#i have actually been in college for years

[nickynclark]

The Psychology of Love and Loathing

Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Enemies to lovers! 

Word count: 7,584

Warnings: no use of y/n, reader goes by 'bunny', discussion of a case (nothing too far from usual Criminal Minds gore), reader has three PhD's (bet you didn't know that), briefly mentions readers mother committing su!cide, mentions of toxic parents, alcohol consumption, jealous! Reader, jealous! Reid, pet names (good girl, silly girl, baby, sweetheart, sweet thing), degradation, oral f! Receiving, like one line of oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v (pls wrap it before you tap it), no mention of reader being on birth control, anal play, overstimulation, after care. If i missed anything let me know!

Author’s note: i’m so sorry im ovulating. This is porn w a shit ton of plot. We’re talkin WORLD BUILDING

MDNI BELOW THE CUT

You blink at the papers in front of you, checking once, twice, double checking three times to make sure what you're seeing is correct. 

You were on a case in Texas, called in by local police after four bodies, two wealthy couples, were found shot execution-style and posed on different park benches throughout Amarillo. While at first, it seemed as though it was your average serial killer, the autopsy report showed that the gunshot wound was done post-mortem- all four victims were murdered by being forced to drink household bleach. 

You looked down at the papers one more time, noticing that one man, Adam Gilman, cleaned houses of the wealthy, and he purchased a lot of bleach. Way more than needed to clean a few bathrooms. 

You quickly dial Garcia, and she answers within the first ring. 

"Ask and you shall receive." 

"Garcia, what can you find out about Adam Gilman?"

You hear typing from the other end of the line before spewing information, "35-year-old white male, he grew up super rich until his dad pulled his college funding his senior year when his sister went to school to be a doctor. He started paying for her," She suddenly sucked in a breath, "It looks like he had to drop out. He was at Harvard Law. Spiraled downhill from there, sending you the files and address now." 

"Thanks, Garcia!" 

You rush into the room where the rest of the team is and run up to Hotch. 

"Look at this! He fits the profile to a t!" 

Hotch looks down at his tablet, and you feel eyes glance over to you, about to speak, but Spencer Reid bursts through the doors. 

"Guys our unsub is Adam Gilman! He lives five minutes from here, and his job is on the way." 

Hotch nods at you, acknowledging that you have the same information but Reid said it louder, "Let's go." 

Since you joined the Bureau last year, Spencer Reid has been competing with you. Whereas he was thirty-three with three PhDs, you were twenty-five with the same amount. Of course, he got his when he was much younger, but he still seemed to overcompensate. 

He was intimidated by you. 

This wasn't the first time a situation like this had happened. It's almost like he had a radar for when you made a big break, and he wanted to steal the spotlight. 

And not to mention he hates you for some reason. 

Ever since your first week in the BAU, Dr. Reid has acted indifferent to you. You understand that change can be uncomfortable, but you have done nothing to deserve this cold shoulder. 

On your first day, you strutted into the office dressed in a pair of black slacks, a black, v-neck blouse, and some hot pink pumps; being honest, you looked like you owned the place. 

When Aaron introduced you to the team, you shook everyone's hand except Reid's. 

"The number of pathogens passed through a handshake is staggering," he stated mater-of-factly while staring at your hand, "it's actually safer to kiss." 

You laugh and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, "Although I appreciate the concern, a handshake is actually a sign of peaceful intentions. Soldiers would cover their swords on their left side and shake their right hand to show they mean no harm," you shrug, "but I understand the mysophobia." 

He nodded at you, a glare suddenly hardening his features, "interesting." 

He has refused to hold conversation with you, maintain eye contact with you, or be in the same room with you for an extended amount of time ever since. 

He hates it the most when you're right. 

After arresting Adam, the team desperately needed to interrogate him. He was denying all claims despite all the evidence against him. In fact, all he has said has been denials. Besides that, he didn't speak. He hadn't asked for a lawyer, hadn't shown any recognition to the couples, and hadn't said anything besides I've never seen those people before.

"We need to make him uncomfortable," Morgan says, "he's running this whole show. We gotta flip the tide." 

Emily looks up from her Chinese takeout, laughing, "Let's throw Bun and Reid in there." 

Your eyes widen, and you are suddenly incredibly red. Your face is on fire, and you start looking around panicked. 

The team started referring to you as 'Bun' over the summer when you all went to a bar together. You accidentally had one too many drinks, and Derek said you were bouncing up and down the whole time. 

"She's like a Bunny." 

"Don't call me a Bunny!" You slur, "I'm mean. And vicious." 

Penelope laughs at you, throwing an arm around your shoulder, "Alright, Bun. Let's go dance!" 

Ever since that night, the nickname 'bun' stuck. 

Although Emily suggested you and Reid distracting Adam as a joke, Rossi's lips pull into a smile, "That just might work." 

Emily sets her food down, suddenly aware that she presented the first good idea so far, "we could dress them up some, make them look like a wealthy couple, and have them ask Adam some questions. It might make him mad enough to break." 

Aaron looks at you and you gulp subtly, then he looks to Reid, "It's up to you." 

You look at your feet, frowning, "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get this guy in jail." 

Reid simply nods. 

"Okay," Aaron says, "we'll go get the stuff." 

You and Spencer remain in the small room while the others rush out to get the things you require for your transformation. 

"Hi." Your voice comes out quiet. 

"Hello." He responds blandly. 

You suddenly realize this is the first time you and Reid have been in a room alone together, so you take the opportunity. 

"What have I done to you?" 

Reid's eyebrows shoot up at the confrontation "Huh?" 

You roll your eyes, "ever since my first day you've avoided me. What did I do?" 

He scoffs, "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Sure you don't." You sigh and run a hand through your hair, "I'm the only person on the team you practically refuse to talk to." 

"I'm talking to you right now," he says as if that's a counterargument, "I talk to you all the time." 

"Yeah, when you're forced to!" You say exasperatedly, "You know everyone on the team's birthdays, all except mine. You know their family situation because you've asked." 

He shrugs, "I know plenty about you."

"How old am I?" 

He looks into your eyes calmly, "You're twenty-eight." 

"I'm twenty-five." 

Emily suddenly bursts into the room, "There isn't anything for you guys in lost and found. You have to go on a shopping trip. Strauss said a 300 dollar limit." 

You nod, "I assume that's just for clothes?" 

"Yes," She answers, "Reid is going to wear Rossi's watch and a wedding band JJ's going to pick up. Both of you will wear a ring." She then looks to you, "We have a lot of jewelry for you to pick through." 

You nod, standing and Reid rises next to you. 

Emily tosses you some keys, "be back in an hour." 

***

The ride to the mall was quiet. You didn't bother talking to Spencer as you drove, and he didn't bother speaking to you. 

He also kept turning down the radio when you tried to turn it up. It was painfully awkward. 

Once at the mall, you and Reid split up incredibly fast. 

He ran to some men's warehouse, and you rushed to the women's section of a department store. 

You quickly pick up a pair of black pinstriped slacks that hug your curves and a tight, white blouse. You finally grab a black, pinstriped blazer, and you head to check out. 

On your way, though, a pair of stunning, emerald heels grabs your attention. 

You walk closer to study them, and god do they look lavish. 

If you weren't here for work, you would grab them in a heartbeat, but you were, and you had already met your price cap. 

"Buy them." 

You hear Spencer's voice from behind you, and you jump, grabbing your chest in fright.

"What?" 

"Get them," he shrugs, "it's obvious you want to." 

You laugh shyly, and he stuffs his hands into his jean pockets, his bag of clothes hanging around his wrist. 

"I've already met my limit." 

"Okay?"

You frown, studying him. He looks calm and relaxed. You tilt your head slightly, and he matches your movement. 

No, that can't be right. 

You cross your arms in a silent stare down, and he does, too. 

"You're mimicking me." 

He scoffs, "God, Bun, not everything I do is to spite you!" 

Your eyes widen and you suddenly point at him, "You!"

"What?" 

"You just called me Bun!" 

His eyes barely widen, but he catches himself, staring straight ahead. 

His foot stops tapping, "you're hearing things." 

"And that's your tell!" You point at his foot, "You just mimicked me, called me 'Bun', and then lied about it!" 

He rolls his eyes, "what size are you?" 

"You're avoiding the question!" 

"You didn't ask a question." He gestures to the heels, "What size?" 

"Why?" 

"Answer the question, Bunny." 

His tone is stern, and you freeze under his stare. 

"Nine." 

He nods and grabs a box in that size. 

"No!" You protest, "Don't!"

"I still had a hundred bucks left over, it's on the company's card." 

You blink twice, confused as to why he's being so nice to you.��

"Okay. I need to pay and I'm done." 

He nods to you, and you both check out. He hands you the heels and you let out a quiet thanks while headed to the car.

***

When you got back to the station, the turnaround was dizzying. 

You were shoved into a room to change, as was Reid. 

After you changed, JJ came in and whistled. 

"Sheesh, Bun, you look good!" 

You laugh and straighten out your jacket, slipping on the heels Spencer bought you today. 

"Are those new?"

You nod, "yeah, Spencer said he had some left in his budget." 

She shook her head, "Reid must've bought those with his own money." 

Your eyes widen, and she laughs, "C'mon, Bun. You need to look at jewelry." 

You picked out a pair of dainty, diamond earrings, a matching necklace, and several expensive bracelets that had to be physically screwed onto your wrists. 

Once standing in front of Hotch, Emily gave you the wedding bands JJ had picked up. 

Yours was a gorgeous gold band with an emerald-cut diamond on top. It was simple, but, God, was it stunning. 

You slipped it onto your finger and Reid slipped the simple golden band over his, his hands looking all that much better with the ring on it. It makes your mouth water just thinking about his fingers.

You quickly shake your head. No. You hate Spencer Reid. Nothing will change that. 

Hotch gives you and Reid strict instructions on how to talk to Adam, and then he's sending you in. 

"Sell it," Aaron says, "this might be our only shot." 

You give him a curt nod, linking your arm with Reid and smiling as you walk into the interrogation room. 

Spencer looks down at you with a look of passion you've never seen before. One that you aren't convinced could be fake. 

As soon as you looked at Adam, you could tell there was something off. He was picking at the skin around his nails and chewing on the skin of his lips where they looked raw and painful. 

As you sat down in front of him, Spencer was the first to speak. 

"Who is this guy again, babe?" 

You held back the shock in your face at the pet name as he put a hand on your thigh. You made a point to twist the wedding ring on your finger before opening the files in front of you. 

"Adam?" You look up at the man in front of you, "are you Adam?" He nods, and you hum, "Who are you, exactly?" 

Reid smiles and looks to you, "Play nice." He slides the files over to him, "Harvard law, that's impressive. Did you apply or did your father buy your way in?"

Adam's eyes narrowed, "I applied and got accepted. I was a prodigy." 

You smile subtly, knowing you and Reid have already gotten him to show more of himself than he had to anyone else. 

You look at your fake husband and laugh, "I don't think you can decide that you're a prodigy." You look Adam up and down, "my husband, here," you place your hand on Spencer's shoulder, looking at him as if he hung the moon and stars, "he is a prodigy. How old were you when you got your first PhD?"

"Seventeen," he laughed humbly, looking at you, "you flatter me." 

You smile softly as Reid squeezes your thigh, something Adam could not see and, therefore, was unnecessary. You look at Spencer, but he refuses to meet your eyes. 

You turn back to Adam, pulling out the photos of the four bodies and showing them to him, "have you met these people before?" 

He shakes his head, "I've never seen those people before." 

"Really?" You ask calmly, "You've never, ever, seen Andrea Haskins?" 

Adam shakes his head. 

"Never, not once, seen her husband, Kent Haskins, either?" 

He shakes his head again. 

Reid sits up straighter, linking his hands together on the table in front of him, "you received a pretty generous amount of money from him every month since... August?" 

You mentally thank Garcia for that information, and mentally thank Reid for remembering it. 

Adam sits up straight, too, but falling shorter than Reid, "I clean their house for them, don't mean I've ever met 'em." 

You hum, "I wouldn't let a stranger into our home, would you?" 

Reid shakes his head, and Adam gets visibly upset at your interactions. His hands clench to the table ledge, knees bouncing, eyes narrowed. 

"Say, Adam," you perk up, "how much bleach do you use per house you clean, about?" 

Adam's eyes trained on me, "you're a smart girl," he then looked to Reid, "with an even smarter husband." He spits the words as if they are poison on his tongue, "You do the math." 

You stand, smiling softly, "So, not 10 gallons per week?" 

Adam shrugs, "If that's your calculation." 

You walk closer to the man, sitting on the table next to him and leaning down to him, "And I assume you also have never met the Coleman's?"

He shakes his head. 

"Never met anyone in the Coleman family?" 

"No. God, you people suck at your job."

"That's actually interesting considering we have video footage of your picking up Lacey Coleman from school last Monday. A family doesn't let a stranger house cleaner pick up their child from school." 

Adam's eyes widen, and you know you have him cornered. 

"How long had your sister been friends with the Colemans?" Reid interjects. 

"Don't you dare talk about her." 

"Why not?" Reid asks simply, "Does she bother you?" 

"I was going to be a Lawyer, I was going to be successful and make my dad proud of me. Until she ruined it all with her perfect schooling and perfect husband," Adam spits.

"Halley is a pretty successful neurosurgeon, huh? She gets all of daddy's special attention, doesn't she?" You say.

"Get your wife on a leash," Adam says to Reid. 

"All you wanted was to feel loved, to hear your dad say he's proud of you," you keep talking, "and you were going to kill him because he wouldn't say it." 

"Shut the hell up, bitch!" 

"You were getting ready to kill your mom and dad because, hey, why not go straight to the source? Why not kill who made you like this?" 

"What if your family pulled your funds for a sibling, huh?" He yells to you and Reid, "How would you feel?" 

The room goes silent and Reid allows you to keep talking, keep getting on his nerves. 

"His daddy left him when his mom got sick, and my mommy killed herself when I was seven. We worked for our degrees, and we worked even harder for the scholarships that paid for our three PhDs." You hiss, "I would've worked harder to get what I want instead of just expecting it." 

"You're a bitch," Adam spit in my face. 

"I could be worse. I could take away a little girl's family. I could kill four innocent people out of my frustration and failure." 

Reid finally stepped in, grabbing your hand softly and pulling you back to your side of the table. 

"I didn't kill those people." 

"That's not what your body is telling us, Adam." Reid states simply, "You are hurt and still are hurting, I understand that. But now so is Lacey. That's on you." 

Adam's lip quivers, "I didn't hurt Lacey! Lacey was at her friend's house!" 

Reid rises, grabs your hand gently, and walks to the door, and you follow.

"Hey!" Adam screams, "where are you going? Get back here!" 

As soon as the door shuts behind you, you let go of Reid's hand. He turns to you and watches your expression shift. 

"Good work, Bun." 

You nod, and he looks like he's about to say something else, mouth opening, but then Hotchner walks in. 

"Great work.” 

You smile at Aaron, and Reid stares at you with something dark behind his eyes. He looks nervous, and hungry, and concerned, and certain. 

"We'll be heading back in 30. Wrap up. Great job, Doctors." 

***

On the plane, you and Reid are still in your "Rich Couple" personas, not having enough time to change out. 

You sit near the back of the plane, headphones in, and reading Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience by William Blake. 

"Little Lamb who made thee, Dost though know who made thee?" 

You hear the words of "The Lamb" spoken, causing you to take out your headphones and look to the source: Spencer Reid. 

He sits across from you as you ask, "You read Blake?" 

"Blake to Poe to Plath, I don't mind." 

You narrow your eyes at him, "what do you want?"

"Really?" He asks, "We can't just have a nice moment?" 

You raise your eyebrows at him, "Not you and me. We don't have nice moments."

His facial features soften, and he sighs, "I'm sorry for acting so harsh toward you. You didn't deserve that." 

You're shocked by his statement, "Pardon me?"

He runs a hand through his hair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, "I was scared, Bun. I was the smart one. I convinced myself that was all I could be," his breath hitches and his eyes connect with mine, "I thought if there was someone smarter, more sociable, and nicer than me, they wouldn't need me anymore." 

"Spence..." you start, and you realize it's the first time you've called him his nickname. 

He notices it, too, eyes shifting from one of concern to one of understanding, "You're incredibly smart. You're kind, and you're fun to be around. I'm sorry it took me so long to notice that."

You nodded, "thank you." 

He nods and goes to stand.

"Wait." You quickly speak up and he freezes, "What's... um..." you stutter, "what's your favorite Poe?" 

Reid smiles, sitting back down, "Annabel Lee." 

You smile, "Gold-Bug."

He laughs, "Really?" 

And you nod. 

**** 

"Let's go get drinks!" Garcia announces as you and the team wrap up your paperwork, and you laugh. 

"I don't think so," you smile, "not tonight." 

"C'mon, Bun," Garcia whines "It'll be fun!"

Reid suddenly looked at you, eyes darker, eyes that held you tight in a grip, "Yeah, c'mon, Bun." He says the name with a sensuality you had never heard before. It sent a shiver down your spine, "it'll be fun." 

You look at him, taking in a shaky breath, "I.. uh, don't have a ride." 

"I'll drive you," Reid says simply, and the rest of the team just stares at the interaction. 

Things have changed since the interrogation room, you know that, but did you want to be alone with him already? 

You look at him, his messy hair, his stubble, and chocolate brown eyes, and your pussy clenches around nothing. 

You find yourself nodding, mouth too dry to speak.

"Good," he smiles, "follow me."

Your team watches with uncertainty as you walk off with Spencer, and it's almost like they've seen the change, too. 

No, they're profilers. They know Reid had you wrapped around his finger while reciting Blake. 

They also knew Spencer had been pining after you since you wore those hot pink heels on the first day of work. But they didn't need to tell you that. 

Reid guides you to the elevator, and you comply silently. Once the door closes and it's just you two, you turn to Spencer.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" He responds simply.

You turn to face him, "why are you being so nice to me?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Bun." 

You roll your eyes, "yeah right." 

The elevator doors open, and he walks you to his car, opening the door for you.

"Thank you," you smile cautiously, and he nods. 

He sits down in the driver's seat and pulls out of his parking spot. One of his hands rests on the wheel, the other placed on the gearshift. His eyes focus on the road, but they occasionally slide over to you. The silence- although comfortable- practically kills you.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" 

He glances over at you, and he smirks, "I want to." 

You look at him, "why?"

He shrugs, "spent too long not doing it." 

You nod and glance out the window, just as Spencer puts the car in park. 

As you step out of the car, you hear Derek and Emily from behind you, making a show of letting you know they are also here. 

You walked over to Morgan and hugged him.

"Hey, Bunny," he smiles and kisses your forehead, "first rounds on me tonight, sweetheart." 

You laugh, "thank god! Need a handsome man to buy me some drinks!"

Reid scoffs from behind you, but you shrug it off, assuming it was about something Emily had said. 

It wasn't. 

As you walk into the bar with Derek's arm around your shoulder, you quickly make your way to the table with Garcia and Rossi. 

"What are you drinking?" You ask Garcia, gesturing to her hot pink drink in front of her, garnished with cotton candy, strawberries on sticks, and a big, twisty straw.

Gracia's eyes widen, "oh my gosh! You've never been here before??" You shake your head, and she squeals with excitement, "Okay, so, it's called the Cotton Candy Chameleon. It's basically strawberry vodka and coconut rum with strawberry soda! Look!" She picks up the cotton candy and places it into the liquid, watching as it rapidly dissolves, "did you see that?!" 

"That's why it's called a Chameleon," Derek laughs, arm still around you, "want me to get you one?" 

You nod happily, "and a shot of Titos? I'll pay you back!" 

Morgan winks at you, "It's on me, Bun." 

As he walks toward the bar, you and Garcia continue to chat about anything and everything, her childhood cat, where you grew up, and how Garcia got put on the team. 

"You were so good at being bad," you laugh, swirling your third Cotton Candy Chameleon that Morgan brought over to you, "that the FBI gave you a job instead of jail time?" 

She nodded, giggling, "Pretty much. Are you going to take that shot?" She points to the round Rossi had bought for the table. 

You laugh, quickly picking it up and downing it, "god!" 

"Woah!" Morgan laughs, hands catching your hips to keep you steady, "careful, Bunny." 

You feel eyes glaring into you, and you trace them to Reid sitting at the bar. He has his elbow on the bar, leaning into his hand as he watches you with a look of unhappiness. 

You roll your eyes, finishing the final chug of your drink, and placing a hand on Morgan's chest. 

"You're warm," you say with a goofy smile, and Derek laughs.

"Oh, really, sweetheart?" 

You nod, leaning further into him as his hands rest on your hips. 

You make eye contact with him before you smirk and push away, "I'm going to get another drink." 

"Hey, Bun!" You turn around to Rossi, his empty glass raised to you, "Get me another old fashioned." 

You nod, smiling at the older man, and waltzing to the bar, right next to Reid. 

"You having fun, Bunny?" He asks, voice low. 

"Yes, sir." You smile, waiting for the bartender to walk over. 

He sucks in a breath at the title, "You sure are touchy with Morgan," he grits out, staring at you, not quite your eyes, but something a little bit lower. 

You scoff, "What's it to you?" 

"Nothing." He spits, eyes connecting with yours, pupils taking over the brown of his eyes. 

The bartender finally comes up to you, a cute girl in a black, low-cut tank top and some black, short shorts. She has short blonde hair, barely reaching her shoulders and it's curled up and pinned back so her hair is framing her face. 

She was gorgeous, actually.

"What can I do for ya?" She asks, shaking a drink before breaking the seal and pouring it into a glass. 

You tell her your order, and that it's on David Rossi's tab, and she nods. 

Then she turns to Spencer, "What about you handsome?" She says it sultry like she's trying to seduce him, "Need another? I'd be happy to get you somethin' else." 

Your eyes narrow on her, a deep, red-hot feeling forming in your gut. She doesn't see your stare though, completely focused on Spencer, leaning over the counter so her cleavage is on full display, biting her lip and twirling her hair. 

You decided then and there that you hated her. 

Reid tells her that he's okay, water if she insists, and when she comes back with his water, she hands him a napkin with ink scribbled on it, "I get off in 45 if you're interested."

"He's not." 

The words come out of your lips faster than you could think, your brain taking longer to catch up with your mouth. 

"Pardon?" She asks you, calm and calculating, "Didn't know you could decide that for him." 

You laugh cockily, "Oh?" You act fast pulling yourself into Reid's lap before he can protest, but his hands wrap around you, trapping you where you sat, "I think I can." 

Reid looked at the bartender, then his eyes trailed back to you, "Sorry, Brooklyn, I'm spoken for," his eyes darkened, a sly smile rising on his lips. 

The bartender walks away to work on your drinks, and you turn all the way to face Reid. 

"What are you doing, Bun?" He asks, voice low. You shift your hips and he hums, grabbing your waist to stop the movement, "Stop that. Talk to me." 

You whimper, leaning into his chest, "You were really going to choose some bottle blonde over me?" Your words come out harsh, but it's also the first time you've said what's truly on your mind in front of Reid.

His eyes land back on Brooklyn, and he smirks, "She's pretty, I'll give her that," he looks down at you, right as the bartender places the drinks in front of you, "But you? You're on a whole different level, Bun." 

You blush and shake your head, just as Brooklyn walks back over to hand you your drinks. 

As she sets them down she says, "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you two were a thing." 

You quickly shake your head, "Don't worry about it," you smile, "neither did he." 

"In my defense," Spencer laughs, his lips close to your ear, "I didn't know you were an option. If I had, there wouldn't have been a competition."

You shiver when you feel his breath on your neck, "yeah, right. You've hated me since I joined the BAU."

His eyes widened, "Hated you?" 

You nod softly, a little confused by the question. 

"Hated isn't the word I would use," He laughed. 

"What is?" You ask quietly. 

He leans his head side to side, as if pondering the best way to answer, "obsessed? Intimidated?" He looked at you, a small smirk playing on his lips, "Lusted?" 

Your eyes widened, "what?"

He shrugs, a hand falling to your thigh, thumb drawing circles, "The way you are entrances me. The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you exist." He leans his head down so his eyes meet yours, "I knew I couldn't do anything about that, so I stayed away. I guess it came off as hatred." 

The hand that wasn't on your leg reached up to pluck the cotton candy off of your drink, opening his mouth and letting the sugar melt on his tongue. 

"Mmm," he hummed, eyes still locked with yours, "so sweet, Bun." 

Your jaw dropped slightly, thighs clenching, and he grips your flesh, "Nuh, uh. What's wrong?" He chuckles as you whine against him, "Use your words." 

You sit up, straightening and sliding off of his lap, "You're a sick freak, Spencer Reid." 

He licked his lips, eyes trailing down your body, "I'll bring Rossi his drink, wait by the door." 

You cross your arms over your chest, but your heart is pounding so loudly you can hear it in your ears, "what makes you think I listen to you?" 

"Oh, Bunny," his finger lifts your chin, "I'm a profiler. Absolutely everything tells me that you'll listen to me." 

You roll your eyes and scoff, "And if they ask where we're going?"

A devilish smirk flashes across his lips, and he leans toward your ear, and you can feel his breath on your skin, "you already told them you're tired," he pauses, "I'm going to fuck you to sleep, Doctor." 

You suck in a shuddering breath, eyes glazing over as he chuckles, pulling away from you. 

You take a step back, mumbling, "Hurry back." 

He smiles widely, pupils practically taking over his chocolate eyes, "good girl." 

You suck in a breath as he turns on his heel, walking over to the team as you wait by the door. Penelope frowns at you, waving, and Emily blows you a kiss. 

Rossi looks at you calmly, and Derek raises a smooth eyebrow with a smirk. 

Spencer walks back to you, grabbing your arm as you walk to the car.

Once you get back to his black Dodge Challenger, he presses you against the door, “How drunk are you right now?”

“From one to ten?” You ask, voice quiet, Reid looking at you like you’re a meal.

He nods, hands gripping your hips, “Goddamn it, Bun,” he hisses, “Yes, one to ten.”

“Four,” you answer, and his lips slam into yours in a frenzy.

It’s all tongue and teeth like he couldn’t wait a single second longer to taste you. Like it would kill him. 

Your chest arches into his, hands going to his shoulders, holding on for life in the bruising kiss. 

He pulls away, his eyes nearly black, eyes filled with an undeniable hunger, and it makes you shiver. 

A smirk comes over his face as he steps away from you, opening your door, “get in.”

You don’t have to be told twice, stepping into the car, carefully so you don’t fall in the emerald heels he bought you.

With his own money.

“Spencer?”

He turns on the car and pulls out of the parking spot, “Yeah?” 

You look at him, studying how you are both still dressed like a posh-rich couple, “You bought me these heels.” 

He nods, chuckling and placing his hand on your thigh, “Excellent observation.”

You shudder at the contact, “with your own money.” 

He smirks, “Who told you that?”

“JJ?”

“Ah,” he laughs, “Yeah, green’s your color.”

You raise an eyebrow, “How did you decide that?”

“A few weeks ago you wore this emerald green sweater,” he says, “It looked so goddamn good on you.”

You recall the memory, smiling softly, “Is that why you were avoiding me? You thought I looked pretty?”

His voice gets stern, face serious when he looks over at you, “Stop talking, Bun.”

A belly laugh escapes your mouth, head thrown back as you cackle, “I thought I pissed you off somehow!”

He gives your thigh a sharp squeeze, “I don’t think I’ve ever been genuinely angry with you.”

You sit dumbfounded, a quiet oh slipping past your closed lips. 

He looks at you and parks the car, “I’ve been upset, frustrated, and God have I been irritated with you,” he turns to look at you, pulling his hand away from your leg, “But I have never been angry with you.” 

He unbuckles quickly as you stare at him in surprise, and he gets out of the car, rushing around to open your door, “hurry up.”

You stumble out of the car, and he puts a hand on the small of your back, ushering you into his apartment.

You don’t get a chance to fully appreciate the chaotic charm of Spencer Reid’s place. As soon as you notice the books piled up everywhere, he spins you around, pressing your back against the door and capturing your lips in another kiss. This kiss is slower and more controlled, with his hands sliding up your sides to your back, one hand tangling in the hair at the base of your neck. You ball his shirt into your hands, pulling him impossibly closer.

“God, Bun, your fucking intoxicating,” he sighs against your lips, hands slipping under your shirt to rest on your bare hips, and you sigh at the contact. 

He smirks, trailing wet kisses down your neck, gently grazing his teeth over your pulse point, and you moan, “there she is,” he mumbles, “been wanting to hear you make those pretty little sounds for a while.”

You whimper, “Shut up.”

He laughs, tugging you away from the door, and guiding you into his bedroom. 

You shed off your suit jacket, and he rips your shirt over your head before pushing you down on his mattress. You gasp as you fall, Spencer's hands quickly move to your slacks, unbuttoning them and looking up at you with eyes so fiery you feel your whole body set aflame. 

“Yes,” you say, noticing the silent question Spencer is asking you, “please, yes.” 

He smirks, kissing the skin just above the waistline of your pants before tugging them down, and you lift your hips to help him slide them off.

He throws the items into the corner of his room, sitting up and looking at you: dressed in nothing but a black bra and matching panties, his eyes darken. He slides his hands down your body, and he practically growls when he feels your sopping wet cunt.

“God dammit, you’re so wet Bunny,” he says, his finger sliding over the soaked fabric of your panties, “such a silly girl, thinking I could want anyone but you.”

You whimper at the comment, and he leans down to kiss your upper thigh, slowly spreading your legs apart with the palms of his hands. Your legs widen as he settles in, kissing slowly up and around them, licking, sucking, and biting until you’re littered with heart-shaped marks. 

“Gonna show you how much I wanted you,” he hisses, his hot breath fanning over your covered pussy, “gotta let you know how dumb you are for thinking I was anyone’s but yours.”

You whimper shamelessly at the comment, your legs trying to close, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, Bunny?” he laughs, looking up at you from between your thighs, “You like it when I tell you just how stupid you are? How fuckin’ useless that little brain of yours is?”

You nod rapidly, and Spencer licks a thick stripe over your clothed core. You let out a loud gasp, your head lolling to the side at the much-appreciated attention. He pushes your underwear to the side, diving into your pussy like a man starved. Spencer kitten licks your clit before pulling it into his mouth and sucking harshly, and your back arches from the bed.

“Fuck, Spence,” you moan, hands shooting into his hair, “so fuckin good, feels so good.”

“Mmm, there you go, baby,” he says, his index finger circling your entrance, “let me know how good I’m doing,” and his finger slowly pushes into you as his mouth reconnects to your hot skin.

Spencer Reid was talented with his tongue, but, god, his fingers were a whole other story.

He curled his finger toward him, finding that sweet, gummy spot inside you almost immediately, abusing it before inserting another and scissoring his fingers.

“You’re so tight,” he mumbles against your cunt, and a loud moan slips from your lips, your hands tangling into his hair as you desperately try to grind against his tongue, but he puts a hand over your stomach, holding you down.

He continues his torment, fingers working you open and his tongue moving rapidly through your folds. His fingers drag down your front wall slowly, and you can’t help his name slipping off of your tongue. 

He smirks, looking up at you, “Atta girl, Bunny. Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

You moan loudly as he continues his torment. Your legs start to shake, his tongue swirling circles around your clit, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and one of your hands grabs your breast to ground you. Your breathing gets ragged, and it’s all you can do to stop yourself from screaming.

“You gonna cum for me, Bunny?” He asks, voice low, “Gonna cum all over my fingers?”

You nod, and he tsk’s.

“Without asking?” He says, a smirk on his perfect lips, slowing his fingers down and moving to kiss the insides of your thighs, “Not even going to ask after I’ve worked so hard for you?”

You throw your head back with a groan, “Please, Spencer!”

“Please what?”

You consider slapping him, telling him to stop treating you like some desperate slut, but in your current state? You might as well be.

“Please let me cum! I’ve been so good for you, Spence, I’ll be so good!”

“Yeah? You going to be my good girl?” he asks, eyes locking with yours, eyebrows raised, as he speeds up his fingers inside of your spasming pussy, “You promise?”

“Promise! Please, Spence, let me cum for you!”

He pauses for a second like he’s thinking, the smirk on his face growing, “cum for me, Bunny,” and he watches your face, jaw dropped as you orgasm around his fingers, your slick coating his palm and dripping onto the sheets below you as he works you through your bliss.  

Once you come down, though, his fingers don't stop moving, his thumb moving to rub tight circles on your pulsing clit, “You’ve got another one in you,” he says as you bite your lip and your eyes water slightly, “C’mon, baby, you can give me another, right?”

You nod your head, your lip tugged between your teeth, your legs still shaking. He doesn’t give you time to breathe, just continues to suck and lick on your clit like it’s what he was made for, and, before you know it, your eyes clench shut as you rapidly approach another orgasm.

Little whimpers leave your lips, and Spencer chuckles slightly, “My poor girl, so desperate for me. I can tell you’re getting close again, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, and he speeds up his pace, your jaw dropping into a silent ‘o’.

He kisses your stomach, holding your shaking legs with his free hand, “Give it to me, Bun.”

And you release with reckless ambition, thighs flung open and a hand gripping the sheets for your life as a string of moans leaves your lips. Spencer removes his fingers and moves down to lick up your come, and you have no choice but to whimper. He smirks and pulls away from your cunt, placing his lips hot on your own, and you taste yourself.

“You’re so sweet, Bunny. Sweeter than candy,” he sighs, hands sliding down your chest.

You whimper, forcing your hands into his hair in another soul-crushing kiss, and he chuckles into it. 

“Desperate for something?” 

And you nod, one hand trailing down the front of his body, grabbing his dick covered by his pants and he groans.

“You want this cock, Baby?” He lifts off of you, sitting with his knees on either side of your body while he quickly undoes the top two buttons of his shirt before deeming it useless and pulling it over his head while your hands make quick work of his pants, pulling off his belt and tugging his pants and boxers down enough to free his aching cock.

You moan at the sight, immediately leaning forward to kiss his tip, before he pushes you back onto the bed. 

“Another time, Bun,” he grumbles, “need to feel you around me.” 

You moan, nodding and lining him up with your quivering pussy, and he pushes forward just slightly, enough for his tip to pop inside of you, and the groan that leaves his lips is pornographic. 

“She’s so fuckin’ tight, baby, can feel her squeezing me.” 

You whimper, “please! More!” 

He chuckles darkly at your request, “yeah? You need something?” 

You roll your hips forward, pushing him in a little further before he slaps the outside of your thigh harshly. 

“Nuh uh, sweetheart. I’m gonna take my time with you.” 

He emphasizes his words by pulling out slightly, and pushing back in, fucking you with just his tip, and a desperate gasp leaves your lips. 

“Look at you,” he groans, continuing his torturous motions, “so desperate for my cock. Such a nasty little thing.” 

And the thrusts harshly, abruptly sheathing his whole cock inside of you, and your head throws back. 

He has the audacity to laugh at you, quickening his pace, each thrust hitting causing him to hit your cervix in a blissfully painful way, your eyes rolling back, begging for something. You're not quite sure what, though. 

“So fucked out you can't think straight?” He coos, his pace never slowing, “if I knew this was all it took to shut you up I’d have done it a long time ago.” 

And you whine at the thought. 

He raises an eyebrow, “You like that idea, don't you, Bunny?” And you nod. 

Suddenly, he pulls out completely, slapping your thigh again, “Roll over. Hands and knees.” 

You quickly comply, supporting yourself on shaky arms and legs, and he trails a hand up your spine before pushing down, forcing your chest to the bed below you. 

He groans as you arch your back, quickly pushing himself back inside your sopping cunt.,

“Such pretty holes you got here, baby,” he whispers, spitting onto your asshole as one of his thumbs spreads out the lubricant, causing your breath to hitch. 

“Wanna fill both of them for you, can I do that?” 

And you nod recklessly, your head bouncing against the pillows at the speed and power of his thrusts, and he takes your permission to push his thumb into your virgin ass, and the moan that rips through your throat is almost humiliating. 

“You like being so full of me, don't you, Bunny?”

And you groan out, “yes! Fuck, I’m so close, Spencer!” 

He laughs as your cunt starts quivering around his cock, his tip bullying that sweet spot inside of you. 

“I know sweet thing, give it to me. Cum around my cock.” 

With permission, you release around him, your pussy clenched around his dick and your ass squeezing his thumb, but he keeps fucking you through it.

His free hand laces through your hair, pulling your head back as you whimper in overstimulation. 

“Take it,” he groans, mumbling more to himself as his cock twitches inside of you, “come on, take it like the dirty whore you are. Love having me fill both your nasty holes, fuck.” 

His rhythm falters, and he thrusts one or two more times before spilling inside of you, fucking his seed deeper inside of you. 

Once he calms down, he slowly removes his thumb before carefully pulling out of your pussy, and you whimper at the empty feeling. 

“Stay here,” he whispers, kissing your hip before scrambling to the bathroom for a warm, damp washcloth. 

He gently wipes you off, murmuring about how good you did for him, saying he’s proud of you before he helps you roll over onto your back. 

He chuckles at the goofy smile on your lips, eyes tired and droopy, and he pushes the hair that had matted to your skin with sweat out of your face.

“You okay?” He asks, voice low, and you nod happily. 

“‘M perfect.” 

“Good,” he smiles, pulling the comforter over you and cuddling up to your spent body. 

You lay in silence for a moment, happy and relaxed in his arms, before you speak up.

“So, you never hated me?” 

“Jesus Christ, Bun,” he sighs exasperatedly, “go to sleep.”

[alaskan-wallflower]

doing research on vietnam and the draft to make actual historically accurate takes so here’s what i got

darry would’ve been drafted, however i believe he would’ve been able to opt out of it as the sole provider of money in the family (though im not sure—in 1970 president nixon set a law for fathers (ik darry isn’t a father but a legal guardian hence why idk if this would work) to prove why their absence would have been dangerous within the family-ill have to find out what year(s) jan 5 was called tho)

edit: also darry would’ve been called to fight in 1969 before the law nixon set in place…BUT if you think about it, the chronic back pain he suffers could’ve been a possible way for him to be exempt (i think he’d play up whatever cards he could to make sure he didn’t have to go-idk i feel like that’s more in character than him just leaving. i think he’d make every effort to stay and i think he could’ve made it work)

edit 2: darry would have been exempt due to his chronic back pain—“any injury that would impair someone’s full efficiency as a soldier will be exempt” (he also wouldn’t have made it through any boot camp activities either with the pain)

soda wouldn’t have been drafted

ponyboy would’ve been but he actually would’ve been exempt because he would be in college at that time-a full time college student was exempt (though i suppose it also depends on whether you think the events happened in ‘64 or ‘67 but regardless the draft ended in 1973 so idk if it would matter either way since pony would’ve graduated in either ‘72 or ‘75 anyway—i don’t think july 22 was called in ‘72 or ‘73)

edit: the draft for july 22nd was called in 1969, when pony would’ve been a full time college student (or in the case of choosing the musical timeline he would’ve been a junior or senior in high school, so regardless pony would have been exempt from the war because he would’ve been a full time college student in ‘69 or he would still be in high school)

johnny would’ve been drafted if he lived , however he would’ve been physically handicapped (unable to walk) and unable to fight anyway so he would’ve been exempt

dally would’ve been drafted with no way out (unless you wish to count if he had gotten shot and lived, in which case the area he would’ve been shot in would probably be the determining factor in if he was drafted or not)

edit: due to dallas’ criminal record i don’t think he’d have been eligible (though it’s hard to tell since his crimes (as far as i know) are all mild misdemeanors (petty theft, driving w/out a license, stuff like that) so idk if that would leave him exempt or not—there’s nothing online saying either way so idk—all that i’ve read is that you can sign a plea waiver but there were felons who fought in vietnam, so im not sure if he would’ve been exempt—but regardless thanks @curlyshepardconfirmed!

two bit would not have been drafted

steve would not have been drafted

tim would not have been drafted either

so realistically the only one who would’ve been drafted if he lived would be dally , depending on the route you wish to go on with him

hope this helps 👍

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x fem!Reader) Monster AU- pt 19

(As a Kelpie, Trey is carnivorous and has a tendency to hunt his own meals. From deer, to rabbits, to fish, he will catch and consume his prey. He was far more driven by predatorial instincts as a child and actually bit Riddle once when Trey's parents were trying to teach the Unicorn to swim. Riddle has not forgotten or forgiven the bite as it did need stitches. To this day, Riddle refuses to swim with Trey because Trey bit him when they were kids.)

Warnings: yandere, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, multiple competing yandere, romantic intentioned Yandere, platonic intentioned Yandere, Harpy, Selkie, Sphinx, Spirits, Dragon, Hellcat, Vampire Bat,

~~~~~~~~

"Any word on what has been decided?"

The staff murmured quietly in the very early morning, most of them somewhat asleep as they met for what felt like the umpteenth time in the past three weeks. They had much to discuss and iron out as a group given the more than eventful few weeks it had been. Barely into the official academic year and they already had to meet almost every other day due to the impromptu student.

Not to say they minded the soft and abnormal student they all found themselves adoring and looking after, more they minded how others seemed to look at that soft student. Many of the staff were of the mentality that they had to be guides and enter parental-like roles for this wayward soul tossed to the mercy of the least inviting academic setting to such a creature. Most students of Night Raven College were confrontational, selfish, and butting heads on a good day. Tossing in a lone female student in an all male student body was trouble, tossing a soft Human female into the adult all male population of Night Raven students? An absolute upheaval of social norms and settings.

The staff had no choice but to take on parental roles, lest the students gnaw free of their own inhibitions and leap like slavering beast at the soft Human. At least with the staff standing at the ready as deterrents, few students had the agency to try anything. Still, that didn't mean the many self proclaimed poachers and Humanfuckers alike weren't equally thrown off by the staff.

Beyond the threats on Sage Island, more still needed to be discussed.

"The evidence was more than damning, and it wasn't hard to figure out where he had been siphoning funds from. To think, someone so high-ranking could turn on a critically- and effectively extinct- species to secure their own fragile sense of power. The execution will take place in a few weeks time. She is required by the laws observed in the Queendom of Roses to be present and even witness the beheading."

Professor Trein winced at this, setting down his delicate tea cup in the saucer. The older Sphinx had been the primary source of fatherly wisdom as he raised his own cubs and had the most accurate recollection of Human history in Twisted Wonderland. Naturally, he was opposed to such a grisly prospect.

"Where I agree the punishment must be severe for the crime committed, does she truly need to be present for that? It is a messy affair to see a beheading and I can't help but worry she may not be able to handle such a violent act done exclusively in her name."

"I disagree," Divus now spoke up, tapping his typical riding crop against his leg in thought, "I feel she will be more than willing to see the one who targeted her and Grim be punished for his crimes. Now, she can't go alone, that is out of the question, but who would be assigned to go with her? Surely a staff member familiar with the Queendom, such as myself, but we all know the upheaval that will come from all students should we limit who is allowed to attend."

"Perhaps it would be best to let her decide who she feels safest with? It is several weeks out, we have time. What is more pressing of an issue is who shall be next to act as her guards this time around. There is also the issue of Mr. Draconia being absent from Diasomnia for so long. To restrict his access would be best for Diasomnia, but may result in violence from him."

Crowley tilted his head before he seemed to realize the problem. He had forgotten to do the raffle again which meant none of the students knew who was expected to act as guards. Hopefully with this changing of the guard, Hades would also be content to return to the Isle of Woe.

"Why not just select the dorm that has obviously been maligned since her arrival? Savanaclaw deserves to be selected and Leona has more than proven he is a competent protector on several occasions."

"Excellent idea! Though, there is no Vice-Housewarden for Savanaclaw. Perhaps it should be a rule that at least two or more students from the dorm need to be selected as guards. Though I don't doubt Mr. Kingscholar is effective on his own, more eyes to watch for danger is not a bad idea."

~•§•~

You were somewhere between asleep and awake as you cuddled into the blankets and the warmth that seemed to surround you. Snoring softly in your arms was Grim as the young Hellcat decided early in the evening that he was going to stay close to you. Behind you, with his arms, tail, and wings wrapped around your figure, slept Malleus. The Dragon had been insistent that you stay in his embrace following the increased interest you gained after your day-long cooking feast.

As far as you were aware, everyone in the nest was still asleep.

Somewhere you vaguely figured that everyone was going to spend the day sleeping off the copious amount of sweets and other foods you had made the day prior. Ruggie had looked like a bloated balloon about to pop by the end of the day, though he certainly wasn't alone in that respect. Several students remained in the many different unoccupied rooms in Ramshackle following the feasting, Ruggie included.

Honestly, you were surprised when he began to weep upon eating a donut. It was odd to see the large fat tears rolling down his muzzle as he began obsessively shoving more of the fried sweet into his face, but his continued consumption told you he was happy. He ate until he was flat on the floor with his bloated belly on full display. Part of you wanted to scratch the little heart shape on his stomach, but your respect for the Gnoll kept you from treating him like a puppy.

Trey had been enthused with the donuts more than you expected and he was eager to help in every step of the process. From using the standing mixer- of which he begged Idia for his own- to helping you concoct the exact portioning of powdered sugar to water ratio for the glaze. With how happy the Kelpie was in the creation and consumption process, you vaguely began to consider Crowley's somewhat flippant question from earlier.

Perhaps you should take him up on teaching cooking classes. If all the ones who took the course were as willing to learn as Trey, perhaps it could be the start of something grand.

While you were lost in thought a soft light compelled you to open your eyes. Glowing on the other side of the room was a mirror, seeming to be shining from within. Something deep within your very soul urged and begged you to investigate, carefully wriggling from the Dragon's hold.

The only indicator that Malleus noticed your lack of warmth was the way he seemed to furrow his brow. Luckily for you, you had chosen a spot near the edge of the nest and didn't have to sneak across your nestmates. It vaguely intrigued you that you managed such a feat, as they had previously been woken by very little in the past. Perhaps it was your innate tallent to sneak away despite being entangled, or perhaps something more were at play.

As you approached the mirror, a soft whispering of many voices could be heard. It hummed and murmured words too low for you to understand and seemed to only intesnify as you got closer. When your hand reached out to touch it, the whispers fell silent leaving you in the quiet room once more.

You only somewhat noticed the movement in the corner of your eye, so dazzled by the mirror you almost missed the translucent figure floating next to it. The figure had a gaunt look to it as it was skinny and ethereal floating before you. Despite the oddity of its presence, you didn't feel afraid of it. If anything, the specter seemed to be Human.

Beckoning, the silent being floated backwards and away from you, encouraging you to follow the insistent gestures. A faint voice hummed in your mind as the spirit phased through the door.

'P l e a s e . . . T h e r e i s m u c h t o b e s a i d.'

You were hesitant and cautious, but this image of a Human in a world where Humans were extinct was rare. If there was a chance this thing was Human, or once was Human, you had to at least try to investigate it. Maybe they could help you get home without the monsters following suit.

Stepping lightly- oddly silent in the old creaking dorm- you followed the beckoning spirit.

The being led you to an old forgotten storage room across Ramschackle. Despite the unkempt look of the room it was void of all dust and incredibly cold. It was there two other spirits appeared, one was oddly small and difficult to see from how faded it was, barely visible among the many boxes. Last was a large spirit that was surprisingly opaque despite the ghostly appearance of the other two.

"What'dya know? A Human. You're actually... I thought we were all gone."

The largest of the spirits hummed out, a deep voice they kept low to minimize the sound they made. They looked so Human and yet the see-through appearances of the first two led you to believe they were dead. You didn't know actual spirits were a thing, but then again this world was quite different from your own.

"Sorry for frightening you," the first spirit spoke in a reedy whisper, "but I couldn't risk them noticing. It is hard to find a moment alone with you."

"Unfortunately, I rarely get to be alone these days."

"We've noticed. We're Human- well, we're what's left of the Humans that lived on this world. We want to help you. You're a lot like us, but something tells me you're not from here. Even so, you have the same aura as us."

"Aura?"

The three ghosts nodded, the room around you suddenly going pitch-black. A soft glow came from the spirits and the second moved around you, covering your eyes with their transparent hands. Through their fingers you could see a similar glow coming from yourself.

"Something spirits can see about other spirits. Through a spirit, the living can see it as well. All Humans have this aura and it seems to magically impact the other species."

"I thought Humans didn't have magic?"

"We don't. We have something else, kind of like a natural armor or defense instead of magic. The way it impacts magic users is stronger than any of them realize. It's how we knew you were a Human for sure."

"Wait, I'm not from this world, why do I have this aura too?"

"We don't know. I think your world came from ours, or you somehow did. Not sure. All I need to know is you have somewhere to go back to. You shouldn't stay in this world with them, and we are willing to help you find home again."

You somewhat perked up at this, glad to hear the spirits intended to help you. The largest of the spirits gestured the mirrors.

"We can look around the different mirrors and see if one can send you back, but it takes time. We don't want to risk being seen."

"I wouldn't want you all being discovered because of me."

"We've been here a while, we can hide well enough."

"... Will you let me know if you find anything?"

"The moment we find something, we will try to tell you. Still, it's nice to see one of us alive."

"I have so many questions for all of you, if you'll indulge me."

"We can try to answer your questions, but there isn't much time. Once the others notice your absence, they will search."

"How does this 'aura' act as a defense? Does it deter or encourage-?"

The sound of movement, fast and frantic, met your ear. No doubt the Dragon awoke and was less than pleased to discover you were missing from the nest yet again. Since you left Grim there- fully intending to double back for him if shown the way to escape- they no doubt took your absence as a grave concern. You couldn't let them find the Human spirits.

Without another word you ducked out of the room, closing the door behind you as you turned towards where the sound had been. Frantically searching the various empty rooms was Malleus, his eyes glowing in the darkness as he glanced over another empty room. The floorboards creaked loudly beneath you, making his gaze snap over to you sharply, dark pupils expanding as they landed on your figure.

He was quick to approach you and examine your figure for any injury. When he saw you were unharmed he breathed out a long sigh of relief, those same eyes locking on you as a pout took over his lips. You would have laughed at the almost innocent look of displeasure but something told you Malleus would not appreciate the act very much. It was odd to think about, but Lilia told you during the feasting about Malleus and his proclivity to possessive behavior.

According to Lilia, all Dragons obsessed over their Hoard, to the point of violence towards others. Hoards were exclusive and built upon the personal taste of the Dragon, guarded as greedily as treasures and jewels. You were more prone to wandering than the other members of the Hoard and it distressed the Dragon to know you could wander off from his protection so easily.

"(Y/n), why must you insist on disappearing at all hours of the night? It was my understanding that most creatures are not nocturnal."

"Sorry, Tsuno, I couldn't sleep. Nightmares again..."

His hard expression softened at this, seeming more understanding with your vague explanation. The pair of wings lowered as he calmed and took in your relaxed presence, relaxing as well. Truthfully, he struggled to remain displeased with you and felt compelled to forgive as soon as he understood you were safe.

"I often find my own sleep to be restless most nights. It has been somewhat better, having my Hoard around me almost every evening thanks to you, but I too struggle with rest. You are always welcome to wake me if you cannot sleep. What were you doing this far into the dorm and away from your room?"

You avoided the question somewhat, instead trying to steer the conversation a different direction. Hopefully Malleus wouldn't press the issue as you had no desire to share your new secret with anyone just in case.

"Exploring to quiet my mind. Are all Fae nocturnal?"

"No. There are Night Fae and Day Fae. Lilia, Sebek, and I are Night Fae. Sebek is half-Fae technically, but still Night Fae all the same. Night Fae are typically nocturnal."

"... Tsuno, can we sit somewhere? Somewhere quiet, or even the roof would be fine, it feels too stuffy in here."

You were surprised when Malleus lifted you quickly, exiting the large window nearby. A startled cry escaped your lips in a squeak which only made the Dragon chuckle, carrying you up to the roof of Ramshackle with several beats of his wings. Sometimes you forgot Malleus was not Human and even forgot he was considered one of the most powerful in the world.

The Dragon hesitantly set you down, hands struggling to release you now that he was acutely aware of how high up you both were and how fragile you were compared to himself. His tail raised up to somewhat act like railing around you, ensuring there was no way you could fall as you both sat. It felt excessive for him to be so protective of you, but he still seemed much calmer now.

On the horizon, light slowly began to seep into the sky as the sun started the long tireless treck across the sky once more. Something about this place seemed so keen to wake you before the sun. As the stars flicked out of sight one by one, your nightmare from what feels like ages ago caressed the edges of your mind.

Your survival hinged upon staying around the monsters that were fond of you, but you needed to be alone to talk to the Human spirits without exposing them. A present need to be protected at all times yet what you truly wanted was kept at bay by that same protection. Freedom in a world that both cherished and despised you was a laughable concept.

Of course, this was also not to mention how none of your protectors seemed particularly mentally sound. Even the noble Malleus had this obsession to him, but then again it could just be the fact he is a Dragon. The words of the ghosts echoed in your mind as did the questions you were desperate to ask. Perhaps the reason these monsters acted the way they did was because of that aura the ghosts mentioned.

"Tsuno, how did you know I got up?"

"Your warmth lets me know you are alive and safe. Silver has a similar warmth, but many Fae do not have the same heat to them. The nest gets cold without you there warming it up. What I want to know is how you left the room without waking us. The doors and floors creak, you shouldn't be able to be so quiet."

You hummed, having wondered the same question. It was very likely that the ghosts of the past Humans have been aiding your escape from the nest. Truthfully, you had noticed how silent you had been while following the ghosts versus the loud floorboard creak when you approached Malleus.

"I don't know. I just got up and walked out. It didn't seem quiet to me-"

"MAMA!"

The sudden cry of a familiar voice had you sharply standing, Malleus following suit as your stress rised exponentially. That voice belonged to none other than Grim and it made your heart hurt horribly to hear the frantic wailing. Malleus was quick to grab you once more, ducking back into the window you came from.

You didn't even wait until Malleus had let you go before you wrenched yourself from his grasp and shot off down the hall. The crying continued and you almost threw yourself into the door to get to the sobbing kit. His paws covered his eyes and his wings smacked away Lilia's hands as the Bat was attempting to soothe him.

"Grim!"

"Mama!"

The Hellcat thew himself into your arms, snuggling and cuddling into your embrace as he sniffled and mewled pathetically. You were quick to hold securely to the little feline that hiccuped and sobbed.

"Grim, honey, what happened?"

"I w-woke- woke up, an-and- and you were- you were gone!"

"I'm sorry, sweetling. I had a bad dream and Tsuno was talking to me. We didn't want to wake any of you."

The kit sniffled, looking up at you with those large blue eyes as he pressed his cheek against your chest. His fur was fluffed and his eyes were swollen with tears as he used his small paws to grab your hand and rub against your fingers. You quickly picked up that he wanted to be pet, stroking the soft gray fur of his little head.

"So- so you're not- not leaving? Y-you're not ab-abandoning me?"

"No. I would never abandon you. If I planned to leave, I'm taking you with me. No way would I ever leave you behind like that. Never."

"Ne-never ever?"

"Never ever."

This seemed to be enough to soothe the sniffling Hellcat as he hiccuped and sniffled, cuddling into your warm arms and slowly quieting. As Grim calmed, you began to calm as well, cradling the little cat affectionately. Lilia cast a quick glance at Malleus, the two speaking with their eyes before he looked back at you, approaching slowly to not seem like a threat to you or your young Hellcat.

"He was frantic when he couldn't find you in the nest," Lilia started, peaking over at the kit, "I figured you were with Malleus, but he wasn't hearing any of it."

You just let the bat speak as you continued to soothe Grim, kissing the kit's forehead. This made Grim slowly begin to purr, rubbing up against your hand affectionately. Even if you did find a way to escape with the help of the Spirits, you planned to always bring Grim with you. He was your Boy and you were his Mama, nothing could change that.

[bqstqnbruin]

Friendsgiving

Hi so we are going to ignore the fact that it is nearly 2 am but here I am with a fic that I started today because of this tik tok that I saw a few hours ago and I immediately went 'fic'. So, here we are

Warnings: none

WC: 5845

Enjoy!

__________________________________________

“Why and how are you in Vancouver?” 

“Don’t hate me.”

“Oh, my god, did you move to Canada without me? You moved and didn’t even tell me.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you hoped was Lena’s unnecessary panic that you heard through your phone speaker, trying to navigate your way through the airport that you had never been to before. “No, I’m just probably doing something stupid.” 

“And you’re doing it without me?”

“Leen, I’ll catch you up later, ok?”

“Am I going to have to make sure you don’t end up in a ditch?”

“You should probably watch my location for the next few days,” you say, in all seriousness. “But I have to go, I love you, bye.”

You hang up on your best friend as you hear her screaming on the other end about calling the authorities, knowing that she wouldn’t actually do that. Actually, she might. But you can’t think about that right now.

You were trying to find Brock, despite the fact that you had never met him in person and stupidly agreed to fly to Vancouver on a day's notice from your home the week of Thanksgiving. 

You couldn’t believe the last couple of days of your life. You had posted a silly photo of you and your friends at your annual Friendsgiving. You always got together the Friday before, and had been doing so since middle school when your parents still had to either make the food for you, or had to be in the kitchen with you heavily supervising the entire time. This year was the 15th year in a row that you had all gotten together, celebrating in a much bigger fashion than you had in years past; you all dressed up, you all brought the food in the best serving dishes you had instead of the Dollar Tree tin dishes you all normally brought, you had the fanciest bottles of wine you could afford littering the table, and you had even all planned to stay over together for the first time, continuing the event into the morning. 

Brock had messaged you because of the photo. You were mutuals, having some of the same friends in college but never actually interacted with each other. 

All of your friends talked about how you two would get along so well, but it seemed like every time you were supposed to meet, something happened that prevented you from doing so. There was the one party you were supposed to go to with your friends, that you had been planning on going to all week until you got food poisoning from the dining hall. There was the class you were supposed to take together until his practice times got changed and ended up conflicting with the class. You were supposed to go to a formal together as each other's dates until he slept through his alarm and missed the bus to the venue.

You were always supposed to meet, until you didn’t.

But then you got the message from him a few days ago asking if you wanted to come to his Friendsgiving that he was going to with his American teammates. 

It was easily the craziest thing you had done in your life, saying yes to flying out to Vancouver the next day to meet a guy you had never actually met in person, or really talked to before those messages.

It made you realize you really hadn’t done much with your life. 

You walked through the airport, trying to see if you could find the guy you would be spending the next couple of days with by the baggage claim where he told you he would meet you. 

You finally see him, the blonde head of hair sticking out to you for an unknown reason. 

You knew from his pictures on his account that he was attractive, but, shit, he was gorgeous in person. 

He was also dressed up way more than he should be for someone to be waiting for a stranger in an airport; he was in a full suit and tie, his hair looking like he had just gotten out of the shower and styled it immediately. 

“Hi,” he says to you when he sees you, a smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. 

You didn’t even know this guy. “Hi,” you manage to get out as he pulls you in for a hug. “You look good, all dressed up.” 

Brock reaches for your bag, taking it off your shoulder and walking you out of the airport. “Thanks.”

“Why are you dressed up?”

“We’re on our way to the game.”

“We?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

“Do I look like I’m dressed for a hockey game?”

Brock looks at you as the two of you approach his car, opening his trunk to put your bag in. “You look great to me.”

“I’m in sweats, fresh off a plane. When do you think you told me?”

“Uh,” he lets out as you get in his car. “Yesterday?”

You take out your phone, scrolling through the messages the two of you exchanged. “You told me you had a game, not that I was going to one.” 

“Who did I tell that to yesterday?” he says, staring out through his front windshield, wracking his brain. You couldn’t help but laugh. “I can take you back to my place, if you want.”

“Would that make you late for the game?”

He glances at the clock, pulling out his phone. “Very late, yes.” 

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile that you couldn’t help. “I’ll go to the game. I’m sure I have something I can change into stuffed in my bag.” 

The two of you fall into easy conversation, much like you had when he first reached out to you. There was something about him that was easy to talk to. 

He pulls up to the arena, still talking about one of the parties you were both supposed to go to in college.

“Do you remember that one kid, Chris, who somehow threw up at every party he went to?” he asks you, leaning against his car as you rifle through your bag in his trunk, searching for any semblance of an outfit that was better than the sweats you were currently in.  

“Hold on,” you tell him, climbing into the trunk and pulling the hatch closed, trying your best to change in the cramped space. You managed to find jeans and a black shirt that could pass as a non-airport outfit that you were smart enough to pack as a spare since Brock didn’t really give you a ton of information as to how the week was going to go. You could see him standing outside the car, dumbfounded by the abrupt nature of you practically commandeering his car as a changing room for yourself. “Ok, I’m good,” you say, opening the door back up in what you were sure was record time for changing in a car trunk.

“Wow,” he says, you noticing the slightest shade of red appearing on his cheeks. 

“Better?” you ask. Your foot catches on part of the trunk as you try to get out, practically falling out of his car. 

You feel Brock’s hands catch you, spreading across your back and under your legs. “Much,” he says, his face inches from yours. He clears his throat, his face turning bright red as he puts you down.

He wasn’t about to kiss you, was he? And why would you have been ok if he did that? “Thanks for that,” you tell him, embarrassment seeping into your voice. 

“So, uh, Chris?” he asks, walking you into the arena with his hands now firming shoved into his pockets.

“He really did somehow end up in the bathroom at every party.”

“Even if he didn’t have anything to drink that night.” 

“I wonder what he’s up to now?”

“He just got engaged, actually,” you tell him. “His fiance was one of my lab partners back in college.” 

“Wow. Never would have known that,” he tells you. The two of you walk through what you could only describe as the tunnels of the arena, Brock showing you around and trying to explain to you what everything was. 

“You’re gonna be in here,” he tells you, showing to a room that was filled with women and children who all seemed to know each other. Before you can ask anything, he checks his watch, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “Shit, I’ve gotta get ready. I’ll meet you right here after the game.” 

Brock runs off, leaving you standing at the entrance to this room that you could see was at ice level, filled with people you didn’t know. 

You couldn’t enter the room. This was already ridiculous, you being here in the first place with a guy you just met for the first time in person less than an hour before. Now you were apparently supposed to go into this room with a bunch of people and do what? Talk to them? 

No thank you.

You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, leaning against the wall next to the entrance of this room as Lena calls you again. “Ok, you did not fly all the way to Vancouver to see a Canucks game.”

“I’m going to stop sharing my location with you,” you laugh.

“Ok, spill, why the hell are you in Vancouver?”

You recount the whole string of events to her, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation sounded now that you were actually verbally articulating everything. “And now, I’m outside of this room with a bunch of women and I think this is where I’m supposed to be for the rest of the game.”

“Are you in the WAG room?”

“The what?”

“The WAG room.”

“No, I heard you,” you sigh, “What does that mean?”

“The wives and girlfriends.”

You stare at the wall on the other side of the hallway as people you ignored scurried around you. “But I’m not a wife or a girlfriend?”

“Well, as long as you have that established. I heard there’s supposed to be amazing food in those rooms for the families.” 

You peek your head into the room, seeing a line of the women forming on the other side of the room in front of what looked like an incredible spread of food. “I can see that.”

“Go in!” Lena shrieks in your ear. “Have fun, make friends, and bring me some food when you get back.” She hangs up before you can say anything else, leaving you there with your phone pressed against your ear and no one on the other end of the call. 

You finally work up the courage to go into the room, trying to slip in and stay in the back, out of the way of anyone who would feel the need to come to talk to you. You stay along the wall closest to the door, trying to take in the room around you. There were children seemingly everywhere, running and shrieking as they played with each other. Toys were scattered all over the floor, bags lined against the wall. You probably looked like a freak the way you were moving through the room, trying to find a seat that you could sink into and become invisible in.

“Shit,” you let out, slamming down onto the floor, tripping over one of the toys you were somehow too busy to notice. 

“Are you ok?” one of the women asks you, crouching down on the floor to meet you at what was now, embarrassingly, eye level. 

You could feel your face getting hot. “Other than my ego being bruised, I think I’m good.” 

“I haven’t seen you before,” she says to you. “I’m Lexie. I’m Thatcher’s wife.”

You had no idea who Thatcher was, but it probably wouldn’t look good for you if you admitted that. 

You introduce yourself, finally getting up off the floor and dusting yourself off. “I’m here with Brock.”

Lexie’s eyes light up with excitement. “You must be Brock’s mystery girl.” The room seems to go silent when Lexie practically shrieks that, even the children making no noise. “He had been telling us he was seeing someone, but we never thought he would bring you to a game early.”

“Oh, I,” you start, getting nervous now that all eyes were on you. You had no idea what he had told these women, or their husbands, or boyfriends, or whoever these people were. “Here I am.”

“I can’t believe Brock would just throw you to the wolves like this,” Lexie says, linking her arm with yours and walking you over to the food table.

“Are you kidding?” another one of the women chimes in. “This is exactly something Brock would do. I’m Natalie, by the way, J.T.’s wife.”

The two women start chatting your ear off, you unable to comprehend what they were saying. Brock had a ‘mystery girl,’ that you had now taken on the identity of. Brock was probably seeing someone who couldn’t be there this week and now he was going to look like an awful human when you suddenly disappeared and were replaced with another person next week. 

But, why did you care? You barely knew Brock.

You had no idea how much time passed by when they all start filtering out the seats near the ice, the players skating around in circles. 

You join them, unsure what else to do. You pull out your phone, getting an idea and starting to type in a new note, trying to wave Brock over to the boards when you finally get his attention.

They think I’m your ‘mystery girl??? you show him with your phone screen pressed against the glass when he comes over. The color seems to drain from his face, mouthing ‘I’m sorry,’ and shrugging way too casually for your liking before practically sprinting away from you to the other side of the rink. 

You head back into the room, beelining for the exit and pulling up Lena’s number.

“Brock told everyone he and I are dating?” you try not to scream too loudly, hoping that none of the people in the room or in the hallway 

“Oh,” Lena says. “That’s not great.”

“Not great?” you say, running your hand through your hair, feeling yourself panic. “This is crazy. What if this turns into a psycho killer situation?’

“He’s way too high profile in the area to get away with killing you.”

“That’s not reassuring.” 

“I’m just saying he wouldn’t get away with it.”

“Adelena,” you stomp your foot like a child out of frustration, using your friend's full name.

“Ok, calm down,” she says. “There’s no need for the government name here. I think you just need to talk to him after the game and figure out what’s going on. I will fly out there and save you if I have to.” 

You take in a deep breath. This was the dumbest thing you could have done, regret seeping into you with every passing moment that you spent in Vancouver. “I’ll let you know.” You go back in the room, trying to pay attention to the game as the people around you milled about, trying to get to know you and about your ‘relationship’ with Brock.

“How long have you two been going out?” Lexie asks eagerly. 

“Um,” you panic, “Not that long, honestly. This is all really new.” That wasn’t a total lie.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We went to college together.” 

Before Lexie could ask you another question that you probably didn’t have an answer to, a toddler runs up to her, crying. “Gotta go,” she says to you, lifting the toddler and trying to comfort them. 

You sat and tried to watch the rest of the game, writing down everything you told Lexie in hopes that Brock would have said something similar. You spent the rest of the game on your phone texting with Lena, thankful that no one else in the room came up to you to talk to you or ask questions the way Lexie had, only going back to the ice and looking up from your screen to see Brock scoring.

You wait outside the room for Brock once the game was over, his teammates coming out much faster than he was as the hallway and the room behind you slowly emptied out, leaving you alone in the hallway. 

“What the fuck,” you ask him when you finally see him. 

“I’m sorry, I know,” he tells you, walking out to his car. 

“I don’t care if you need me to pretend to date you, but I would have liked to know about it before you threw me into the Gossip Grotto.” 

Brock exhales when he gets into the car, resting his head against the steering wheel while you stared at him with your arms crossed in front of you. “The guys keep bugging me about not dating anyone so I told them I was seeing someone to get them to shut up.” 

“And you didn’t think that was relevant to mention when you invited me here that there was a good chance they would think I’m the girl you’re dating?”

“No. I figured they would have forgotten about it by now.” 

“Well, their wives didn’t.”

“So what do we do?”

You stare at him. “I could leave on the next flight and get out of here and probably be mad at you forever. Or, we pretend we’re together.”

He whips his head to you, his eyes crazy with shock. “What?”

You shrug, pulling out your phone and showing him the notes you made during the game about you and him being together. “We fake date. I’m only here until Wednesday, and you said we were only going to be seeing your friends on Tuesday night. We have plenty of time to figure this out.”

“We have a day and a half.” 

You scoff. “You think I haven’t figured out more complicated things in less time? I got a plane ticket and got myself here on twelve hours notice.”

“So, we fake date?”

“We fake date.” 

_____________________________

“What are you doing?” you ask, walking into Brock’s kitchen the next morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You spent the night in his guest room, sleeping in what was probably the most comfortable bed you had ever slept in. You spent the night before starting to hash out the story you would tell his teammates and their partners, agreeing that you would only share information about the two of you if you were directly asked about it. 

“Debating whether or not to make us breakfast,” he tells you, one hand on his hip, the other holding open the fridge door. Brock had on no socks, boxer shorts and a t-shirt, all of which showed off to you just how unfair his entire physique was. His hair was messy in a somehow perfect way that would have made you drool under any other context. You could pretend to drool over him, but real drooling was out of the question right now. 

“What’s the other option?”

He closes the fridge door, turning to face you. “I don’t make breakfast and we go out for food instead.” 

“How good are you at making breakfast?”

“I make a mean bowl of cereal.” 

“We’re going out for breakfast, get dressed.” 

“Wow, my girlfriend is bossy,” he smirks as you walk away, looking over your shoulder at him and sticking your tongue out.

Was that too flirty? You had agreed last night that flirting was ok so you could ‘get used to it.’ How could you flirt in front of other people if you had never done it before? 

You call Lena while you were getting ready. 

“You could just real date him,” you hear her suggest, crunching on something on the other end of the line.

“You could just give me real advice and not chew on something in my ear.” 

“It’s morning, let me eat my apple,” Lena says, obviously with her mouth full. “What are you guys doing today?”

“Right now, getting ready for breakfast. Beyond that, watch my location.”

“Yeah, I have no job. I can just stalk you all day.”

“If I end up dead how are you going to know?”

“Ugh, fine,” she sighs. “Have fun, don’t die.”

She hangs up, leaving you alone to get dressed for a day you didn’t know the details of. You pull on leggings and a sweater, your sneakers on and grabbed a jacket that you didn’t even know if you needed. You head back out to Brock’s kitchen, finding him leaning against the counter on his phone.

“You need to change,” you tell him. He had on black jeans and the same color sweater as you. 

“This could be a cute couple thing,” he jokes. “We could take a picture together and post it, or something.” You hesitate, walking over to Brock as he extends his hand with his camera open. “At least pretend to like me,” he tells you, plastering a smile on his face as he starts taking photo after photo.

You rest your hand on his chest, leaning into him and smiling at his camera. You did look good together, if you had to admit. 

“Can you do one where you kiss my cheek?’

“What?”

“Don’t couples do that?’

You stare at him for a second. Would it be weird to do that? He asked you to do it. “I normally scroll past those photos.”

“Me, too.” The two of you stand in silence for a second, neither of you sure how to go on. “Maybe we don’t do that. Too much, too soon.” You nod in agreement.

“So, where are we going?”

Brock smiles at you, leading you out the door. 

_____________________________

The breakfast he took you to was amazing. He said that he had an entire day for you planned as a thank you for coming out here in the first place. 

“How are you with hiking?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“How long the trail is.”

Brock laughs, putting his car in park in front of a water front. 

“If we don’t stop, it’ll take two hours.” 

“That seems like a long time.”

“That’s how long my games are.”

“Yeah, that was a long time,” you tease him, getting out of the car. 

The trail was beautiful, a breeze off the water cooling you down as you walked alongside Brock. This could easily have been a real date if the two of you were actually together. 

You shake your head slightly of the thought. This was just supposed to be you helping him out, even though that wasn’t the original purpose of your trip. “So what are you supposed to do for Friendsgiving tomorrow night?”

Brock stops walking, the person behind him nearly knocking into him as he scolds Brock for stopping in the middle of the trail. You pull him over to the side of the walkway, ignoring the spark that you swore ran through you as laced your fingers in his. 

“I have no idea, actually.” 

“So you’re off to a great start.”

“I think I was told to bring something in the group chat,” he says, using his free hand to pull out his phone and start scrolling through the message thread that seemed to go on forever, your hands still intertwined. You weren’t sure he even noticed at this point, but part of you didn’t want to be the one to break the connection between you. “Ah, mac and cheese.”

“Have you ever made homemade mac and cheese before?”

“It has to be homemade?”

You roll your eyes, starting to walk again with your hands still locked together. “Did you think it would just magically spawn in front of you once you got to Quinn’s place?”

“I only have boxes of the store brand of mac and cheese.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, pulling out your phone and finding the recipe you make for yourself when you have motivation. “Can you use Quinn’s oven when you get there or will he not have space?”

He quickly types on his phone as the two of you keep walking. “Yeah, we can as long as it doesn’t take too long,” he tells you, showing you the message from Quinn.

You nod, scrolling to the recipe on the website. “What do you have from these ingredients?” 

Brock quickly scans the list, nodding along and mouthing each component to himself. “I have the flour, salt, and pepper.”

“So you were supposed to be making mac and cheese and you had neither the mac nor the cheese?”

“That would be correct.”

“Oh my god,” you groan again. Brock stops walking, pulling you off to the side of the trail again. “What?” Brock gestures to the water in front of you, the sun making the ripples shine, the sky absolutely pristine. “Wow,” you let out. 

“What do you think?” you hear him ask, not taking your attention away from the sight in front of you.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” You look over at him, seeing him tuck his phone away into his pocket, his eyes on you instead of the view. 

_____________________________

“Why was getting all of this way harder than I thought it would be?” Brock asks, putting the bags of groceries on the counter.

“Because you had no idea where anything in the store was and we had to keep doubling back for things we missed the first time.”

“You really have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“We’re dating, isn’t that something you’re supposed to know?”

Brock laughs, pulling out pans and bowls from his cabinets as you start to get everything prepared for the mac and cheese. You tell him what to do, giving him step-by-step instructions.

“This is nice,” he tells you. 

You think for a moment, shredding the cheese into a bowl. The recipe called for more cheese than any recipe you had ever made before, and somehow the mountain of cheese in front of you still didn’t feel like enough. “It is.”

“My mom and dad used to cook like this,” he tells you, his voice somber as he comes up behind you. 

“Yeah?”

“She would tell him what to do and he would do it. Badly, but he would try his best.” You laugh along with him. He had told you that his father had passed away a couple of years ago, but you didn’t know anything else about him other than what she could find with a quick google search that now, in a weird way, felt like an invasion of privacy. “We could always tell which things Dad helped with because they tasted just a little off.” 

“You miss him, don’t you?” you say, slowing down your shredding and turning towards him. He was facing you again, his arm around you but not touching you, resting on the counter on the other side of you. 

“Always.”

You swore he was going to lean in, his eyes flickering down to your lips. You clear your throat, turning back to the cheese. “You should check the pasta to see if it’s almost done or not.”

Brock nods, smiling and winking at you before doing what he was told.

_____________________________

“This is all fake.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t feel fake.” 

“Well, you aren’t a great actress, are you?”

“Lena,” you whine. 

“I saw you try out for The Little Mermaid in middle school.” 

You had texted her once the mac and cheese was done and you were back in what Brock now referred to as ‘your room,’ panicking that he had almost kissed you again. What if you were just reading into things? You felt stupid to think that he was doing anything more than pretending for the sake of getting used to things for tomorrow, right?

“Is there a chance for this to turn into something not fake?”

“Considering he lives in a different country, unless you want me to actually move to Canada without you, no.” 

“Do you want it to be something that isn’t fake?”

You hesitate, knowing that Lena had a stupid smirk on her face that would turn into some sort of ‘I told you so,’ later in the conversation. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

You sigh. “He’s great, but I’ve known him for two days. You don’t fall for someone like that in two days, it’s absurd.”

“Jack and Rose did in Titanic.”

“And that’s fiction, not real life.”

“Ok, if you had more than two days, then what?” 

“Then, I don’t know. Maybe?” 

“So, what do you do about it?”

“What can I do, Leen?” You flop down on the bed. “I’m here for less than two days before I leave and probably never talk to him again. The best this can be is fake.” 

_____________________________

“Are you ready for this?” Brock asks you, handing you one of the trays of food you made. “No.”

He smiles at you. “Me neither.” 

You head towards the door of Quinn’s place, ready to be as overwhelmed with the people you were about to encounter as you were two days prior at the game, even if you had already met most of these people. 

Lexie is the first one to greet you, somehow, through the chaos of everyone else around you. She leads the two of you into the kitchen, even though Brock already knows his way around. “I’m stealing her,” she tells Brock, grabbing you by the hand and leading you off to another room while all the guys stand around the kitchen island, somehow the ones in charge of the food.

“It is so good to see Brock so happy,” she tells you, handing you a glass of wine as she poured one for herself. The two of you were alone in the room she pulled you into, leaving you amazed that with that many people in the house, there was even an empty room to begin with. “I mean, those photos he posted of you? You are the most photogenic person I have ever seen.”

“Uh, yeah,” you tell her, knowing that you have to stop stammering everytime you try to give someone an answer. 

“You don’t know about the pictures?” You shake your head. She prompts you to pull up Brock’s page, the most recent pictures one from yesterday.

You scroll through the carousel. The first one, as you saw, was the one of you two before you went out for the day. The second one was one of you in the airport, looking for him. You thought you looked awful, but somehow, he made you look good. The third from the game the other night, one of the photographers probably captured a photo after he scored of him looking at you and smiling at him before he heads to the bench. The fourth and fifth were ones you had no idea he took; when you were looking out at the water yesterday, smiling at the sight while your hair somehow perfectly framed your face, and while you were hunched over the cheese, grating too many cups of the stuff for today. 

“He’s in deep,” Lexie smirks, drinking her wine. 

You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks as you looked at the photos, which he captioned, Thankful for you, with your handle tagged. 

“Now it makes sense why I’m getting so many notifications,” you joke, setting your glass down on the table in front of you. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to go find the bathroom.” 

You head back towards the kitchen, hoping to find Brock there. 

“I’m surprised you actually are dating someone,” you hear someone’s voice in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Brock responds.

“I thought you made her up,” another voice agrees with the first. 

“I’m not Quinn, I wouldn’t do that,” Brock lies.

“That was one time when I was in sixth grade,” the first voice argues.

You hear Brock laugh, your heart fluttering at the sound, immediately hating yourself for that. You’ve known him for a few days, why did you have to remind yourself about that?

“How long have you guys even been together?” Your heart stops,hoping Brock remembered all the things they talked about the last few days. She knew what he should say, but that didn’t mean he would say it.

“Only about two months, I think.” 

“You think?”

“Petey, you know he’s not good with time.” 

You finally work up the nerve to walk into the room, seeing Brock’s face light up at the sight of you. 

He was faking it. 

“Hey, babe,” he says, pulling you close and kissing the side of your head. 

“God, you two aren’t going to be the kind of couple who overdo the PDA, are you?” Petey asks.

“Only if you piss us off,” Brock says, not taking his eyes off you. 

“So, um,” you say, coming back to reality and turning to the other two. “Everything looks great.” 

Quinn looks at the clock on the oven. “We should probably eat soon. The food should be in a couple of minutes.”

“We’ll get everything on the table,” Brock volunteers the two of you, grabbing one of the plates and handing them to you.

“Everything is going well, so far, I think,” you whisper to him once you’re out of earshot of the others. 

“Everyone thinks we’re actually together. I think we might pull it off.” 

_____________________________

The rest of the night went surprisingly well, the attention largely kept off the two of you most of the time as the team seemed to be more interested in teasing each other while their partners rolled their eyes at the guys’ antics. Brock drove you back in silence, a smile on his face the entire time. 

You headed to bed, knowing that you were going to be leaving when you woke up the next morning, part of you dreading the moment Brock would drop you off at the airport. 

He pulled up to the terminal, neither of you moving once he put the car in park. 

“Can I admit something?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

“I don’t think I want you to leave.” 

You look at him. “I don’t really want to leave.”

“But,” he starts.

“I have to.” 

Brock gets out of the car before you could say anything else, heading to grab your bag from his trunk. 

“We were good at fake dating, though,” he says, handing you your bag. 

You nod as he pulls you in for a hug. “Was all of it fake?” You don’t know what compelled you to ask that, other than you not thinking before you speak.

Brock smiles, his arms still wrapped around you. Before you can fully process it, his lips find yours, a sweet, slow kiss as your lips moved together, his hand on the small of your back pressing you into him. 

“No.” 

[vezpr]

------------------------ toxic. ]

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ COLLEGE AU ☽☾ ONESHOT ☽☾ AO3

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Gojo shows you a video of your boyfriend, Sukuna, making out with another girl at a party, so you decide to get revenge. Poor Nanami.

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, smut, porn with feelings (not necessarily good feelings), sukuna x reader, nanami x reader, ft gojo for as long as I can stand him :b, human Sukuna, college au/ no powers, toxic/ mutually abusive relationship dynamics, cheating, spanking, hate fucking, face slapping, throat fucking, hair pulling, light choking, no aftercare, degradation, name calling, drug and alcohol use mentioned, size difference, oral sex, piv sex, I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.3k

"Satoru, can you at least pretend not to enjoy this, please," you say, holding your phone away from your face as it rings. 

The man is glowing, his lanky frame sprawled across of one of the mismatched sofas in his apartment, one boot propped on a coffee table littered with the controlled chaos of his studies. He looks as if his head might actually explode with the force of unexpelled I-told-you-so's. "He's an asshole. I told you that before you ever hooked up, right? Forget him!"

"Damnit," you hiss, pausing in your frantic pacing long enough to redial your asshole boyfriend's number after being sent to his full mailbox half a dozen times. 

"Why don't you try cool down a little before you talk to him," Nanami says from the opposite side of the room where he sits hunched forward, elbows on his knees, watching you pace. Always the reasonable one. "Nothing productive can possibly come of talking to him while you're like this."

You shoot the blonde man a withering glare, but hit the end button on the call, shoulders sagging, chin to chest as you cross to his side of the room. "I know you're right, Nanami," you reply as you slump, defeated, onto the sagging cushion next to him. He clears his throat when you splay your legs and your knee brushes his. You lean your head against the back of the couch and turn your face towards him, lips pursed in a pout as you feel the stinging threat of tears in your eyes. "It's just that... right now, I don't feel like I can cool dow-"

You sit bolt upright as your phone buzzes in your hand. The screen lights up with his face, framed in soft salmon waves that contrast with the hard black lines of tattoos tracing the angle of his jaw. You've been together for a year, practically moved in together right away, and still, even the digital representation of his garnet eyes makes your heart stutter just like it did the first time you saw him. 

"Hey, I really don't think you should-" Nanami begins.

"Sukuna," you answer, rising from the couch and crossing the arm that isn't holding the phone to your ear over your ribcage, as if that will prevent your heart from beating out of your chest.

"Who are you with," he asks, apparently hearing Nanami, who continues to lecture you in the background. But, fuck, if the rasp of his voice doesn't make your insides squirm in a way they definitely shouldn't right now.  Why do you have to be so hopelessly obsessed with him?

You shoot your friend a pleading look and wave your hand at him. He sinks back into the couch, shaking his head, but he shuts up. 

"Who's throat did you have your tongue down last night," you demand, voice rising already. When your question is met with silence, you add, "Go- someone showed me a video."

"Nothing happened," he replies, his voice steady and calm, as if he were ordering a coffee, which really makes you start to lose your shit.

"Do. not. fucking gaslight me right now. It was you, I fucking saw-"

"I mean nothing happened after that. You didn't see a video of me fucking anybody. Didn't even hear about the possibility of me fucking anybody. Because I didn't fuck anybody. I mean, shit, I got home before you." He pauses and your heart starts to slow just a little. Maybe it really didn't go any farther than that.  Maybe this doesn't have to be a big deal... but then he opens his stupid mouth again.  "Couldn't stay hard because of the molly."

"Fuck you, Sukuna," you scream-sob, holding the phone under your chin. "Fuck you! If you were here I'd slap your motherfucking face so goddamn hard I swear to god!"

He laughs, of course. "Calm down, baby. I'm kidding. I knew that white-haired prick was watching my every fucking move. I just did it to piss you off after you left with that blonde guy that's always limping after you like a lost puppy."

You glance up at Nanami, wondering if he heard, but he is studiously examining his cuticles. Even Gojo looks uncomfortable as he busies himself with straightening the papers on his desk, his luminous eyes peeking at you through the platinum locks that have fallen over his forehead in the process.

"I left because you were so fucking high. Laughing at everything, grinding your teeth like a crackhead, going on and fucking on about how you feel like a god among men or somevweird shit like that. It's embarrassing as hell! I ask you to go to one little party-"

"Exactly, you bitched and moaned until I agreed to hang out with your loser friends - who just so happen to all be men that want to fuck you-" 

He is getting loud now, apparently loud enough for your companions to hear because Gojo, with a flourish of his wrist, cheerfully interjects, "I don't want to fuck you."

"Shut up Satoru," Nanami hisses.

"-It's like you get off parading yourself around them in front of me... but I digress. My point is that I don't know what the hell would make you think I would be willing to endure that shit sober."

"Oh, so now it's my fault you fucking cheated on me?"

He's quiet for a minute and you hear him sigh into the receiver. "I got a question for you. You didn't get home til late, where were you?"

"Well, I was hungry so we stopped to get something to eat..."

"For like... had to have been at least four hours?"

"I guess we lost track of time talking..."

"Talking. Okay. Well that sounds fucking fantastic, babe but-"

"Well at least I didn't tongue wrestle him in front of half the fucking campus!"

"You know what... I can't do this now, I'm at work. That whimsical motherfucker had all day to start this shit and of course he waited until I'm at work. When I get home tonight, we're gonna have a nice long chat. Maybe not four hours but..."

"I'm not going to be home when you get home tonight."

Another tense silence. "Don't fuck with me, babe. You really don't wanna do that."

"Don't fuck with me, babe!" You echo in a shrill, mocking tone. "You know what kind of people say that? 'Don't fuck with me?' Weak, scared little bitches. And you should be scared, because you're never gonna find somebody who will want your worthless, piece of shit ass like I did. Ever."

"Baby."

"Please fuck with me, babe, find out what fucking happens," you spit out before hanging up on him. 

When your phone vibrates, you're still rooted to the spot. You lift your shaking hands to read the message.

you better be there when I get home

You scoff. 

"Nanami, can I stay with you tonight?"

He had been watching you, but now his eyes slide away behind the glare reflecting off his glasses. "You really think that's a good idea?"

"Please? I don't want to be home and I don't want to be alone," you must look quite pathetic, because he nods begrudgingly.

"Great," says Satoru. "This man has been needing to get laid for decades."

"Shut up, Gojo," you and Nanami both say at once.  

Although he is the same age as the rest of your friend group, the man has his shit significantly more together than anyone else. He had skipped most of the partying, failing, switching majors, and the rest of the general fuckery and graduated first. Got himself a good job, something to do with stocks. He's got a mortgage, while the rest of you are struggling to pay rent. He's too good for the rest of you, truth be told. 

You look at your phone, as you had approximately every  ten seconds since you left Satoru's apartment, but nothing from Sukuna. He wouldn't be off from his job until almost midnight, anyway. Maybe he really doesn't care what you do. You pull down the menu from the top of the screen and hover your finger over the location toggle. Nah, let him suffer, you think to yourself as you decide to leave it on. Or come get me if he actually gives a fuck.  Sliding the device into your back pocket, you walk up the driveway to Nanami's door and knock.

Too good for you. But he doesn't seem to know it.

"Hey," you say with a tight smile when he lets you in. "I come bearing gifts," you hold up a bag of takeout and a bottle of wine. There's actually another one in the trunk, just in case.

You're pretty sure neither of you are watching whatever movie is playing. You don't even remember what it's called.  Gradually you notice that he relaxes, softens into the couch, turns his head to look at you, smiles a little. You smile back. It's easy to just be with Nanami like this, quiet.

You do end up retreiving it after the first one is empty. The man is wound tight like a spring. And you swear he clears his throat everytime you accidentally brush against him grabbing food from the coffee table, or refilling you glasses. What does that mean? You wonder silently.

"You sleep with those on," you tease, poking his calf with a socked toe.

He looks down, "What my shoes? No." He smiles, warm. Tipsy maybe, both of you. 

You laugh softly. "Take em off. You live here, you know."

He shrugs and toes them off. "Happy?"

"No," you deadpan.

His smile falters and you laugh.

He lets his head fall against the back of the couch and rolls his eyes. Looks at you and smiles again. "I don't drink much," he says.

"I know," you scoot closer, knees pressing into his thigh. "You drunk?"

He looks down at the point of coat, then back into your eyes. "No. Are you?"

"Nope." You reach out and lift his glasses off of his face.  He lets you. Doesn't even clear his throat or look away. When you lean back to set them on the coffee table, you begin to lose your balance, but he catches you around the waist and pulls you back.

"You sure?" He asks, resting his hand on the small of your back. 

"I'm sure," you smile, reaching for his tie. "Don't you ever get comfortable?" You ask, loosening it. 

"Not really," he says, pulling you towards him. 

"Hm," you hum, straddling his lap as you pull the tie free from his collar. You smile at how nonchalant the two of you are, as if this isn't happening. Like he didn't pull you into his lap. Like you aren't brushing a blonde fall of hair off of his forehead as he looks up at you, honey eyes half-lidded. Like his hands haven't slid under the hem of your tank top, warming the skin of your back.

You're just friends. Yeah. Just talking.

His mouth is warm and soft, wine-tart. He smells like cedar and ocean salt. When you hear your phone ping softly, he's got a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to press his mouth into your neck, tongue gentle against the tender flesh. No teeth. Without looking you know the unique little tone means your device has been gps located. You moan when he pulls the strap of your tank top down and takes your nipple in his mouth. You hadn't worn anything under that. 

Oops.

You had been working on the buttons of his shirt, palms sliding across his pecs. He pulls away to let you slip it off. "I could take care of you," he says, breathless, as he loosens his watch and works his hands out of the sleeves. "You wouldn't have to ever have another day like you had today."

"I know," you say as you wrap around each other, mouths fastened together, moving like you have years rather than just the next handful of moments. Him the living sea, rolling over you, the shore, a dead thing made of dirt. I can take care of you, his hands whisper. Your atrophied heart clenches, and, for a moment, you wish it could be true.

A car door slams outside. 

He pulls away and looks at you, ugly realization dawning in his eyes. "Oh," he nods grimly. "I get it."

He sighs raggedly and shakes his head as pushes you off of his lap gently. His hands a soft suggestion, unlike Sukuna's demanding touch. You feet hit the floor just as the first splinters fly from the doorframe.

How many kicks, you think bizarrely of a little cartoon owl with a sucker. How many kicks does it take to break down Nanami Kento's door? Three. Three kicks.

You are frantically feeling in between the couch cushions for your discarded top when Sukuna shoulders through the broken door. 

"It was unlocked, jackass," you hear Nanami say, "That's gonna be expens-" then a couple of thumps, the soft crush of bone and cartilage, and the loud thud of a body crumpling to the floor.

Trying to pull Sukuna off of him is like trying to move a mountain. You pull at him and scream in your panic sharpened voice, "Please, Kuna, stop! Please stop! Don't hurt him!" Although, you can see that it's too late for that. 

You reel backward when he rounds on you, but you need not worry about falling. He catches you by the hair and pulls you up. He looms over you, his vastness swallowing you like his pupils swallow the blood of his irises in the blue flickering light from the television. He is every inch the monster you know he can be. "Don't fucking call me that, woman," he growls into your ear.

You crumple to the floor when he lets you go. "Been too soft on you, brat," he toes at Nanami's limp form before stalking to the coffee table. "Gonna have to re-educate you. Lucky i don't just fucking destroy you both." He picks up an empty wine bottle and hurls it at the TV. The crash has you flinching as the screen spiderwebs and the speakers sputter. His belt buckle clinks as he unfastens it and your cunt drools like pavlov's dogs at the sound. You wonder if he knows how completely he has you.

You watch wordlessly as he pulls himself out of the fly of his jeans and pisses all over the flickering set. He turns his gaze on you and tucks himself away. The leather of his belt hisses against denim as he pulls it free of the loops.

"Now what am I going to do with you," he says, stalking towards you, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily trailing the belt behind him. The grin on his face is cold and sharp as a knife edge. He must be feeling better already. 

He brushes past you and seats himself on the arm of the couch.  Elbow on the back of it, he leans his cheek against his fist as he looks down at you. "Come here," he says.

You look over at Nanami's limp form. You can just see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

"Don't look at him. He can't help you. Never could. Now, I won't say it again. Come. Here."

You begin to get to your feet.

"No," he says, eerily calm, and you freeze midway to your feet. "Crawl."

"Come on Kuna," you coo, voice sticky sweet. "I'm really sorr-"

"Shut the fuck up. Nobody wants to hear your sorry's. Now get over here."

So you drop back to your knees and start to crawl. You sway your hips and smile up at him, ever defiant. He snorts and shakes his head. "You are such a little slut."

"Stand up," he says, when you arrive at his ankles. Even seated as he is on the arm of the couch, he towers over you when you obey. 

"Strip," he says, then, "faster," when you are to slow to peel your clothes away. He leans forward and slides his fingers through your folds. 

"Wet," he says.

"For Nanami," you retort, only half a lie. You are still mad at him, after all. 

His hand flies so quick you barely see him move before the back of his hand connects with your cheek. Seeing stars, you're reeling backwards, but he catches you, draws you across his lap. The belt burns across the fat of your ass as he brings it down on you over and over in fast, hard bursts. Tears sting your eyes as you squirm and bite at your bottom lip, but he's strong and has little trouble holding you in place with his one free hand clasping your wrists together behind your back. 

"Told you not to fuck with me," he's growling, and your pussy clenches around nothing. You wish he would just fuck you already.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you sob, "Please, please, please!"

Finally, he relents, the belt slithers to the floor. "Are you really sorry?" He asks, his voice softer now, some of the aggression soothed out of it by the burst of violence. "Actions speak louder than words, you know." You fail at biting back a moan as he suddenly shoves his fingers inside you, growling as he feels you clenching around him. "You want my cock?" He asks. Craning your neck you look up at him over your shoulder, nodding frantically.

"On your knees then," he says, releasing you. 

"You're a sick fuck, you know," he says as you crumple to your knees between his feet. "Might even be worse than me." He lets his jeans pool around his ankles before stepping out of them. Grasping the base of his cock, already rigid and leaking, he smacks it lightly against your cheek, smearing your feverish skin with precum. "That's why he-" he nods behind him at Nanami's unconscious body, "-could never do it for you."

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, which you drag along his tip murmuring, "can you take this off too-" you tug at the sleeve of his hoodie, "-I wanna see you."

He grunts and pulls it over his head, groaning as you pull his cockhead into your mouth, tongue tracing his slit, the ridge if his glans. You know that he is at least partly right, you are sick. But you wonder if he brings it out of you. Could you be different with Nanami? You think of his mouth on your neck, your hands on his chest.

"If you want to see me, open your eyes," Sukuna says, something jagged in his tone, like suspicion. So you look up at him, run your fingers up the fronts of his thighs to the dips of his abdominals as you take his cock deeper. Your eyes follow the lines of tattoos outlining his chest until you find his face, jaw slack, eyes heavy as he looks down at you.

You release his dick with a wet pop, sucking in air. "You're perfect."

"I didn't say stop," he grasps, fisting a hand in your hair, using his other to pry your mouth open unnaturally wide until you are drooling down his tattooed wrist, eyes shiny with tears as you look up at him. He slides his cock between your lips, controlling the angle of your head with his hands, sinking in until your nose is pressed against his stomach. "Told you to fucking be home when I got home," he growls, smashing ypur face against his groin so that you can't breathe.

You sputter and gag around his cock as he stays fully seated inside you. "Ssh, ssh it's okay," he soothes as his fingers wrap around the soft column of your throat, feeling the bulge of his length there. "Oh, fuck, baby, you are really lucky you feel so fucking good, 'cause you really fucking pissed me off," he moans as uses your hair to bob your head up and down on his cock until your jaw burns and tears spill out of your eyes. "You really are sorry, huh?"

You do your best to signal in the affirmative as he continues to fuck your throat, but you find you have little control at the moment, so you just hope he gets the message. When he finally pulls out, and stuffs the strings of drool that stretch between your lips and his cock back into your mouth with his thumb, you nod, gasping. "I am. I am sorry," you manage to sob out in broken syllables around his prodding fingers.  Although your brain is a little too wine blurry and cock drunk to accurately recall exactly what you're sorry for. And weren't you mad at him for something? 

Your muddled thoughts are interrupted as he yanks you up and bends you over the arm of the couch as if you weigh nothing. "Tell me who you belong to, baby," he growls as you feel the fat head of his cock bully it's way between your folds from behind. "Because it seems like you forgot."

"You, I belong to you," you answer dutifully, drawing out the final vowel into a long moan as he sheaths himself inside of you with one hard snap of his hips. 

"Fuck," he growls, twitching inside of you, "say it again."

"I'm yours, Sukuna," you whine, peering over your shoulder to look at him. 

"Yeah," he moans, rolling his hips into you, his cock dragging along every tender aching inch inside you. "You're mine," he pounds into you faster, harder, pulling you back into him by your hair. "I'm gonna stuff you so full of cum, baby." He always talks so much when he's fucking you. Now he's babbling something about making you pregnant. You're too stupid with lust to even begin to reflect on what an almost comically bad idea that is, although you suppose you understand it. Another way for him to stake his claim.  Then his teeth are bruising your shoulder, marking you, and you're arching into him, your walls beginning to flutter around the sweet, familiar shape of him.

He pulls out as soon as he feels you starting to squeeze down on him. "Want you to look at me when you cum," he rasps. You guess you know why.  You make it a point not to look over his shoulder as he threads his arms under your hips, lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist before he impales you again. 

"Oh fuck, Sukuna," you whine as he stretches you, a perfect pain.

"Say it again," he murmurs, pistoning up into you with more speed now, but less control as he nears his end. 

"Yours," you manage to choke out before he slips a hand around your throat, stealing your breath, making your vision darken as you seize up around him, milking him as he spills inside of you. He is clawing and biting at you everywhere he can reach as he devours your lips, pouring a muffled string of curses into your mouth. You wonder vaguely, if any small part of him cares about you, or if he only cares to own you.

You are intertwined, leaning against the wall, twitching and gasping. You're too busy murmuring nonsense into each other's ears to notice when Nanami sits up and slides the remaining wine bottle off of the coffee table. The one the two of you didn't quite finish off. 

You've got your chin hooked over Sukuna's shoulder, your fingertips tracing the circles tattooed there and he's panting, "I want to tell you something," when you see Nanami walk around the couch, holding the bottle by the neck. 

"I don't know why I could never say it before," Sukuna whispers as Nanami raises the bottle. You lock eyes with him, but you don't say anything. 

"I-" There's a soft thud as the bottle connects with the back of Sukuna's head. His eyes roll back as he falls away from you and hits the floor hard. 

Nanami barely looks at you as he shoulders Sukuna's limp body and carries him outside. You are pulling on your sweats when he comes back, gathers the man's clothes and tosses them outside. You cross your arms over your bare chest as he walks past you into the kitchen. "Get dressed and get out, please. I'll get you an uber," he says, pressing a bag of frozen peas to his face. He sinks into the couch, wine bottle between his knees and uncorks it with his thumb. His back is to you.

"Nanami?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't find my top. Maybe you're sitting on it?"

He sighs and leans forward to set the bottle and the makeshift icepack on the coffee table. Then he's wrapping his shirt around your shoulders, it smells like the cedar and the ocean. You look up at him through damp lashes, bruises already starting to bloom in the hollows of his eye.

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks," he says before he returns to the couch.

Sukuna is standing, although weaving, in his boxers, looking dazedly at his pants when you shoulder through the broken door.

"Hey," he mumbles, stumbling forward. "Where the hells my belt?"

Nanami sinks back into the couch, frozen peas pressed to his face. Takes a long pull off the bottle before deciding that's probably not going to help much. He stares at the broken TV screen, the flickering bars of light reflecting in his eyes.

Maybe after he works this job a few more years, he could just start over somewhere else. 

Like Malaysia.

Yeah.

That'd be nice.

[crazylittlejester]

honestly so jealous of everyone in your modern au cause god I want a support system like that.

How did sky and wars and twi meet the other links in this AU?

They all have AMAZING support systems and a lot of people who care about em, they’re very lucky aldkkd

(sorry for any spelling or grammar errors)

- Time is Twilight’s dad (uncle who adopted him when Twi was one, so he’s the only dad he’s ever known), and Wars and Sky met him and Malon the first time they went over to Twi’s house. If they hung out at one of their houses while they were in high school it was ALWAYS Twi’s because Wars didn’t want his friends around his mother and Sky felt bad asking his adoptive parents

- Sky Twi and Wars all met in a math class freshman year of high school :)

- Sky met Legend because they’ve been coworkers for YEARS at this point at the same little coffee shop. Twilight knows him because Hyrule and Legend shared a dorm and when he went over there to study there was Legend. Hyrule and Legend now share an apartment EXACTLY one floor below Sky, Twi, and Wars, which is very unfortunate for Legend because he moved out of the dorms because he was previously next to Wars and Sky and was very tired of Wars. Legend and Wars OFFICIALLY met the first time Sky invited him over to the apartment after work to eat, but Legend knew who Wars was because of skating because he saw videos of him and then ran into him in college and decided he was obnoxious and that he hated him. Wars got a bad impression of Legend because Legend immediately marked him off as an annoying idiot and was snappy with him, and they didn’t actually become friends until Sky introduced them to each other officially

- Hyrule met Twi first because they took a class together in college, they’re both in the same science building on campus a lot. Sky met him through Legend one time because Legend left something in his dorm and Hyrule dropped it off for him at work. Hyrule met Wars when Twi invited him over to the apartment to study one time. He met Legend in high school because they were paired together for a history assignment

- Wild and Wars have known each other since they were like 5 and 7 because of skating, and THEY weren’t ever like. cruel to each other, but their coaches kinda pitted them against each other, and Wild started to SERIOUSLY resent Wars once they hit like 13/14 and 15/16 because he was CONSTANTLY getting compared to Wars and literally couldn’t get out of his shadow. He kinda grew up being told he just wasn’t going to be able to beat Wars at anything ever and that made him really really frustrated and he pushed himself extremely hard to get better than him. Once Wars aged out of junior competitions Wild put EVERYTHING into training because with Wars gone he thought he’d actually have a chance, but he ended up falling at worlds and absolutely destroyed his hip, and it was so bad he had to retire because he was scared he was just never going to be able to skate again. He’s recovered enough that he can do simple jumps and run outside on pavement and move around decently okay on his good days. Wars was one of the first people who came to visit him when he was recovering and Wild hadn’t thought Wars actually cared about him that much so that meant a lot to him. They are each other’s CLOSEST friend, Wild was there for Wars when HE retired, and he’s the only one who understands how upset Wars gets when he misses skating. Wars skates regularly still (just messing around and going through old routines or choreographing new ones) and sometimes he’ll bring Wild with him. Wild is the one who films all his tiktoks alskkdk

Wild TECHNICALLY met Twilight and Sky because they’d come to several of Wars’s skating events and Wars had introduced him to them, but he REALLY met them later. He met Twi because after he retired from skating and couldn’t move around well he got super into photography and Twilight works at a zoo of sorts taking care of the penguins, and Wild had gotten visibly upset that he in his wheelchair was unable to see the penguins clearly and get a good shot and Twi was like “this is fucking stupid this poor kid just wants to see the goddamn penguins-” so he let him get closer than Wild was technically ALLOWED to get (not in the enclosure or anywhere really near them, but a back hallway with a full glass wall so he’s not blocked by concrete), just so he could get a good shot of them just the one time. Now that he can walk around again (sometimes with a cane) he will try to convince Twi to let him get closer again and Twi’s like “you know I literally cannot-”

Wild tormented Poor Sky for- months- Sky and Legend work at a coffee shop together and Wild would come in every day and ask for ice water in a mug. And every day Sky, with his eye literally twitching, would be like “are- we have bottled water thats cold- are you sure you don’t want a to go cup???” and Wild would ask again for the mug, and technically there’s nothing WRONG with that but it stresses Sky out SO bad that sometimes he comes home and just screams about it. Imagine his absolute horror when there was a knock on the apartment door and he opened it to find Wild, who was apparently Wars’s old friend he was inviting over. Twi also had a stroke, because how did the penguin kid find out where he lived??? but Sky was LITERALLY on the floor

- Wind and Four are cousins, they were raised sort of together by their grandparents? Wind’s grandma (his dad’s mom) and Four’s grandpa (his mom’s dad) are not married (if that makes sense??) but they are good friends and tried to let the boys hang out with each other as much as they could. Wars used to babysit for Wind and Four and Wild went to high school together, so Four got dragged into the friend group through Wild

They’ve all interacted with each other, Wind tags along because his ADHD ass is sometimes too much for his grandma and he’s 16 so Four is sort of in charge of him, and he knows Wars liked the kid so he’ll bring Wind along. The AU MAINLY focuses on Wars, Twi, and Sky (with Wild, Time, and Legend being the most frequent of the others who pop up) but they’re all friends for the most part (except for Time, since he’s in his mid forties and doesn’t spend much time with the others. He knows all their names since they’re his kid’s friends, and he sees them at events or whenever Twi has a holiday party at his apartment, but he’s the one who hangs out with the group the least)

[dood-itsradical]

Cool? Cool.

Pairing: Jake Kim x GN!Reader

Summary: An awkward rendezvous with Big Deal's leader.

Genre/Trope: Friends to enemies to friends to more(?). Non established relationship. Can be viewed as platonic as well.

Warnings: Cussing, self/oc indulgence? (I mostly wrote this for myself), no use of Y/n, MIGHT be OOC Jake (judge them yourself, this my first time writing for Lookism).

A/N: It's been TWO YEARS since I post fanfics so I might be lil stiffy, bare with me chat. I DON'T do request btw!

Masterlist

“Man, so what now? We just…went back to stop being allies?” You questioned bluntly.

It's been a few days since the Hunt for Gun event. Everything went back to how it was. Or some would say, for the better. You weren't exactly on any sides of the crew. Scratch that, you were one of the Workers. And to be fair, you sort of still carry that guilt. Like Samuel, you wanted- no, needed money. Again, scratch that, you aren't exactly like him, God bless. You just have responsibilities at home that need to be taken care of.

Because first of all, being a broke college student got you into this shit and you practically worked your ass for it. You just wanted to pay for your student loans, bills and groceries. Second of all, news flash, Korea ain't as great as influencers described them to be. When you first moved here, you were still expecting the struggles of the norm. Not fighting gangsters. Let alone joining one.

Thirdly, you know basic martial arts. You know what, fuck that. You're actually pretty decent at it. Sparring and training with these dudes around you, paid off. And through the journey you gained friendship, learning to understand different types of people. That includes multiple reality checks, unlocking new traumas as the list goes on. Part of you have thought of the alternatives and the what ifs. While the other half is actually grateful.

“It never has to be that way, you know?” Daniel replied, offering a soft smile.

You wanted to ask if the whole fighting and scheming thing is over, now that Charles Choi is gone. So is the matter of the Red Note. But you keep those questions to yourself, knowing it's far from done when Gun is still alive even if he's in juvie. Besides, he's not the only bad guy they need to watch out for.

You shrugged sheepishly, hands shoving into your pockets. “Right.” Your head turned to the ground for a bit. Daniel senses this and continues, “We're still friends, right?”

You looked up relieved by his words, “Of course. You're cool. You too, Jay.” You added. The blond gave you a big sincere smile as you bent down to pet the puppies. They equally ushered closer for attention. Your expression softened before exhaling.

“Hey.” You started, taking a second to collect your words. “You think Big Deal would diss the hell out of me if I go in their turf? I need to talk to Jake.”

Daniel shrugged back, giving his usual reassuring energy. “I don't think so, after everything. You want us to accompany you there?” You shake your head, mimicking his smile, “I'm good. Thanks though.”

It was by then you found yourself stepping in Big Deal’s street. You weren't a coward, but you still hold respect for each of Four Major Crews. If you are being honest, you didn't even belong here. You're just a person who was caught up with your own personal issues and was left with no options but to use physical violence for your own selfish gain. It wasn't selfish, you told yourself. You just have your own goal and achievement like everyone else.

You were immediately recognised and being semi interrogated by the other Big Deal members due to your sudden and random arrival. You kept your tone as calm as possible. Getting straight to the business and voila! There's Jake.

You muttered a thanks to Jerry before turning to your old friend. Ice breaking sucked, this everyone can relate. But man, you acted like an ex begging to get together with him again. “Sooo……”

You trailed awkwardly, eyes darting everywhere in the room except him. “Big Deal's boss doing paperworks, huh? Guess nobody escaping that.” You tried to humour him, to light up the mood, anything. And luckily, he stifled a chuckle. Or a subtle exhale, you counted it as that either way.

“Yeah, well, it's my responsibility now.” Jake replied, shifting in his chair while leaning back.

To put it simply, you and Jake aren't completely strangers. You two were somewhat colleagues, let's put it that way. You never dare ask about the friendship part. Are you two even friends? Buddies? Amigos?

I mean you're very much aware of Big Deal's history. Jake isn't so secretive, mind you. You've privately met Sinu himself before, good man. You're most definitely familiar with Samuel. And by God, you weren't very fond of him. But you didn't judge him either, and as mentioned, everyone here has a personal goal. You've managed to exchange conversation with him from time to time. If I may say so myself, a LOT. Boy, was he an interesting character.

When you first joined Workers, you were clueless. Eugene offered you good deals. Obviously you hesitated in the begining. You were no fool, you knew what you signed up for. Fortunately for you, you weren't involved too much. You did side jobs, mostly undercover. When Jake finds out, he confronts you. Which actually surprised you. You fought him. You fought everyone else while sticking to the white uniform. Although he can definitely tell you held back at that moment.

“No hard feelings, Jake.” You said back then before getting into stance. You took his hit many times, hardly using your full strength before discovering you were just buying him time to let others finish their business. And he didn't blame you either. He felt bad. Guilty even, that he couldn't offer you better hospitality, better support. And yes, he admits that he was kinda cold back then. He never gets the chance to apologize. But he does now as you basically presence yourself to him.

“You aight? You know, after all the…” You trailed, subtly recalling the recent fiasco. He blinked before nodding, “Just peachy. You?” You nodded back. “Yeah.”

As if it couldn't get any awkward, you were starting to regret showing your face here. On top of that, he wasn't any near being his suave self. He had it fine with the others but with you? There's an unfinished business. He thought it's odd. It's exactly the same scenario that happened between him and Samuel, yet the tension wasn't supposed to be this palpable as far as he know.

“I'm sorry-” You both said in sync, now looking at each other weirdly. Chuckling nervously, you both did it again, “You first. No, you. Not me, you. Fuck.”

Sighing, you both let out small genuine laughters. “No, seriously. You first.” he offered.

You nodded, “No hard feelings, right?”

He smiled, “No hard feelings. It's good to see you again.” You returned the smile, the burden finally left your shoulders. “Same here. You didn't break a bone. I'm not surprised.”

He leaned forward, folding his arms on the desk. His arms bulging through the fabric doesn't go unnoticed. “Well, colour me surprised. You didn't either.” He joked back. His mood has lifted as did yours. You rolled your shoulders, pretending to flex slightly. “I tried.”

“Say,” Your expression turned slightly serious, still with a bit of amusement in your tone. “I guess I owe you a jack of explanation, huh?”

He tilted his head, “Oh? Do you, now? Lemme check.” He pretended to go through his paperworks. You just chuckled, shaking your head at his sense of humour. “Asshole. I'm serious.”

Jake faced you again, “I know. And I'm listening. We can get food while we're at it.”

“Let me guess, my treat?” You raised a brow.

He gets off from his seat, his duty now left abandoned. “C’mon, I'm not a monster.” Slinging his arm around your shoulder as he leads you to the exit.

[the-ace-with-spades]

(you really are my enabler, @redfurrycat)

Slightly unserious AU with trans ftm Bradley - or more like 2 AUs, with one being kind of an AU of the just hold my hand fic - who transitioned after the USNA fiasco, which Mav doesn't know about

Version A

Bradley transitioned after Mav pulled his papers - he got rejected by USNA in 2001 but by the end of 2002 he had his name changed and had been on T for about 5 months, all while also simultaneously studying at UVA. When he changed his name, he change everything - social security number, insurance, driving licence, etc. There is literally no trace of his deadname in his documents and what else was there got sealed.

Now, there's one thing - Mav doesn't know any of this. He tries to do anonymous donation for Deadname Bradshaw to pay for her college - gets refunded. Tries to send parcels to her - all returned, stamped 'sender not at address'. Finally, he requests to have the uni check if his daughter (foster/adoptive but still daughter) is up to date on her tuition and grades and gets an email saying Sorry, sir, there's no student under this name currently, never was.

And obviously Mav panics, which in turn makes Ice panic. They go on a trip across the country, but answer from the dean is still the same - there's no student under that name, they only have her admission/offer records and nothing else. They inform the police but since they weren't in a good relationship and their daughter was an adult, travelling across states, they couldn't do much. Thley hire a private detective but the times were different - it was all on paper, easily lost when Bradley changed his name, so the last note of him is his arrival at UVA campus. They never stop looking for her but they'd been told again and again that she is most likely dead.

By the time Bradley enters the Navy, he's been on T for about 4 years and had top surgery done in the summer after second year at uni.

By 2013, eleven years since he changed his name, Bradley changes his surname to Seresin. There's literally no connection to Mav's daughter on paper, at least at first glance. There are things he had to disclose to the Navy but they're all behind a privacy wall that only allows the hire ups and direct command to see it.

By the time Bradley is at Top Gun for the second time, he and Jake are about a year after finalizing their divorce - they broke up because Bradley married him and all (and Jake fully believed he did love him, no doubt about it) but Jake still didn't know much about his past and Bradley couldn't open himself up fast enough for Jake and Jake felt like they were moving nowhere.

Bradley never changed back his surname. Jake didn't know until they met again at Top Gun. Bradley can lie to himself all he wants, but the truth is that he didn't keep it just to avoid connections with his previous name completely.

When Mav is met with Bradley Seresin and Jake Seresin, he at first assumes they're brothers. And then he sees Bradley's face and nothing else matters.

He is so weirded out - Bradley looks like he'd imagine his daughter to grow up to look, but male (because you know, mustache). And he can't stop staring and Bradley having some kind of problem doesn't help. He sees Bradley and he can't stop thinking about anything else.

Meanwhile Jake can see Bradley is acting equally weird around Mav (and maybe assumes things and gets a bit jealous... Sorry I love that trope) and confronts him about it, in private. And for the first time, Bradley opens up to him about his past - about how Mav was his adoptive dad, about how he pulled his papers, about how the last time they've seen each other Bradley was pre-transition and about how Mav doesn't know.

Eventually though Mav catches up with the Seresins actually being exes/husbands and checks for Bradley's maiden name. And once he sees it's nee Bradshaw, he finally feels a little less crazy, enough to tell Ice about the whole thing and ask him to check if Bradley is their daughter's long lost cousin or if Goose had a long lost brother or cousin.

By the time Ice digs deep enough into the files to find the truth, Mav and Bradley had already been shipped out.

Version B (contains trans pregnancy)

Most of the stuff still happened but this is slightly more realistic take. Bradley does change his name in 2002 but this disqualifies him from ever serving in the Navy. He transitions as he studies aerospace engineering and earns his commercial plane licence.

He and Jake meet by accident, in an aeroclub Bradley had a side job at. They fall in love and struggle through the remaining DADT era.

Jake knows about Bradley everything - and he means everything. From what he likes to eat, through his preferred pain meds, to his whole family history.

Fast forward to the Top Gun return. Mav meets Jake and it seems that Jake, for some reason, hates him. It is a common feeling among the Navy men but usually it comes from the higher ups, not Mav's subordinates. The kid is so angry with him that he can't even absorb anything Mav is trying to teach him and if this goes on like this, he's going to get himself killed.

Mav tries to do an intervention but the second he says something along the lines of your family would like to see you in one piece, Jake kinda explodes at him, saying all those things about how Mav knows jack shit about family and has absolutely nothing to lose because he's already lost everything and he should shut his mouth.

Mav is... stunned. So stunned he doesn't say anything and just lets him walk away.

And Phoenix, who has been friends with Bradley and Jake for years, tries to soften the situation and tells Mav a little bit of what she thinks it's going on - that Jake has a heavily pregnant spouse at home and they're expecting their first baby and the timing of the detachment couldn't be worse. Which isn't really untrue, it does get Jake more irritable, but Mav is the biggest problem.

Because Jake knows. Jake knows about how Mav spent every other weekend since Bradley turned fourteen in a plane with Bradley and then every other weekend teaching Bradley to pilot the minute he turned sixteen. He knows how Mav was supposed to teach him all he knew and then pulled the rag from underneath him silently, and pulled his application to USNA like it was nothing. He knows all about how Mav never explained, never apologized, never even tried to fix what he had done. He knows how much it cost Bradley - the trust, the vulnerability, the ability to feel loved unconditionally. And he is damned pissed at him.

Things do go on. Jake does acknowledge that he has to calm down if he wants to come back home.

He and Mav bump into each other on the parking lot before the shipment, the only two not having a loved one sending them off. Mav stupidly asks where Jake's wife is and Jake tells him that his husband can't really drive anymore, especially in his old car where the suspension is too high to get in smoothly with the baby bump in the way. Mav is a bit confused but connects the dots pretty soon - obviously, Seresin's husband must be trans in some way. Asks if there's anyone who can drive him around when Jake is away and Jake just looks him in the eyes and tells him, he's only got me.

(Mav might or might not ask Ice to check on Seresin's husband when they're gone and Ice might or might not give Bradley a heart attack by calling him...)

Jake never told Bradley who his instructor was. At least not before the mission. He is in a separate room in a hospital after the whole thing is and Bradley insists he is going to come and visit him to see with his own eyes he's okay. Once he's at the hospital, Jake tells him he'd prefer Bradley stay home until he comes back and obviously Bradley who is feeling very unsure and insecure at the moment gets upset.

So Jake tells him that his instructor and the guy he flew the mission with is Mav.

Bradley does leave because he doesn't want to bump into him. They pass each other on the corridor briefly as Mav is being wheeled back from x-ray and Mav feels like he's hallucinating - like he's seen a ghost because you know, Bradley looks like his daughter but also not really because he's a guy.

It all comes to a head when the whole squad celebrates at the Hard Deck. Bradley is feeling up like going even if he can't drink and most of the people there know about Jake having a husband and that he's trans and pregnant and are being normal about it. So they're having nice little evening with Jake plastered to him at all times out of protectiveness, clinginess and just missing him.

Jake didn't know Mav was invited.

Mav comes in ready to greet the daggers and is met with a ghost's face. Jake tries to pretend all is normal for about a minute but it's obvious that Mav can't stop staring and that Bradley is panicking, basically hyperventilating in Jake's arms so they just--up and go, really. Jake leads them out of the bar without even a glance back, whispering Bradley apologies about how he didn't know Mav would be there.

Meanwhile, once they stood up - Bradley with some of Jake's help - Mav gets hit with the very visible reminder that Bradley, the guy with his daughter's face, is trans and pregnant. And he is not a hundred percent sure, but he's pretty damn sure the odds are already so weird, there's no way this is another guy who looks like his daughter, it's gotta be his daughter, but after transitioning.

And on the off chance that he is making it all in his head, he tells Ice and hopes he would know how to intervene.

Maybe, eventually, Mav just goes to their house. Maybe Jake is still on the defence and tries to get rid off him when Bradley comes to the door in all the heavily pregnant glory - barefoot, wearing a t-shirt that is too small and in an oversized cardigan and Jake's Navy sweatpants that are too short at the ankles - and tells him it's okay and that he'll talk to Mav alone, on the porch.

[fairykukla]

This is something I have experience with. Please learn from my mistakes and my successes:

I have a higher sex drive than most partners I've had in my life. I'm in my 50s now, so this has been going on for a long time.

As a child I was diagnosed with an "unspecified childhood neurosis" but it was most likely ADHD. I had severe anxiety as well. That rejection sensitivity dysphoria is a real monster; and my classmates figured out that they could make me cry over the slightest thing.

Several years of counseling (and switching to a better school that could meet my needs) later, I had reprogrammed myself. First, coping strategies for how to deal with that burst of intense rejection, then managing my outlook so that when people reject me, I don't have that intense reaction.

As a high schooler, and college student, I had a reputation for being emotionally bulletproof, and incredibly fearless. It's because I had shifted from a panicked, anxious, rage when I thought someone rejected me to a shrug and a "sounds like a you problem" and going about my business.

But that therapy was during my childhood.

Once I became sexually active, it turned out that I was super vulnerable on the subject of sex. It probably didn't help that I had a whopping case of Eldest Daughter Syndrome and had been a confidant to my mother's issues with my father's rejection and coldness, either.

And it *always happened.* I'd get to a certain point in my relationships and my partner would be too tired, or not in the mood, and it was like a flaming arrow through my heart every single time.

I broke up with someone over this issue, because I was certain he didn't care about me anymore.

I got married, and my partner has depressive episodes that last for months. He becomes asexual during his depressions, and isn't interested in sex.

And I took that personally. It was poisoning our relationship.

We had many conversations about it, and more than one actual fight.

Here are the things that helped, and worked:

1. Reframing his responses to help me gain context. For example;

"Not tonight, but maybe this weekend?"

"I'm not up for that, but we can cuddle."

These are responses that reassure me that he still loves me and wants intimacy l, but is not up for sex, specifically.

2. Reframing how I initiate sex; sometimes a spur of the moment is good, sometimes a few days notice will help him get in the mood. If we set a date night, I'd ask if that's a sexy date or if it was just quiet time together.

We are still married many years later. I don't take it personally if we don't have sex, but I'm free to ask for cuddle time, backrubs, or other intimate touch time.

It is absolutely worth it doing the emotional work to resolve RSD. I'm living proof. Seek a therapist, and then commit to fixing it. You can do it, and you will feel so free and happy and balanced when you do.

i dont know if this is the right place to go but im so lost why do i have crying meltdowns when my boyfriend turns down sex? it makes me feel disgusting and like im pressuring him to sleep with me, but i would never and thats not my intention. I just get filled with an overwhelming feeling of rejection and disappointment that it hurts physically

I know this may sound hurtful. That's not my intention. I mean this genuinely, in the kindest way possible but it may be that one of the main reasons you have crying meltdowns when your boyfriend turns down sex is that you are not in a space where you should currently be having sex.

It sounds like you have a very strong reaction to what you view as a rejection. I don't know if that's a general thing or just a sex thing but clearly, it's an issue you need to work on. It's not an unheard of issue-What you're describing is word-for-word something that plenty of people who have RSD [Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria] deal with regularly.

But if it's causing you to have meltdowns when your boyfriend turns down sex, it might be a good idea to stop putting yourself in that situation until you've got a better handle on all of it.

That should definitely start with sitting down with your boyfriend and thoroughly discussing with him, "Hey, I have this issue but it's not me trying to pressure you," and listening to his feelings about it and seeing where to go from there.

But from there, you have a lot of options. Therapy, generally exposing yourself to rejection to build yourself up, learning more about how to manage your reactions, etc, that's up to you.

I can't tell you exactly why you have those meltdowns but I can tell you that some people feel things very intensely. And sometimes we can't control our exact reaction to those feelings.

That's not something that makes you evil. Often, there's nothing wrong with feeling things strongly, even if you express them in ways other people view as "inappropriate" or "strange."

But sometimes, it's something you need help with! Like when it's so intense you're feeling physical pain because of something repeatedly! Or when it might interfere with your boyfriend's ability to consent properly. That's definitely an issue you need help with. But it doesn't make you evil.

Not sure how helpful this is, Anon. But let me know if you have any other questions. <3

[nicky35]

First don’t think I’m a hater. You’re not a Paige stan so I believe you’ll be reasonable when reading this. So far Paige has not lived up to the hype and I don’t see it happening. I worry if she’ll even make it far in the W. I won’t say her name but she’s not going to have a season like her. Paige should’ve went to the W last season. She was better last season. I doubt she’ll even make it Top 3 in the draft. Sarah is outshining her and it looks like she’s trying but she’s having a bad season like Kiki.

yeah i'm not a paige stan in terms of thirsting over her and stuff, but i am a paige basketball fan. that is why i started following her in hs.

i am interested in what you would consider being her "living up too the hype". i'm assuming that this means she does not put up cc or juju numbers. this goes back to people who think that stats = worth in basketball nowadays. you see a lot of people say that cc should've won over paige, because she had higher numbers. a lot of that doesn't take into account a. efficiency and b. the different style of play at uconn vs iowa. uconn has always played heavy ball movement. they want everyone on the team getting involved and getting assists. they also value minimal turnovers and high fg%. there are a lot of things you see in a game that highlights and boxscores don't tell you. anyone with real ball knowledge can see how paige runs a basketball court.

now to address she was better last year and that sarah is outshining her. she had to play insanely heavy minutes last year because of uconn's injuries. she also had to pf, because one of the only healthy and experienced players was nika, another pg. nika rarely scores, so paige was in a position where she had to take that role on more, especially with two freshmen in the starting lineup. sarah is lookign fantastic and i love how quickly she's flourishing, but she is in a much more comfortable situation. watch any game so far this season and it is obvious how quickly this team falls apart when paige isn't on the floor (their biggest issue which is why geno is trying to prep them for next year).

why did she comeback? well she played two and a half seasons at the college she's been dreaming of going to her whole life. she wants to win natty, but also it is her loyalty to geno and how little she has actually been able to play for him. even by leaving after this year, she still didn't play a whole four years. another thing she probably took into consideration is that she played almost 40 games for the first time in two years. not only that but playing 40 minutes each game, so to go from that into a new, harder league where she would've likely been drafted to a bad team where she would've again played heavy minutes and also likely a team that does not have as good of trainers and medical resources for rehab and preventing another injury.

there's about nothing she can do this season that would make her drop from that number one spot. her versatility, marketability, and overall play puts her above any other candidates.

[interlockingpatches]

This is the second or third thing I ever crocheted, back in 2005. We'd done a quick lesson in an intro to fibres course and I figured out the rest (there was no YouTube then). It's a rabbit stuffed with rags from an ill-fitting thrifted shirt.

I was in the last year of my painting degree, and earlier that summer my mom had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I was flying back and forth between Baltimore and Tampa on a weekly basis, and I kept working at my technique and making stuffed animals because it was something I could do on an airplane.

In October of that year Mom stopped treatment, and I moved back to Florida full time while she was in home hospice. I kept making stuffed animals (sometimes one per day) to keep up morale.

My mom and I were very alike. I made the crocheted IV bag, but the Christmas bells were her idea.

After she died (February 2006), I didn't want to crochet any more for awhile. I needed to finish my painting degree, so I made paintings.

(I had very generously been given a place in Elisabeth Condon's senior painting class at USF, where my parents worked, for the semester. Between grief and no doubt thinking I was private-college hot shit, I must have been unbearable, but everyone was very kind).

The paintings are chalk ground (rabbit skin glue and marble dust) and egg tempera on upholstered canvas. Chalk gesso is very brittle, and normally it would be applied to fabric mounted on panel for added support, like this pig (my first tempera painting):

The portraits, by contrast, were meant to crack and degrade over time (18 years on and they're actually in remarkably good shape, but impermanence was the idea). I left the backgrounds, where gilding might have gone, as bare gesso with the idea that they would accumulate marks from handling as I made them.

They're small.

I don't want to write any more now, so thank you for reading my traumatic crochet origin story. Like and subscribe for more depressing crocheted artwork i have so much

[witchofthesouls]

Could I get a little context about the "DinoDad!Starscream" AU?

I just read the post of the ask you recently answered, and I find the scenario interesting, but I could use a little bit of context, if you don't mind 😅

Primeval Anon

Yeah, I decided to give that specific AU a proper tag with 'Dino!Dad au' to make it easy to consolidate all the posts about it.

Overall, it's a TFP divergence of the Rogue!Starscream based on an ask sent in. Basically, Starscream made completely different decisions where he managed to find a Primal Artifact with the capabilities to revive Cybertron from sheer desperation and pure gambling... only to have it disintegrate in his hands. The Emberstone then utilized the bones within the pool it was housed for an eternity to bring back a little Predacon femme to life along creating a brand new line of beastformers with a baby Utahraptor and Deinosuchus bones.

Starscream isn't in a really good mental space prior to this, so he gets weird dreams and audio-visual hallucinations of his dead trinemates that implore him to take them in. I'm keeping vague on whether or not he's having a complete breakdown due to Seekerkin quirks as he's essentially alone and without resources or if Skywarp and Thundercracker are really speaking from beyond the grave since the Aligned verse is just that wild.

Bottom line, I've been receiving a lot of asks in regards about this AU since last year, and I'm going back into it since I've given it more thoughts where to take it as I really want to explore the concept where Starscream remains a rogue, delve into Predacon species and their relationship to modern Seekerkin, the (mis)adventures of a father with his animalistic and semi-feral children, Starscream forming friends/acquaintances with a random rural community and the local college, and actually has the power to actually make a decision on whether or not to rejoin the war on either side...

Plus, I think it would be absolutely hilarious for both sides to go 'pstpstpspt' to him for different reasons. Autobots since Tempest, the littel Predacon femme, has the capability to seek out Energon deposits as her sensors are more finely tuned and far more advanced than modern equipment, and the majority believe that Starscream has no parental instinct or will allow M.E.C.H. access to them. Deceptions as Starscream has now become the foremost expert in extinct frames and the only mech with healthy sparklings, so Shockwave can't let that professionally slide and Soundwave would like to hear pattering little pedes to tell himself that the movement was worth it as those three wouldn't have the yoke of the Golden Age upon them.

[squatch-and-stretch]

Chapter 7

It’s more like college than their time in Gravity Falls, with the two of them shoulder to shoulder, hunched over the small desk. Back in Stanford’s strange little cabin, though almost entirely in the later months, there were moments between them where Fiddleford felt like he couldn’t talk to him, that any question or suggestion or off-topic line of conversation would be met with silence or derision.

They don’t spend much time talking now either, but it’s only because they don’t need to. Despite everything, they fall in line with each other as easily as they ever had. Stanford even insists on wiring out the fingers— they aren’t fully articulated, but they’re capable of tensing and relaxing in tandem, which is more than Fiddleford planned on. He had no control over the force yet, and the carefully-crafted claws on each finger tip meant anything he grabbed could be torn and crushed, so it wasn’t exactly the most practical, but still slightly more functional than having fingers he couldn’t control at all.

“It’s not too heavy?” Stanford asks, tightening the figure-of-eight harness and running a hand over the straps, making sure they’re flat against his skin. Fiddleford shudders at the gentle touch.

It’s been six months since he’s been in the company of another human, and before that… well, it must have been Emma-May, but things had been strained between them even before he left for Gravity Falls. She’d never hurt him, just like he’d never hurt her— not on purpose anyway, and certainly not physically— but such tender touches were still few and far between. They weren’t meant for men, especially not worthless men like Fiddleford.

Suddenly being on the receiving end of it is making his brain short out.

Stanford asked him something, right? Fiddleford has no idea what.

“Fidds?” Stanford prods, painfully gentle.

There’s a seam along Fiddleford’s spine and Stanford has pried it open to reach into his chest from behind. He hasn’t called him Fidds in years. Was he jealous of Stanley’s instantaneous adoption of their college nickname? That sounded like him.

“Sorry?” Fiddleford croaks. His voice sounds just about as pathetic as he feels.

“Is it really that bad?” Stanford frets, steadying Fiddleford with a palm flat against his back and using the other to support the forearm of his prosthetic.

“No! No, it’s fine,” Fiddleford says, forcing himself to pull away from Stanford’s gentle touch as he turns to face him with the widest, fakest smile he can manage, The prosthetic does leave him a little off-balance— just as he had adjusted to the missing weight on his right side, there was suddenly twice as much— but it isn’t too bad.

“If it’s bothering you, we have plenty of time to workshop it now that we’re together,” Stanford suggests.

“No we don’t!” Fiddleford says, more frantically than he intends to, “there was a rift connecting this dimension to Bill’s, and if it’s still open, he can come after us at any time! I could deal with him in your body, but I don’t fancy my odds when he’s here in the whatever-he’s-got-‘stead-of-flesh!”

“Why did you not think to mention that earlier?” Stanford barks back, eyes wide.

“I did mention it, to Stanley!” Fiddleford replies, grabbing his shirt from the work table and shrugging it back on. “Y’know, the one who’s actually bothered to talk to me!”

“Really? All it took was a day for you to prefer my brother over me?” Stanford says, and the harshness of his voice is undercut by hurt.

“I didn’t say a damn thing even faintly resemblin’ those words you’re puttin’ in my mouth, Stanford,” Fiddleford says sharply.

“And anyway, who’d blame him if he did like me more?” Stanley chimes in, leaning on the frame of the door leading into the break room. Despite the warmth, he’s wearing his jacket again.

“Stanley! You’re awake!” Stanford says, effectively distracted from their argument. Fiddleford can’t say he minds. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Stanley says, waving a hand dismissively once Stanford gets close. “Lookin’ good, Fidds.”

Now that he’s watching closely, Fiddleford does see a flash of irritation across Stanford’s face at his words, though he can’t quite tell if it’s the compliment or the nickname that bothers him.

“Thank ya kindly, Stanley,” Fiddleford says, just to watch Stanford’s brow twitch. “I’m glad you’re awake, we oughta get ready to get scarce.”

“Uh-huh,” Stanley agrees easily, not even questioning it. “I’ll help you pack up the food and water. Anything else we need to bring with us?”

Fiddleford looks over his workshop, expecting to feel a pang of grief at the sight of all that he’d have to leave behind. Despite how well the place had served him over the past couple of months, all he can think now is good riddance.

“Just some tools and the rest of my medical supplies, I s’pose,” Fiddleford says, shrugging his shirt and tattered lab coat back on, before he starts gathering all he can into the pockets of said coat. Luckily, the tools he wants to bring along are small enough to easily fit into the oversized pockets, even if they will be bumping against his thighs in a very annoying manner if he’s forced to run.

Stanley wrinkles his nose at the mention of Fiddleford’s medical supplies, but doesn’t complain as he returns to the break room. Clearly he isn’t pleased by the idea of having more of that stuff rubbed into his wounds, but if Fiddleford has it his way, there won’t be any more wounds to rub it in to. If the three of them were about to be wandering the multiverse together, searching for a way to kill some eldritch demon, it seemed unlikely that they’d all get out of it entirely unharmed, but Fiddleford was gonna do his best to make it so.

He spares a glance at Stanford, still standing awkwardly in the main room, before turning away to grab the bag he left in a pile by the door. It’s empty— scouting trips haven’t been bearing fruit in some time. He’s cleared out everything of interest nearby, and he hasn’t had the energy or motivation to wander far.

“What should I do?” Stanford asks, trailing awkwardly after Fiddleford as he makes his way towards the break room.

“How ‘bout you just tell me everything you know about Bill?”

“Oh,” Stanford mumbles, clearly caught off guard by this demand.

“We need to destroy that son of a gun before he destroys our world,” Fiddleford reasons, trying to sound confident about their ability to do so. “Any information you might be able to give could help.”

“I… yes, that’s… logical,” Stanford agrees. “Well, um… I suppose I should start from the beginning.”

“Mmhmm,” Fiddleford hums, giving Stanley a brief nod of acknowledgement as they enter the room, before heading to the other end of the cabinets to start looking through them for anything they might need.

“You’ll be… displeased.”

“Won’t that be a change of pace,” Fiddleford jokes, grabbing the leftover bottles of antiseptic from the cabinet he now knows they’re stored in. There's only three left, including the open one, but Fiddleford has to hope that they’ll never be in such a bad place that they’ll make their way through all of it.

“I… I summoned him. Not only did I construct that damnable portal at his behest, but I ignored all evidence of danger and summoned him in the first place,” Stanford admits painfully. “My research had stagnated and I was desperate. When I came across the mural relaying the summoning instructions, it seemed as though the stars had finally aligned, despite the warnings written right in front of me!”

Fiddleford sighs heavily.

“Honestly, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Fiddleford admits, stashing the bottles away in his bag.

“Of course not. You’ve always seen me for the utter fool that I am,” Stanford says, a strange mix of bitterness and resignation in his tone.

“You ain’t a fool, Stanford, you just… you get blinded by ambition,” Fiddleford protests weakly.

“You compared me to Icarus, once, do you remember that?”

“‘He didn’t flap hard enough’,” Fiddleford responds. Of course he remembers that, remembers the way his heart twisted with dread at Stanford’s stern dismissal.

“If only I were the only one to get burnt,” Stanford sighs shakily. “Instead, our entire universe is about to pay for my hubris.”

“Not on our watch,” Fiddleford says firmly, pretending to believe his own words. “We’re gonna figure this out, now keep goin’. What exactly is he capable of?”

“Right, of course,” Stanford says. “I’m not entirely sure how well I can answer that question, as I’ve only seen him in the Mindscape, where anything is possible even for a human, if they’re fully conscious of it. It’s a bit like lucid dreaming, but far more vivid than any dream could possibly be…

“But I digress,” Stanford shakes his head. “Beyond alteration of my Mindscape, he seems capable of altering my mind itself. In the past, he’d only done so for my benefit, but…”

He trails off, voice going weak with dawning horror.

“I… I don’t know what he’s capable of. He soothed my anxiety, he sped up my mind, he rewired my optic nerves! Now that he knows me to be an enemy, I’m… terrified of what he may do to me,” Stanford admits. “He has access to my memories, my motor function, my pain receptors, everything. He could ruin me.”

“I’m not gonna let that happen,” Stanley snaps before Fiddleford even has a chance to process the full extent of Stanford’s words. “There’s gotta be some way to keep him out of that big, stupid brain of yours.”

“There is a spell against evil influences that might work, if I could modify it to surround a person instead of a location,” Stanford ponders, brows furrowing as he pulls a journal out of the inner pocket of his jacket. “As difficult as unicorns are to deal with in our dimension, even finding one here will be next to impossible.”

“Did ya really bring all your journals with you?” Fiddleford asks, turning to watch as Stanford flips through journal 2.

“Nevermind that, Fidds mentioned anomalies and shit, but unicorns? Seriously?” Stanley interrupts, between incredulous and amused.

“Yes, they’re the single most frustrating creatures I ever had the misfortune of dealing with in all of Gravity Falls,” Stanford sighs, snapping the book shut.

“Really? I think that’s you,” Stanley says with a wide grin. Stanford glares, while Fiddleford tries very hard to muffle a laugh into his hand.

“You only say that because you’ve never had the misfortune of dealing with those loathsome beasts,” Stanford says haughtily.

Fiddleford smiles and resumes going through the cabinets as the two continue to bicker. For the first time in a long time, Fiddleford misses his siblings. He’d talk to them on holidays, send them birthday presents and well wishes, but… hell, he hadn’t seen them in person since his younger sister’s wedding.

In all likelihood, he never would again.

Fiddleford discards the thought as quickly as it comes. It’s not a productive line of thinking.

He gathers the food Stanley hasn’t already stashed away in his pockets and checks their stocks. Even if they’re careful, it’ll only last them a few days. Active travel will have Fiddleford burning more energy than he’s used to, especially with the extra weight of his prosthetic, but it’s not like he hasn’t gone days without eating before. Stanford had a pretty big stomach, but it’s one he rarely indulged. If Fiddleford had to guess, he’d assume Stanley was the same, if only out of necessity.

They’ll be fine. He’ll figure something out.

He dumps the bars into his bag, and moves over to the fridge. Dehydration will kill them far faster than hunger, and there’s little liquid to be derived from their primary— and currently, only— food source. Luckily, they should have enough water for just shy of a week. If he disassembles his filtration device, there shouldn’t be an issue as long as they don’t end up somewhere too dry.

And if they do end up somewhere dry? What then? In a multiverse of infinite possibilities, Fiddleford was lucky to end up somewhere with breathable air and tolerable temperatures. What if he leads all three of them to their deaths?

What is he doing?

Maybe this was a mistake. Who’s to say Bill could make his way to this dimension anyway? Wouldn’t he have done so already? He certainly seemed angry enough.

“Fellas…” Fiddleford starts, frowning down at the bag in his hands. “I think I might’ve—“

Before he can finish, the earth shakes beneath him with a colossal boom.

(Un)happy Reunion

Ford Pines & Stan Pines & Fiddleford McGucket | 3,143 words | Mystery Trio Through the Multiverse AU

Fiddleford reunites with Stanford and meets Stanley after 6 months alone in a post-apocalyptic city in some other dimension.

Chapter 1

see notes for future chapters!

If Fiddleford had to describe this world he’s spent the past 6 months in in a single word, he’d probably choose terrible. Other descriptors such as strange, horrible, post-apocalyptic, and dangerous also come to mind. Lately, though, he’s been putting a lot of thought into the word lonely.

There were intelligent species here, once. It’s clear in the almost-familiar design of this destroyed city, in the tattered books written in a language Fiddleford can’t make any sense of, in every little item he comes across. He even has an idea of what they looked like— he’s seen their art, their pictures, their mangled bodies— and Fiddleford has to wonder if Bill understood the cruel irony of sending him to a world that was once inhabited by pig people.

He wonders, sometimes, if he could have found a way to communicate with them, if any of them were left. Would his throat have been able to form the words of their language, or theirs his? Would they have tried to help him? Just being around another living creature that didn’t try to kill him on sight would be pretty nice right now.

Unfortunately, that’s never been what this planet has in store for him, and when he hears something move nearby, he knows it’s a threat.

It must be in the next alleyway, and it’s fairly big— most of the monsters Bill left here are. Fiddleford goes still, staring in the direction of the alleyway and listening for any other sign of movement. It’s quiet for a moment, until Fiddleford hears a loud crash and what sounds like hushed murmuring. So many things have sounded like human voices lately that he doesn’t put any stock into it, just dips into the nearest alleyway in an attempt to escape whatever is making that noise before it even knows he’s here.

It’s an attempt that fails immediately, as he crashes into a pile of shredded metal like an idiot. It slices through the worn fabric of his pants, but as far as he can tell it doesn’t reach skin. It does, however, make a very loud noise, and the not-voices go quiet.

“Son of a gun,” he allows himself to hiss, and he takes off down the alleyway without any further regard to the sound he’s making.

Something steps out in front of him, blocking his way. It’s taller than the previous inhabitants of this planet, but smaller than most of the monsters he’s encountered. It’s built a lot like a person, and not a particularly imposing one at that, so Fiddleford doesn’t slow his roll for a moment. He fishes a knife out of the tattered pocket of his lab coat, and slams his shoulder into the beast.

It cries out, still sounding a heck of a lot like a person as it hits the ground, breaking Fiddleford’s fall. He presses the knife to what should be its throat, and is almost surprised to find smooth, human-looking skin beneath his blade. It’s a familiar shade, even, and Fiddleford can’t help but let his eyes wander further up to its face—

“Stanford?” Fiddleford spits, downright baffled to see his big brown eyes looking up at him.

Stanford opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Fiddleford is being hauled off of him. Something has grabbed the back of his scarf and pulled it tight, tight enough that Fiddleford gags against the construction, tight enough that he’s reminded of Bill’s hand around him, crushing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he’s being slammed against the brick wall of the alleyway and crushed between Bill’s uncaring fingers and—

“Stanley!”

That’s Stanford’s voice, he’d recognize it anywhere, but how is he here?

“Who the fuck—“

A voice, closer than Stanford’s, unfamiliar but definitely not Bill. It’s a person that’s holding him, and even if he’s struggling to breathe against the arm pressed to his throat, he can deal with a person.

Fiddleford kicks out, slamming his knee between the legs of his assailant.

“Son of a—!” he shouts, but he lets go of Fiddleford to stumble back.

“Stop! Stanley, this is Fiddleford! He’s the reason we’re here!” Stanford says, inserting himself between the two of them. “Well, he’s the reason I wanted to be here. You’re the reason you’re here and we don’t know how to get back.”

Yep, that insufferable holier-than-thou tone is definitely Stanford.

“I’m the reason you’re here?” Fiddleford chokes, rubbing his throat as he tries to regain his bearings. “It’s your fault I’m here!”

“I know that!” Stanford says, turning to Fiddleford.

Stanford looks about the same as he left him, beyond the dark circles under his eyes. Fiddleford knows the same can’t be said about himself.

“Listen, Fiddleford, I—“

“Save it, Stanford,” Fiddleford snaps, shaking his head as he turns towards the other man in the alleyway. “You must be Stanley?”

When Fiddleford first heard about Stanford’s twin, he imagined a carbon copy of his then-roommate. Stanley is not that. They’re nearly identical in the shapes of their faces, the texture and shade of their hair, the slope and color of their eyes, but the similarities end there. Put simply, Stanley looks like shit, with long, tangled hair, an unshaven face, and dark circles to rival Stanford’s, all wrapped up in a ratty jacket over an even rattier shirt. Even the way he holds himself is worrying, the way he’s hunched in on himself like a coiled spring, turned to the side like he’s keeping something just out of sight, eyes weary, teeth grit.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Stanley grumbles, and he draws himself even tighter. Even in conversation he’s locked on the defensive, and with the brief glimpse of an interaction between him and Stanford, Fiddleford can’t say he blames him.

“Nice ta meet ya, Stanley. I’d offer to shake your hand, but mine seems to be missin’,” Fiddleford greets. “Well, not missin’ exactly, I know where it is, but it ain’t doin’ me much good inside the stomach of some rottin’ monster.”

“Your arm!” Stanford exclaims belatedly.

He grabs for Fiddleford’s shoulder, but Fiddleford quickly smacks his hand away, a shudder running through his body at the phantom sensation of someone grabbing at what remains of his arm. He steps away, eyeing Ford wearily, almost expecting him to try again.

He doesn’t. He brings his hand back, tucking it to his chest for just a moment, hurt in his eyes. After a moment, he clears his throat, straightens up, and tucks his hands behind his back.

“I take it that’s a new development?” Stanley says, watching Fiddleford carefully. The matching scrutinizing gazes of both twins sets Fiddleford even further on edge.

“I would never have allowed such grievous injury to come to him under my care!” Stanford huffs, glaring at Stanley.

Fiddleford barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“And who’s god-forsaken vanity project brought me here, Stanford?”

“Easy, Fiddlesticks,” Stanley cuts in before Stanford can respond. “None of us are happy to be here, but he—“

Fiddleford raises his hand. “Shut yer yap.”

“Okay, rude—“

“I mean it, don’t ya hear that?” Fiddleford hisses. It’s barely audible, not like Stanford and Stanley’s rustling in a nearby alleyway. Something is moving through the main streets.

“I don’t hear shit, except some hillbilly interrupting me wh—“

“I hear it,” Stanford says, and Stanley throws his arms up in frustration.

Click-click, drag, click-click, click-click. Three functional limbs, one dragging along, moving at a gradual, unhurried pace. The time between each step suggests a step length of perhaps a meter. It’s large, too large for Fiddleford to deal with without his arm, but likely small enough to fit into this alleyway. Stanley seems pretty tough, and Stanford had somehow held his own for 6 years in Gravity Falls despite its many dangers, but he wasn’t about to trust either of them in a fight against whatever unknown beast was approaching.

“It’s coming from—“ Stanford whispers, and despite the low volume, Fiddleford cringes at the sound.

“I know,” Fiddleford snips quietly, “follow me.”

Fiddleford doesn’t bother to check if either of them listened— Stanford reacts well to confidence, and with any luck, Stanley would as well— before he’s slinking out of the alleyway, carefully watching his step this time.

“Come on, dumbass,” Stanley hisses, and Fiddleford spares them a glance. Both have moved to follow, but Stanford is hesitating, looking behind him even as Stanley grabs his arm and pulls him along behind him.

“I just want a look—“ Stanford mumbles, shaking Stanley’s hand off.

“This ain’t Gravity Falls, Stanford, an’ I won’t hesitate to leave you ‘n’ your brother for mincemeat if you don’t hurry yer asses up!”

Stanford immediately turns towards Fiddleford, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock. Fiddleford glares at him, lets him truly believe he means it (Fiddleford knows he wouldn’t leave Stanford or his brother, damn him) before he turns back around and continues on the way. This time, Stanford and Stanley follow without any further prompting, though Fiddleford hears what sounds like an amused snort from Stanley at Stanford’s sudden obedience.

[balls-on-my-face]

growing pains 🦋🥣

[crunchycrystals]

this makes me want to cry

[sunlit-mess]

best friend day but it's my #1 hater