panic once one of the butlers slid a card to scribble his name on it, another empty line to write, at the end of the night, the name of any other attendant whom he would like to have an arranged date.

The feeling subsided once he tore the card by the middle, stuffing it in the depths of his coat's inner pocket. But now it was just annoyance prickling in the center of his brow where he couldn't reach well enough with the stupid mask he was forced to wear.

Who would he like to date? Surely no one assisting at a party like this—Valentine’s the perfect excuse to, as usual, tie the comradery between the riches of the city so their power couldn’t slip out their grasp once their heirs dared to choose any other path than the one already drawn for them.

Viktor would've been disappointed if it weren't for how frivolous they were, passing him by almost knocking his cane over and bumping over his slender frame without even apologizing.

Despite Jayce’s fancy birthday gift—a tailored suit Viktor promised to wear in formal events rather than his (cleaner) working clothes—it had been two times another person had told him to fetch him a drink.

Maybe it was the mask, dull and black against the ones decorated with gems and gold thread; crafted to mimic animals and magical creatures with long beaks or curved horns, some even showing animalistic sharp teeth poking from their smiley mouth.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, we deserve to have some fun!”Jayce told him in a dozen different forms of speeches on their way to the hall.

Well, for Viktor was just a normal Wednesday.

And what was he supposed to do for fun at these parties, anyway? Besides breaking the so-demanded decorum these people boast to have.

He could see shadowy corners shifting from afar, bodies tangled improperly on the dance floor. A reason why the music was never-ending, was so the shyer guests couldn't hear the lewd noises surely floating in the air.

Ah, to be carefree. Privilege Viktor perhaps never had, and hasn’t still.

He walked toward a balcony, wishing for some privacy to take the mask off and wipe his face from the sweat making the silk stick to his skin, from his nose up to his brow.

Contrary to the boiling cauldron of the hall, outside a gentle breeze characteristic from the end of winter entered his clothes. And still, not a bench in sight against the perfectly aligned pots of flowers that seemed not to fit in the crystal greenhouse shining silver against the moonlight Viktor could see in the middle of the mazy garden.

Perhaps he should go there.

Turning around, he didn’t see the figure approaching, the hurried steps muffled by the music making Viktor’s head pound. The figure bumped into him, the handle of his cane that was hooked on his crossed elbows falling to the ground as Viktor tried to steady himself, not before his drink poured all over a flowery dress.

Sračka, he muttered between his teeth once the action had seeped in. As if the night couldn’t get any better.

Well, at least he’d be kicked out quickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you said, the words stolen from his lips. Your hands froze over the now-soaked bodice of your dress. At least it wasn’t wine, but the liquor had some pieces of ice that had slipped inside the corset, which took a shiver out of you, skin covered in goosebumps.

Gathering your skirts, you prepared to lean down to give him his cane, though, from the reduced peripheral vision of your stupid butterfly-shaped mask, you did not see that he had done the same. Quickly following, you heard the hollow-like sound of his head bonking yours.

“Ow.” This time you retreated, rubbing your head without caring that your hair would resemble a bird's nest for the rest of the night. "I'm so sorry," you repeated, like an idiot—and oh, you felt like one. Despite you were wearing a mask, your voice didn't do much to hide your embarrassment which the way it cracked at the end.

Viktor took you in between the daze of his pounding head.

You were dressed like a flower fairy; pinks and blues and reds decorating your skirt, leaving petals whenever you went. The light, yet long skirt didn’t shelter well enough from the chilly air, with the high slit on your left leg, the deep V cut on your back, and the thin strap on your right shoulder.

All confused and soaked, and yet, Viktor’s curiosity picked for your unexpected kindness.

You didn’t seem to care about the dress, though, only minding for the goosebumps running down your bare skin. If Viktor had asked why, you’d told him that the colors being so pale and delicate, the bodice to be cut like a corset. You knew this dress wasn't meant for your tastes, but rather, for Lord Sylvester. The ones your parents would kill for you to marry.

Luckily, Sylvester was too occupied surrounded by other people to notice you walking away even when your parents had sent him a letter in which you expressed your desire to dance with him. Which was a total lie, of course.

"Don't worry about it," the man said, his tone hidden by the complete mask he was wearing. You shrunk because of course, you had annoyed him. It was a miracle he wasn't screaming at you. Now, with all masks on, people could be rude and daring all in the same night, knowing that any action done today wouldn't have consequences. "It’s me who should be sorry. I ruined your dress.”

“Huh?” You looked at his hand disappearing inside his pocket to retrieve a napkin. His hands hovered over yours. “Oh! That’s not needed. It was me who bumped into you…”

He gestured to the stain over your dress, making the petals of the sewn flowers stick flat against the silk. “Take it. At least to dry it a little. You could get sick.”

You smiled under your butterfly-shaped mask, fingertips touching briefly as you touched the thin cotton fabric. “Thank you, sir.”

“There’s no need for such titles tonight,” he answered, the black mask making his yellow-like eyes shine like pieces of gold. It almost sounded like he was smiling.

“I’m—, uh… then what should I call you?”

“What would you like to call me, Miss?” he chuckled. “Or perhaps I should call you Miss Fairy?”

You giggled, feeling heat pooling up your face. “What about Mr. Shadow?” you said, pointing at his full black mask and the long coat flapping against the wind.

“Suitable,” Viktor said, looking over his shoulder to see a man approaching, his presence parting the crowd without any word. The man looked at him, green eyes flashing with contempt.

“Darling,” the man said, his hand posing over your shoulder. “I lost you for a second. Are you ready to dance, lovely?”

Viktor lurked nearby, like the nickname you had bestowed with.

Only your gaze acknowledged him, your bottom lip protruding in an adorable pout.  He was impressed by how expressive your eyes could be, compared to the rest of the people he had met in events like these who ought to have every emotion restrained.

He arched an eyebrow. Well, he had nothing better to do.

"Excuse me," Viktor chimed in, tapping his cane against the marble floor as if he were knocking on a door. "Miss Fairy owes me a drink.” Paying no mind to the Piltovan man hovering nearby, Viktor extended his gloved hand toward you. “And then perhaps we shall dance? I would be honored to enjoy your company tonight.”

“I’m afraid she asked me for a dance first—” Sylvester said, his lion mask shining obnoxiously bright from the jewels and molten gold.

“I would love to dance with you, Mr. Shadow,” you interrupted him, clutching the napkin in one hand while sliding the other one in Viktor's, feeling the warmness of his fingers tangling in a graceful, almost lazy motion around the back of your hand.

Viktor was presented with the priceless opportunity of annoying a snobby man without consequences, even if it was just for a couple of hours. And perhaps this wasn’t what Jayce was referring to about having fun.

But for him, now, it was at least interesting.

With a fluid motion, Viktor pulled you closer, smelling the fruity essence of your perfume and the impressive softness of your silk skirt. “First, perhaps a drink?”

You nodded, looking up at him with the best dreamy eyes you could muster.

Viktor would like to be more impressed, but he was used to seeing Piltovans wear masks as they needed—and you’d be no different. Though he was intrigued as to what would happen next if he decided to follow your game.

Sylvester glared at him, calling your name with gritted teeth. The sound prickled Viktor’s ears with unnecessary focus.

"We'll see each other some other time," you told him, and your demeanor let Viktor know that you were certain this answer would create problems for you. And yet still, you continued with the charade.

He couldn't stop from thinking if in the end he'll be painted as the villain, as the wicked man who sought to seduce you.

Viktor stopped himself from being the picture of the dashing Casanova he considered to be, if only for a fleeting moment, as this mask kept on his face; yet, he decided to tuck his free hand inside the pocket of his pants instead of guiding you by the arm.

The bar was overflowing with both people and drinks, thick clouds of smoke exhaled by pipes and thick cigars that made his eyes water. You dipped between the enthusiastic assistants, asking the bartender for the same drink that now soaked the front of your dress and Viktor’s borrowed napkin you were now fiddling between your fingers.

Between the cacophony of the animated chat around you two, Viktor only caught the lonely request of his drink being remade, not any other sign you were asking one to have the excuse of lounging with him a little longer.

Viktor stepped closer, sensing the gaze of someone at his back. His golden eyes swept across the moving landscape of people dancing, and of course, it couldn’t be another one that the rather snobbish Loverboy from earlier.

You seemed to have forgotten about him, but Viktor still had his mind turned upon the plans you'd surely planned out in your head—all the guests in this place surely had crafted one, if not, why were you here?

Viktor considered you, with the elegant hairdo and the daring dress. He hummed. Perhaps you were playing mouse and cat with that man? Though it appeared that you had bumped into him because you were running away.

“Aren’t you going to have one for yourself?” he said once the bartender slid a glass of the same golden liquid across from the bar into your hands, to then pass it onto his. “Excuse me,” Viktor called the bartender before he could get too far away. “Have something,” he told you, leaning against the bar while hooking his cane’s handle on its edge. “Let me enjoy your company, Miss Fairy. In case you’re also planning to run away—I can offer my help.”

“Are you also trying to get out of this party?" you said, trying to stifle a laugh. "Aren't you here for someone?"

You asked for your drink, fruity and savory. Viktor looked at the mix with an arched eyebrow, observing you sipping it with ease, the way the glass’ rim got stained with your lipstick, and the way the flicking candelabra suspended over the bartender's table made your lips shine with the wetness of the drink.

You caught him observing. “Do you want a taste?” You raised the half-empty drink toward him, the essence of mango and pineapple welcomed against the pungent odor of smoke. “It’s probably too sweet for you, but, um, if you’re curious.”

“Fret not, Miss Fairy. I have a sweet tooth,” he answered, taking a sip. The tangy taste of the acid pineapple and the sweet mango combined with the strong aftertaste of the liquor surprised him. “It’s delicious.”

You beamed at him. “Right? I prefer cocktails like these instead of plain liquor,” you explained. “It’s too bitter for me.”

Well, for his credit, you sure seemed to be sweet from inside and out. Of course, just a theory.

Viktor would have left the drink you asked for him, only that in his mind it was a rude action to do. But now he craved something sweeter—and yet, Viktor gulped down the whole thing, ignoring the sensation of burning down his throat.

“Don’t take offense, Miss Fairy,” he started. “May I ask why that man for earlier is watching us like a hawk? It’s been a while since he started.”

You looked from the corner of your eye where Viktor’s gaze directed you, sighing. "I guess Sylvester thinks we're married—” you stopped, laughing at seeing Viktor’s posture going stiff. “We’re not even engaged, but it is.” Your shoulders sagged after you shrugged, fingers playing with the rim of the glass. “Our parents had expected it ever since we moved across the street from them. Before Sylvester's father inherited their family's business they became wealthy. I guess my parents look it like an escape.”

“And you?” Viktor surprised himself asking. “How do you look at this whole situation?”

Your gaze fixated on the table fleetingly met his before pulling away, if it was due to shame or if the sudden jolt rippling across Viktor’s body was also traveling in yours, he didn’t dare to ask again.

"I… I'd rather not talk about such… grim things at a party," you smiled, or at least, you tried to, lips still firmly pressed together. “This is supposed to celebrate love, isn’t not?” Humming to the current piece played by the orchestra, your fingers tapped the bar’s mahogany. “Mr. Shadow?” you insisted at his silence.

“Eh, I don’t think someone can find love in a place like this. With all due respect, Miss Fairy,” Viktor started, thankful that the mask could cover most of his blush. "To me, this seems like a choreographed dance where everyone knows whom they may end up once the sun rises again."

“Then, with whom are you going to end up tonight?" you asked.

“Pardon?”

“Well, you said everyone is here seeking a purpose, so, what’s yours, Mr. Shadow?”

“A bit early to get philosophical, don’t you think?” he joked, and he did make you laugh, but you still looked expectantly, not distracted at all. Defeated under the power of your gaze, Viktor chuckled awkwardly. “With no one, Miss Fairy. I came here accompanying a friend, but I’m not looking for… eh, anything.”

You kept silent for a while, so much that Viktor thought for a moment that he'd said something wrong.

“Allow me to be your dance partner,” he added once the pause had extended for too long.

You snapped your gaze from the bottom of your empty glass toward him. “Hmm?”

"It would be suspicious if Mr. Sylvester doesn't see us dance as we promised, don't you think?"

“I can deal with it later,” you assured. “You don’t need to dance with me.” Why those words made him feel as if someone had punched him in the chest?

“I insist,” Viktor smiled. “I meant those words, Miss Fairy. I'll treasure your company tonight if you'd like to share it with me.”

You smiled sheepishly, fingers taking his. Even with the black gloves Viktor wore, he could feel the warmth of your skin seep into his, from his hand to everywhere your body brushed his as you stood in a corner of the dance floor, his hand fitting perfectly in the curve of your waist.

“Eh,” he said once the music started, your skirt brushing his legs as you swayed against him.

This was a bad idea—Viktor’s second bad idea of the night, which was astounding. He couldn’t keep stiff as a board, with you gently guiding him through the movements. But you were too close; you smelled like jasmines and strawberries, elegant and so, so sweet. Your lips probably still tasted like the fruity cocktail. And the fleeting brush of his fingertips over the exposed curve of your lower back was making him lose the rhythm.

“Hmm?” you responded, your hand tickling the rebel locks of hair at the base of his neck. Looking at him, your eyes seemed brighter than the chandelier and the dozens of candles illuminating this party.

This was a terrible idea. And both the mask and the alcohol gave him enough bravery to do it.

“Please forgive me,” Viktor said, dipping his head to give you the softest kiss, with barely the brush of your lips against his.

First, you froze, and Viktor was already tripping to push himself afar, but your hand gripped his shoulder to stop him from pulling away, your lips pliant and exquisite against his once you leaned closer to deepen the kiss, the savor of pastries and cocktails mixed in your tongue playing against his.

In any other normal circumstance, Viktor would’ve felt ashamed for such an indecorous sight in a public place, but this wasn’t the norm. His face was hidden, and you were just the perfect combination of sweet and daring—a dangerous mix, he’d admit.

Besides, the thought of that man, Sylvester, seeing you and him tangled in such a passionate kiss made his chest bloom with a stroked ego.

And speaking of stroking…

“Miss Fairy,” he muttered, surprised with how his voice had become ragged and husky from just a simple kiss. Your lipstick was smeared all over your chin, and Viktor knew he’d be in a similar situation. “I… we need to stop…”

“Why?” you said, guiding him out the dancefloor. “I want you. Do you want me?”

“Miss… we don’t even know each other…”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you said, taking his napkin to wipe his lips clean and then doing the same with yours, letting them plump and pleading for more. “Only for tonight.”

Viktor stood in front of you, frozen like a statue. Though his mind was running with a thousand thoughts, a thousand possibilities of the future, and yet only two paths ahead of him tonight.

He could refuse and walk away. You’d never seen him again—or even if you did, you would never known it was him. He could walk away and forget your taste and your essence, the sound of your voice and your loving touches while dancing.

Or he could allow himself to have a slip of his impeccable manners, to succumb to the same guilty pleasures everyone in here seemed to indulge themselves right now.

He wasn’t looking for love—he’d be a fool for thinking such a thing in a place, in a party like this. And the lust and passion between you two was undeniable.

Only for tonight.

You could be from each other only for tonight. So Viktor allowed himself to ponder, to imagine, how would it be like to see what was concealed under your dress, the new sounds he could elicit from your enticing lips. The new dance you could both participate in.

Only for tonight. And tomorrow? Viktor could figure it out later, once the sun came out again.

“Show me, Miss Fairy,” he said, grabbing the handle of his cane as he leaned down to steal another kiss from your lips. “Only for tonight.”

Lemme know if you wish to be tagged in the next parts! 💛😸

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: swearing, fighting, yelling

I shook my head as I took in the car in the driveway. All day, I’d been considering taking a baseball bat to it. But it wouldn’t do any good. There wasn’t enough money left in the bank to fix the damage I would do. Unlocking the door, I rolled my eyes at the hat sitting on the table next to the keys to the car. The black jacket on the wall further annoyed me.

“hey!” Elwood called, walking into the living room. He was wiping his hands on a rag. “How was work?” His smiled fell when he saw my face. “Shit day huh?”

“oh I don’t know Elwood.” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “You tell me. Given how you blew off your job to spend our entire life’s savings.” He gulped and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“oh. You heard about that?” He asked, eyes starting to drift down to his feet. I put my hands on my hips.

“yeah. I heard about that.” I shot back. Elwood rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at me. “You didn’t think the bank would call? When you took everything out of our account?”

“It wasn’t everything.” Elwood muttered.

“ok no.” I sighed, rubbing my forehead. “It wasn’t everything. But it was most of our lives savings Elwood. We were supposed to have that for when we retired. Wanted to go on vacation. Do things together. Things we decided on together. How could you?” Elwood shifted his weight and chewed on his lip.

“it needed it.” Elwood whispered. He moved to head back into the kitchen but I followed him.

“the bluesmobile needed it?” I cried. “What was so wrong with it before that it needed the money?”

“I have to add modifications to it.” Elwood said. “Make it safer.”

“Elwood…” I breathed out, trying to calm the rage that was burning inside me. “It’s an old cop car. It’s the safest car out there. What the ever loving fuck could you do to it to make it safer?” Elwood put his hands on the counter and leaned his weight against it.

“a few things actually.” He said. His voice was oddly even and flat. “Better seat belts. Fix the suspension. The shocks.”

“I don’t give a shit Elwood!” I cried. “What I give an shit about is that you took our hard earned money and blew it on a goddamn car!”

“it wasn’t just the fucking car!” Elwood exploded, turning to look at me. “I almost got into an accident the other day! Because of Jake. And Matt almost went through the window!” I nodded. Elwood had come home pretty shaken up after it had happened. I’d pried him from the front seat and made him come into the house. “It coulda been you. And that fucking terrifies me. Add in the fact Jake’s gonna have a kid…” Elwood shook his head as his anger started to subside. “I had to. Ok? For you. For me. For Jake. For this fucking kid. I just had to.” I stood there in shock.

“Jake’s gonna be a dad?” I asked, all the anger leaving me. “You’re gonna be an uncle?” Elwood nodded.

“he found out this morning.” Elwood said. “Carrie or Carla or whatever her name is. The on again off again one.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t even know if it’s his and he’s going fucking nuts. Talking about changing things up and settling down and raising this kid.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

“Elwood…” I reached out for him and Elwood shot over, wrapping his arms around me tightly and burying his face in my neck. “I’m not happy about it. But I understand.” I buried my fingers in his hair and kissed his cheek. I started to giggle and Elwood pinched my side.

“What?” He said. It turned into a full blown laugh as Elwood smiled against my neck.

“You’re just as bad as Jake.” I said. Elwood pulled back with a frown. “You babyproofed the bluesmobile.” He tried not to smile but the corners of his mouth quirked up. Elwood ran a hand through his hair and turned away from me.

“shut up.” He chuckled.

“it’s cute!” I shot back. Elwood shook his head and blushed. “Really it is. Shows how protective you are.”

“it’s just…I’m concerned you know?” He said. “First that happens and then Jake finds out he’s gonna be a dad and I just…panicked.” I cupped his cheeks and kissed him.

“I really am still pissed about you not saying anything to me about taking all our money to do this.” Elwood nodded and wrapped his hands around my wrists. “But it’s understandable. Especially after everything that’s happened.”

“I am sorry I didn’t mention it to you. I should have. But I know you get busy and stressed and I didn’t want to make it worse.” Elwood said, leaning in and kissing me softly.

“Elwood, you calling me and telling me this would have been so much less stressful than the fucking bank calling me.” I said. Elwood chuckled and nodded.

“understood.” He said. I smiled at him as I rubbed my thumb over his cheek.

“now.” I said, moving my hand to pat his chest. “Show me these modifications.” Elwood lit up and took my hand, pulling me outside to show me what he had done to the car.

[vex-bittys]

When Life Gives You Skeletons: Chapter 5: Skeletons Do Not [REDACTED]

All of your frustration, anger, and heartache pours out of you in the form of tears. Red starts out with a tentative hug, but eventually his arms settle firmly around you, holding you tightly. You grip his shirt front with both hands as if he's the only thing keeping you from fracturing, as if he's your lifeline. 

You feel like a boat set adrift on a vast ocean, lost and small. Everything you had just yesterday has an “ex” on it now: ex-manager, ex-job, ex-residence, ex-roommate. You moved to Ebbott for a fresh start, but you ended up in the same position as before. No family. No place to live. Granted, you do have a friend in Ebbott, but her career and fiancee leave little time for you. As an added bonus, you also don't have the suitcase of belongings you left your hometown with or the sense of security and safety you should have towards other people.

In short, you have a lot of things to cry about, so it comes as no surprise that it takes quite a while for your sobs and hyperventilation to subside to snot, sniffles, and the occasional hiccup.

Once he sees that you're calmed down, Red helps you back into your seat then heads to the counter to get some food. You try to protest his offer to buy you lunch, but he flatly tells you to either give him your order or you'll end up with a plain bread sandwich with extra mustard. You relent and call out the instructions for your sandwich. Red picks up drinks and chips as well, but when he goes to pay, the worker gives him an unimpressed look.

You can't tell if she dislikes Red because he looks like a living human skeleton or if she dislikes Red because he just reached into his pocket and tossed a bunch of wadded up bills, miscellaneous loose change, buttons, paper clips, lint, and other deep pocket detritus onto the counter with a casual “keep the change” thrown in for good measure. Fortunately, she perks up when she realizes that the “change” Red let her keep amounts to more than the cost of the entire order. 

Red brings the food to your booth and sets your meal in front of you. You appreciate it, you really do, but you're just too anxious and emotional to do much more than pick at your food and sip your drink. Red, on the other hand, demolishes his sandwich and chips with gusto, belches, then speaks.

“so where ya plannin’ on stayin’ t'night?” Apparently, Red is going straight for the million dollar question, so you stuff a huge bite of sandwich into your mouth and go over your options silently while you chew (also silently). Red’s phone buzzes an alert into the silence you've created, and he ignores it.

With no forewarning about last night's events, you'd gone ahead and paid your rent, your portion of the utilities, your phone bill, and your student loan payment in full and on time like a responsible adult, the kind of adult with a bank account running dangerously low on funds. You have a few hundred dollars that you had stashed in a savings account to someday purchase a car, but a chunk of that would be spent today buying replacement clothes and toiletries. Even if you had the money for a security deposit and first month’s rent, who would be willing to lease an apartment to someone with no job?

Nobody.

Even the cheapest motels would be out of your price range after just a few days. This conclusion has tears welling up in your eyes again. You hate crying in front of people; it makes you feel weak and helpless. You swallow your bite of food and your emotions and give Red an honest answer.

“I really don't know.”

“ya ain’t got nobody y’can stay wit’?”

You don't want to explain your family situation or your lack of a social life. Those are stories for another time. The last thing you need right now is to open yourself up to additional emotional turmoil, so you go with a short and simple “No.” Red's phone buzzes again as if to accentuate your answer.

“look, i'd have ta talk t'my cousin, sans cuz it's technically his house, but would ya wanna stay wit’ me n’ my bro n’ cousins?”

You're stunned by the offer, and it takes a moment for you to respond. “I don't want to be a freeloader…” You trail off because honestly there aren't any other options open to you.

“y'could offer t'do some of the cookin’ n’ cleanin’,” suggests Red. “i know my bro is always complainin’ about all th’ shit he has ta do around th’ house.”

It's a fair compromise, and you accept. Red’s phone gives a triumphant buzz, and he ignores the alert a third time in favor of calling his cousin. You suddenly become very interested in the lunch you've barely eaten to avoid eavesdropping, but it's difficult when the conversation is happening right across the small table from you.

Sans must have picked up because you overhear the indistinct mumble of a very deep voice on the other end of the line. Your phone vibrates violently inside your purse, and you welcome the distraction. Digging around to find it, you still can't help hearing Red speak.

“i gotta friend who needs a place ta stay n’ i thought maybe she could take th’ attic room.”

You retrieve your phone and see a new message icon displayed on the screen. 

“nah, she ain't a troublemaker.”

New Message:

The Magnificent Blueberry

(XXX) XXX-XXXX 

The Magnificent Blueberry: ARE YOU ALRIGHT, MAIDEN?

“my bro n’ blue already met ‘er, n’ they liked ‘er just fine.”

Your fingers fly over the phone screen, quickly tapping out a reply to Blue.

You: Yeah, I'm good. Just enjoying some lunch.

“axe didn't bother ‘er las’ night.”

The Magnificent Blueberry: I APOLOGIZE FOR INTERRUPTING YOUR MEAL!

Blue's random check-in is a bit odd, but it's nice to know someone is thinking of you and worrying about your welfare. You close the conversation with Blue only to notice another unread message underneath it on your list of texts. At first, you don't recognize the number.

“axe n’ rusty ain't had an episode in months. look, maybe y'should jus’ talk to ‘er yerself.”

New Message:

(XXX) XXX-XXXX 

(XXX) XXX-XXXX: y’can make it up t’me by joinin’ me f’r lunch sometime to listen t'more of my jokes. i got a skele-TON of ‘em.

You would've known this message is from Red even without your original text nested above it. Unexpected laughter bubbles up inside of you. When it bursts free, it takes some of your gloomy mood with it.

“A skeleton pun, Red? You must know I find them quite-” You pause for dramatic effect. “- humerus!”

You do not realize that Red has put you on speaker phone until you hear a deep, low chuckle coming from the phone. Red groans.

“i take back what i said. she's obviously a troublemaker,” Red says, making Sans laugh harder.

“Just because I like puns,” you huff, indignant. 

“puns're th’ low-hangin’ fruit of th’ joke world, doll.”

“Gasp,” you cry instead of actually gasping. “How could you say that? Puns are the pinnacle of jokes!”

“the cherry on top,” Sans quips, and you giggle.

“what’ve i gotten myself into,” Red laments.

You smile in a very devious manner. “Orange you glad I didn't make that cherry pun?” Red groans again, and you and Sans howl with laughter. Obviously,  Red’s cousin understands that the humor of puns doesn't come from the wordplay itself; it comes from people's reactions to the puns. You think you'll get along with him just fine, and it seems he agrees.

“i'll talk to axe and rusty and ask papyrus to get the attic room ready, but she's your responsibility, red.”

“got it.” With those final words, Red hangs up on his cousin, probably to avoid the possibility of more puns. You save Red’s contact information  as “Clifford” in your phone, and turn your attention to packing up the remains of your lunch. You don't have the appetite to finish it, but you hate wasting food. A partial sandwich and some chips will be a great snack if you get hungry later. For now, you need to focus on finding some inexpensive outfits and toiletries to bring to your new temporary home.

You approach the woman at the counter to ask for a bag to carry your leftovers, and no sooner have you stuffed your future snack into that bag than you hear an unmistakable high-volume rasp shouting for Red. At least you assume “MY INSUFFERABLE LAZYBONES OF A BROTHER” is Red. You return to your booth to find the two skeleton monsters arguing.

“HOW MANY TIMES MUST I REMIND YOU NOT TO IGNORE MY TEXTS!” It’s difficult to be sure since Edge speaks loudly and has extremely pointy features, but you think the tall skeleton might be angry at his brother. Red, though again you're no expert at reading bone facial expressions, appears sheepish.

Your curiosity leads you to interrupt. “How did you know where we were?” Edge levels a glare at you that makes you regret your very existence. 

“MY VEHICLE HAS A GPS TRACKER INSTALLED TO PREVENT THEFT.” OK, so Edge is obviously a stalker, and he has the nerve to sound proud of himself for it. “WHEN MY CONTACT AT THE HUMAN POLICE DEPARTMENT SHOWED ME THE REPORT FROM YOUR RETRIEVAL MISSION-” Retrieval mission? “- I DECIDED TO INTERVENE.” Now Red is on the receiving end of Edge’s glare again. “AND STOP TELLING PEOPLE THAT YOU CHANGED MY DIAPERS! SKELETONS DO NOT POOP!” Edge stomps his foot to punctuate each word of his last statement. 

“then what were ya wearin’ the diapers for?” Red asks oh so innocently. You sputter, trying to hold in your laughter and failing. 

Shifting his focus to you, Edge changes the subject in lieu of answering. “I ASSUME YOU ARE HERE TO REPLACE YOUR POSSESSIONS, AND FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON MY BROTHER HAS TAKEN IT UPON HIMSELF TO ACCOMPANY YOU.” You nod in acknowledgement. “I SUPPOSE I SHALL ESCORT YOU AS WELL TO KEEP AN EYELIGHT ON MY DEGENERATE BROTHER AND MAKE SURE YOUR PATHETIC HUMAN WEAKNESS DOESN'T PUT HIM IN ANY DANGER.”

“didn’ i teach ya any manners growin’ up?” scolds Red.

“NO.”

“true, but if ya keep bein’ rude ta the human, i'll show ‘er pictures of you as a babybones.” 

“YOU'RE BLUFFING!” Edge’s voice lacks its usual cocky confidence. You actually hope that he calls the supposed bluff and you get to see his baby pictures. Even pointy, scowling babies are cute!

“if ya think so, then try me.”

The skeleton brothers continue to bicker, trailing behind you while you backtrack to the store entrance to grab a shopping cart. You gather from conversation that Red raised Edge, but you don't dare to ask about their parents because it might invite questions about your parents. You aren’t ready to talk about that yet, especially when you're in the ladies underwear department trying to select a comfortable, affordable bra. 

Thanks to the abundance of clearance racks at this particular store, you have a pair of bras and a multi-pack of underwear in your cart in no time. You also find some pajama pants in case you need to wander the house at night without your upper thighs exposed. Red stays close to you as you browse a rack of marked down shirts. Edge prowls around the clothing department, eyelights darting back and forth suspiciously. Periodically he checks back, speaking to his brother in a low tone that discourages eavesdropping. You're not the listening-in type anyway, so the secrecy doesn't bother you.

You are, however, significantly bothered when Edge hijacks your cart to pass judgment on your selections.

“THE CRAFTSMANSHIP ON THESE GARMENTS IS ABYSMAL,” he sneers. Clearance rack leftovers at a superstore do tend to lack in the quality department, but you have a tight budget to work with. Before you can even begin to explain this to Edge, he drops a pile of clothing into the cart, scooping out the shirts you had just placed there a moment ago. You can see from the tags that he chose the correct size; unfortunately not a single item is on sale.

“THESE ARE THE BEST THAT THIS ESTABLISHMENT HAS TO OFFER,” Edge informs you, though he doesn't sound particularly impressed.

“I can't afford all of this right now, Edge,” you point out, exasperated. 

“I AM AWARE OF YOUR SITUATION, HUMAN,” he responds, equally exasperated.

Red diffuses the brewing argument by interrupting. “what my bro's tryin’ ta say is: since yer stuff got destroyed because you associated wit’ us, we'll pay ta replace it.”

Oh.

“AND I WILL NOT PROVIDE YOU WITH LOW QUALITY REPLACEMENTS EITHER. I HAVE A REPUTATION TO MAINTAIN.”

The tall skeleton monster can't know that his words mirror the ones his brother said to you yesterday, but they make you smile anyway. Now that clothing has been checked off the shopping list, you move along to the hygiene essentials. Red marvels at all of the human cleaning products (“hair soap n’ face soap n’ body soap n’ pussy soap, n’ it all comes in diff'rent flavors!”), and Edge remains vigilant for possible shampoo aisle ambushes. He also refuses to let you shop for sale items here.

You put cheap deodorant in the cart. Edge hands it back to you and points to a popular (and more expensive) brand. 

You try to pick out budget brand shampoo and conditioner. 

“NO.”

You grab store brand bar soap.

“TRY AGAIN.”

You reach for a value pack containing a toothbrush and toothpaste together for one low price.

“NOT THAT ONE.”

You toss a hair brush into the cart. Edge says nothing. Apparently the brush meets his high standards.

“it's easier t'just let ‘im have his way, doll,” Red whispers loudly to you. You roll your eyes. Calling Edge a control freak would be the understatement of the year.

“HUMAN!” The tall angular skeleton monster demands your attention. You patiently inform him that your name is, in fact, not “Human,” and give him your real name. Edge impatiently informs you that he “ALREADY KNEW THAT” and, in fact, “DOES NOT CARE.” He waves away any protest you might make, or perhaps shoos you towards your next destination. It’s difficult to read his intentions.

“SINCE MONSTER FOOD DOES NOT MEET A HUMAN’S NUTRITION NEEDS, YOU WILL NEED TO PROCURE VITAMINS AND HUMAN FOODS.”

You have seen the Public Service Announcements regarding monster food, of course. Monster food will satisfy hunger and even leave a human feeling rejuvenated just like a good night's sleep, but it lacks some key nutritional components. Humans can't survive on monster food alone, and monsters, who need the magical properties contained in their foods, can't survive on a human diet. You lead Edge and Red to the vitamins and supplements department only to be absolutely blown away by the ridiculous prices.

“I think I'll be fine with just a multivitamin,” you mumble, trying to avoid Edge’s well-meaning wrath. It turns out that Edge’s wrath is inescapable.

“IT WOULD BE STUPUD TO INVITE A HUMAN INTO OUR HOME AND THEN ALLOW IT TO PERISH OF MALNUTRITION. GATHER THE NECESSARY SUPPLIES AND STOP WHINING!”

“blue says she needs iron, b12, d3, n’ calcium citrate,” Red butts in, holding up his phone to show off what must be a text from Blue. Huffing in irritation, Edge swipes a handful of appropriate vitamin bottles off of the shelf and tosses them into the cart. Without another word, he stomps off towards the grocery section of the store. You and Red hurry to catch up, pushing the loaded down shopping cart in front of you. Knowing that skeletons don’t poop (thank you Edge for that strange tidbit of information), you grab some toilet paper on the way. 

Red and Edge return to their routine: Red hovering near you, and Edge patrolling each aisle as if Jay might leap out from behind a display of microwave mac and cheese to finish what he started. You fill the remaining space in the cart with breakfast, lunch, and dinner staples though Red reassures you that he and his cousins will start incorporating human foods into their recipes next time they shop for ingredients. Meanwhile, Edge scouts around the next corner and discovers the magical land of soups, the perfect food for autumn's chilly weather!

Hefting a can of soup in each hand, you weigh the pros and cons of chicken and rice versus chicken noodle, and Edge,  apparently satisfied that this aisle is secure, picks up a can of bone broth to glare at.

“WHY ARE WE BUYING CLOTHES AT THE SOUP STORE?”

You take the can from him and return it to its place on the shelf. “Convenience,” you say and move along to browse the store's selection of snack foods while Edge guards you from the perils of grocery shopping, whatever he thinks they might be.

You're just starting to think that this shopping trip will turn out alright in spite of Edge’s abrasive personality when someone decides to rain on your little three person parade.

“Can you believe that they sell monster food here? Humans can't even eat monster food!” The complaints come from a young woman who speaks in an annoying whine, a dead giveaway that she's probably one of those self-centered types who don't understand that not everything in this world is made specifically for them. There are two skeleton monsters shopping in the store right now just a few feet away from her!

“I know!” You mimic her voice perfectly.  “Can you believe that they sell milk here? I'm lactose intolerant!” The woman's pretty face turns into an ugly sneer once she catches on to your mockery, but you refuse to let her speciesist comment go unchallenged.

“I SINCERELY APOLOGIZE-” You already know Edge well enough to know he would never apologize to this woman, but her smug smirk tells you that she's falling into his verbal trap. “- TO ANYONE WHO HAS THE EXTREME MISFORTUNE OF ENCOUNTERING SOMEONE LIKE YOU.” Insult delivered, Edge places a surprisingly gentle hand on the small of your back to guide you away from the confrontation. 

Red adds his two cents with a double middle phalanx salute which he maintains while walking backwards behind you and his brother. You catch one last glimpse of the woman's stunned face, her mouth hanging open before Edge has you out of the aisle. You quickly dart back to grab a few boxes of Pop-Tarts only to have the delicious pastries scrutinized by a pair of disapproving red eyelights.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Edge declares. “THOSE HAVE NO NUTRITIONAL MERIT!”

“I can pay for these myself,” you offer. You will defend your Pop-Tart habit to the death if you need to. Edge relents in his own way, snatching the treats from your hands and throwing them unceremoniously into your cart. Flanked by two skeleton monsters, you steer the cart towards the checkout lanes feeling a bit like a princess with two bony knights to escort her.

A cashier begins scanning your items, and with each beep your euphoria evaporates a bit more until all that's left is a heavy sense of anxiety. The total continues to climb, and anxiety gives way to panic. You can't ask two skeleton monsters that you've known for less than a day to buy you so much stuff, but the transaction is already out of your price range and the cashier is still working his way through the pile of clothing.

“breathe, doll,” Red whispers, making you jump. You actually forgot about the skeleton monster standing next to you! Now that your focus is broken, you take some calming breaths. The cashier scans the last item, and hits a key to reveal the staggering sum. Unfazed, Edge pays with a credit card. Did he even check the amount?

The cashier requests Edge’s ID, probably due to the large purchase. Edge hands it over. The cashier checks it, then gives Edge a skeptical look.

“Edgelord Edgerton Serif? What kind of name is that?” You think he might be joking, but Edge lets out a low growl of frustration. 

“IT'S THE KIND OF NAME YOUR MOTHER WAS SCREAMING LAST NIGHT. NOW FINISH MY TRANSACTION.” Edge’s dry joke makes you snort, and Red bursts into raucous laughter. 

Thoroughly chastised, the cashier gives Edge his ID and a lengthy receipt. Not bothering with the now-empty shopping cart, Edge picks up each and every bag and carries your purchases outside by himself. You suspect that he is grumpy about having his name questioned, but you have to agree with the cashier's skepticism. Who names a babybones Edgelord?

You aren't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, however… especially if that gift horse is a skeleton with really sharp teeth named Edgelord Edgerton Serif.

In the parking lot, Edge stows your new belongings (and Pop-Tarts) in the back of the SUV and slams the hatch down. Turning to his brother, he holds out a gloved hand, metacarpal palm facing upwards.

“YOU CAN TAKE YOUR CHOPPER HOME, BROTHER. I'LL TRANSPORT THE HUMAN.” 

“sure thing, boss.” With no protest, Red drops the keys to the SUV into Edge’s hand.

“You call your brother ‘Boss’?” The question slips out while Edge retrieves the chopper keys from his pocket. The skeletons repeat their earlier performance of throwing and catching keys, and Red gives you an answer over his shoulder as he saunters up to a sleek black and red motorcycle.

“yeah, everyone used ta think it was cuz i was a sentry in the royal guard n’ he outranked me, but it's really cuz he was such a bossy little babybones.”

Edge stamps his foot and shouts: “STOP TELLING THE HUMAN YOUR COCKAMAMIE STORIES!” Red just starts up his bike and revs the engine to drown his brother out. He then speeds off, leaving you in the care of a tall, irritated skeleton monster.

You and Edge climb into the massive vehicle (Edge figuratively and you literally) and start your journey together. Edge drives attentively and cautiously while still managing to go slightly over the speed limit. At first he doesn't speak to you, but the blissful silence is over all too soon.

“FOR REASONS UNKNOWN, MY BROTHER HAS FORMED AN ATTACHMENT TO YOU.” Edge’s loud voice fills the SUV, surrounding you with the sound of it. “IF ANY HARM COMES TO HIM BECAUSE OF THAT ATTACHMENT, I WILL ENSURE THAT YOUR END IS EXCRUCIATING SLOW AND EXCEEDINGLY PAINFUL.”

“I would never do anything to hurt Red.” Your heated words are immediate and honest. You would never forgive yourself if something bad happened to Red because of you.

Edge says nothing, and an uneasy silence returns to the vehicle. You wonder why Edge feels the need to control every aspect of a situation. Maybe it comes from being a high ranking member of the Royal Guard? You presume Edge’s inner monologue is more along the lines of where to hide your mangled body if you cross him, and an unexpected shiver races up your spine.

Thankfully, you survive the ride to your new home. Edge once again gathers up the purchases and carries them by himself. Red must have somehow beaten you here because he stands at the front door, opening it to let you and his brother inside where you find yet another skeleton monster waiting. 

“WELCOME TO YOUR NEW HOME, HUMAN,” he shouts with contagious cheerfulness. The new skeleton is tall like Edge with softer, rounder features and a casual style of dress. He sweeps you up into a powerful hug, spins you around, and sets you back on your feet,  then he picks up a gift basket from a side table and presents it to you. “PLEASE ACCEPT THIS TOKEN OF HOSPITALITY AND FRIENDSHIP FROM THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”

You stare through the clear cellophane wrapping in shock. The basket contains a luxurious loofah, slippers, bubble bath, candles, and lotion, all items that a person on a tight budget wouldn't bother buying for themself. This family of skeleton monsters barely knows you, but they have already done so much for you. Red protected you, Blueberry checked on your health, Edge provided for you, Sans made you laugh, and Papyrus embraced you as a housemate and friend, sight unseen.

You haven't felt so wanted and cared for since your grandmother passed away.

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[comingyourlugubriousness]

I wrote this a long time ago for Twst SMAU. Some lore on how Ghost King! Idia and Mario!Yume meet! I have a general plot planned, but right now I'm working on Ghost Marriage lore so I'm not sure when I'll get around to it! I have lots of fun with this au though! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

Enjoy! Writing under the cute!

Title: Ghost King Join's the Party!

Length: 6.5k words

“Whe he he!~ It’s finally finished!” Idia giggled, his sinister laughter echoing throughout the dark, cold dungeon. 

“This is gonna be the one for sure, no way he gets out of this one!” He assured himself, and himself alone as there was no other soul in the room with him. His ghostly underlings were all at their posts; awaiting the expected arrival of one, said Yuuta Midori. Idia sighed, his brows furrowing at the thought of his rival. 

During their last encounter Yuuta had “beaten” him…that part wasn’t…really uncommon. Yuuta interrupting his plans was a constant plague on his life to the point where he was genuinely worried about the amount of free time Yuuta had. But, even though Idia never won their encounters in a literary sense he had always gotten what he needed to do.

Sure, Yuuta may have stopped him from summoning an undead army, but he had gotten away with the necromantic book he needed with the spell. So in a way he was the true “winner” in their game. That is until last time….

Absent-mindedly, he touched the top of his head. A place where his family’s crown was supposed to be sitting.

“How annoying…freaking goodie goodie…” He grumbled to himself. Idia got careless with their last encounter. When trying to steal those parts for his machines he ended up losing his crown. 

“It wasn’t my fault!” He groaned aloud, drearily pacing back and forth as he talked to himself. 

“Those Toads wouldn’t sell anything to me! Just because I had some “terrifying and scary Boo's” with me.” He put finger quotes and rolled his eyes as hard as he could. 

“So what if they scared a few people!?” He shrugged. “I needed the parts way more than them!” He pointed at himself indignantly, as if he was having an intense debate with someone.”They weren’t utilizing the parts to their full potential! Just letting them rust away in a corner because they were too STUPID to see its value!” He growled, the long blue flames of his hair blazing a harsh red for a second as he kicked a loose rock on the floor.

 Idia yelped as it actually kinda of hurt his foot…

“But would that wannabe anti-hero with a mom complex hear me out?! Noooooo of course not!~ Cuz I’m just the gross, creepy, shut-in who lives with dead people!!” He complained dramatically, hopping up and down on one foot until the pain subsided. Idia’s voice simply echoed off the empty walls of his family's old castle dungeon. Only the slight jangling of chains in the wind through the cracks in the walls responded back to him…He stood there for a few moments soaking in the lonely silence as his face went passive and expressionless. 

It was fine…he was used to it by now…

Idia sighed, feeling ashamed that he was once again getting himself so worked up in a conversation by himself. How pathetic…

“Well…I guess it doesn’t matter. Once I capture that wannabe hero, I’ll make him give me back my crown.” He grinned widely at the idea, his sharp teeth on full display.

“We just have to-Hm?” He stopped, hearing a notification sound from his tablet. He lifted his cloak, sticking his hand through it to the pocket dimension inside and pulling out of his tablet. Unlocking it to check his security cameras feeds.

“What the-?!” Idia’s brows furrowed and he leaned forward; hunching close to the screen. 

There he saw a chaotic scene; dozens of his Boo subjects all scattering around, panicked expressions on their faces. They all flitted about, desperately finding places to hide and disappearing into old furniture. Through the blurs of barely transparent ghosts he could see the rooms of his family’s castle were a wreck, more so than usual, as if battles had taken place. Remnants of his puzzles and traps that he had so strategically placed were either rendered obsolete or smashed to smithereens. 

Did Yuuta do this?? It usually took him longer to solve Idia’s traps and he NEVER scared any of his subjects like this, usually they did the scaring!

Idia watched as one Boo ran right into one of his security cameras cracking the lens. What was his name…? Herbert? Idia wasn’t sure. He was never good at recognizing all their faces and remembering their names… it was always Ortho who…

His train of thought was interrupted as someone stepped in the camera frame. 

Due to the crack in the camera lens, Idia couldn’t make out any details, but he saw the Boo shriek and scrambled to get away. A blurred motion approaching the camera was the last thing he saw before it was busted. The camera feed going offline. 

Idia winced and sneered in annoyance thinking about how he’d have to replace that camera now. Though he felt himself beginning to sweat as he cycled through the other camera feeds, trying to identify or even catch a glimpse of his intruder. But he never could, they were always just out of sight of the camera angles or moving too fast for him to get a clear picture. Just a red blur? He swallowed hard; he couldn’t help but notice that the cameras he was following were getting closer and closer to his current location.

“Gah, geez what’s with this horror movie atmosphere!” He bemoaned, growling in frustration as another camera was destroyed, just one room away from the dungeon he was currently standing in. A few seconds later he heard a bang from outside the door. 

“Wha-! O-oh forget this!” He said, closing his tablet and stuffing it in his cloak. 

“N-n-nothing w-wrong with a strategic retreat! H-hehe?” he said to himself, laughing, nervously as he hurried to gather his tools and keys.

*THUMP*

He jumped in place and failed to hold back a high pitched shriek, his tools falling around his feet; as the heavy wooden dungeon door entrance was suddenly struck.

“O-Oh! Oh, shit!” Idia looked around frantically. The banging on the door continued relentlessly. It wouldn’t hold forever. 

Usually he would just phase through the walls to escape, but that was impossible here. The dungeon was designed to imprison even ghosts. He could try to take this threat head on, but without his crown his powers were so nerfed he could BARELY use them to fight. He let out a nervous noise, stepping around his trap's trigger, and cramming himself into a corner of one of the dungeon cells, crudely kicking an ancient skeleton aside as he did. 

With one final *thunk* the dungeon door fell off its hinge, a cloud of dust puffing up and a deafening bang reverberated off the old stone walls. Idia cautiously peeked from his hiding spot, looking to see this new enemy…

-

.

“Whoa~!” Yume yelped as they fell through the door. A small ‘oof’ escaping them as they tripped on the door.

“Oww…” They groaned into the hard wood where they face planted. Maybe they used a little too much force on that last swing? They thought, clumsily stumbling to their feet. They gently dusted themselves off, taking extra care to clean their monogrammed hat. Yu went to adjust their glasses only to realize they weren’t on their face.

“Ah, my glasses!” They panicked for a second looking around the dark room until they found them only a few feet away. They sighed in relief, putting them back on and taking stock of their surroundings. 

Yume glanced around the room, which looked to be a dungeon of sorts. A majority of the area was shrouded in shadows; only a bit of light coming from dull torches of blue flames. They could hear the slight jingling of chains as the cold air drifted through the room. Yume grimaced, their knees buckling for a second at the idea of exploring this creepy place. 

Ugh! They should have gotten a flashlight like Yuuta told them. They jogged in place for a moment to calm their nerves.  I’ll be okay, just some dumb little creep, I can take him! His puzzles weren’t even that difficult! Yume took a deep breath to calm down. Their face settling into one of determination.They would be fine, they just had to keep their guard up. 

With that thought in mind they grabbed the handle of their hammer, pulling it from where it was wedged into the door. The old sturdy wood splintered under the head of the iron hammer head and they made a small noise of effort as they lifted the blunt weapon over their shoulder.

“Eek-!” An unknown noise echoed in the chamber.

Yume whipped their head around towards the direction of the noise, but all they could see was darkness. Their first instinct was to call out, but they hesitated for a moment. Was it an enemy? Or…maybe someone who needed help? They bit their lip unsure if they should speak…

“Hellooo? Is someone there?” They called out, their voice echoing across the chamber. They felt slightly silly at how much they sounded like a dumb horror movie victim. But if someone was here then…well…it’s not like they hadn’t heard Yu come in.

Yume waited a few seconds, but got no response. They let out a breath through their nose…guess I have to do this the hard way. With that final thought, Yu tightened their grip on their hammer as they slowly and methodically began searching the room .

-

Idia held his hands over his mouth. Shit that was close!! He hadn’t meant to make that noise! He scolded himself for acting like a dumb protag in horror movies, the very ones he always rolled his eyes at!

 ‘C’mon think, Idia think, you're better than those idiot normie throw away characters!’ He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to focus as he heard the intruder stepping around in and opening doors in the other cells. Each time getting closer and closer to his current location.. He couldn’t run away, the enchantment on the dungeon walls prevented even ghosts from phasing through them and if he tried to run through the open entrance they would definitely see him!

The footsteps came closer.

He could try to fight but without his crown he was severely underleveled! He didn’t know the stats of this intruder yet, but if what he saw on the camera was any indication they were not just some random noob! He could easily get K.O’d if he wasn’t careful!

The creak of the cell door next to his opened.

Gah-! He was running out of time he-! Idia felt himself start to hyperventilate. 

The footsteps were right outside the cell. 

He hated this, why couldn’t people just leave him alone!? Is what he was doing really such a crime?! He just wanted to be left alone! Why couldn’t they leave him alone? He wished he was anywhere else, he wished Ortho was here, he wished he could just disappear from the face of this earth for good! 

Idia heard the door to the cell creak open and he gasped. Blinking away the tears and instinctually cowering and covering his face to hide. His bloodline powers activated automatically, making him invisible where he stood.

He held his breath as the intruder stepped around the cell, he could hear them, walking around towards each corner carefully until they got to his. They were so close, Idia could tell without even seeing them. Cautiously, he peeked through his fingers, trying to see this interloper up close…

Big brown eyes stared directly at him and he almost screamed in shock, but caught himself as he realized they couldn’t actually see him. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment, avoiding eye contact regardless.

He moved his fingers aside just a bit to see them more fully.

Idia wasn’t sure what he expected, maybe a huge monster or a large buff dude but…instead this person was actually rather short…? Glasses resting on their rosy round cheeks, wavy curls framing a soft face, and a small pout their plump lips as they carefully examined the corner he was hiding in. Huh? Who…? His eyes trailed down, catching a familiar attire

Short overalls and a monogrammed hat? Yuuta wore something like this though in a different way…was this person…related to him in some way? Did he send them? Idia thoughts raced, his curiosity starting to overtake his anxiety. 

If that was the case then…it's possible that they weren’t that much stronger than Yuuta… maybe they were even more of a scardy cat then him? At the thought a mischievous sharp tooth grin split on his face as he got an idea. A way to get this nuisance out of his hair AND avoid a fight with some NPC of unknown lvl. He just had to do what Boo’s did best.

As the person turned away from the corner, stepping over something and kneeling down to examine the entrance to the cell, Idia saw his chance. 

Idia released his breath, making himself visible and with all the remaining strength he had left called upon his power to shift into his ghostly form. He felt his figure grow, his wispy cloak merging with his body.  His tongue lolled out of his mouth as his mouth unhinged, displaying his rows of razor sharp teeth, his face twisting and distorting in an unsettling nightmarish visage. He loomed over his capture, now turned victim. Idia took a deep breath as he prepared himself to let out an unholy scream and hopefully scared them to death.

 He took a step forward, getting closer and closer, waiting for just the right moment…

**Click** 

Idia looked down with wide eyes, seeing the trigger of the trap release. Oh n-

Idia couldn’t even finish his thought as the trapped sprung and he yelped as metal sheets on the floor quickly folded up around him, locking him in a metal box. He couldn’t even scream as the small area encased him, forcing him to fold his body like a tetris piece just to fit.

“AHH-! WHAT THE FUCK!” He heard the intruder scream, then a loud metal thunk hit the trap. 

“S-shit!” Idia choked out, finding it hard to breathe. The trap wasn’t made for someone his size in mind. He tried to shift his knees to sit in a better position. 

This was fine, this was completely fine! He just had to get the remote from his pocket to release the trap. With great effort he shimmied his hand to his pocket to find…

…It empty?

“…!”

SHIT! HE MUST HAVE LEFT IT SOMEWHERE ON THE FLOOR! He had thought he would have more time to prepare before Yuuta came!

“No no nononono!” He whined and began hyperventilating again as he tried to kick and pound at the trap. Unfortunately, it was working perfectly as intended, leaving him with no hope of escaping on his own. What was he going to do?! It could be days before one of his subjects found him?!

A few seconds later three hesitant knocks on the container broke him out of his panic. 

-

“Umh…H-hello? I-is someone in there?” Yume asked carefully, their hand on their chest to calm their still racing heart. What the fuck just happened? One second the cell was empty and then they heard a horrible loud noise? And now this metal box was here?? And it was making noises?! Where did it come from?? Did it fall from the ceiling…?

There was no response from the box. So, reluctantly, Yume leaned forward and cautiously knocked again; pressing their ear to the side of the container. A few seconds passed but this time they did manage to get a response.

“H-help…!” A feeble male voice choked out. If Yume wasn’t literally pressed up against the box they definitely wouldn’t be able to hear it. Yume gasped, placing their palm against the box.

“Help?! Who are you?! Are you okay? How can I help?!” They asked in rapid fire, their instinct to aid beginning to take over. Yu automatically grabbed their hammer, thinking maybe they could just smash the trap, but then they noticed. The spot they hit earlier didn’t even have a dent…Even if they pounded away at this thing all day; it might not budge...

“The trap is too sturdy-! I don’t think I can break it!” Yume explained. They squished their cheek up against the box; now able to hear the labored breathing of whoever was inside. Yume frowned, their worry for this person increasing with every second.

“H-Hey, it's okay, it’s okay! We’ll figure this out…!” They said, trying to calm the person. An unsure noise came from inside. 

“I mean it!” They tried to reassure them again. “I heard that this guy always has an out for these kinds of things, there must be a way to free you? A-A key somewhere or-!” They did a quick once over of the cell but found nothing. Then the prisoner piped up.

“R-r-re-remote…!” His voice stuttered. 

A remote? Yume thought, then like a lightbulb they remembered. A remote! Yume reached into their pocket, pulling out the strange device they had found earlier in one of the rooms upstairs. They didn’t know what it was then, but thought it seemed important. Definitely a key item! Maybe the Ghost King had dropped it and misplaced it? HA! What a total idiot!

“Hang on! I’m gonna try something!” They said, taking a few steps back.

“H-hurry…!” The voice pleaded.

Yume held the device out at arms length, leaning slightly away, and pressed their thumb down on the almost comically large red button.

A satisfying *click*, sounded. Something inside the trap whirled and the metal plating shifted rapidly as the coffin-like trap began to unfold itself. The top of the box popped open like a trapped door. A cartoonish spring noise sounded, and the person screamed as they were quickly and forcefully ejected upwards out of the trap.

“Whoa-!” Yume’s eyes followed the motion, holding on to their hat as a blur of blue flew up past them.

-

Idia let out a shriek as he was ejected into the air. After being tumbled around in the trap he was completely disoriented, he couldn’t tell up from down; the whole world was LITERALLY spinning. Were his traps always this messed up? A few moments later he felt a moment of equilibrium, before gravity overtook, sending him plummeting down.

He was falling? Time almost seemed to slow down around him. Since he’d inherited his crown it was a sensation he’d forgotten…Was he going to die?  The thought crossed his mind matter of factly before the panic set in. N-No he couldn’t, he still had so much to do-! He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears as he fell, faster and faster. Idia pinched his eyes shut and tried to brace himself for the cold unforgiving stone floor…

.

.

.

“Gotcha!” Yume grunted, their small arms wrapping around the prisoner. Even as they caught him the force of the fall was a little too much for them and they both fell to the floor. Yume let out a groan as they fell flat on their butt. The person bouncing on their lap as Yu’s own body cushioned most of the fall. It knocked the wind out of Yume so they tried to take a few deep breaths. 

“Ack!” Yume wheezed as they were suddenly squeezed in a tight hold. Long arms wrapped around their waist as the trembling prisoner clinged to them like a lifeline. Wisps of blue overtook their vision as the person buried themselves in Yume’s shoulder. They felt small panicked breaths hitting their neck as the person hyperventilated.

The sudden closeness started Yume and they were a little embarrassed, but they set that aside, their practiced heroic persona taking over. 

“Hey hey, shh… it's okay…” They cooed, gently rubbing the prisoners back. Yume tried to pull them back a bit so he wasn't sitting directly on their lap. But, he  flinched at the contact, letting out a small whimper. He clutched the back of Yume’s hoodie more intensely, bunching up the fabric. 

Yume sighed, but relented, tentatively setting their arms around the person.

“Okay okay, you don’t have to let go.” They murmured softly, it wasn’t the first time they had to comfort a panicking victim, but usually it was only children who clingged to them like this. Though this person was clearly not a child, their tall frame almost completely enveloped Yume. If it wasn’t for how thin they were, Yume might have been knocked flat on the ground. Absent-mindedly they moved their hands around his waist. Actually, they were REALLY THIN! Yume’s brows pinched up in worry.

-

Idia was beside himself, he couldn’t think straight. It wasn’t the first time he had a panic attack like this, but this was one of the worse he’d had in awhile. Ironically, the only thing keeping him together right now was the very person who caused his composure to crumble in the first place. He hadn’t meant to cling to them, sure, it was a natural instinct when falling but… then he felt it…

The warmth of another living person…he had almost forgotten what it was like. Idia shivered as soft warm palms rubbed his back.

“...How long have you been here?” The intruder asked, sounding concerned.

How long? How long had he been here? In this castle; a glorified prison for his cursed family?  He wasn’t thinking straight, a part of him knew that wasn’t what they meant but…

“Forever…” The words just came out.

 “...I-I-’ve-” Idia struggled to speak, cringing at his own voice and giving up the thought halfway, choosing instead to steal more warmth from this person and burying his face in their neck. He caught a whiff of a fruity smell he couldn’t identify, but strangely it calmed him. 

The stranger didn’t seem to mind, in fact they held him closer, a hand soothingly patting his head.

“Shh…it’s alright, I’ll protect you… '' They said the words softly, but with conviction. Even in Idia’s skeptical mind it sounded reassuring. Though, it was the next words that really got to him.

“You're not alone anymore.” The person whispered to him as if it was a promise. 

Idia tensed, the words making him freeze in place. His brain jump started as he suddenly registered EVERYTHING that was happening. Where he was, who he was with, the position he was in. The scenario and sensations overwhelmed him, making him hyper aware of every stimuli in the room.

What the hell was he doing? 

At the thought he pushed the intruder away, scrambling away from them.

They let out a noise of surprise at the sudden shove.

“G-get away-!” Idia choked out, all at once the warmth from before left him, sharpening his focus. Idia crawled away until his back hit the cell bars and he anxiously gripped one. Uncomfortably pushing himself into the cold steel to get as physically far away from this person as possible. NO ONE had ever made him drop his guard like that? Was it some kind of weird power?  In his mind they were even more dangerous now then when they were just some OP freak with a hammer. 

-

The push knocked Yume to the floor. They grunt in pain as they felt their elbows skinned against unforgiving stone. They recovered quickly. 

“Ow! Hey! That hurt!”  They growled, giving into their first instinct to get angry. They were only trying to help this person and this is what they get. Geez! 

“What’s your fucking issue?!” Yume shouted as they sat up to glare at the person, puffing up their cheeks at him. Though their anger dissipated once they set eyes on this person; vaguely registering that this was the first time they could see him clearly. 

Bright golden eyes trembling with fear met Yume’s. A glint of sharp teeth peaked from his mouth, nervously biting thin blue lips. His pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness. The illusion only became more prominent due to the actual flames of long blue hair; cascading wildly around his shoulders and back; framing his mature angular face.  

Yume blinked twice, taking in the appearance of this person, a person who just a few seconds ago was sitting in their lap. Their face heated up now at the idea.

“Oh…You’re…” Yume started to say ‘beautiful’, but caught themselves, as they saw the man’s shoulders hike. Yu trailed off…losing their nerve to say what they wanted. They took a moment to collect themselves, clearing their throat..

“-You're safe.” Yu said, firmly, trying to sound as reassuring as possible; thought still a nervous laugh escaped them. “Y’know what, here let's uhm, start over!” They said kindly, shifting to sit on their knees. They clear their throat again, their nerves suddenly spiking  as they realized they were meeting a stranger.

“ H-hi, I’m Yume Ume! Part Time Hero! ” They tried to smile, voice a little too loud and gungho; as they awkwardly put their hand out for him to shake. He jumped at the loud volume of their voice and tried to lean back even more at the quick movement. Eyes shifting back and forth at Yume’s hand, and expression, skeptically.  He made no move to shake their hand, but raised an eyebrow at their introduction.

-

“Part time Hero”, that was the way Yuuta introduced themselves to people sometimes, too. Idia didn’t say anything but made note of it. A more pressing concern plaguing his mind right now.

“U-Uhmm…” He started speaking, cringing at his own stutter.

 “A-aren’t y-you….g-gonna to attack m-me? O-or s-something” Idia muttered, he knew he should try and put on his villain persona, but his head was pounding. He felt so weak, he must have used too much of his power… 

Yume’s eyebrows hiked up in surprise. 

“Huh?!” They were confused for a second, so he shifted his eyes to their hammer lying in arms reach. They followed his gaze.  “Oh! Oh no! No!” They said quickly, pushing the hammer away. It slid further across the floor, clunking loudly till it hit the wall.

“That’s not for you! That’s only for bad guys!” They said, holding their hands up in a placating gesture. Idia paused, his eyes widening and jaw going slack as he realized…

This person…this Yume…had no idea who he was.

“What’s your name?” They asked, further proving his assumption. 

“O-oh! I..umh…” It’s been a long time since he introduced himself to anyone. Part of him understood, why would anyone want the name of some freak like him. Even the moniker of ‘Ghost King’ was given to him.  Nobody, not even his subjects called him by his real name anymore…no one did, not since Ortho… He shook off the thought, not trying to go down that train of thought.

“M-my n-name-i-ts uh-!” He hesitated, bringing his knees to his chest and fiddling with his fingers. Unsure if he should tell them… In the end he decided it wouldn’t be worth the trouble of keeping up a lie.

“I-Idia j-just…Idia.” He whispered, peeking up at them through his bangs. Yume smiled at him.

“Idia…” They repeated, giving a little nod of approval. “That’s a nice name!” They said so sincerely it made Idia’s stomach churn a bit. Even so his face still heated up at the compliment, he wasn’t used to them. They went on, leaning into him a bit.

“Listen Idia, my brother, Yuuta! He sent me here to stop something the Ghost King was planning, I’ve searched this place to to bottom, but I still can’t find him, I don’t think he’s here so-”

“Wait-! YUUTA IS YOUR BROTHER?!” He asked in disbelief, leaning into them as well. Yume leaned back not expecting him to suddenly raise his voice.

“Yeah…have you met him?” They asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“O-oh n-not I-I’ve just uhh…h-heard of him…! Y-yeah, talk f-from the dungeon g-guards ehehe…” He lied, chuckling nervously, pushing his index finger together to stim.Yume frowned looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

“You… must have been trapped here for a while, huh?” Then their brows furrowed. “No wonder you look so thin and pale! That guy is gonna pay!” Yume said seriously, bawling up their fists till they shook. 

Idia let out a quiet noise as if he had been stabbed; any confidence he had plummeted to the floor and shattered, and he hunched in on himself.

“I c-can’t help how I look…!” He grumbled gloomily. Honestly, he had been called much worse by others, but for some reason the comments from Yume stung extra hard. He didn’t try to dwell on why.

“Ah-! Nono-! I didn’t mean-!” They tried, but Idia interrupted them.

“H-how do you plan on beating the Ghost king anyway!?” He asked,  looking at them curiously. This whole thing was a big epic fail, definitely one for his cringe comp. But maybe he could get some useful information from someone so close to his nemesis.

“O-oh well!” Yume pushed up their glasses. “ Yuuta told me the last time they fought, he managed to steal the Ghost King’s crown. We didn’t know much about it or how it worked. So, I was worried it might be dangerous, y’know?” They gave a small shrug. 

“Like, bro I love you. But you can’t just take freaky villain shit without knowing what it is!” They explained, and gestured their hand out as if it was an obvious conclusion. “Like that thing could be cursed for all we know!” They said, throwing their arms up dramatically. 

Idia’s eyes widened and how close to the mark they were, but he didn’t say anything.

“Anywho,  I took it upon myself to do a little research on the crown so my brother gave it to me and-”

“YOU HAVE MY CROWN!” Idia blurted, forgetting himself for a moment and scrambling closer to them; scanning Yume up and down to find it. Their posture turned a bit sheepish, seeming to be nervous at suddenly having Idia’s full attention.

“Oh no not on me I- '' Yume paused, Idia’s words catching up with them. 

“Your crown?” They repeated, tilting their head and looking at Idia with narrow eyes. Idia let out a noise of shock, only now realizing what he had said as well.

“O-oh! I meant- W-what I meant is um-” He stumbled over his words, bawling his hands to his chest. Unable to come up with a lie to cover it. HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID! He internally screamed at himself. 

“Wait a second…yellow eyes…and blue flames….” Yume said, their eyes carefully scanning over his features, he could practically see the gears turning in their head…

GAH, THIS WAS IT HE WAS SO DONE FOR! GAME, SET, MATCH! Idia’s eyes darted around, back once again in trying to find a way out of this situation. But there was nothing he could do, even if he ran they would definitely catch him.

“You…you're…” Yume continued. And Idia swallowed nervously, pinching his eyes shut and preparing his mental tombstone: “Death by hammer”.

“...A SHROUD!” Yume said confidently with a look of awe on their face.

“Huh?!” Idia said dumbfounded, his body untensing. It wasn’t what he was expecting to hear.

“Yeah..?” Idia nodded.”H-how did you know?” He asked genuinely surprised. His family was considered the stuff of legends. They weren’t recorded in any historic literature; at least not traditionally. Whispers of the Shrouds only came up in myths or sometimes tales of cautions.

Yume gasped, doing an excited little dance at being correct. Then they propped their hands on their hips, looking proud that their prediction was true. 

“I KNEW IT! Well not ‘knew it’, but it all makes sense!” They began speaking passionately.

 “All the books I read about the crown mentioned a family with ghostly powers that passed down the crown from generation to generation! Some books even theorized that the bloodline had ended long ago, but they were all so ambiguous and never had definitive proof! A story that inspired so much mythology couldn’t have been based on a simple fairy tale! Gosh, I can’t believe it!” They rambled on passionately. Idia simply watched them, overwhelmed but…unable to take his eyes off them.

“Um-.” He tried, but Yume went on, speaking quickly and manically.

“And AND, you’ve been imprisoned here all this time! The Ghost King appeared only a few years ago, so that’s when he must have stolen it and learned how to unlock the secrets of your crown! By imprisoning you! AM I RIGHT?” They asked, sitting up on their knees leaning in only an inch from his face.

Idia laughed nervously, blushing at how close they were now. It took him a few seconds to process everything they said. They had really crafted this whole narrative in their head without Idia saying anything. But the scary thing was how almost accurate their theory was. Sure, they were just missing a few crucial details. But…they didn’t need to know that. 

“T-that’s right!” He lied, nodding quickly to agree with them. Yume’s mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape, and for just a second, Idia found himself having to hold back a genuine laugh at their expression. It was the same face he made when his favorite TV show theory got confirmed.

“Oh my gosh…what a conspiracy! Yuuta’s never gonna believe this!” They murmured to themself. “Like, ‘Hey bro, that thing we’re using as a paper weight at home, it's a legendary artifact of darkness from a royal family.  Hey, who would have thought; not me!” Yume said, mocking out the conversation 

“W-what, you just have it at your house-! Wh- A PAPER WEIGHT?!” He spluttered indignantly. “YOUR USING MY FAMILY CROWN AS A PAPERWEIGHT!?” 

“I mean…yeah.” Yume shrugged, tilting their head and sheepishly grinning at him. Idia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity.

“I need it back!” He said desperately, even going as far to reach over and tug a little on their sleeve. 

“A-ah okay okay, we can get it back…” Yume said, placatingly patting his hand. Their faced scrunched up in thought. “Hmm…well actually it's kinda of a long trip there and back…just going home for me is gonna be a journey in itself.” They murmured thinking to themselves for a few seconds, before their eyes widened; a creative sparkle to them.

“Oh I know! Here’s an idea!” They smiled. “You need your crown back and I need more info on the Ghost King! So, If you're willing to, I can escort you out of this place, and you can come back home with me to retrieve it!” They said.

“Hm?!” Idia’s first instinct was to grimace at the idea of leaving his land. Yume noticed his expression.

“Hear me out…!” They said, carefully placing a hand atop Idia’s. Idia noticed it, but decided not to yank his hand away to keep up appearance. The warmth was already spreading through his skin, even with his gloves on. Yume continued.

“This way we both can get what we need and besides I…well…” Yu looked away shyly. 

“I wouldn’t feel right leaving you behind-!” Idia watched their face flush a bit. 

“I mean-! S-someone who's never really been out in the world on their own! It would be hard to fend for yourself!” They flusteredly explained, looking back to him. 

“I have connections back home too, people who can help get you settled back into society…you must have been so scared and lonely…” They trailed off, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, before continuing.

“So…what do you say?” Yume asked, looking up at him through their long eyelashes, they almost looked…nervous? Idia didn’t understand why.

“Uhm…” He looked down, avoiding their gaze as he processed their words. They didn’t seem to mind; not pressuring him for a quick answer. He took a minute, running through all the possible scenarios in his head and came to a conclusion. His gut instinct was to tell them no, thank them for saving him and run off; when the “ghost was clear” pun intended. He could just return back to his castle and fortify his defenses. And apt strategy…however…This might be his best and only chance to get the crown back…and he needed it soon if his plans were ever going to come to fruition. He knew could never get it back with a full frontal attack, not with his debuff status ...but a stealth mission….that could work…he just had to play pretend, he could do that. He did that all the time as a child and even now.

Idia turned to them, doing his best to maintain eye contact. 

“O-okay…I-i'll take you up on the offer…p-please take care of me.” He stuttered, doing his best to give them a warm pleasant smile and not be “positively creepy” and “wonderfully unnerving” as he’d been told it was by his subjects. Gently, he gave the tiniest squeezed in return to Yume's hand.

Either Yume was a big weirdo or he did a halfway decent job, because they beamed at him, looking relieved.

“Great!” And they grinned, as if he had told them the best news in the world. They helped him to his feet as he shakily stood; smiling at him for a few moments longer before they seemed to remember themselves, looking away and chuckling nervously.

“Well then-!” Yume heaved up their hammer. A glint of what Idia recognized as magic sparkled for just a moment as they wound up a big swing towards a crack on the wall.

*BOOM*

 Idia jumped and let out a noise of surprise as a large section of the castle dungeon wall crumbled.

The dawn of the morning sun shone on the horizon and the birds chirped, signaling the start of a new day. It was so bright Idia had to shield his eyes and instinctively tried to take a step back into the shadows. Through the cracks of his fingers he saw Yume holding out their hand. The rays of light from the sun enveloping them and glinting off their glasses, making their warm olive skin almost seem to glow. 

Yume smiled at him with a kindness he’d never seen from a stranger…

“Let’s go!” They said cheerfully, flexing their hands for Idia to take. 

Their words broke him out of his stupor of awe and he stumbled towards them, nearly tripping over the debris, but at the last second Yu caught him, lacing their hands together to stabilize him. Idia blushed as they locked eyes, seeing nothing but pure sincerely on their face. How could they be like that with someone they just met, weren’t they embarrassed? Idia looked away, but couldn’t help but notice that somehow Yume’s palm felt warmer than the burning sun on his face. 

As they began climbing carefully down the hill of the crumbling rocks, Idia couldn’t help but wonder what kind of mess he was getting himself into.

It was fine…he just had to stick to the plan. 

No mess, no strings attached, just play pretend…that's all.

-

UI: IDIA HAS RELUCTANTLY JOINED THE PARTY!

[softhairedhotch]

jack has complicated feelings about his father, and aaron finds a note that explains it. content/warnings: angst, alcohol/drunkeness, hints of hotchgan but no relationship, angry notes, angry jack hotchner, teen jack, arguments, haley's mentioned a few times, parent loss mention, hurt/comfort, happy ending!! word count: 6.1k also on ao3!

i can't handle change

Aaron pressed a kiss to Jessica's cheek and allowed a small smile to twitch at his chapped lips. “Hello. Is everything alright?” He asked as he got rid of his jacket. He placed his briefcase on the kitchen table, settling his go-bag down on the floor beside it, and began searching for his laptop when he realised that he hadn’t received an answer. “Jess?” He glanced her way and realised that everything was not alright. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were slightly wet with tears wiped away a few times over. Taking two large strides toward her, he reached out to rest a comforting hand over her shoulder, squeezing gently. “What's wrong?”

“Aaron…” 

Panic hit him square in the chest. “What is it? Is Jack okay? Are you okay?”

Jess shook her head with a sniffle. Timidly, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Aaron thought his heart might give out as time seemed to slow around him, watching as she unfolded the paper. It was jagged at the edges, torn unceremoniously from a small notebook–no doubt Jack’s considering there was a small dinosaur that said ‘you’re rawr-some!’ in the corner of the page–and she bit her lip as she stared down at it. “I found this,” she started, her voice shaking. “In Jack's room. I wasn't snooping, I swear, it was just on the side with his homework, and I was wondering if I should leave it, or throw it out, or, or, or, I don't know, maybe just not show you.” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she offered him the note. “But Jack wrote this.”

Aaron felt numb as he reached out for it. He had no idea what to expect. He combed over every possible explanation in a matter of seconds, fearing the very worst, but nothing could have prepared him for what he found, yet it all felt expected once the initial shock subsided.

‘I HATE MY DAD’ was scrawled across the top of the page in a deep red. The ink bled through the page, Aaron had seen it when Jess had opened it up, but he didn’t realise until now that it wasn’t accidental. Jack was full of rage as he wrote it, pressing down on the pen so hard that Aaron wouldn’t be surprised if he found the broken felt in the trash. Underneath, in black pen, was a letter addressed to Aaron himself, short but in no way sweet. 

He needed some time to process before he read the rest. He folded the paper back up, inhaled sharply, choked on air for a moment, and let out a deep hum when Jess clapped his back half-heartedly. Mumbling out a weak thanks, he dropped down in the nearest chair, careful not to scrunch the paper in any way. Despite the harsh words he wasn’t ready to read, he knew it was delicate.

“Aaron?” Jess whispered, her voice sounding distant to Aaron even though she stood right beside him. His ears rang, steadily increasing in volume until it physically hurt, and time seemed to stand still. It was as if he was trapped underwater with no escape, banging fruitlessly at the sheet of ice that kept him washed away in the current. “Hey, talk to me.” She reached out for him but he ducked away, unfolding the note once more. “Aaron, this is just a thing children do. It's nothing to do with you, it's their way of getting their feelings out.”

“Jack isn't a child,” Aaron replied, voice sharp. “He's thirteen.”

“And this is what teenagers do, too. Don't let it get to you.”

Aaron shook his head, staring down at the page. The words swarmed together, becoming almost completely unreadable, and he could feel the anger–at himself, not at Jack, never at Jack–begin to take a hold of him. “I haven't read it yet.”

“What?”

“I've only read the top line.”

Jess nodded in response. “I’m not leaving until you’ve read it all then.”

He had nothing to say to that. Instead, he forced his eyes to cooperate by blinking until the fog had mostly cleared, and he mentally cursed himself for not listening to his doctor about wearing his glasses, even when he knew he was reaching the age where they were necessary. He took a deep breath and began to read.

I HATE MY DAD.

I wish I had a better dad. One who chose me instead of his shitty job. I used to think he was a hero, like Spider-Man, but now I realise he’s just Peter Parker. A man who never has time for his loved ones because he’s too busy saving the world. A man who saves everyone but not the ones closest to him. He’s not a hero, he just dresses up as one. How can I call him a hero when he’s the reason my mom died? 

Why did he save me but not her?

Aaron’s hands shook as he read it over and over. The words imprinted themselves in his mind and, once he was sure he’d accidentally memorised every word, the paper slipped out of fingers, gracefully falling to the floor. He dropped his hands to his side, clenching his fists and running his thumb soothingly over his knuckles, although it didn’t help.

“Aaron?” 

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Fine.”

Jess’ face crumbled, though she tried to hide it, and she gave her own curt nod. “Okay. Well, Jack's at Owen’s house. Do you need me to pick him up?”

“No.” What was the point in that, Aaron wondered, why take him from a place he felt safe, loved, appreciated, and bring him back to a lifeless home? That’s how Jack felt, right? “Let him have fun. I'll call Owen’s parents later and ask if they need me to pick him up soon.”

“They said something about a sleepover. We thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Aaron nodded again, eyes never leaving a piece of wallpaper that curled away from the wall. He'd been needing to fix that for years, ever since Jack tried to sneakily skateboard around the house in the early hours of the morning and fell off, the skateboard flying at the wall and tearing up the paper. ‘At least it wasn't your head’, Aaron had said when he was woken up in a panic thinking someone had broken in, and Jack had laughed in embarrassment. They'd eaten leftover pizza in the kitchen at 4am, and Aaron thought that life was good for once. Things were good. He was good.

But seeing that note, he realised none of that was true.

He wasn’t a good father. 

It was something he already knew, of course, something that nagged away at him constantly, no matter where he found himself. But realising that Jack knew that too, had written it in words, scared him more than he was willing to admit. It destroyed him. He’d never felt more like a failure than he did in that moment. 

Jess rubbed comfortingly at his back, hands as warm as they always were, but he was too numb to feel it. Exhaustion lay thick on his shoulders, weighing him down until he felt as though he might collapse right then and there, and all he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep forever.

“You should go,” he whispered, voice hoarse. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“No, it’s, it’s fine,” he mumbled, leaning down to pick up the note. His back stretched uncomfortably as he bent over, the muscles aching from the strenuous work from that week’s case and the long flight home, and he let out a soft groan. He knew he should get a nice hot shower, or dig out an unused heating pad hidden away in one of the kitchen drawers, but he was too tired.  He needed to sleep. “I’m just gonna lay down.”

Aaron headed toward the couch and Jess tutted, grabbing at his elbow and using minimal strength to divert him toward his bedroom. He allowed her to take him wherever, too drained to fight, and she gently sat him down on the bed. “I can make you some soup,” she offered, “or some green tea. I have some in my purse.”

“Of course you have some in your purse,” he replied, huffing out a laugh. “But it’s okay. You’ve done enough, thank you.” He laid back on the bed, hardly bothering to cover himself with the duvet. It covered his legs and that was enough. “I just need to, just need, uh, just…”

He couldn’t finish his sentence; he was out like a light.

Jess smiled at him, a sad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes (they never did anymore), and pressed a kiss to his forehead. She watched him for a moment, appreciated that he was allowed some form of peace in his sleep, and left, gently shutting the door with a heavy heart.

When Aaron woke up a few hours later, he couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened. His mind was completely silent–a rare occasion–and he felt calm. But then, as he wondered how Jack was doing, and where he was, and if he was okay, it all came rushing back to him.

Jack hated him. 

His son blamed him for the death of his mother, and he blamed him for never being around enough. Aaron understood, though, because he blamed himself for those things too. He always had and he always will.

Glancing at his watch, he noted that it was almost 9pm. He muttered under his breath and pulled up his contact list, scrolling through the list until he found Owen’s mom’s number, and dialled it. The call was quick–Jack wanted to sleep over, Aaron said that that was fine–and he dropped back against the bed with a deep sigh. He stared at the ceiling, hardly blinking, before forcing himself up with an angry huff. He knew he couldn’t wallow in self-pity, he had to do something. Anything to take his mind off things. To give him space to think about how to handle the situation.

Aaron changed into comfortable loungewear, avoiding the mirror in the corner of the room as he did, and made his way to the kitchen. His plan was to get himself a coffee, maybe two, and power through the pile of paperwork in his briefcase that never seemed to end. Before he could make it to the kitchen, however, he came to a stop at Jack’s bedroom door.

For a moment, he imagined that Jack was in his room. He pictured what he’d be doing–probably talking loudly to his friends as he played on the Xbox, or softly singing along to his music as he focused on his homework–and his heart hurt. He knocked on the door as if Jack was there to answer, and after a long silence, gently opened the door. He wasn’t there to snoop–he’d never–but he wanted to look around the place. He wanted to feel close to Jack, even though he knew his son didn’t feel the same way.

As he stepped toward Jack’s bed, the covers a dark blue with white spots, something Jack had picked out when he claimed he was too old for his dinosaur sheets, Aaron realised he couldn’t blame his son for hating him. Not when he knew how easy it was to hate a father. Not when he knew how easy it was to hate himself.

Aaron sat down on the bed, a groan ripping through his lips at the steep drop, and glanced around the room. There were a few pictures messily attached to a corkboard beside Jack’s desk, and he noticed that there were none of the two of them together. He knew they had pictures, he had one of them on his desk at work, and he knew Jack had a few printed out for himself, but it was clear he wasn’t proud enough of his father to keep those pictures up anymore. Ignoring the guilt that curled in his bones, Aaron laid back and stared at the ceiling. It was bare, the ceiling, but the fading marks of glow-in-the-dark stars were still visible. Jack had loved them when he was a kid, especially on dark nights alone when he was sure someone was going to hurt him at any moment, but as he grew into a teen, he’d torn them down. 

Maybe that was the first sign of his hatred, Aaron thought. Or it could have been when the bed sheets changed and no longer represented his personality. Or after his mom died, when he finally figured out that she was never coming home and he’d never see her again. Hell, maybe it was when Haley had left Aaron, before Jack could even put a word to his thoughts but knew how to feel hurt. How to blame.

Aaron’s head pounded, a constant thudding that refused to subside, and he forced himself out of Jack’s room before he could fall into a restless sleep on his bed. He headed straight to the coffee machine and made himself the strongest coffee he could before settling down at the dining table, sipping at it and letting it burn his tongue. He felt like he deserved it. Once the mug was mostly empty, he sorted through his upcoming reports through most important to least important and began working on the one needed early next morning. He caught sight of his go-bag on the floor and sighed, annoyed that he hadn’t had the chance to throw the clothes into the washing machine before he passed out, but he left it until he stood up for more coffee. 

Hours passed and he hadn’t even made a dent in the reports. He sighed, forcing himself up for his fourth–or fifth, maybe sixth?–coffee of the day, when the front door swung open. His first thought was to reach for his gun, too many years on the job training him for the worst, but then he caught sight of a tear-stained Jack and he hovered awkwardly between reaching for his weapon and staring at his son.

When the initial shock dissipated, Aaron moved forward slowly. “Jack?” He asked, freezing when Jack took a few steps back. “What’s wrong, buddy?” 

“Nothing.” 

Jack turned on his heel and sped toward his room, shaking off his jacket as if it burnt his skin, and Aaron followed him close behind. “No, don’t give me that. What happened to the sleepover?”

“I didn’t wanna have one.”

“But Owen’s mom said–”

“She lied!” Jack turned to face him, eyes full of so much sadness it physically pained Aaron to see. “Owen wanted the sleepover, I didn’t. I just wanted to see, to see if…”

Aaron held his breath as he waited for Jack to finish.

“I just wanted to see if you’d say no so we could finally spend some time together.”

All the air rushed out of his lungs. 

“Jack,” he started, but Jack was having none of it and slammed the door in his face. “Jack…” he called out again, voice weak. He hated feeling weak but it was unavoidable when it came to his son. There was no answer other than the sound of Jack locking his door, and Aaron hung his head. “I’m sorry.” It was a weak apology, one that stained his tongue with how false it felt, and he knew it, but it was all he could offer. 

Stepping away from the door, Aaron had no idea what to do. They’d never fought, not really. Aaron had promised himself that he’d never take his anger out on Jack, no matter what happened. As he made his way back to the kitchen, he felt ashamed. He stared down at his reports, unable to find it in himself to sit back down and work. 

Work could wait; it could always wait for Jack.

But could it? 

His job was hard enough as it is, even more so as a single father. There was never time to plan for events–he was either there, or he wasn’t. But he tried his best, he really did. And he thought that Jack knew that, and now he knew otherwise. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, he unlocked his phone and went straight to Jess’ contact number. His finger was inches away from calling her when he stopped himself, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose to dull the ache thrumming through him. He couldn’t call her, not for this. He went to her for everything and she came running when he called, always so willing to care for Jack without taking time for herself. He had to stop asking her to raise his own son for him. He had to stop asking her to stand in for her sister. He swiped away from her contact and scrolled down further to Derek’s name, dialling it before he could stop himself.

Derek answered after the third ring. “Hey, Hotch. We got a case?”

“No,” he replied after a long pause, suddenly anxious. Why was he even calling? What was he even going to say? “Uh, sorry, wrong number.”

Derek let out a loud laugh on the other end of the line. “There is no way you just said that, man. Seriously, what’s up?”

“Nothing, I was meant to call Jess, it’s just, uh, something with Jack, and–”

“Is he being bullied again?” 

Aaron sighed. “No, it’s something else. Something worse.”

There was a shuffle on the other end of the line and he could hear the opening and closing of a door. “I’ll be over ASAP.”

“Morgan, no–” But it was no use, he’d already hung up. “Shoot.”

Derek was at Aaron’s door quicker than he expected. He knocked a specific pattern before letting himself in and making his way to where Aaron stood. A crate of beer was in his left hand, his phone in his right, and he grinned when Aaron glanced at the alcohol. “I wasn’t sure how bad, so…” Derek shrugged. Aaron reached out for a beer and opened it with ease, downing it in one go. “Woah. Very bad then. Should have gotten something stronger, huh?”

“Jack hates me,” Aaron grumbled before he could stop himself. The beer wasn’t enough to loosen him up yet but he trusted Derek. He always trusted Derek.

Derek raised his eyebrows, his lips twitching into a disbelieving smile. “No way, man. That kid loves you.” A loud yell came from Jack’s bedroom as he raged over a video game and Derek’s eyebrows shot up even higher somehow. “What happened?”

Instead of repeating himself, Aaron reached into his pocket and pulled out Jack’s note. It was scrunched up into a ball–he’d gotten annoyed and tossed it in the trash before anxiously scooping it back out seconds later–and Derek took it from him, slowly unfolding it. He read it, his jaw going tense, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, before folding it neatly and placing it on the counter. “Yeah,” Aaron spat out, reaching for another beer and uncapping it, sipping at it this time. “That’s what happened.”

Derek was at a loss for words. Finally, though, after he took several thoughtful gulps of his own beer, he shook his head. “That’s just what kids do, man.”

Aaron fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s what Jess said.”

“Because she’s right. Jack just turned, what, thirteen? He’s entering his rebellious phase, so what? We’ve all been there, man.”

“Morgan, we’ve seen children’s rebellious phases. We’ve see what can happen to them; we know what loss at a young age does to these kids.”

“So, what, you’re saying you think Jack’s going to become a serial killer based on this note?”

Aaron almost choked on his beer. “What? No!”

“Then what are you trying to say? Because from where I’m standing it sounds like you’re comparing him to the children we’ve had to put away. Those children are troubled; Jack isn’t.”

“But he is.” Aaron polished off his second beer. It wasn’t his drink of choice, he preferred the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat, but it’d do for now. He needed to stop thinking so clearly, so coherently, just for a moment. “He lost his mom at a young age, Morgan. He heard her die. Heard me kill the man who murdered her. He’s never gonna get over that, that trauma will follow him for life. And I’m never around. To him, he lost both parents that night. I know I lost myself that night, anyway.”

“Hotch–”

“And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Talk to him.”

“How?”

Derek shrugged. “I can’t help you with that, man, you have to figure that out yourself. All I know is that it needs to come from the heart. Tell him how you feel, let him know you love him, make sure he knows that you’re trying. Because you are, I know you are.”

“Not hard enough.”

“Cut the bullshit.” Derek stepped closer and their eyes met. Aaron couldn’t look away. “You are trying, man. I’ve seen it first hand. Whenever you have the chance, you wrap up a case as quickly as you can just so you can get a few more minutes with that boy before he falls asleep. And if you know you’re not making it home that day, you call him any chance you can get. I know he doesn't answer as much as you would like because he’s always busy with school or friends now, but I see the effort you’re making, man. You hearing me? You are trying, I can see it. And Jack will too, eventually, but right now you and Jess are all he has, and all he knows is that he sees Jess more than you.” Aaron opened his mouth to say something but Derek cut him off. “No, let me finish. Trust me, I am not saying that to hurt you.. I’m just calling it how I see it. You’re trying, man, and you’re doing your best. You’re a good dad, Hotch, I need you to know that. But Jack isn’t going to understand that unless you sit him down and talk to him.”

Aaron had no words. He turned his beer a few times in his hand but couldn’t bring himself to take another sip as he mulled over the words. They hit him much harder than he expected but he knew deep down that it was all true.

“Jack’s a smart kid,” Derek continued, clapping him on the shoulder. “He’ll understand if you just give him a chance. But for now, give him some time to cool off and think.”

“Right.”

“Which means that gives us time to drink, huh?” Derek beamed, throwing his head back to drain the last of his beer. “Let’s get something stronger, though, this beer ain’t cutting it.”

“There’s some whiskey in the cupboard over there,” Aaron pointed toward it, “help yourself.”

“Nuh-uh, I ain’t gonna be the only one drinking this stuff,” Derek laughed, grabbing the whiskey and two glasses. “You better join me.”

And join him he did. 

A few hours passed and Aaron was, respectfully, wasted. He knew how to handle his alcohol, he knew his exact cut-off point, but he’d exceeded that by almost three times. Derek matched his energy, drinking as much as he did, and the whiskey bottle was almost empty by the time they were both falling asleep on the couch. 

“I meant what I said, by the way,” Derek spoke up, words slurring as he tried–and failed–to sit up. Instead, he chose to lay down across the couch, flicking his long legs over Aaron’s. Aaron didn’t have enough energy to push his legs away. “You’re a good dad.”

“You’re just saying that because you feel like you have to.”

“Nope,” he replied, popping the P. He laughed at himself afterwards, a small chuckle turning into roaring laughter that had him sliding off the couch, before he managed to compose himself. Aaron laughed alongside him for a short while, the alcohol making him feel like he was floating, but reality crashed down on him once again and guilt seeped into his bloodstream. “Saying it because it’s true.”

“Whatever, man.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow, laughing again. “Did Aaron Hotchner just say ‘whatever, man’? What’s next, you gonna rock up to work in a hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts? You gonna hang a surfboard on your wall instead of a bike this time?”

“Please… don’t remind me of the bike.”

“I will remind you of the bike, man, because seriously, what was that?”

Aaron shrugged. “I was in my biking phase. It reminded me of my time back in Seattle. It was…”

“It was funny, that’s what it was. But healthy, too.” Derek thought for a moment and gasped dramatically, reaching forward to lightly slap at Aaron’s upper arm. “Hey, we should go biking together.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Right now?”

“Jesus, not right now. I think I’d throw up just trying to sit on the damn thing.”

Aaron groaned and held his stomach. “Don’t mention throwing up or I’ll throw up.”

Derek covered his mouth with hand and Aaron closed his eyes to steady his swimming vision. Behind them, Jack’s bedroom door opened, and Aaron tensed as he focused on the tentative footsteps heading toward the bathroom. Derek began to talk about a brawl he witnessed at a local pub to fill the silence but Aaron wasn’t paying attention. His thoughts drowned out Derek’s voice, far more violent than the fight he was explaining, and when Jack came back into the room, the sound of footsteps was all he could hear.

“Hey Jack!” Derek said, sitting up with a smile on his face. “How’s it hanging?”

“Alright.”

“Come on, man, I haven’t spoken to you in ages!”

“Morgan,” Aaron warned, voice low. “You said to give him some time.”

“Yeah, from you,” Derek shrugged. “But who needs time away from Uncle Derek?”

Jack eyed them, unamused. “I need to go back to my game, Uncle Derek. It was nice seeing you.”

“Jack,” Aaron started, turning to face his son. At the sight of him, however, all words escaped him and all he could do was stare.

Rolling his eyes, Jack turned away from them and pushed open his bedroom door. “Wow, nice talk, Aaron.” And as if that wasn’t enough, he slammed the door so hard Aaron was sure there’d be a noise complaint in the morning.

“Holy shit,” Derek muttered, sitting up so fast his neck cracked unpleasantly. “Did he just…”

Aaron felt sick to his stomach. “He did.”

“And you’re just gonna let him do that?”

“For now, yes.” Aaron reached for the last of the whiskey and opened the bottle, throwing it back without bothering to pour a glass. “You should leave.”

“No way am I going to leave after–”

“Derek. Leave.” His voice was desperate; Derek had never heard him so vulnerable before. “Please.”

“Okay, man, sure, yeah. I’ll, I’ll leave.” Derek stood up, stumbled, and looked around as if he couldn’t physically get himself to move. “But only after I know that you’re okay.”

“Morgan–”

“No, Aaron. Only after I know you’re okay.”

Aaron was too tired to argue. 

The next day, Aaron woke up in bed and had no clue how he got there. All he knew was that his head was throbbing, his body felt weak, and he was wrapped up in his sheets like a newborn. Derek must have tucked him in. The thought made him flustered, albeit not entirely unpleasantly, and he pushed it aside as he forced himself out of bed.

Feeling gross, Aaron made his way to the shower and put the temperature as high as it could go, stepping in the moment it reached its peak. The water burned him, his skin quickly becoming bright red, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He stood there for what felt like hours before getting out, not even bothering with cleaning himself. He had no energy to commit to a task that felt so menial. Throwing on the first clothes he could find, Aaron finally allowed himself to enter the kitchen and make himself a coffee. To his surprise, though, Jack was there, making himself cereal, and at the sight of his dad he began to walk away, leaving everything on the counter.

“Jack.”

“Leave me alone.”

A switch flicked in Aaron’s head. He wasn’t going to take this anymore. “Jack Hotchner, you listen to me right now.”

Jack paused, stood still for a few moments, and slowly turned around. He looked nervous, not used to his dad taking such a sharp tone with him, but he nodded nonetheless. “Okay.”

“We are gonna sit down and we are gonna talk. Man-to-man. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… awful,” Jack said, but he managed a small smile. “But okay.”

Jack moved toward the couch and Aaron quickly made himself a coffee, grabbing both the mug and bowl of cereal before sitting beside his son. He passed Jack his cereal and watched him intently, waiting for him to take a few bites before talking. “Jess found something you wrote and she showed it to me.” Jack tensed but continued to silently eat, avoiding Aaron’s eyes. “On it, you said you hate me.”

“Dad, I–”

“Oh, so it’s dad now?” 

Jack looked incredibly guilty. “I’m sorry. I really, uh, really shouldn’t have called you by… something other than Dad. You didn’t, like, deserve that.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have, and I didn’t. But we need to talk about it, okay?” Aaron took a few sips of his coffee before placing his mug on the table beside him. “I understand that I’m no hero, especially not to you. Not after…” Aaron swallowed nervously. “Not after mom. I know that. But I do try, I need you to know that.”

Jack nodded. “You’re just… never mind.”

Aaron reached out and clasped Jack’s shoulder firmly in his hand. He waited patiently until Jack found enough courage to look up at him. “It’s okay, you can say it.”

“You’re never around.”

“I know.”

“And I need you around.”

A tear threatened to escape Aaron’s eye. “I know.”

“I don’t hate you, Dad. I was just… I was angry. You hadn’t been home in a week and all I wanted to tell you was some good news I got and I couldn’t.”

“You can always call me.”

“Sometimes you don’t answer,” he sighed, looking away again. He stirred his cereal but didn’t bother to eat anymore. “And I know it’s because you’re on a case, and you’re out there risking your life to save people and make the world a better place, but it hurts. And I wanted to tell you in person.”

Aaron nodded somberly. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Nuh-uh, we’re having a serious talk here.”

“Wow,” Aaron chuckled, “okay then. I guess I’ll reprimand you more and–”

“Oh, no.”

“–then you can tell me, huh?”

“I regret what I said, can I take it back?”

Bumping his shoulder against Jack’s, Aaron smiled. “After I say the rest of what I need to say.” Jack groaned, and Aaron rolled his eyes playfully. “I know you don’t hate me, buddy, but those words you wrote really hurt.”

“More than when you got stabbed?”

Aaron winced. “Way more. But we can move past that, it’s fine. I want to ask you something.”

“Okay…”

“If I were to take… time off work, how would you feel?”

“More than two days this time?” Jack asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “Maybe even three days?”

“Alright, don’t get too sassy now, bud. You’re still in trouble. But, yes, more than two days, and more than three. What if, what if I…” Aaron couldn’t believe what he was about to suggest. “What if I left the job?”

“What?” Jack’s mouth hung open. “No, Dad, I’m not asking you to do that. You love your job.”

“I know you’re not asking, Jack. I’m offering. And yeah, I do love the job, but I love you more. And, truth be told, it’s getting too much for me.”

Jack's face became one of concern and he sat up straight, scrutinising Aaron from head to toe. If it wasn’t so endearing to witness, Aaron’s sure he’d have broken down right then and there. He looked so much like Haley when he looked at him like that. “Did you get hurt on the last case? Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Aaron moved Jack’s bowl away from the two of them before pulling Jack into a hug. He squeezed him tightly and took a deep breath before answering. “No, bud. I just want to spend more time with you.”

“Really?” 

“Of course. You’re the best kid I know.”

Jack wrapped his arms around Aaron’s neck so tightly that he feared he might really need to go to the hospital if he kept up with that grip. He was growing stronger each day, both mentally and physically, and Aaron felt emotional at the thought. “Aren’t I, like, the only kid you know.”

“You really, like, believe that?” Aaron said, mocking him gently. 

Pulling away, Jack laughed. “Don’t make me take back everything I just said.”

“Oof, bud, too soon.” 

“Sorry,” he shrugged, not looking apologetic in the slightest. “Does this mean we’re okay?”

“Of course we are. I don’t think you could do anything that would end up with us never okay again.”

“Even if I keyed your car?”

“You what?!”

“Oh my god, Dad, it’s a joke, it’s a joke I swear,” Jack said through laughter. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t do well with jokes.”

“No, I suppose I don’t,” Aaron replied, dropping his shoulders in relief. “That was always your mom’s thing.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence, both reminiscing over Haley. Aaron remembered how hard she’d laugh at her own jokes and the way she’d light up the room as she did. She always worried that it was annoying but Aaron promised her that it’d never annoy him, and it never did. She was endlessly brilliant to him, and always would be. Looking at Jack, he felt the same way.

“So,” Aaron started, breaking the silence. Jack looked up at him expectantly. “What was the good news you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh.” He grew sheepish, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly, and Aaron cocked his head, intrigued. “Uh, well, promise not to get mad?”

“Now I’m worried, so I don’t know if I can make that promise.”

“It’s not bad, I swear.”

“Okay… I promise.”

Jack took a deep breath, wringing his hands together in his lap. “I kinda, sorta, maybe, just might, I don’t know–”

“Jack.”

“Ihaveagirlfriend.”

Aaron’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I have a girlfriend.”

It took a few seconds for it to register in Aaron’s mind. At first, he wanted to demand information so that he could send the names to Penelope for background checks on her parents and her parents’ parents, but he refrained from saying that out loud. His second thought was that Jack was too young to have a girlfriend, but then he remembered his first kiss was with a boy behind the school bins when he was seven, so he couldn’t say anything. And then he remembered what his own father did to him when he told his parents he had a girlfriend when he was eleven, and how it took months for that broken arm to heal, and he realised that he was nothing like his father. “That’s great, buddy. What’s her name?”

“Lola.”

Aaron smiled. “That’s a pretty name. Tell me everything.”

Jack beamed up at him and scooted closer so that he could lean into Aaron’s side, burying himself even closer when Aaron grinned back and wrapped his arm tightly around his shoulders, before he began to ramble about his new girlfriend. They’d met at school in art class and she had the sweetest laugh, according to Jack, and he was sure he was going to marry her. As Aaron listened, he thought back to Haley, and he couldn’t help but feel so proud. Things were good again, and this time he was sure they’d stay that way.

[kpop-stories-21]

Mystery/Crime section | Beg For Your Life

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: Jongho x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres + AUs: Non-Idol AU, Criminals & Detectives, Smut

Content & Trigger Warnings: Criminal!Jongho, Detective!Reader, trading sexual favors, bondage, manhandling, dirty talk, use of the words "whore" and "slut", multiple orgasms, gunfucking, praise kink, unprotected sex(wrap that shit up kids)

Summary: It's your first solo case since becoming a detective and this is not at all how you imagined things playing out.

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @stardragongalaxy @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @skeletor-ify @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @liliesofdreamsskz @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre @thelargefrye @hwasdollie @yoonguurt @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @sanjoongie

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Network pings: @cacaokpop-fics | @kdiarynet

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Event Masterlist || Main Masterlist

You walked to the section labelled Mystery & Crime and headed down the first row, scanning the books as you went. About halfway through you started to feel a sort of pull, like something was drawing you towards a certain place in the section. The closer you got to whatever it was, the stronger you felt the pull. Finally you came to a stop in front of a large book that seemed to be glowing around the edges. There were no words on the spine, so you picked it up to see what the title was.

As soon as you did so, the book flew open on its own and a blinding white light filled your vision. When it became unbearable, you closed your eyes until it abated. Upon opening your eyes, you found yourself in an unfamiliar place. A sudden headache pounded into existence as a flood of knowledge and memories that were definitely not yours filled your brain. When the pain subsided, you took a moment to survey your surroundings.

You were in a small room that looked quite old-fashioned. On a little table beside the head of the bed lay a newspaper bearing the date "June 5th, 1885" alongside the words "London, England". You felt your eyes go wide at the revelation that you'd been dropped right into Victorian Era London.

You looked down, expecting to see yourself in a pretty dress, only to be surprised by the sight of fitted slacks and a simple blouse. You felt the cool touch of metal in the small pocket on your blouse and fished the object out. It was a detective's badge, shiny and brand new. Confused, you looked around the room for any further clues.

Scotland Yard Employs First Female Detective

Below the newspaper headline was a picture of an older man standing next to a woman who looked exactly like you.

Then the memories that didn't belong to you kicked in and you were able to figure the whole thing out.

This version of you had just been given full status as a detective, and was close to solving your first solo case. Looking at the notes scattered about on the desk across from the bed, you'd successfully discerned where the criminal would be this very night. All you needed to do was arrest him and the case would be closed.

When you found the time you planned to go after him and checked the pocket watch lying nearby, you let out a gasp. If you were going to get to him in time, you needed to go now. A flash of knowledge told you what to take with you, and after a quick call to the Yard to inform them where you were headed you were hurrying down the damp streets towards your destination.

It didn't take long for you to leave the bustling city behind and enter the quiet countryside. Presently you came upon an old, abandoned cottage and knew you had arrived.

You felt weight in the pockets of your slacks, and investigating revealed a pistol and a pair of handcuffs. You put the handcuffs back but kept the pistol out, other memories showing you how to use it properly. Now, you were ready. Just before you went in you wondered if this criminal might be the Guardian, and if he was, how could you get the key from him without getting yourself killed?

You pushed the door open and words spilled unbidden from your lips. "I know you're in here, Jongho. You're under arrest, come out unarmed and with your hands up!"

A dark chuckle sounded from the doorway behind you and you whirled about. There stood Jongho, a young dark-haired man with a scarred face half-hidden by a black mask. His clothes were ill-fitted, clinging to the bulging muscles of his arms and legs.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't find him rather attractive, but that was not why you were here. Lifting your pistol a little higher, you again ordered him to raise his hands.

This time he obeyed your order, but instead of staying put he began to slowly walk towards you. No matter how many times you warned him to stay back, he kept advancing. You held your pistol at the ready, but were unsure if you should actually shoot him. As of yet he posed no direct or obvious threat to your person, so you couldn't claim self-defence.

You were pulled from your musings by a large hand wrapping around your own where they held your gun. Looking up you found Jongho maskless and standing right in front of you, a wide smirk on his face as he ripped the gun from your grip.

"Do I distract you, Detective?" His voice had a higher tone than you'd expected.

"N-No." You lied, the slight tremor in your voice giving you away immediately.

Another chuckle. "How very unprofessional of you. I'd expect more from a freshly promoted detective."

You glared at him, then launched yourself forward, hoping to knock him off his feet. Much to your chagrin, he remained on his feet and you felt an arm snake around your waist. You struggled against him, but to no avail. He had you firmly pinned against his body with an iron grip.

His free hand came up to circle your throat, eyes dark with an emotion you couldn't quite discern. "Be a good girl, and I might consider letting you go."

At his words your body went still, suddenly afraid of angering him and losing your chance at freedom.

A dark smile spread across his face and he moved his hand from your throat to dig through your pockets. The darkness in his eyes turned lustful as he pulled out the handcuffs and waved them in front of your face.

"We can have some fun with these if you'll be good for me. If you'd rather not, you'll have to leave without your criminal. What do you say, Detective?" 

You took quick stock of your situation, weighing the options in your head. Leaving without bringing Jongho in would end your career before it had really begun, so you decided it'd be worth whatever was about to happen if you were able to arrest him in the end.

"All right then." You consented. "Go ahead." 

A pleased smirk spread across his face and Jongho flipped you around, unceremoniously dumping you onto the floor. Your back hit first and then your head knocked against the hard ground, leaving you slightly dazed. This allowed Jongho to slip the handcuffs on your wrists with relative ease.

When the fog in your head cleared, you found your hands restrained above your head. Looking up revealed that he had cuffed you to a very sturdy pipe that was protruding from a ruined portion of the wall. The wood floor was cold on your back, and chills were making their way across your body. Jongho was nowhere in sight and you felt your heart sink. Had he just left you here?

Footsteps came slowly towards you, and you felt your heart rate pick up. Was it Jongho? Or had someone else wandered in?

A familiar dark-haired man came into view, and a confusing feeling of relief washed through you. You supposed you'd rather it be Jongho than a total stranger. Once more you wondered if he was the Guardian, only to be pulled back to reality by the feeling of your slacks being slowly pulled down.

You jerked your body, trying to get him to stop, but a firm grip on your hips put that to an end.

"Now, now, Detective. I thought you were going to be a good girl for me."

"Wh-What are you going to do to me?"

"We're gonna have some fun, Detective. Surely you don't object to that?" As he spoke he slipped your slacks all the way off and your underwear went with them.

You opened your mouth to reply, but all that came out was a moan as Jongho suddenly slipped a finger inside you, brushing your g-spot immediately.

"If you're a good girl, things will go quite well for you. But if you misbehave, there will be consequences. Understand?"

"Mmh, ah, yes!" You exclaimed, back arching as he added a second finger.

"Are you gonna be a good girl for me, hmm?"

You nodded frantically, feeling a bit too overwhelmed to speak. At this Jongho's fingers stilled, and a whine escaped you at the loss of movement.

"I need you to use your words, my dear. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, I'll be good for you!" You managed, forgetting your original purpose as the desire to have his fingers back inside you blocked out all other thoughts.

A smile crossed Jongho's features. "That's my good girl. Do you know what good girls get, sweet Detective?"

"A re-reward!" You gasped the words as he inserted a third finger, stretching you out. The memories told you that you hadn't been with anyone in a while, but the burn felt pleasurable.

"That's right! And you'll get your reward as soon as you cum on my fingers."

His words went straight to your core and soon a coil of heat was growing in your stomach as you came ever close to your high. As if sensing this, Jongho began moving his fingers faster, thrusting deep inside you.

"Oh god, I'm gonna c-cum!"

"Already? So anxious for my dick to ruin your little cunt, aren't you? Cum for me little Detective."

He leaned forward, teeth grazing the skin of your neck before beginning to bite and suck at the spot.

The coil of heat snapped then and you let out a loud moan as your orgasm washed over you, your walls clenching around Jongho's fingers.

When you had calmed down a bit, he slipped his fingers out and pressed them against your lips. You opened your mouth and began sucking on them immediately, tasting your own juices.

After a few moments he withdrew them and pulled a small jar from some unseen pocket.

"Ready for your reward, Detective?"

"Yes!" You nodded your head frantically, thinking he was finally about to fuck you.

You flexed your fingers, wishing desperately that your hands were free. You wanted to touch him, to know what those muscles felt like as he pounded you into oblivion.

Something cold prodded at your folds before slipping in and you let out a surprised cry. After a moment of confusion, your arousal intensified as you realised Jongho was fucking you with your own gun. It was so wrong, and definitely dangerous, but in that moment it felt amazing.

The cold of the metal was a thrilling contrast to the heat of your core and your moans grew louder. He set a swift pace, faster than with his fingers, the shape of the gun fitting you perfectly and hitting all the right spots despite not being made for such a use.

"Look at you, coming apart on your gun like a little whore. Imagine what your fellow detectives would think if they saw you letting a criminal like me cuff you and fuck you dumb like this." Jongho chuckled, working the gun even faster as he spoke.

"You'd probably lose your position, maybe even go to jail for failing to do your job. Would it be worth all that just to have me inside you, sweet Detective? Would you become a criminal just so you could be my little cockslut?"

Your second orgasm came upon you fast and hard, so suddenly that you almost didn't have a chance to warn Jongho before you were cumming all over the gun and his fingers.

You could practically feel your body vibrating from the intensity of your high and you weren't sure if you could physically handle a third. You were so sensitive you thought you might need a moment before he did anything else.

You felt something hard brush against your entrance as Jongho leaned back over you and you shrank back, quivering. "N-No, too sensitive! Can't take it!"

"I think you can cum one more time for me, hmm? You'll be a good girl and cum all over my dick, won't you?"

His words sparked something within and you felt yourself getting wet again. "Y-Yes, wanna be a good girl. Please, fuck me!"

"There's a good girl. Don't worry, you'll get what you want, my sweet."

With that you felt him slowly enter you, his girth stretching your walls in the most delicious way. Hypersensitivity had you aware of every little drag and pull, enhancing the pleasure many times over.

"Fuck, you're so tight. I'll cum right away if you keep squeezing me like that."

You moaned loudly, pulling at your restrained hands in frustration. You wanted to touch him so bad it was driving you crazy. But since you were denied this, you chose to feel him in a different way.

"Faster please, wanna cum t-together."

"As you wish, Detective."

He began pounding into you, stuffing you full to the hilt with every thrust. You could feel your head getting fuzzy as your high rapidly approached, letting out cries and screams of pleasure as Jongho fucked you into the hard floor.

You felt teeth on your neck again as he wrecked you, marking you as his for the world to see. Your head was empty save for thoughts of Jongho and the pleasure he was inducing, no remembrance of why you were there or that this wasn't even real.

"Look at you, falling apart like the good little cockslut you are. Gonna stuff you full of my cum and ruin you for anyone else but me."

The waves of your high crashed over you with no warning, ripping a scream from your lungs as you were plunged into pure euphoric bliss. You'd never had an orgasm this intense and realised that Jongho was probably right: this would ruin you for any future rolls in the hay with others besides himself.

Jongho's hips began to stutter as your walls tightened around him. You could feel your consciousness beginning to grow hazy as he slammed into you one last time before filling you full of his cum.

Darkness edged your vision as you felt him slowly slip out of you.

"You were so good for me, my dear Y/N." Jongho murmured the words gently as his hands rubbed up and down your sides.

As your eyes fluttered closed you felt a soft kiss on your forehead and the press of cold metal in your palm. "I'll see you again soon my sweet."

His voice faded away as white light flashed through your closed eyes and you had the distinct sensation of falling for a moment before your eyes suddenly flew open.

You were back in the Library, your clothes and memories returned to normal. The only difference was the shiny gold key inlaid with many brown topazes that was clutched tightly in your right hand. Elated, you slipped the key into the pocket of your jeans and stood to your feet.

Scanning the plaques for the different sections, you chose to tackle History next. Taking a deep breath, you began to walk.

[ereardon]

My Girl [Chapter 5][Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OC]

Summary: Jake Seresin could be the answer to all of your dating woes. He’s the full package: steady job, mature, dependable, attractive to a fault. The polar opposite of every guy your age and he’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a partner. But there’s one roadblock: he’s a single father to four-year-old Ellie. Jake is looking for a level of commitment you’re not quite sure you’re ready to give, and he’s not willing to bring someone into his daughter’s life who isn’t there for the long haul. And even if you are stepmom material, is Jake ready to let someone back in his life while still mourning the recent loss of his late wife? 

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OC [Lawyer Natalie West]

WC: 3.8K

Warning: Age gap, cursing, smut, mention of death

Series masterlist here

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“This is our estate Cabernet Sauvignon.” 

You lifted the glass to your lips and copied the sommelier — swirling the wine around in the glass and taking a deep sniff before taking a sip. 

“You’ll taste the rich, dark berry profile, as well as a hint of tobacco. Now this wine in particular has a medium tannin build, so it’s slightly dry, but with a very smooth finish.” 

Jake took a second sip of his wine and you could have sworn he worked for the CIA for how little information his facial features gave away about whether or not he enjoyed it. 

“Now I’m going to go grab our next bottle from the cellar and we will open that in fifteen minutes,” the sommelier, a tall man with broad shoulders, said. “I’ll let you enjoy the cab.” 

You smiled as he passed your table before turning to Jake. 

“What do you think?” you asked him, nodding toward the selection of wine glasses on the table. You had tried four different bottles over the course of the last ninety minutes, and the alcohol was going to your head. 

“Can I be honest?” Jake whispered softly, leaning over the table, the collar of his polo almost skimming the lip of one of his discarded glasses. 

“Of course.” 

“They all taste the damn same.” 

You laughed, a loud cackle, and had to lean back with your hand pressed over your mouth while Jake’s face cracked into a smile. “You’re going to get us kicked out,” you whispered after the laughter subsided and Jake simply shook his head, leaning back and pushing his sunglasses back over his eyes. He was effortlessly handsome. You had watched multiple women follow him with their eyes as he got up earlier to use the bathroom. There was something almost primal in the pride you had knowing he was yours. . 

After the tasting wrapped, Jake took your hand and led you out to the gardens. “Are you having a nice time?” he asked softly. 

You stopped walking, pulling him in closer and knotting your hands behind his neck. “Jake, I’m having the absolute best time. Thank you for bringing me here.” As you leaned up to kiss him, his fingers found your waist, pulling you flush against him and you moaned into his mouth as you felt his erection brush against your upper hips. 

Now that you knew what it was like to fuck Jake, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to go back to anything else. Anyone else.

“What’s next on the agenda?” you asked, your lips still bruised from the night before. 

“We have dinner reservations at 8:30 in St. Helena,” he said. “They’re supposed to have a great halibut.”

You nodded. “That sounds nice. Or, we could go back to the hotel, order room service, and eat in bed naked.” 

Jake’s eyes widened and you felt his hand slip down to the pocket of your jeans, squeezing your ass. “God, woman, you read my mind.” 

Your chuckle was cut short by his mouth on yours, and when he pulled away you felt a gust of fresh air that left you cold and needy. “Where are you going?” you whined as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

“Calling to cancel our reservation,” he said, “and to have the driver pull around. I’m taking you home now.” 

“But the cellar tour doesn’t start for fifteen more minutes!” 

He shook his head. “We’re not gonna make it, sweetheart.” You saw the lust in his eyes. “Tell them we’ll take three bottles of the 2015 estate cabs.” 

Jake ducked and pressed the slim phone to his ear and you smiled as he walked off, admiring him from afar. 

Once the flood gates had opened, it was hard to keep your hands off each other. Jake’s fingers inched dangerously close to your core as he rested his hand on your leg during the drive back to the vineyard, the driver up front blissfully unaware of how badly you wanted to straddle Jake in the back seat. 

“I can’t wait to be inside of you again,” he whispered into your ear as the car turned onto the resort’s main road and you felt yourself pulsating around nothing, growing more desperate as the minutes ticked by. 

The sun started to dip down as Jake tugged your hand, practically dragging you into the room and you giggled as he shut the door behind him, a tent already forming in his pants. 

“Aren’t you a little eager,” you tutted, running your hand over his crotch and he whimpered, shutting his eyes and leaning back against the door. 

“Don’t tease me, baby,” he whispered gruffly but you knew that he loved it. 

“That’s all I know how to do,” you replied, already shrugging off your jeans and sweater, shoes long discarded, and Jake licked his lips, ripping his shirt off and meeting you, breathless, in the middle of the room, your bare chests pressed together. 

When you broke apart, your hands were already on his belt, pushing down his pants. Jake grunted into your shoulder as you took him into your hand, slowly pumping down his full length. 

“Sit down,” you whispered softly and Jake took a seat on the edge of the bed, fully naked. You knelt down between his legs, fingers skimming over his thighs, before leaning forward and taking his cock into your mouth, tongue pressed up flat against the underside of his tip. 

He threw his head back with an open-mouth moan, which only spurred you on more. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, tipping forward and taking him deeper into your throat and one of Jake’s hands came out to brush your hair out of your face, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. “Fuck, Nat, you’re so good at that. Such a pretty little mouth all over my cock,” he whispered, his voice breaking as another moan ripped through him. 

You felt Jake’s hips lift up from the bed, trying desperately to get you to take all of him in your mouth. It caused you to choke, a strangled sound bubbling out of the corners of your mouth along with saliva as he rammed hard into your mouth, and Jake immediately pulled back once he saw the wetness in your eyes, lifting your face off of him and wiping the tears from your cheeks. “Shit, honey, are you OK? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” There was a hint of panic in his deep voice. 

You chuckled and leaned back on your ankles. “Jake, it’s fine, honestly. I’ve been choked by dick before.”

The hardness in Jake’s eyes scared you. He wasn’t laughing with you. For a second, you were almost worried he was going to get up and walk away. You’d been judged by men in the past for your sexual history. There was an unfair bias against women who had experienced multiple partners, but for men it was a point of pride. 

You just had never thought Jake would be one of those guys. Maybe you were finally unearthing one of his red flags. 

You stood up, wiping at your mouth. “What is it?” Your voice was hard, unrelenting. It was difficult to feel powerful when you were standing in nothing but a light blue thong but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had caught you off guard. 

Jake shook his head. “I just never want to be the kind of guy who does something to you that you don’t enjoy, solely for my benefit.” 

Those were the last words you expected to fall from his mouth. 

Jake stood, cupping his hands around your cheeks. “Natalie, sweetheart, you deserve the world. Inside and outside of the bedroom. Now come here, let me make it up to you.” 

His hands slid down and grabbed you under your ass, pulling you into his arms, pressing his mouth against yours and your body instantly reacted to him, fingers tugging at his hair, wetness pooling in your panties as his cock dragged across your pelvis. 

He laid you down gently on the bed, snuggling in next to you until you two were spooning. Jake pulled your panties down and flung them over the edge of the bed, settling his large fingers between your legs. While lying on your left side, you lifted your right leg over his, giving Jake more access to your core, and he pressed down on your swollen clit, making you gasp. “Like that, baby?” he whispered softly in your ear, trailing light kisses down your neck and you laid back against him, moaning under his tongue. Jake sped up his pace before dipping lower, circling your entrance and finally pushing two fingers in, filling you up as you chanted his name. His other hand slid beneath your body, holding your waist firmly, and you could feel how hard he was against your ass. 

“Please, Jake,” you moaned, “need you in me.” 

Behind you, Jake grunted and you shifted your hips back against him, feeling him line himself up with your entrance. The tip of his cock was warm and wet and he swore lightly as he pushed the head inside of you, feeling your walls suck him in greedily. “Shit,” he murmured against your shoulder. 

“Yes, baby,” you muttered, gripping the sheets as he pressed in deeper. 

Jake’s hand moved up to cup your breast, fingers tight across your nipple, as his hips snapped against yours from behind. “Fuck, you’re so perfect,” Jake whispered raggedly in your ear, picking up his pace. “Such a good girl,” he muttered, rutting into you harder and you gasped as his cock hit deeper inside of you. 

You could feel yourself edging closer to orgasm, even without Jake touching your clit, the pressure building as he repeatedly hit your front wall. “Jake, yes,” you moaned as his fingers trailed over your stomach and pressed firmly into your lower abdomen. “Fuck, please, make me cum.” 

“Cum for me sweetheart,” he murmured against you, arms tightening and pulling your body against him as his hips smacked against yours, the loud sound filling the room. “Want to feel your perfect pussy clenching around me.” 

“Shit!” you cried out, convulsing against Jake as he grunted, hand digging into your hip, cock sliding in and out faster as he chased his own high. 

“Fuck, Nat!” he sobbed, pushing into your deeper one last time and you felt his cock twitch inside of you as he poured into your core. 

Jake didn’t pull out immediately. Instead, he moved his arms up until he was holding you around the middle, kissing your shoulder. 

“Baby,” he whispered softly and you closed your eyes. “I am so damn lucky.” 

Your fingers pressed against his. You didn’t need to say anything. He knew what you were thinking, because he was thinking it, too. 

You loved Jake Seresin. 

And you were pretty sure he loved you back. 

***

“I think it’s time.” Jake’s voice was velvety over the phone. 

“Time for what?” you said, yawning. You were lying in bed, about to go to sleep. It had been a long day at the office and your brain was scrambled eggs. 

“For you to meet Ellie.” You shot up in bed to a seated position, your eyes wide. You and Jake had been together nearly three months at this point. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m just deciding things as I go, Nat,” he said quietly into the phone. “I haven’t done this before. As a parent, you have to be really careful about who you introduce to your child. You need to make sure they’re someone who is going to stick around. I can’t bring people into Ellie’s life who are just going to be fleeting characters.” 

He paused. 

“So I guess I’m asking you, sweetheart. Are you ready?” 

You nodded and then realized he couldn’t see you through the phone. “Yes, Jake, I want to meet her. I’m ready.” 

***

Standing on the wrap around porch of Jake’s house, you could almost feel the warmth inside. Jake had invited you over for their annual Christmas tree night: set up the tree, bake cookies, watch a movie. You got the feeling that it was a tradition that he and Ellie held very dearly, and you were honored to be included. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you lifted your fingers and knocked on the door. 

It swung open to reveal Jake wearing a green cable knit sweater and jeans, smiling broadly. 

“Hi,” you whispered softly. 

“Hey there,” he said and you had expected him to lean in for a kiss, until you saw the small fingers wrapped around his leg. “Come on in.” 

He shut the door behind you and you smiled, Ellie’s small golden head peeking out from behind Jake. 

“Ellie, honey, this is daddy’s friend Natalie. Can you say hi?” 

You crouched down and smiled and Ellie slowly let go of her dad’s leg, stepping to the side. “Hi!” Her voice was squeaky and delightful. She wore a small red dress with white tights, her lips a shiny pink, her blonde curls pulled back from her face with a small bow clip. 

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you,” you said softly. “Your dad has told me so much about you.” 

She smiled. “You’re pretty.” 

Jake laughed and held out a hand, pulling you to standing. “Yes, she is,” he said gently. “Come on, sweetpea, let’s go check on the cookies.” 

Ellie grinned, and you saw Jake so plainly etched across her features, before darting down the hallway toward what you could only assume was the kitchen. Jake turned to you and once Ellie was out of view, pressed his lips to yours softly. 

“Thanks for coming,” he murmured. 

“Thanks for inviting me.” 

He placed his hand on the small of your back, leading you to the kitchen. Jake’s house was traditional, with white walls and mid-wall paneling, soft wooden accents, and hardwood floors. It felt straight out of a southern magazine. You had to stop yourself from searching for photos of Lizzie to make comparisons with yourself. 

In the kitchen, Ellie kneeled on a stool, her small hands pressing into a blob of pale cookie dough and she had somehow managed to get white flour all down the front of her dress in the thirty seconds it had taken you and Jake to follow her down the hall. 

“Sweetheart, did you spill?” Jake asked softly, crossing the room and pulling Ellie into his arms, dusting the flour from her dress as she laughed.

“Daddy!” she squealed. “Let me go!” 

He set her back down on the chair she had been kneeling on, and waved you over. “Come help us, Nat. We’re terrible at cutting the cookies.”

“I’m making Santa hats,” Ellie said, looking up at you. You recognized Jake’s green eyes looking out at you from her delicate face and stepped closer, rolling up the sleeves of your sweater and turning to the sink. 

“Wow Santa hats,” you said, washing your hands and patting them dry with a towel before returning to the other side of the kitchen island. “How are you going to decorate them?” 

“With frosting!” 

Her smile was infectious. Jake patted her head softly. “The frosting is her favorite part. Well that, and eating the raw cookie dough.” 

You watched Ellie sneak an edge of raw dough in her mouth and give you a sly grin. You reached down and popped a scrap of sugar cookie dough into your mouth and Ellie giggled. “That’s my favorite part too,” you whispered.  

It felt almost surreal watching Jake interact with Ellie. You knew that he was sweet and kind, but this was a new side of him that you got a front row seat to. The way he grinned at her and laughed as she wiped her flour-covered hands on his sweater. How his voice dipped into a softer register when he was showing her how to transfer the cookies onto the baking tray, the way he seamlessly chatted with her while mixing food coloring into the frosting bowls. 

Jake had tied an apron around you, but by the time the cookies were done baking you were still covered in flour and frosting and sprinkles. At one point you had accidently dropped almost an entire bottle of green sprinkles on the counter, and Ellie proceeded to dip her Santa hat cookie in it, resulting in a hybrid of elf hats alongside the red Santas. 

“We’ll be right back, sweetheart,” Jake said to Ellie, patting her head where she sat on the couch. “Going to find Natalie a clean shirt to wear and when I come back we can start getting the Christmas tree decorated, OK?” 

She nodded excitedly and he pressed the TV on, starting The Grinch, the Jim Carrey version, and placed his hand on your lower back, leading you upstairs to the master bedroom. Jake opened a drawer and pulled out a soft flannel button down. 

“Does this work?” he asked, eyeing your dirty sweater. 

“Perfect.” 

You reached out and took it in your hands, skin brushing against Jake. For a moment, you could tell there was something he wanted to say. But then he simply smiled. “I should get back down there,” he replied. “Come down whenever you’re ready.” 

You nodded and watched him disappear down the stairs. Stripping off your dirty sweater, you pulled on Jake’s flannel, which fell to your knees but you didn’t care. You folded the used sweater and placed it on the ground before standing up and coming face-to-face with a wedding photo of Jake and Lizzie. 

To your horror, she looked just like the woman from your dream. She was unapologetically beautiful. Creamy skin, shiny blonde hair that fell in silky waves, bright white smile, piercing blue eyes. Her nose was slightly crooked, like Ellie’s, and the way Jake looked at her in the photo made your heart plummet in your chest. You had never once seen him look so happy. So at ease. It broke your heart a little to know that Jake had lost someone who made him look that way. 

The knowledge that you were standing in the bedroom that Jake once, in not the too distant past, shared with his wife was too much. It felt stifling. You took a deep breath and hurried down the stairs. 

From around the corner, you saw Jake bent over a green storage container, handing a small woven ornament to Ellie. She grabbed it lightly and then you watched as he picked her up, holding her out so she could place it on a branch at his eye level. When he put her back down she excitedly reached back into the storage container for another ornament. 

Watching them felt like looking at a stopped movie frame. Fire roaring away, a Christmas movie playing in the background, the scent of fresh cookies still clinging to the air. 

It scared you how much you wanted to stay there in that moment. Just a slice of time, perfectly frozen. 

How much you wanted to be part of their lives. 

The rest of the night was spent helping Jake and Ellie decorate the tree. You loved that they used colored lights, and packed the ornaments onto every available space. There were ones from places they had traveled together, like a Disneyland ornament from the year before, and homemade ones Ellie had done at daycare. 

When you sat down to finish the movie, Jake seamlessly handed you a glass of wine from your Napa trip, pulling Ellie onto his lap, her tiny feet in her white stockings kicking at his legs until he whispered into her ear and she giggled before settling down. 

By the time the Grinch had returned the Whos’ Christmas gifts and decorations, you looked over to see Ellie asleep on Jake’s chest. He leaned over and pressed the remote, pausing the movie, and you saw Ellie stir in his arms. 

“Daddy?” she whispered softly. “Is it over?” 

“It is,” he said back quietly. “Time for bed princess. Did you have a nice night?” 

She nodded and wiped at her eyes with small balled up fists before turning to you. “Natalie?” Her voice was soft and groggy. 

“Yeah hon?” 

“Will you come back for our next movie night?” 

Your heart swelled. Above Ellie’s head, you saw Jake’s eyes light up. You reached out and patted her knee. “I’d love to.” 

“Good.” 

Jake lifted her up into his arms, her chin resting on his shoulder. He mouthed to you. I’ll be right back. And then they were disappearing around the corner, up the stairs. 

You drained the rest of your wine by the time Jake came back downstairs. He caught you leaning over the sink, eating an elf hat cookie and wiping the crumbs on his flannel and he laughed. 

“Busted.”

You turned around, cookie crumbs on the corners of your mouth, and Jake stepped forward, wiping them away with his thumb. 

“There, all clean.” 

“What can I say, the kid makes a damn good cookie.” 

He reached down and threaded his fingers in yours. “You were amazing with her.” 

“She’s lovely, Jake. Honestly. I wasn’t sure what to expect but it’s obvious you’ve done a phenomenal job raising her.” 

There was a pause and you saw the lump growing in Jake’s throat. “It was mostly Lizzie,” he said softly. “Up until last year, I was barely around. I didn’t even know her, really. She grew so much every time I would see her between deployments, it was like she was a whole new person every time I came home. But now that I’m here with her, every day, it’s different.” 

“You can take some credit,” you whispered, leaning up and wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re an amazing dad.” 

He smiled but you saw the sadness that had made itself a home in his eyes. 

“Thank you for letting me meet her,” you said quietly. “For taking a risk on me.” 

Jake leaned down and brushed the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His lips pressed against yours softly before he pulled away, leaning his forehead down against yours. “You’re worth the risk, Nat,” he murmured softly. “You’re exactly what I didn’t even know I was looking for.” 

Tag list: @double-j @seresinhangmanjake @topguncultleader @hangmandruigandmav @momc95 @minamisulemisa @shawnsblue @blue-aconite @brehonodea @crthurston @angelbabyange @jason-toddsthighs @secretsicanthideanymore @taytaylala12 @mandylove1000 @mizzzpink @showmethewayhomehoney @tvjunkie08 @mygyn @wkndwlff @sadpetalsstuff @shanimallina87 @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye @starrynightskyz @daddymack01 @buxkybarnez @pookie-cleary @clairedelarosa-blog  @princessofglitterland  @tiredqueen73 @lovingjakeseresin @lilyevanswhore @kurtkunkle17 @amortentiadrops @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @abaker74 @xoxabs88xox @novagreen04 @townmoondaltwistle @rosiahills22 @indynerdgirl @entertainmentgal8 @misshoneypaper @starkleila @ebonyhogan24 @rosewritesitout @starrynightskyz

[justa-rat]

Meeting of Minds and Gunpowder. Pt. 2.

May 12th,

Word Count:  920

Part One

Goodnieghbor bloomed before the Ghoul. A mix of robots, ghouls, and smooth-skins. Compared to Diamond City, it was a true mixing pot of all sorts. However, one thing that pulled them all together in similarity - was the no good aura around them. Each and every person was scum, he could tell. Pickpockets, thieves, and scammers the lot of them. Even the spare raider could be spotted slinking in and out of doors in the back alleys. Dried blood splattered on the pavement underfoot, telling stories of mugging and knife fights long passed. A place of true degeneracy. It was about what the world had come too in a nutshell - a steaming pile of shit. As long as he got what he needed, the Ghoul could care less. He adjusted the hat on his head, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and strode deeper into the city. Another wretched bout of coughing wracked his lungs, his head tilting down on instinct as he shoved himself into an alley. He leaned against a wall for a moment, sweat beading down his forehead. He took a wheezing breath, sliding down till he was sitting, resting his aching head in his hands. His body was shaking, not out of any fear - but of need. The world blurred, spinning around and around twistingly. 

"Hey… Guy. You feelin' alright?" A raspy voice sliced through the Ghouls' thoughts.

A man stood before him, he wore a brazen red coat - fashioned in a colonial style. Atop his head sat a tricorn hat, it looked to be old, worn, covered in dirt and old blood. The Ghoul swatted a hand lazily in his direction, voicelessly forfeiting the others assistance - yet the stranger still persisted. 

"C'mon pal, just talk to me. What's the problem? Run 'outta Jet? Psycho? Buffout? Withdrawal can be a bitch, I've been there." His words sounded oddly sincere. This was no doubt going to cost him. It didn't really matter, if this dumbass stranger could get him in the same room as some Rads - he'd be all set from there. 

It was a shame the strangers voice only worsened his aching head. 

"I don't need no damn drugs. Not them kinda drugs, anyway." He growled out through grit teeth, the wave after wave of vertigo driving him near mad. His expression turned to a wince, and the stranger nodded in understanding. Wordlessly, he fumbled throughout the pouch attached to his waist. Inhalers and tablets shifted about as he dug through it, momentarily producing a small vial containing a yellow liquid. 

"Here, friend." He extended his hand, the vial resting in his palm. The Ghoul wasted no time snatching up the precious vial, uncorking it with his teeth - he paused, looking up at the stranger. A fellow ghoul, it seemed. 

"If this is piss, I'll fuckin' shoot your ass." He lifted the vial to the gaping hole in which his nose once rested, sniffing it. It at least didn't smell like piss. The stranger only snorted in response, but said nothing to his comment. The Ghoul lifted the vial to his chapped and broken lips, tilting his head back and slurping up the small amount of liquid greedily. Instant relief washed over him, and a sigh left his body. He relaxed, waiting for the rest of the symptoms to slowly subside. 

"Feel better?" The stranger was leaning against the wall now, one ankle crossed over the other as the full of his weight rested on the building behind him. His arms were crossed, and he was watching the other man keenly. 

"What do you want, exactly?" The Ghoul cut to the chase, he understood how the wasteland worked - nothing was truly for free. "Caps? Want me to kill someone for ya?" His tone was demeaning, taunting even. Guy looked like he was ripped out of a damn history book.  

The stranger simply put his hands up in resignation, bowing his head ever so slightly, "I don't want a damn thing from you, friend, just a fellow forgotten and undermined man looking to help another get back on his feet." A smile appeared on his face, and the Ghoul realized it was worse than anything he could have thought. The man was an idealist. 

Pushing himself away from the wall, the stranger took a few paces towards the Ghoul. He tensed in reaction, hand unconsciously feeling for his gun - but the other made no move to pull out a weapon. Instead, he reached out a hand towards the Ghoul, an offering of peace - and to help the fellow stand. The Ghoul's eyes narrowed, and he denied the help - pushing the other ghoul's hand out of his face, and getting to his feet on his own. They stood eye to eye now, rather than the stranger lording over him in a state of vulnerability. The Ghoul even took slight satisfaction of being taller than the other, tiling his head up ever so slightly. He took a moment to look the stranger up and down, fully taking in the revolutionary war garb he dawned. He made a vague gesture towards his clothing, curiosity overpowering anything else in that moment, "So uh… What's up with the getup… You some kinda… Weird reenactor? Thought thems all died out with the war n'all."  

The stranger's smile didn't fade, he even let out a laugh, "Ahh, nah. Not really. Outfit just… Spoke to me is all. The name’s John Hancock, I'm the mayor here. I'd like to personally welcome you to my little slice of heaven, Goodneighbor."

[biscuitblinkeu]

Morals; Too Close [5]

Park Chaeyoung x Fem!reader

Warnings: Graphic Description? TW

Word Count: 3480

A/N: If you don’t understand her thoughts, you aren’t supposed to, they’re jumbled up on purpose. (😏) This chapter is on the shorter side btw.

………………………………………………………………………….

Officer Marco Manoban has been a police officer for almost eleven years and he had seen some grizzly sights and had his fair share of stabbings, but never a dead body. Not yet in this town. Dispatch said the body was found in the victim's house, reported by a UPS delivery man. He clenched his jaw as he sped past traffic, sirens wailing and roaring, its cries doing nothing to calm his thundering heartbeat. 

The house was coming into view now. It was a nice house, remote and modern, right next to a lake. On the surface of the dark, inky blue water, a layer of fog rested. The warm and salty smell of the lake wafted through his open windows, almost tasteable of the tongue. Gravel crunched underneath the wheels as he pulled onto the side of the road next to identical police cars, the engine's rubble subsiding with the keys removed. The UPS truck was parked on the road in front of the house. The homicide squad and police squad were already on the grounds scrambling about with important papers and tools in their hands, searching outside and inside the house. Marco stopped for a moment to watch them, the pit in his stomach so deep; it might leave a hole in him. He stepped out of his vehicle. 

“Manoban, over here!” A voice shouted, the owner none other than his fellow policeman– often caught dancing to pop music at the station– Suho. Suho beckoned him over with a hand and he cleared his throat before making his way to him. “Hey,” he greeted with a curt nod.

Suho grinned back at him, the smile faltering a second later as he jabbed a thumb to a middle aged man in the UPS uniform. He was the one who put in the call to report the body. “The detective is going to need a statement, she’s got her hands full inside,” he told Marco.

“Alright.” Marco took out his notepad and turned to the man, taking in his appearance. The man had sandy hair, gray strands peeking through his hat; his nose was slightly crooked, as if he’d broken it before, and he had big eyes. He reeked of sweat, pine, and oil. Marco fought the urge to wrinkle his nose, but plastered a small encouraging smile on his face. “Officer Manoban; I’ll need a statement of events leading up to when you found the body and your name.”

The man stumbled, his mouth opening and closing but no sound was produced. “Ah, yes– Milliard Jones.”

“Milliard Jones,” he repeated with a nod. “And the events leading up to when you found the body?”

Milliard clicked his tongue, rubbing his palms on his khaki shorts, looking very uncomfortable. “I had been delivering a package–  my truck is just over there–  and I was knocking on the door to get a signature for the package, and the door opened; it was unlocked, and oddly quiet. I called out, and out of curiosity made my way in… The television was on, and I heard water running in the basement– so I went down there, and I really shouldn't have God! I really shouldn't have!” Milliard brought his hand to his mouth and let out a few choked sounds. 

“Hey,” he tried to say in his most encouraging and understanding tone. “I really need you to finish the statement for me, alright?”

Milliard nodded, taking in a deep, shaky breath. “I went into the basement, and I saw him dead. He was just– hanging there.” He finished. 

Marco wrote it down with his pen, occasional glancing at the man. “Thank you,” he said, pocketing his notepad. “You seem put-off. I can imagine you’re shaken up. Over there are the medics, talk to them.” The man left with a small ‘thank you’ and Marco ran a hand over his face. Suho chuckles from beside him, patting him on the shoulder.

“This was never your scene, was it?” Suho says, gaze apologetic. 

Marco grumbles something inaudible and asks, “Where’s the detective?”

“She’s examining the body as we speak; inside, in the basement.” Suho informed.

Marco looked to the front door, where gloved officers and officers wearing body suits were coming in and out the house. He felt a pit in his stomach knowing that he was about to see something terrible and took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had a job to do. Marco walked to the door, his steps heavy. He was handed gloves by Bill, a homicide officer, on the way. Bill and Marco walked side by side.

“You look tense, loosen up,” the homicide officer laughed from beside him, elbowing him in the rib. 

Marco ignored him. “Have you even seen the body yet?” 

Bill shook his head. “No, I arrived around the same time you did,” he said and Marco sighed. Now they have a surprise waiting for both of them. “Look, It was probably just a suicide..?” 

The interior of the house is messy, like a little boys room. There were clothes strewn about, a mass of dishes in the sink, empty boxes all over the floors, and crumbs on the counters. There was a stench to the house, and maybe it was from the body, maybe it wasn’t.

“Don’t worry?” He mutters. Bill is a little too relaxed about this death. What if he was wrong, that it wasn’t that, but actually that they had a killer on their hands? Marco finishes slipping on his right glove when they get to the bottom of the basement stairs. Upon their arrival, the detective stands up, brushing her pants off. She stands next to the (frightfully) awed officers, looking at the space around them.

Blood was smeared across the walls and under the chains. If you stepped back like Marco did, you could see the areas of the wall left untouched, spelled out "SMILE." To the side of the words were childish drawings: a ball, a sun, dog, etc.

“Dear God…” Marco mutters, using a forearm to wipe his forehead. “What the hell happened here?”

“A lot,” the detective replies flatly. “The body has been moved already, we’re all still here searching the scene though. But…I have pictures.”

Marco and Bill move to stand in front of her. “Who was the victim?”

“Henry Donner. It’s estimated that he was tortured for at least four days. Parts of him have been cut off, just like the others. Including the penis,” she tells them with a sigh. 

Marco swallows heavily; Bill coughs.

“His fingers were all cut off,” she says, showing him a picture of ten severed fingers lying on the ground. “His chest was pulled off piece by piece. They stopped the bleeding each time by using a barbaric method of cauterization. He wanted the victim alive for that time period specifically. His penis seems to be the last thing to have gone.” 

Bill, now crunching on a granola bar, winces. “Yeah, no, only a woman could cut off a man’s...”

The detective ignores him. She pulls out five or some different photos. “Marks were found around his wrists and neck, assuming their from the chains hanging from the basement rafters. The victim was strung up in their home.”

“And the motive?”

“To be determined. The victim did not have any enemies, he was rather liked. He worked at a daycare. But,” she pauses, brows knitting.

“But what?” Bill inquired.

“We did find cameras in his room. He was a child sex offender.”

Now outside, after Marco had left the room abruptly, Bill ran a hand through his hair. “This is..is… I can’t even find a word to describe it,” he chuckles.

Marco wipes his mouth and stands back up to full height. He couldn't stomach the photos found in Henry’s camera. “It’s rattling, is what it is, Bill. This is— disgusting.” How did they let a man like that go under the radar for so long? Marco’s glad he's dead– and it’s something he would never say out loud. That killer took out the trash, and now they have to take him out.

Bill patted him on the shoulder. “It only gets worse from here.”

…

The first thing Roseanne wants to do when she gets home is take a shower, but she can't. She can't because now that she's driven Lisa home— and she had to take her to bed since Lisa was in no condition to do anything other than pass out in the hallway because the Thai had a few drinks at the bar— and you’re out doing God knows what there is nothing else to occupy her mind. 

So she panics.

She feels it coming, she always does. There are beads of sweat on her forehead and everything becomes blurry, making it hard for her to walk to her room. She stumbles inside in her dizzy state and slides to the floor, back against her bed. Her throat is tightening and she gets butterflies in her stomach, the kind she would rather never experience. Roseanne is terrified; her heart pounds against her rib cage, loud in her ears, threatening to come out of her chest. A numbness makes its way into her fingers and toes and they tingle, like the nerves in them are dancing. 

What exactly brought this on? She’s never— ever had a panic attack that she couldn’t get under control. Was it because earlier, with Lisa’s dad leaving suddenly? The look on his face, the poorly masked emotions running rampant? Was she worried? Or was it shame? Roseanne gasped, a shallow breath following it. He will understand— won’t he? That the project she’s working on might not be up to his expectations, her professor’s expectations, her classmates, or Lisa’s, Jisoo’s, and Jennie’s? Oh— she was meant to be so much more, that is what he told her when— Roseanne choked, her breaths coming in shallow, rapid succession. It wasn’t the first time. Why was it different? 

You. 

It was you— it was you, there, on your knees in front of her. 

“Roseanne?” You ask, worried at the state of your roommate. She’s not looking at you, her gaze is stuck to a spot on the floor. You didn’t expect to come back to your roommate having a panic attack. How long has she been like this? You notice she’s digging her nails in her stomach, and you’re sure they’re leaving crescent-shaped dents in the areas. She’ll hurt herself. “Hey, hey, Roseanne— Rosie,” you try again. You can’t snap in front of her face, that would startle her, so you lightly tap her shoulders, her knees, and her forehead. It’s silly, but it worked when your brother did it for you. 

Roseanne’s eyes frantically dart across the room, staring at nothing, not seeing you. You want her to focus on you. You want her to know you're here. “Rosie,” you call again, and she finally locks eyes with you. Her eyes swam with tears. She tries her hardest to keep eye contact with you. You smile encouragingly. “It’s okay. Just breathe, alright? Try to match my breathing.” 

Roseanne doesn’t know what you're saying. It’s all muffled, noise drowned out by her heavy breathing, but she watches your chest, moving up and down, your lips making an “O” shape and then narrowing. You want her to breathe? She can’t. Roseanne shakes her head side to side, she tried that before, and her fingers dig further into her stomach. You peel her hands away from her abdomen and place them in her lap. Her nails dig into her palms instead, knuckles turning white. 

You sigh. “Hey, you can hold my hand if you want— squeeze it, anything, you’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing that.” You hold your palms out in front of you, conveying the message. Surprising you, she takes your hand and wow, wow, why did you think this was a good idea? A squeaky noise escapes your throat at the crushing grip she has on your hands and you smile nervously when her glossy eyes flicker to you. It’s okay, you tell yourself, pain is temporary. 

You still exaggerate your breathing for her, taking in large breaths and exhales, figuring she’ll catch on soon enough. You start telling her about your day and random things and she tries to focus on the smell of your perfume, the thumb that’s awkwardly tapping (not rubbing because you can’t really move your fingers) the dorsal side of her hand, and your soothing voice. As you continue to talk about pointless things she doesn't hold in the next breath she takes and just focuses on keeping them deep and steady, like you were trying to show her earlier, and repeats the process until the beating of her heart no longer vibrates on the skin of her breasts. Her grip loosens as the minutes pass and she feels slightly calmer, lightheaded, but calm. 

“And then he put it in the back of my shirt! I was so mad I chased him around the plaza—” 

“Thank you,” she says quietly, and if you were any further away you wouldn’t have heard it. It’s endearing, the tiny smile on her lips— because she’s truly grateful— and you felt happy you were able to help her with this.

“Yeah,” you say dumbly, slow, ignoring the warmth blossoming in your chest. You clear your throat and reprimand yourself— idiot— now more conscious. “Seriously, don’t even think about it. Like… Like I said, I've had my fair share of anxiety attacks before, it really isn’t an issue…It’s what I'm here for.” You spoke softly, unsure. Was that even the right thing to say: ‘it’s what I’m here for’— when you haven’t been roommates any longer than five weeks? 

The longer she stares at you the hotter your face becomes. You pulled your hand that was still held captive away slowly. Roseanne blinked, something shifted, snapped, and she became sensible of the situation. She abruptly stood up and wobbled slightly, to which you’re quick to stabilize her by the biceps, her legs feel like jelly. “Thank you,” she says again, much firmer, and it feels like she’s saying it too much. She sits on the side of her bed and you shift on your feet in front of her. What do you do now?

“Do you, uh, want water or anything?” You ask, fiddling with your cotton shorts.

“No.” She says quickly and maybe too briskly. You don’t seem too affected.

“Okay, I can just—” 

“Wait; water would be nice,” she changed her mind. “Yeah? Okay, I’ll be right back.” When you leave the room, she sighs, resting her head on her palms. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s going to be very regrettable. You weren’t supposed to see her like that: a mess. It was embarrassing. She feels exposed, vulnerable, out of her element. 

It was no longer ‘Cons of Having a Roommate’ but rather, ‘Pros of Having a Roommate.’ She couldn't take anything back, it was too late.

You hand her her water gingerly; she knows you're avoiding her eyes. Trying and failing, that is. “So,” you drawl. “Are you…okay now?”

She takes another sip of the water before replying. “Yeah, thank you again.”

You hum, and a silence that’s neither comfortable or awkward falls upon you. You should leave now, shouldn’t you? She looks better, you’ve done your part. You bite your cheek, tongue swiping out to wet your lips. Is she going to tell you to go or do you—? (A part of you wants to stay and ask personal questions.) 

“…Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Just got a little overwhelmed, that’s it.”

You nodded, zipping your mouth shut, taking a few steps back. “I’ll go to my room then...” She doesn’t say anything, and you make it to the door frame before she speaks up again. 

“Wait, (Y/n), do you want to…hang out?”

…

She didn’t want to send you off after you helped her. (Right.)

“…Lisa didn’t care what people were saying about me and still approached me. I remember when she was stopped by a girl when she tried to sit next to me in the first lecture and it was funny watching the girl stumble over her words as Lisa brushed past her without a glance. Then Lisa talked my ear off the whole lecture and we became friends,” you finished, smiling at the memory.

"That's really sweet.” Roseanne knew Lisa was kind-hearted. Sometimes, when they were younger she worried Lisa would get hurt and acted like the Thai’s personal bodyguard. She didn’t want to see that glow leave her best friend's eyes, didn't want anything like a crush or accident to cause it to fade.

"Yeah. She's always been great with things like that. With people." You said, looking down at the blanket as you shrugged one shoulder. "And I've just always been the bitch.”

She jerked upwards a little, affronted on your behalf. "I've never thought you were a bitch, (Y/n)." You wrapped the cover around your hand and made a thoroughly unconvinced noise. “I haven’t!”

You stared at her for a few tense seconds, lips pressed firmly together, studying her, because for all you know she could be lying. Under your gaze, Roseanne shifted in her spot, fingers picking at the cover, eyes darting across your face but never shying far from your eyes. “What?” She barked, her eyes narrowed at you, lips pulled into a shape boarding a sneer. She didn’t like being scrutinized, it made her agitated.

You held your hands up, like soothing an angry dog. “I believe you,” you mumbled under your breath. Your hands fell back into your lap, a smile spreading across your lips. “Thanks.” 

Roseanne watched your expression soften before her own did. Her shoulders relaxed and her lips curved upward. She didn’t say anything more.

“Hey, can I call you Rosie?”

She sinks into the pillows with a sigh, vaguely remembering you called her that earlier. “I don’t mind.” 

You grinned, and a moment later you yawned. You glanced at your phone screen. “Are you going to bed soon?” She shook her head. Bedtime is four A.M. It’s only midnight.

A few seconds of silence passed, your eyes wandering around her room briefly, taking note of the band posters and her messy study desk and how all the lights are on in her room. You meet her eyes again. “...I’ve been wondering if you ever manage to fall asleep.”

“Finally notice the panda-bags under my eyes?” She snorted, and you knew it was deflection.  

“No, Rosie, you have light under-eyes for someone that doesn't sleep the recommended hours– but really, why don’t you sleep at night? Sometimes I hear you shuffling about or playing your guitar; I’m curious.”

When it was clear you weren't going to let it go she pursued her lips. “Well, I…I don’t particularly like dreaming. And you’re right, I don’t sleep– much.” Rosie tells you as a distant look falls over her eyes, she brings her long legs up to her chest, cradling them. It’s almost guileless, childlike in a way. “If you truly must know, my mind has the scary capability of being dark when I don’t want it to be.” The ghost of a smile dances on her lips, conveying a secret, a sense of regret, pain; and you dared to ask, to confirm something for yourself, to not feel alone. “You’re afraid of your dreams?”

“Yes,” she whispered. And you left it at that. Somewhere– somehow, Rosie let you stay that night. She doesn’t know why herself; maybe it was because she felt exposed. After she told you she was afraid of her dreams, you told her you were too, and she felt understood, strangely. To what degree? She didn't know. Maybe in that moment of weakness she made the unconscious decision or agreement that you could stay for the night. Just this night. She told herself it was because you were clearly tired and that she didn't want to make you walk to your room. She didn't have the heart to wake you up when you fell asleep again during a movie you had once asked to watch, slow breaths escaping your parted lips, chest rising and falling steadily. She was paying you back because you had done so many nice things for her today. That was it.

This didn’t change anything.

Rosie turned on her side and closed her eyes, willing to sleep easy no matter how absurd the idea was. Although, that night she did drift off to sleep, and she didn’t dream of a house, a man, and a car laying on its side. However, this still didn't change anything. 

But deep down, something changed, didn't it?

[jackpotgirl]

Just another Tuesday

A Chenford Missing Scene.

We all needed this - what happened between the rooftop and the precinct…

“I outrank you,” he tells Thorsen and tries frantically to push the flashes of Lucy’s face from his mind.

If he thinks about never seeing her again, he’ll panic and if he panics, he’s dead. He barely registers the other man getting out of the car through the rush of blood past his ears, only grasps that the car is creaking, balancing precariously on the edge of the roof.

“What are you doing?” He calls out when the car gets ever shakier and ever creakier.

Thorsen has grabbed the rear, throwing him a lifeline. Every hair on Tim’s body is standing up and he doesn’t think, he just moves. Not a second too late. His feet hit the ground and he can drag Thorsen from the car just in time before it tips over the ledge and hits the ground crashing and burning.

He thanks all the deities that the street below was empty while Thorsen cracks a joke in his own subsiding panic. That’s the kind of humor one will develop on the job - but Tim can’t laugh. He only thinks of her.

When Lucy hears about it later, returning her shop, she’s infinitely glad to not be behind the wheel anymore, she might have crashed her own car had she been driving. She forbids herself to think about it much further though, as she returns her gear, going through the motions. She can’t start imagining how easily the whole thing could have become the tragedy of her life, if she did, she’d scream and never stop. That’s the job, that’s the risk they’re all taking every day. She knows this.

“You alright?” One of the other officers, Annie Gupta, asks her as Lucy pours herself a coffee in the kitchen a couple of minutes later, her hand trembling a little.

“No, yeah, thanks,” Lucy replies mechanically. “Just needed some caffeine.”

“Late shift?” Annie asks casually.

“No, just… you know.” Lucy shrugs, noncommittal, and the other woman leaves it at that.

Usually, Lucy doesn’t make a habit out of drinking coffee this late in the day but she doesn’t expect to sleep tonight, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?

Her phone vibrating in her pocket finally fully takes her out of her head. It’s a text from Tim.

Pulling into the bay, got a sec?

Lucy abandons her coffee on the counter.

She arrives at the garage at the tail end of Tim sending Thorsen off with both their gear bags, saying something along the lines of payback for saving his life. Thorsen counters that he saved Tim’s life just the same but a raised eyebrow from his superior shuts him up.

Thorsen shoulders both bags with a grunt and then nods at Lucy as he passes her by.

“We nearly died today,” he tells her, “you heard?”

“I heard,” Lucy replies with a weak smile. “Good that you didn’t.”

“Just another Tuesday,” Thorsen jokes with a shrug he barely manages under the load as he walks off, though she can tell from the slight tightness in his voice that he’s still shaken up a little too.

Then she’s alone with Tim. And takes only the most cursory backward glance before she flings herself at him and wraps him in tightly in a hug she hopes will say all the desperate things she won’t let herself voice out loud. Because she doesn’t want to cry and because it’s too soon for I love you, never ever leave me ever.

Tim wraps Lucy in his arms the second their bodies connect and pulls her close, holding her for much longer than would be appropriate for just-colleagues — but he doesn’t care. Feeling her body flush and solid against his is everything. It’s what he did not allow himself to be terrified of losing before.

Neither of them says anything, wrapped up in their own little world for the moment. They both know better than to linger on these things, on these near-misses and brushes with death, otherwise they might not return to work at any given day. Instead – once he finally lets her go – he just sighs, smiles, and lets her get back onto her full feet.

“So… pretty uneventful day, huh?” He says and Lucy snorts a laugh that speaks of complete relief.

“Just another Tuesday,” she echoes Thorsen’s earlier comment — and God, he wishes it wasn’t way too soon to tell her that he loves her.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t die,” she tells him with that cop’s humor that has permeated the whole ordeal as they’re making their way through the precinct to change a minute later. “You owe me a redo on our date.”

“It’s what gave me the will to live,” Tim shoots back evenly, not missing a beat, and he’s infinitely glad that Lucy makes it so easy to be at ease. And that she likes him and his dumb jokes, evidenced by her suppressed little chuckle.

“In my mind, I’m hitting you right now,” she tells him, trying not to laugh.

“Good to know,” he quips and grins.

As soon as they have rounded the corner to the corridor leading to the locker room where it’s a little less crowded, he inclines his head to her to ask under his breath: “Are you free tonight?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She’s beaming.

And when, fifteen minutes later, she sneaks into his truck around the corner from the precinct, she looks radiant like the sun… and holds his hand the entire ride to the park.

[popcorn-kitten]

Dates don't always go the way you plan, and sometimes they do!

Fandom: FNAF SB Rating: General Pairing: readerxSun warnings: None Summary: Sun is supposed to have a date with you tonight. Your first date! For the third time! The anxiety that had him canceling the previously scheduled dates rears its head again and threatens to ruin this one too, but you're not content with letting this chance slip by again.

read on ao3

Sun held his phone in his shaking hand, thumb hovering over your name.  His internal conflict was making him nauseous. He couldn’t imagine canceling on you again.  If he did, would you ever give him another chance?  This’d be the third time.  He wouldn’t have given anyone a chance after the first so why should you give him a fourth?

If he didn’t go tonight that would be it. You’d never talk to him again. You’d hate him.  You’d leave and find someone else and marry them and maybe you should. You deserved someone better than him, someone who wasn’t so scared of embarrassing himself that he’d cancel multiple dates. 

Sun’s heart hammered in his chest and when he met his eye in the mirror, he almost vomited.  He looked a mess.  His hair was still wild and untamed, he was pale, sweating through the white shirt he’d picked out, an-

“Mr. Sun!”

The daycare attendant jumped and spun quickly to see the little boy in the doorway.

“You asked me ta tell you when-when moms and dads got here and they’re here so I came to get you like you asked!” The child’s enthusiasm was almost irritating to Sun.  Couldn’t this kid see he was having a crisis?! Still, work was work and he’d spent more time than he should have in the bathroom already. Left the kids unattended for too long. His anxiety instantly shifted to all the possible injuries or messes made in his absence.

Sun launched himself out of the bathroom to check on the kids & distribute them back to their parents without any more cause for incident.

As the final parent left, with a snide comment about his chosen date outfit (he knew it was a bad idea, he knew it looked awful. Stupid stupid stupid!), ending pick up after an eternity and simultaneously far too quickly.  Sun still hadn’t texted you. He still wasn’t ready to go. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.

Sun jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket.  His hands dropped from his mouth – he didn’t notice he’d started biting his fingers, a bad bad habit he needed to work on – and checked the notification.  He yelped when your name came up on the caller ID.

A million thoughts swarmed Sun’s mind – you were canceling (a relief followed by panic and deep-seated grief) you were at the restaurant and wanted to know when he was coming (he wasn’t. he couldn’t wait to see you), you’d realized what a waste of time pursuing him was and were ending it before he could disappoint you further (devastating but understandable).

Sun answered and flinched at the shake and pathetic sound of his greeting.

“Hey Sunny, come open the door, my hands are full.”  Your voice was like a refreshing glass of cool water after days in the driest desert. His shoulders instantly relaxed and the shaking almost fully subsided.

“Y-yeah! OK yeah coming!” Sun’s legs began carrying him in a random direction before he paused, uncertain where he was supposed to be going.    

“Uh…wh-what door?” He was so ready to do anything you asked he hadn’t even considered what your request was referring to.

Your laugh, warm and inviting, flowed through the speaker.  “The daycare door, goofus! Come let me in, see you in a sec.”  The call ended and Sun remained frozen for a moment to process.

The Daycare doors?  Here?  You were HERE?! 

Sun scrambled, dropping his phone in the process to get to the door as quickly as he could. Why were you here?  Did he forget you were supposed to meet here? Did you say you would be picking him up?  Did he forget he said he’d drive?

Sun flung open one of the large wooden doors, leaning his body out of the frame with a torrent of questions. 

His mouth snapped shut.

All the concerns and confusion dying on his tongue when his eyes found yours. The tension in his shoulders melted away with your warm smile.  One he couldn’t help but return.

Sun stood a little straighter to take you in.  His face burned as his mind and eyes fully comprehended what was before him.  There you stood.  Kind, caring, beautiful, wonderful, patient you. You, with a bouquet of yellow daises and scarlet roses in one hand, a picnic basket in the other. 

“I hope this isn’t too weird, but I uh…I guess I figured you might be canceling because you’re uncomfortable with going out? So, I thought maybe a date here would take some of the pressure off.”  You’d started out confident but felt your own face flushing as you registered the shocked expression of the tall man before you.  He was dressed in a white shirt and clean pants.  He was going to come see you tonight!  That realization soothed some of your own internal anxieties about misreading the situation between you both.

Sun’s eyes lingered over every part of you as his face heated quickly, body going rigid.  You were clearly dressed for the date; your outfit was like nothing he’d seen you in before.  Your silhouette was breathtaking and the colors seemed to reflect in your eyes in a way Sun had never gotten to experience before. His fingers twitched with a barely contained desire to reach out and feel the fabric that was lucky enough to be draped across your body.

Time seemed to drag by as you awaited Sun’s response.  The continued silence had you shuffling awkwardly and the thought that he’d been canceling because he didn’t actually want to go out with you was returning with vengeance. Maybe he’d felt bad saying no?  Maybe he thought it was kinder to cancel than outright reject you?  Maybe you were really just super wrong about what you thought he felt.

“O-or maybe this was a dumb idea.” You forced a small laugh out. “S-sorry Sun I should have taken the hint the first time yo-“

“Come in!” Sun’s shout cut you off and caused you to jump slightly.  There's a heavy tinge of panic in his voice as he stepped back into the daycare to make room for you to enter.  “Please, please come in, Sunflower.  Sorry, I was just…surprised to see you.”  Sun’s arm shook as he held it out in a welcoming gesture.

You looked between his face and arm with a small frown. “Sun really it’s ok I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“

“No no no!  Please!  Please stay!”  Sun looked almost frantic – fearful. “Please don’t leave.”

It was how quietly he spoke that last part that bolstered some of your confidence back up.  You took a breath of your own and entered the brightly lit play area.  As you passed Sun his expression relaxed into his usual smile and the tension seemed to evaporate. 

“So so so so sweet of you to come!  I-I’m sorry I canceled before I…I’m happy you decided to come here.”  Sun’s sincerity was palpable, his large hand resting just below your shoulder blades as he walked beside you into the daycare.  “And with gifts too!  Wow…wowie I’m…thank you, Sunshine.” Sun sounded sheepish as he glanced away from you and bit his lip. Cute.

You suppressed the shiver that threatened to roll through you at the sensation of his warm palm and long fingers – that when spread almost reached passed your mid-back.  Unconsciously you leaned in closer to Sun as you walked towards the security desk. You glanced up at Sun who wore a large smile – his face coated in a deep red flush.  You grinned at him in turn and moved to face him, holding the bouquet out to him. 

“For you, good sir!”

Sun gently took the flowers from your hands and brought them to his face.  He closed his eyes as he took a – almost comedically – deep inhale of the blooms, followed by a loud sneeze.

You couldn’t help the laugh that his surprised expression pulled from you and when he lowered the flowers from his face the sheepish grin turned almost dopey when your eyes met.

“I want to marry you.” Sun’s voice was dreamy as he spoke the wish aloud.  It only took a moment for him seemingly realize what he’d said.  Sun began to sputter out apologies, trying to take it back, but not really, but wow that was inappropriate, and haha oh god.

“Sun, breath.” Your command was kind as you took one of his hands in yours and gave it a squeeze, shutting him up instantly. 

You continued, not wanting him to rile himself up again, “I think I’ve known you long enough that you don’t have to apologize for yourself anymore.  I know you can get intense, it’s one of the things I like about you.  You’ve got a lot of feelings and aren’t afraid to experience them.  I don’t want you feeling like you have to explain every little thing you say you’re embarrassed about.  I want you to feel safe with me.”  You pause for a moment to make sure he’s listening.

“Obviously we are not getting married anytime soon.  But I think it’s sweet that you’re so sure of it being something you want.  I can’t promise right now that I’ll get there but knowing that you’re actually looking for something long-term is…nice.  It means you aren’t just trying to mess around. I appreciate that about you.  I might have been weirded out if anyone else said that but…I don’t know…it wasn’t anyone else, it was you.” You chuckle at yourself for the actual absurdity of it all. 

That was a big ass red flag and here you were happy to invite Sun in regardless. Because somewhere in your gut, your heart, your soul, you knew he wasn’t trying to play with your feelings.  He wanted you in his life and you were finding it hard to keep him out of yours

“But no, we aren’t getting married anytime soon, becauuuse, you have some actual dates you need to take me on before we can have a wedding.”  You give him a teasing grin and release his hand, turning to open the basket you’d set on the security desk, pulling out the meal and dessert you’d prepped earlier in the day.   “How about we have this first one, yeah?”

Sun could have cried if he wasn’t so busy trying to fully accept this wasn’t a dream, his shoulders relaxed and he felt, for the first time in weeks, the anxiety that had been permeating his being left to make space for the warmth and love he had for you.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I’d love that, Sunshine!”  Sun dipped down to press an excited kiss to your cheek pulling another laugh from you as you playfully swatted at him.  You smiled, ready for whatever this new experience was going to bring.