#i have more ideas for after that but they get slowly sillier

[galavant-song-tournament]

ok after the current bracket ends, I'll run a best character bracket

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k

cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping. 

I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered. 

You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely. 

When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap. 

You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in. 

It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them. 

Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him. 

You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you. 

Your phone rings a moment later. 

You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too. 

“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“How come?” You sit up with a little start. 

“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.” 

“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man. 

“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?” 

“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.” 

“And you want me to fix that?” 

“You always fix my neck.” 

“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that. 

“I have bad posture.” 

“You have perfect posture.” 

“No, it’s quite bad.”

He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.” 

He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.” 

“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.” 

“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.” 

“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.” 

“What did I lose?” 

You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.  

“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.” 

“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.” 

“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.” 

“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says. 

“Or I could make us both some?” 

“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”

You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected. 

Cruel overpass, you think. 

Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek. 

The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later. 

You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back. 

Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—

A sudden chill. 

The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard. 

Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain. 

You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor. 

All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth. 

A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.

Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath. 

He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something. 

Your phone rings on the counter. 

“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.

You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins. 

—

There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.

What will he make of my handiwork?

You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.

The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.” 

“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.” 

“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot. 

“Honey?” a voice asks. 

“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays. 

Honey, are you in here?

—

The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder. 

Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off. 

Jack squirms closer, no room left between them. 

“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says. 

Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead. 

“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.” 

Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.” 

“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.” 

Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile. 

“I look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it. 

“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.” 

Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile. 

“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.” 

Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.” 

“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?” 

Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.” 

“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.” 

Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea. 

Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you. 

“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” 

“You said I can give her a hug.” 

“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.” 

“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says. 

Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.” 

Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs. 

“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”

“Yeah.” 

Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room. 

You’re sleeping. 

Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing. 

He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze. 

The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown. 

Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic. 

“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly. 

Jack stays sitting. 

He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt. 

You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says. 

“When can she come home?” 

“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you. 

“Why is she sleeping all day?” 

Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.” 

“Should we go?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.” 

“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.

“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees. 

If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give. 

You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap. 

Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly. 

“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession. 

“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face. 

You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms. 

“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open. 

Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again. 

Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk. 

The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”

“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.” 

A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need. 

He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively. 

Aaron lets out a breath. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.” 

“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.

His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some. 

Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone. 

“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.” 

“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.” 

“I know.” 

“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.” 

“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. 

“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.” 

“Is that what you want? You want a hug?” 

“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder. 

You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper. 

Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down. 

Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying. 

“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears. 

“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic. 

“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow. 

He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow. 

Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand. 

—

Is she breathing? Can she talk? 

I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from. 

Where’s the worst of the blood? 

It’s everywhere. 

Abdominal? Chest? 

I can’t tell. I can’t tell. 

Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?

Yes. Yes, but– 

Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions. 

Honey, can you hear me? 

Your name said clearly. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“If you need a minute, that’s okay.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass. 

Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface. 

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” 

There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.

“Okay.” 

Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you. 

You close your eyes. 

“What stuck out?” 

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.” 

“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?” 

“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.” 

Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I never got that far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I filled the kettle.” 

“What kettle?” 

You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.” 

“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?” 

“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.” 

“When?” 

“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”

“And then–”

“Then he grabbed me.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. 

You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.” 

“Like he was quick on his feet?” 

“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.” 

“How big did he feel?” 

Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big. 

Where’s the worst of the blood?

“He said he was going to hide,” you remember. 

“He said that? He said ‘hide’?

“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.” 

“When was this?” 

It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers. 

“That was at the end,” you say. 

“After he stabbed you?” 

You wince. “Yes. After.” 

“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.” 

“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.” 

“When Hotch found you?” 

“No, before.”

“Before?” she asks. 

You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move. 

You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?

“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room. 

“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.” 

You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose. 

“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?” 

So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much. 

You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room. 

You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron. 

You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees. 

That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay. 

He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear. 

“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread. 

You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again. 

“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Please don’t let me get hurt again.” 

Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.” 

You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep. 

Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one.  He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you. 

He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water. 

“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.” 

You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you say. 

“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Please.” 

“Did Emily tell you about my interview?” 

He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?” 

“I don’t want to say it again.” 

“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.” 

You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?” 

“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.” 

You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread. 

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern. 

“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.” 

“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?” 

You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop. 

Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again. 

It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative. 

“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says. 

“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world. 

“…This is my fault.” 

“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep. 

Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.

“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.” 

You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

“I know.” 

“No, I love you.” 

He’s saying sorry.

“I love you,” you mumble back. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?” 

Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.” 

“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.” 

You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound. 

His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both. 

You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours. 

“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says. 

You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek. 

—

Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises. 

“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters. 

“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.” 

The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved. 

I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone. 

It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them. 

I won’t. 

He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will. 

Foyet didn’t need much more than that. 

He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either. 

Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid. 

One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.

Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner. 

Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries. 

He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you

Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this. 

He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again. 

He rubs his brow. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

When he looks up, JJ is gone. 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says. 

It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day. 

He can’t fail you, too. 

“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks. 

Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?” 

“Being in love.” 

He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.” 

She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.” 

Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks. 

He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger. 

It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says. 

He shakes his head. 

She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.” 

But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety. 

“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.” 

Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.” 

He turns his attention back to the board without another word. 

—

When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest. 

Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him. 

He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks. 

He goes home satisfied.

“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. 

“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits. 

Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!” 

“Hi, buddy, what are you doing?” 

“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.” 

“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.”

You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.

“You got him?” you ask. 

He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.” 

“How did you find him?” 

He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.” 

You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?” 

“Brave.” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” 

All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby. 

Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless. 

“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.” 

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” 

“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.” 

“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue. 

“But it keeps happening.” 

His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead. 

“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?” 

“I remember,” he says, practically mouths. 

“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–” 

You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands. 

“I didn’t want this for you,” he says. 

“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?” 

He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.” 

You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.” 

He looks at you in silence. 

“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.” 

He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?” 

Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag. 

You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed. 

But not everything. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Was Jack good?” 

“Jack’s always good.” 

“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?” 

“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.” 

“I can get those.” 

“I know, I knew you would.” 

He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek. 

“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely. 

“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip. 

“My present?” 

He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.” 

In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him. 

He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.” 

He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️

[latin5mamii]

Jude Bellingham Comfort fluff??? Maybe reader is on her period and she suffers from endometriosis 🙏🫶🫶🫶

Silly comfort -Jude Bellingham

|WARNINGS: fluff and cute

|AUTHOR'S NOTE: loved writing this!If you have any other idea let me know girlie!

|SUMMARY:Your boyfriend is the only solution to your pain...

You were curled up on the couch, clutching a hot water bottle to your abdomen. The familiar, excruciating pain of your endometriosis had flared up again, and this time it seemed worse than ever. The cramps were relentless, and no amount of painkillers seemed to help.

The front door opened, and you heard Jude’s footsteps as he walked in. You had texted him earlier, letting him know you weren't feeling well, but you hadn’t expected him to come over so soon.

“Hey, love,” Jude said softly as he entered the living room. His eyes immediately filled with concern when he saw you. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” you admitted, your voice weak. “The cramps are really bad today.”

He frowned, coming over to sit beside you. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Is there anything I can do to help?”

You shook your head, wincing as another wave of pain washed over you. Jude reached out and gently took the hot water bottle from you, placing it on the coffee table. He then carefully gathered you into his arms, holding you close.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Just try to relax.”

You nestled against his chest, feeling his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was comforting, and despite the pain, you felt a little better just being close to him.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked, stroking your hair.

“No, I don’t really have an appetite,” you replied.

“How about some tea? It might help a bit,” he suggested.

You nodded, and Jude gently laid you back against the cushions before heading to the kitchen. You could hear him moving around, the sound of the kettle boiling, and soon he returned with a steaming mug of chamomile tea.

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to you. “Drink it slowly.”

You took a sip, the warmth of the tea soothing your throat. Jude sat beside you again, his arm around your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you murmured, leaning into him.

“Anything for you,” he replied, rubbing your arm gently. “I hate seeing you in pain.”

You closed your eyes, savoring the comfort of his presence. Despite the pain, having Jude there made everything a little more bearable.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he asked. “Maybe it’ll help take your mind off things.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” you said, managing a small smile.

Jude picked up the remote and turned on the TV, scrolling through the options until you found your favorite cringy-romantic movie. As the movie started, he settled back, making sure you were comfortable against him.

“Do you remember the first time we watched this?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You laughed so hard you snorted soda out of your nose.”

You chuckled, the memory brightening your mood a little. “Yeah, I remember. You teased me about it for days.”

“I still have the video,” he said, grinning. “Want to see it?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” you warned, but you couldn’t help laughing as he pulled out his phone and started playing the video. Seeing your younger self, doubled over with laughter, did make you smile despite the pain.

“You were so adorable,” Jude said, kissing your temple. “Still are.”

As the movie played on, Jude started to get even sillier. He mimicked the characters’ voices, exaggerating their accents and making you laugh. He made funny faces, did little dances, and even tried to do some of the more ridiculous scenes from the movie.

“Jude, stop,” you giggled, holding your side. “You’re going to make the cramps worse!”

“But laughter is the best medicine!” he declared dramatically, making you laugh even more.

Despite the pain, you couldn’t help but feel lighter. Jude’s antics were working, and for a little while, you forgot about the discomfort.

After the movie, Jude turned to you with a serious look on his face. “I have one more trick up my sleeve,” he said.

“What’s that?” you asked, curious.

“Tickle attack!” he shouted, and before you could react, he was gently tickling your sides. You squealed, trying to squirm away, but he was relentless.

“Jude, stop! I surrender!” you laughed, breathless.

He finally relented, pulling you into a tight hug. “I just want to see you smile,” he said softly. “Even when things are tough.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with love. “Thank you, Jude. You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Anything for you,” he said, kissing your forehead. “Now, how about we order some comfort food and watch another movie?”

“That sounds perfect,” you agreed, snuggling closer to him. With Jude by your side, you knew you could get through anything.

[aliteralactualfactualgremlin]

Some brief exposition

(I figure it’s about time I make one of these)

Hello anyone reading this <3 You can call me gremlin

My experience with my religion

I started practicing witchcraft about two months ago and became a pagan about a week after that

I’m devoted to Apollo, Gaia, and Aphrodite and I’m hoping to follow lady Hestia and Demeter in the near future

Before this I considered myself a christian and would be horrified at the mere idea of practicing magic or worshiping pagan deities

Because of this I still have a lot of things to fix about my mindset and thinking on religion which is causing me to take things rather slowly when it comes to the amount of rituals, offerings, and spells I preform

I’m also queer

I say queer because in all honesty I have no clue what I am anymore

For the longest time I was sure I was aro ace but women have made me question myself lately and occasionally men and other non-female people will too

Because of this I prefer to be unlabeled as I don’t want to get attached to a title that might be temporary

I’ve always been pretty apathetic to gender so I really don’t care what pronouns you use for me just keep it respectful <3

And finally fandoms

I think I’ll mostly post about the first two (religion and queerness) but every now and then I’ll have something to say about music and fandom stuff. I’m in a bunch of different ones so I’ll probably miss a few but considering I probably won’t post too much about them that should be fine

I have an unhealthy obsession with music so I feel the need to list some of my all time favorite artists first

The Crane Wives

Hozier

Florence + the Machine

Noah Kahan

Anaïs Mitchell (please check her out she’s the genius behind Hadestown and the rest of her music is not talked about nearly enough)

Childish Gambino

Madylin Mei

System of a Down

Cosmo Sheldrake

Fish in a Birdcage

Stevie Nicks

Rabbitology

And a good chunk of Sondheim’s work

And here’s some of my non music related obsessions but they eventually get more niche and or deranged

Arcane

Spiderverse

Attack on Titan

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K

Dr Stone

The Apothecary Diaries

Community

Smosh

Frankenstein by Mary Shelly

The Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu

My 3 year old son (my mostly unwritten fantasy world)

Like I said earlier I probably won’t post that much about them but if you like any of these things as well please pleeeese ask me about them I love to yap to people🙏

Edit because I almost forgot

Pretty standard dni stuff

I don’t wanna see any

racism

sexism

homophobia

transphobia

xenophobia

pro ed content

just hatefulness in general

and keep in mind that I am a minor (16) so please keep any and all freakiness to yourself

And since I’m bored today

I’m gonna go back and tag tag all my stuff

#the gremlin yaps again - my own posts that are on the sillier side

#silence a gremlin speaks unto you - my more serious posts about issues I care about

#wow the gremlin’s writing - poems and songs maybe even snippets of the different books I’m working on

#omg gremlin’s drawing again - art posts that will most likely be pretty rare cause I’m struggling with motivation :(

#the gremlin answers all - asks

[k00320502]

Trainspotting (1996) - dir. Danny Boyle

I was recommended I watch this during my Thursday tutorial with Sarah last week, I had seen it when I was very young but didn't remember much of it only clips I had seen since. It felt super nostalgic for me, the music in particular. Reminded me a lot of nights I'd go driving with my dad down dark country rounds blaring music out the window while he'd smoke.

It mainly comments on British youth/drug cultures, and the idea of conformity vs freedom set in middle class Scotland during the 90's.

I can see why these themes sort of tie into my project, the setting of a bathroom can really highlight personal thoughts and vulnerability, as well as reveal more sinister realities of everyday life.

The Bathroom Scene - "The Worst Toilet in Scotland"

i think a lot of why this scene is so disgusting is because of how probably everyone has been to a disgusting bathroom before. It sort of brings back uncomfortable memories - not even memories its like a Sensory Attack, the smell, the gross sticky feeling everything has, the squelch of your shoes…bleh! Contrasting the gross visuals are these really peaceful serene tracks, lightening the mood and making it all feel a bit sillier.

Carmen Suite no. 2 Habanera plays before and during Renton's time in the stall. The song picks up again as Renton is digging through the toilet bowel for the lost capsules - Showing how ridiculous his need for drugs has become.

Renton is shown falling into the toilet into a beautiful blue ocean, where the capsules are like these fabulous pearls on the rocks. I think this shows more from his point of view of how precious getting another hit is to him. The song Deep Blue Day by Brian Eno plays in the background adding to this dream-like world.

The entire soundtrack of this movie is phenomenal - Honestly have been listening to it on repeat the past week.

The Bus Scene

The scene after Renton is testing the Russian's heroin and they're all on their way to London I think uses the setting of the bathroom interestingly. It Shows each of the men in the bus toilet stall (surprisingly clean for a bus)…sort of portrait of each character before the finale scene.

The small, blank confined spaces brings out their most distinct traits.

Sickboy -> sticks out his tongue, confident in the deal going well, leader, making sure he looks respectable for the deal

Spud -> puts on the sunglasses, comfort? maybe appears more confident than he is

Renton -> slowly sits down, smiles past camera, I think this hints at his ulterior motive for the ending - betraying his friends and stealing the money for the sake of his future

We only see Begbie outside the bathroom, only nervously glancing back at it. I think this is because unlike the others hes always been very blunt and open with his ambitions - beating up random strangers just for the sake of it, barking out insults at the others, etc.

"This was Begbie's nightmare. The dodgiest scam in a life time of dodgy scams, being perpetrated with three of the most useless and unreliable fuck-ups in town."

The setting both inside and just outside of the bathroom best show off the characters flaws and defining characteristics.

[pavlovsbimbo]

It’s not just hot, it’s also real. That’s honestly what happens to old people-they stop going out, only allow one point of view into their life(usually through one or two media networks), and slowly stop socializing. So, to make yourself actually dumber, you just have to do that to yourself, or have an owner who can enforce it on you.

If you want to make it more insidious, you can attach positive reinforcement to things that will make you dumber/feel dumber. So, things like edging to mansplaining, failing at tasks, or giving credit to other, smarter coworkers. Avoid things that’ll make you think, and edge or cum knowing you are slowly shrinking your mind. Make sure you also edge/cum to the humiliation and shame that would come from the failure.

An easy thing to start would be to turn off your auto-correct, and to reduce how much you fix your writing. See all the mistakes you make, and how much sillier that makes you seem.

So that is very true, and also a bit scary. I don't like to think about the idea that I could eventually be a Republican, which is what comes to mind when I think of old people in that context, so this was a hard ask to get back to.

But it is hot to imagine think about how to get dumber. Language restriction, err, vocabulary limits, uhm .. not being allowed to use big or smart words is one that has always appealed or like really turned me on. I wonder if there's an app that will dumb down my autocorrect, like just red underline squiggly any word with too many syllables uhh that's too long.

As for edging to the humiliation shame, sign me UP! I love being corrected or like shushed and told my thoughts or opinions views aren't important worth hearng by my dominant dom. Maybe I can ask them to remind me to edge when they shush me? That'd be super hot too.

Maybe this works, like maybe I will just use one to two syllable beat words max. And I'll like fix any time I do it wrong so you all can see? Would that be fun for my readers?

Also I'll turn off the word fixer too, after this post, to see what happens how it goes.

[mysteriawrites]

hello!! could i please request a romantic matchup with a honkai star rail men

my pronouns are they/them, my mbti is intp-t, my zodiac is virgo.

personality: im really shy and kind of awkward when socializing others bcos im not really good interacting with them so i just stay in the sideline where i observe people and their behavior and thats the reason why people depict me as intimidating and hard to approach and also bcos of my stoic expression too but when im with my close friends, im really bubbly and more comfortable with them. im really quite moody sometimes and i also tend to overthink things. i always listen to my friends whenever they're having a problem and just be there for them sometimes pitching in some advice now and then. im also the type of person to run away from their problems and tend to push people away bcos i dont want to burden them, i also laugh at small things, im also the type of person to read a body language very well bcos of my observant nature. i also get insecure with my appearance too. im also blunt with my words i do not sugarcoat things.

my hobbies/likes:writing stories and reading books, poetry composition, learning about stars and outer space, watching horror videos on yt, staying up all night writing down my ideas about my next stories, sleeping, i also have a fascination to ocean and i tend to stare at it, dark academia, i also like abandoned places especially if its haunted, i also love matcha green tea, i really love a meadow full of lavenders.

my dislikes: loud people including loud places too, vegetables (depends on my mood), cheaters and playboys, worms, hot weather, arrogant people.

what i like in a person: someone who's very loyal and someone who can be my safe haven when everything's overwhelming.

- 🦋 anon

Hello hello and danke danke for the request. Sorry for this taking so long, I really appreciate gettting so many in the short time this blog has been around. Now enough rambling this match was easy...CUE THAT DRUMROLL!!!

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

DAN HENG!!!

Congratulations! You've been matched with the ever elusive but very caring Dan Heng (lowkey jealous, but I must adhere to my duties as matchmaker).

So, because this game still doesn't have a lot characters, Dan Heng was kind of the only match that made sense. You're both so similar it's kind of what drew you two together.

You both can be rather quiet and reserved people. You prefer to keep to yourselves and mind your own business, but kind of for different reasons. You're more shy and awkward while Dan Heng is aloof and just overall preferring to keep to himself more than he's shy. I think because of this you two may need a bit more of a push to get to know each other.

After you both have been part of the Astral Express for while Welt will have started a book club as a sort of team bonding activity (encouraged by Himeko). Whenever it comes to you or Dan Heng's turn to choose a book you start to notice that you have as similar taste in literature. After that (and some nagging from march because she also likes to play matchmaker) Dan Heng approaches you about some other books you like.

From there the conversation will spiral to other topics such as your own writing and if he can take a look at it some time, the vast universe you guys are traveling through and theories on how it works, what your next destination will be, and so much more. In time you two will come to a mutual comfort with each other.

Now as time goes on and you start to get closer to him and the rest of the express crew, Dan Heng starts to see the real you come out. The happier, sillier, bubblier version of you that reminds him a lot of March. However, unlike with March he finds that part of you rather cute, and that's when he's realized that he's slowly falling for you.

Now even though he doesn't want to admit it, we've all seen that Dan Heng is the type to run away from his problems. Once he realizes his feelings for you, he may start to distance himself from you for a little while to sort out his feelings, but don't worry it won't be for too long because despite his introverted nature he does begin to miss your presence. However, it may take a little push from the others (and maybe a minor life or death situation on another planet and him realizing his fear of losing you-) for him to come around.

Once you two finally get together I imagine some of the dates you guys will go on will be calm and quiet things like tea dates, exploring the libraries and bookstores of different planets, walking through nature, and some may just be simply sitting in silence and enjoying some music or watching a movie. (I would add going star gazing but you guys kinda see the stars regularly so)

Dan Heng is rather private so I don't think he would be into too much PDA, but on missions he would slowly hold your hand and intertwine your fingers. It gives him comfort to know you're right next to him safe and sound and so he can be ready to protect you at a moment's notice if he senses any danger.

Dan Heng is more of a listener than a talker, so he'll always be there to listen to your troubles when you mind starts to spiral and his calming voice will reassure you to quell those voices in your head. However, he is also more of a man of actions than words so he will do whatever he can to disprove any negative thoughts and stress you may have.

All in all, I think you two are so similar it makes your relationship easier because you understand each other so well. You are both running from something whether that be from your pasts or your problems, but together you'll give each other the strength to face and overcome them.

This one was actually pretty hard because like I said there are few characters right now and we still don't know a whole lot about the ones we have. Man did it get long though, but I hope you still like the matchup.

Runners Up: Welt Yang, Gepard Landau, Loucha

[fizzingwizard]

Binged Good Omens season 2. Spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

I loooooved it

However, it's worth noting that the way I loved it was different from the way I loved season one. I think any fans expecting Good Omens the remix might possibly be confused or disappointed. The scale of Good Omens was huge - so many players, so many interwoven storylines all coming together for the climax. Season 2 is a smaller deal - like Neil Gaiman's said, a transition between Good Omens and the story we'll hopefully get in season 3. The stakes are lower (in fact the stakes aren't always terribly clear), and the story is sillier. The focus on Aziraphale and Crowley, without the addition of Newt and Anathema and Adam and the Them, means the plot moves more slowly, there's more time to linger, and less mystery to parse.

But while some fans might be surprised, I'm definitely not complaining. I ate it up. We get Marvel movie after movie, all with huge stakes and epic storylines, and it's so much that honestly, don't you just want something smaller, where characters have some chance to develop, and maybe have some down time? That's Good Omens season 2. It's not a gripping adventure, but it is exciting and intriguing and very, very fun.

Here are a few of my thoughts:

I saw the teeniest spoiler in the world just by browsing tumblr, but it meant that I knew about Gabriel and Beelzebub going in. It didn't hurt me too much, since nothing happens till the last episode, but it meant I had a better idea of what was going on with Gabriel and the importance of the fly. The one thing I'm rather confused about is - why did Beelzebub greenlight Shax's plan to storm the bookshop? Was it just because they couldn't do anything else without it looking fishy? I may have missed some details.

I thought the Gabriel/Beelzebub relationship was nice. Some good ol' blasphemy hahahaha. But I will say, that after the Gabriel we got in season one, and after Crowley's threats toward him, the touching finale with everything just going Gabriel and Beelzebub's way left me a little disappointed. I don't think I wanted Gabriel to turn out to still be an asshole, I think that ship had sailed, but I suppose I was expecting him to do something a little more momentous. BUT. It's important to note that the the momentous thing probably IS that nothing momentous happened. There's a clear theme that love, protecting what you have, and enjoying the simple joys of life together are the truest expression of godliness. So I rather think that was very intentional, and having watched the season through once, on second viewing I think I'll feel differently since I'll come into it with fewer expectations.

I absolutely loved Nina and Maggie. It was lovely to see such a great, real, yet silly pair of women pining for each other, as well as a lesbian struggling with a controlling female partner, and her protective manner about it. I do wish the scene where they were locked in the coffee shop had been a little more substantial. It felt like it was meant to be, but it ended so fast. I didn't entirely understand what the point was of including Nina and Maggie... although again I think that was me expecting momentous when the point was simple human love. The fact that I enjoyed them says as much.

The social awkwardness and total out of touch thinking of the angels and demons was hilarious and relatable. The whole Job episode!!! It's what I think everyone feels when they read Job for the first time. I clearly remember being a kid and thinking "God allowed this??" And the little girl who wanted to be a blue salamander... So adorable

Now for all the fun with Crowley and Aziraphale. They were so fun. Sometimes they were a little too silly?? almost??? like when Crowley had to do the apology dance. I didn't understand that. But I look at it as the show reminding us, hey, these guys aren't cool. They're in love and hopelessly devoted. And that means being embarrassing around each other. That's real love, when you can be silly and embarrassing and wholly yourself with your partner. One of my favorite bits was Aziraphale driving the Bentley and turning it yellow xD

Oh and speaking of embarrassing and silly. The nerdy angel!Crowley making the Pillar of Creation in the beginning of episode one hooked me instantly. I was like "oh, this s gonna be GOOD." The purity of his love for creating, that he didn't feel a need for something to have a use to deserve to exist, and how upset he was to hear his creation wouldn't last... as well as how much Aziraphale was drawn to him, and concerned for him, it was all such good framing for the rest of the season. At the end, when Aziraphale tells Crowley "nothing last forever," I just know Crowley thought about the Pillars of Creation. I think in Crowley's mind, things die when they're no longer loved. He wants so much to protect what's important to him, and not be bossed around and told he has to lose something for the Greater Good or whatever.

As for Aziraphale. I think his choice, while heart-breaking, makes perfect sense for him. We were led the whole time to see that Aziraphale meddled on purpose to do good, not always with enough to nuance to know what that was, but meaning it. And Crowley meddled more to help Aziraphale than out of his own desire to meddle - which isn't to say he doesn't genuinely care about humans, but I think demon life just makes that a lot more difficult. Still he goes around protecting goats and children by his own will. He's fixed more on Aziraphale now, but that's in him as well. However, Aziraphale's the one who had faith in the system, and who wasn't 100% ready to part from it at the end of season 1. So Aziraphale deciding to return to heaven is not really that surprising, considering what he expects to gain from it. I do think this will bite him in the butt later, but I don't think he had bad reasons. And Crowley's reasons, for prioritizing his independence over being with Aziraphale, are equally valid. It's a great obstacle for them and the timing of the shift was painfully perfect.

And that finale. To be honest, I was a little frowny for a while, because I thought Maggie/Nina would get a kiss, and then Gabriel/Beelzebub were so romancey that I was like, "will everyone except Aziraphale and Crowley have a moment?" With them, there had been hints, lots of precious looks and lines, but nothing with oomph. I started to think, well, in the end Good Omens isn't a love story anyway... Ye of little faith!!! Crowley and Aziraphale get what I think was the only kiss in the season. It was definitely the most epic. I never should have doubted David Tennant and Michael Sheen. They're too used to each other for nonsense like internalized homophobia :> But I do have to say... the violins when their mouths meet... were a little much x'DDD I almost laughed. It was a very dramatic kiss, and a very dramatic reaction - a scene right out of a Katherine Hepburn movie. That, however, makes me love it more. Yes, let these middle-aged gay angels suck face and pine hopelessly for each other. Validate all those fanfics. Good Omens season 2 is the slow burn I always dreamed of

The cliffhanger ending is EXCRUCIATING. I wouldn't mind having to just wait a little, but it's gonna be years till season 3 - it's not even greenlighted yet! I will not make it y'all. I neeeeeeeeed the next season. Aarrrrggghhh. All good things are worth the wait, but I have to also SURVIVE the wait... XP

In sum: very silly, very touching, a different vibe than Good Omens, but still a very wonderful vibe. Also gay gay gay gay gay. Happy happy happy. Make them all gay! I'm fucking straight but I wish I was gay right now just so I could be even happier. It's a great story with great themes and great gay characters.

[all-funny-names]

300+ Catchy Funny Zombie Names (For Your Undead Friend)

Hey friend! Have you been looking for just the right funny zombie name for your undead companion? I totally get the struggle. Zombie names are super important - they need to capture your zombie's personality while also being punny and humorous. In this blog post, I'll share my tips for picking the perfect funny zombie names and provide some hilarious example zombie names to get your brain juices flowing!

Why Choose a Funny Zombie Name:

Giving your zombie a funny, punny name brings some lightness and humor to their undead existence. I mean, being a zombie seems kinda dreary, right? Having a silly name gives them a chance to show off their personality...even if that personality is a little decomposed (hehe, zombie jokes). A funny name also helps others see your zombie as more friendly and approachable rather than just a mindless flesh-eating monster. 

How to Choose a Funny Zombie Name: 

When picking a funny zombie name, you want it to connect to their appearance, backstory, or personality. Are they a zombie with half an arm? Maybe Armie Deadfits or I.M. Halfdead would work. Were they a chef before becoming undead? Chef Boyardead could be fun. Really dig into what makes your zombie unique. You also want the name to sound zombie-fied. Sub in "dead," "undead," "zomb," "brainz," etc. Or make puns based on their former human name or career. The sillier the better!

300+ Catchy Funny Zombie Names Ideas

Funny Zombie Names With Meanings - Rigor Mortis - This science-y name meaning the stiffness of death could be good for a zombie who is very stiff and robotic in their movements.  - Ghouliani - A play on the name "Giuliani", this could be fitting for a former lawyer or politician zombie who is still holding onto their ambitious side in the afterlife. - Deadward - A zombie twist on "Edward", this name might suit a more reserved, genteel zombie. - Zombette - For a classy lady zombie who still wants to highlight her feminine side even after death, Zombette would be cute.  - Rottica - This punky-sounding name could match a zombie with an edgy, alternative style. - Hed Shouderson - A punny name for a zombie who lost their head and has just shoulders left. Fitting for a silly, fun-loving headless zombie. - Ivana Bitechu - A vampy name for a flirty female zombie who likes to chat up humans and flaunt her undead charms. Definitely a bold personality! - Barry Brainz - This sounds like the name of a zombie scientist type who is still dedicated to academics and discovery, even without functioning brain cells! - Carcasse Chrissie - For a festive zombie who loves Christmas, this name brings out their holiday cheer and spirit. - Hambone Shuffler - With a Southern vibe, this name might suit a zombie from the country who still shuffles along slowly. Laidback personality. - Gory Bloodymary - A gory, creepy name for a former queen bee type who wants to maintain an edgy, vampish vibe in the afterlife. Cute Zombie Names: - ZomBuddy - Brainsy - Giggles - ZomPet - Chompster - Gnawbles - Stumbler - PuzzleBite - Grinny - FuzzyGore - Bitey Boo - ZomNom - Wobblekins - SnickerBite - Fangy - ZomCuddle - Squiggle - Gorelina - ChuckleChomp - ZomPuff - Droolish - Snugglebite - Stitch - FuzzyBrains - ZomZom - GiggleBite - Chewie - NuzzleFangs - TickleBite - Fluffkins Read the full article

[bow-of-aros]

This got crazy long so some of it is going to be under the cut :))

-

Alright. Owen's a meticulous planner, he doesn't like to leave things to chance on solo missions, it's one of the things that makes him the best spy that the MI6 has to offer. What this means is that Owen's rarely ever caught and, when he is, it's either on purpose or he has a contingency plan to get him out as unscathed as possible.

Curt, on the other hand, does not tend to think ahead. He's more of a 'crash in, guns blazing, trust your instincts and hope that everything works out' kind of guy. This only gets worse whenever he's on a mission with Owen because Owen's ready for anything and he always gets Curt out of whatever scrap he manages to land himself in.

What this means is that Curt gets captured. A lot. And Owen's gone through the motions of saving him so many times that it's honestly gotten quite boring.

Until, that is, he found out that Curt was ticklish. That's when things got a whole lot more exciting.

At first, he'd been hoping that maybe this would encourage Curt to be a bit more careful while on missions but that certainly hadn't happened, so he decided to have some fun with it. Occasionally, Owen would ensure that their assignment was complete before coming to free Curt. They'd play at the serious interrogation for a little while before Owen would get rid of whoever else was there and it would slip into something sillier. It happened so often that he literally started carrying a feather on his person for the occasion, and it got plenty of use. Owen would use it to "torture" embarrassing information out of Curt, like admitting that Owen's the better spy, or that he actually prefers the fruity drinks he always jokes about liking better than whiskey, or just a random secret of Curt's choosing. Or the fact that he actually enjoys this. That one happens a lot.

And then, finally, Owen's the one caught.

It happens a couple of years into their partnership, which Curt finds insane. He's been knocked out and tied to dozens of chairs during their missions, how has Owen not had to deal with that once?! (It's called not making stupid decisions, love. It might benefit you to try it sometime.)

When it happens, the mission's practically done and over with, and Owen's let down his guard just a smidge. He'd managed to convince Curt to just scan the information and send it to both of their agencies on account of the place being completely empty, and stealth was of the essence. Except it wasn't completely empty, and Owen had wandered off to see if he could find anything else that could be useful when something smashed into the back of his head.

His first thought when he woke up was Christ. Curt's going to have a field day with this. Then a couple minutes passed with some truly shoddy interrogation tactics that his next thought was This poor bloke has no idea what he's doing. Even if he was shit at asking questions, he obviously knew how to tie someone up and, after a few careful tugs, it was clear that Owen was just going to have to wait for Curt.

He must've been there for all of five minutes before Curt found him and knocked the guy out. Then he took in Owen's position, complete with a truly unimpressed stare, and his face fucking lit up. He'd already known it, but that's when the feeling that Owen was well and truly fucked set in.

It was... brutal, to say the least.

Curt took his time, talking about how much fun he was about to have and (I need people to know that in this very second I knew that I had to write this fic I'm insane about them) how much revenge he had to catch up on. Years of it. The way he said it sent a shiver up Owen's spine that did not go unnoticed. (5+1? Is this going to be a 5+1? Or maybe just a 3+1? Sorry sorry back to it.)

After he deems Owen riled up enough, he slowly unzips his jacket and Owen's briefly thrown by the abrupt change until Curt pulls out the feather he has resting there and oh. Oh no.

Owen's not quite as bad as Curt when it comes to the feather but it still manages to draw some frankly adorable giggles out of him and Curt contents himself with that for a little while. Then, he decides that he wants to get some real revenge and starts meticulously cataloguing spots on Owen's body with a precision that Owen honestly wishes that he would bring to their assignments.

Then he gets to Owen's knees and, if Owen hadn't been chained to the chair, he would've either gone crashing to the ground or kicked Curt's jaw clean off his face. Curt's acting like a child on Christmas because, sure, he'd tried to get Owen back before, but the tables were always turned too quickly to get a proper feel for what worked and what didn't.

But Owen's knees? God did they work. Owen's ribs were pretty bad and Curt doesn't know it, but so is his back (fight me on this), but they don't quite measure up. Finally, Curt's found a spot that will give him a fighting chance, somewhere that might actually be worse than his neck/ears if you can believe it (Owen will deny it until his dying day).

Then, because Curt's a little shit, he uses Owen's own methods against him and makes him admit embarrassing shit for once. Mostly he makes Owen say how much he loooovvveeeesss Curt and when he does this, and finally manages to weasel out his embarrassing middle name (It's fucking Barnaby, which Curt thinks is hilarious.)

Of course, Curt eventually lets him out (and kind of has to help Owen get out of there because that man is wiped) and they get back to their safehouse. Owen gets him back of course, but it was totally worth it!

owen thinks its all fun and games using tickling as a torture method on curt during their fake interrogations until the tables and turned

- ☁️

Ohohoho boy. I feel bad for not responding to this yet bc I've been busy but I have thoughts on this. I will be back. Let's just say that Owen had no fucking clue what was coming for him >:))

[hangster-hangout]

the time of my life

I have like ten little hangster ficlets in my phone and @rooster-84 made a post about the dirty dancing final dance scene and I took that as a sign to post the one I had....enjoy 800 words of fluff at the hard deck.

Bradley wasn’t quite sure how they got here.

It was supposed to be a casual happy hour. A celebration of their first week as the US Navy’s newest squadron, a toast to the year of hard work it took to get them back in Fightertown after the uranium mission.

Fanboy called them the “bad-asses of the skies” and while the Navy wouldn’t be printing that on a patch anytime soon, it seemed like no one was in a rush to disagree.

Bradley was used to squadrons coming and going, of getting close with people only to leave them or be left behind. But it was different with this group, the group chat didn’t die off after a week of being apart. It got stronger and sillier, and he grew to learn more about his teammates and form bonds that different time zones couldn’t shake.

And somewhere along the line Hangman became Jake. The warm feeling that enveloped Bradley whenever he saw him was another thing he couldn’t shake. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

So they were celebrating, a toast to being together and a casual late afternoon fighting over the jukebox and tossing darts with alarming accuracy.

But like most things with the Dagger Squad, things took a strange and unusual turn.

They were congregated around the bar instead of the pool table and talking to Penny about her futile attempt to introduce Amelia to eighties movies. Her last attempt was Dirty Dancing, to which Amelia deemed ‘just alright’ which got Phoenix talking about how she always wanted Patrick Swayze to lift her in the air, which got Jake talking about unfair it was that no one could lift him in the air, which (blaming the three beers and rush of being back) Bradley then responded:

“I could do it.”

He knows everyone is staring at him now, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Jake, watching his expression turn from surprise to something…hungrier.

“Might need some proof.” There’s a challenge in his green eyes, a question if he’s going to push their decade-long game just a little bit closer. Bradley could never really tell what they were pushing each other towards, but the past week he was starting to get an idea.

Take the shot, Rooster.

Bradley raises an eyebrow.

“Play the song.”

Jake’s eyes darken. A direct hit.

Payback lets out an honest to god whoop and Fanboy cheers, clinking glasses with Bob and Phoenix. Coyote starts moving tables and Penny says if someone ends up on the floor, she is ringing the bell.

“I’ll take that,” Bob takes the beer out of Bradley’s hands and the music starts. Bradley walks towards the middle of the cleared space and he’s not exactly sweating through his printed shirt, but the bar feels suddenly warmer.

“Don’t forget Rooster, if you drop him, you’re defacing government property,” Coyote calls from his spot next to Jake’s side, ten feet away from Bradley.

“He won’t drop me.” Jake sounds so sure, so trusting, and something tightens around Bradley’s heart.

Bradley knows the song and hears the buildup, the lyrics talking about being the one thing someone can’t get enough of.

“You ready?” Bradley calls with a grin and Jake gives him a wink. As the duet sings ‘this could be love’ Jake runs toward him, a blinding smile on his face.

Don’t think, just do.

He lifts Jake into the air in one fluid motion, the cheers around him drowning out the chorus of the song. Bradley looks up, mostly getting a view of Jake’s toned chest under his tight white shirt, but he hears a laugh from above.

It’s not a disbelieving laugh – it’s a victory laugh. Bradley lets out one of his own.

Bradley spins him for half a turn before gripping Jake’s hips just a little tighter and slowly starting to bring him down. He doesn’t want the moment to end so he takes his time, looking up and locking eyes with Jake as he lowers him down inch by inch.

Neither of them looks away. Bradley thinks he might never stop looking at Jake.

He finally puts Jake’s feet on the ground, but he doesn’t let go of his waist.

“Definitely movie-worthy,” Jake’s smile is somehow even bigger than the one the post-mission tarmac last year. “You got any fantasies I can take care of for you?”

“Just one,” Rooster murmurs and he moves his hands from Jake’s hips to his jaw, bringing him in for a searing kiss.

The next morning Phoenix sends a video of it all to the group chat simply captioned “Nobody puts Hangman in the corner.”

[cuppimagines]

Trapped in the Sugar Kingdom- Chapter 1: Dr. Ginger

TADA!! It’s not just big porn companies making porn parodies, also weirdos on the internet.

I told folks I wanted sillier ideas for my not safe for work writing, and so outa a haze I decided on a reverse harem-y Candyland parody, with the reader forced into a world where everything is sweet and everyone is very friendly. You’ll also be able to find this on ao3 later tonight, if you would rather read the first chapter there (I am not used to the tagging system over there)

Chapter 2- Andy Mint

Word Count: 5.3k

It was 2 am after work, and you were in charge of closing, again, for the third time this week. It was 10 degrees out, you were tired, and yet you still had to walk to the bus stop, hoping that you’ll make the last bus before having to potentially walk back home…again. Man, you really need a car at this point, but that meant saving up for one, and most of your money went into rent, food, and bills. A loan was out of the question, because eventually you’d have to owe more than you even borrowed. God dammit…

On your walk to the bus stop, you watched the lights around this side of the city slowly turning off. Businesses closing for the night, people heading home after having a night out with friends. Everything was quiet and still, and that made you all the more sleepy despite the freezing cold nipping at your nose and ears. This was the last thing you needed if you had to have that dreaded long walk of shame back home. Amongst the dark and dim dullness, you saw a bright light, a different bright light that wasn’t the flickers of the sidewalk’s lamps. Something new, something bright, and something colorful.

A business was still open. It would’ve barely been noticeable during the day given how small a building it was, but with the entire city asleep, it stuck out to you brighter than ever. Your curiosity, and the hope to get a break from the freezing cold of the outside, injected a small modicum of energy inside you, and you sped up to a brisk jog down to the building.

It was a candy store. But this one seemed like an older store, hardly any of the big bright tourist traps you’ve seen on your occasional vacation. The outside was painted a pleasant candy apple red, the display window filled with candies that were either lesser known or all brands owned by this specific store, things like “Dr. Ginger’s Cookie Men” or “Prince Frosty’s Frosted Drops.” All of the tins looked like they came straight out of the 1920s, so either they were for decoration and empty, or they were real dedicated to the brand. Just above the red and white striped awning, you saw the name of the shop.

“Sugar Kingdom Sweets,” with a simple golden crown on either side of the title. And from the glowing sign in the front, it seemed to be open. Which was odd at a time like this. But you were curious, and it wouldn’t hurt to spend maybe…5 or 10 dollars on a couple of things inside. 

You walked inside, and to your surprise, the doors were opened. The tiny bell above signaled your arrival, and you were hit with the smells of sugars and chocolate and artificial fruit flavors…or, it might be natural fruit flavors. There were shelves and shelves of candies of all kinds throughout the small shop, but not a single big name brand, alongside an old school soda fountain, and several large barrels of candy you could scoop into bags. However, not a single person was running the register, at least as far as you saw. 

After the bell’s gentle ring, it was quiet as a mouse inside. 

Guess despite being open this late, whoever worked here didn’t think anybody would actually be here this late. Even then, the bell should’ve at least alerted whoever worked here... You looked to see if there was a bell you could ring at the register to see if anybody was available, but aside from the cash register- the only modern looking device here, there was a jar of candy, labeled “Free sample, take one only” with a smiley face. It seemed to just be a random assortment of different types of wrapped candies, from chocolates to hard fruit candy to saltwater taffy. You simply shrugged and stuck your hand in, grabbing a candy at random.

And what you pulled out was…

…A piece of assorted licorice, colored pink and black. 

Yuck! You always threw these away as a kid, and as far as you were aware, this sorta licorice was downright nasty. But you already took it out, it felt gross to put it back in after grabbing it, and a waste to throw it away. Maybe it was just your younger, picky, child tongue that made you not like licorice anyway. 

Either way, bottoms up!

It was chewy, and tasted fresh, something you didn’t expect from free samples. And you could taste the strong hint of star anise that merged with the sweetness of the sugar it was coated with. You thought you would wince at the flavors, but your eyes widened in shock at the realization that this wasn’t such a bad flavor! Black licorice wasn’t as bad as you initially thought. The jar said only one sample, but nobody was here to see you take a second, so you went looking in the jar for another piece. However looking at it at face value and rummaging your hand through, it seemed that that was the only piece in here. You pulled your hand back out without grabbing a second piece of candy, and saw your hand pulsating with multiple colors. You thought it was just a trick of the lights inside, but then the environment around you began moving and shifting at odd angles. The shelves began to curve and twist, you hears sounds that might’ve been there, but might’ve been your imagination, and there were spots in your vision.

Oh god, your head felt dizzy, the room was spinning and the ceiling got further and further away. Was this a bad idea? Is this store a front for something else? Or is this store that mysterious boogeyman that’s been putting expensive drugs in kids candy? Your foot slipped, you could feel your balance thrown off, and your body went limp as you barely felt your head hit the ground before passing out.

—

Your head hurt, hurt like someone threw a lacrosse ball with intent to kill you, and your eyes hurt when you tried to open them and all you saw was sunlight. Wait, sunlight? How long were you out? And more importantly, you were outside. You felt the grass underneath your body, not concrete or even a bed, and you could hear voices above you speaking, at first nothing but garbled nonsense before you could make out a few words. 

“They’re quite the looker, but pretty odd, maybe one of those fancy city folk up at the capital?”

“Why are they all the way out here in the countryside?” “We can help this lil cutie out and maybe get a little bit…”

“Get your fuckin head out the gutter idiot!” Slowly, you opened your eyes, shielding them from the sun before sitting up. Everything smelled sweet around you, the grass was soft and plush, but didn’t feel much like regular grass, and there were flowers that sprouted plums sprinkled about. Surrounding you, seemed to be a group of men, barely over 5 feet tall, and…flat? Oh…oh they were straight up a bunch of cookies. White frosting for hair, frosting features that emoted as they looked at you in curiosity, and their clothes seemingly the only thing not frosting based, but they all seemed to be wearing color coded farming gear. As soon as it occurred to you just what you were looking at, your eyes grew wide, and you backed away in fear until your back hit the trunk of a tree.

“What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck….” you muttered, before looking down at your body. You weren’t even in your uniform either, instead you were in a sleek, possibly silk reddish-purple Victorian nightgown that reached below your knees. 

“What the FUCK!!” You yelled aloud. 

“Yeesh lady, calm down, calm down!!” One of the gingerbread men cringed and covered his ears…or where his ears MIGHT have been, one dressed in overalls and a purple sweater. 

“What do you mean calm down WHERE AM I?” You stood up, and just as you did, a plum fell from the tree behind you and just barely missed hitting your head. “Who the hell are you guys?! Where’s the streets? The city?! I gotta get back Jesus fuckin-”

“This city slicker’s got a dirty mouth on her…” one of the gingerbread men leaned over to the other. “I kinda like it~!” That earned a smack from his friend to his right. 

“Alright pal, wait, hold up,” the purple sweater gingerbread man grabbed your arm, and out of instinct you pulled your arm away and glared daggers at who you wanted to turn into a pile of dirty frosting and crumbs. He stood maybe a foot under you in height, and he seemed to be the most serious of the half a dozen cookie men here, as well as the one most well equipped to handle your, at the moment, rather sour attitude.

“Tell me your name, first off,” he said. “Here, I’ll start, my name is Plum Pudding, this is Berry Blue, Cherry Bomb, Lemon Zest, Apple Tart, and Tangerine.” Well…judging by their clothes, at least they were all color coded so you wouldn’t forget. So, nervously you gave the group your name. 

“Now then, tell me, where are you from?” Plum asked you.

“I- well, certainly not here, wherever this is, where am I?”

“Oh, honey you must be far from home,” Lemon shook his head. “You’re here at Gingerfruit Farms.”

“And where exactly is Gingerfruit farms…?” you asked, your possibly impossible situation slowly dawning on you. 

“Right on the outskirts of the Sugar Kingdom,” Apple answered. “Far from home I presume?” 

“Sugar…sugar what?” You turned around, eyes devoid of emotion, and began pacing back and forth on the grass, looking at your feet because you’re afraid if you kept looking at the ginger men and the forests of fruit trees behind you you’d start to go crazy. 

“This is a dream, this is a dream…this is just a weird dream, maybe that piece of candy was drugged and I’m having a really bad trip!” you muttered. “Maybe I’m in the back of an ambulance after someone found me foaming at the mouth and this is everything I’m seeing before I die!” You crouched down, giggling and gripping your hair to avoid possibly screaming your lungs out again. 

“Oh god…yeah no we should go get Dr. Ginger…” Berry said. “They don’t seem too sound in the head right now…”

“Well, cmon bud, let’s go see what’s wrong with you,” Tangerine, the shortest but the broadest of the gingerbread men picked you up, and the rest soon followed, grabbing you to carry you off to god knows where.

“HEY! Augh!! Put me down!! I can walk on my own!” you exclaimed, despite not really putting up a struggle to be carried. You were still rather dazed, so walking might not have been a good idea.

“But you won’t know where to go, hot stuff,” Cherry replied. “And you might try and run away anyway.”

“Wait, what did you just call-” As the group carried you past the neatly tended rows of fruit trees made of gingerbread and candy leaves, you saw a house over the horizon start to come closer and closer into view. It seemed like a treehouse, not a child’s treehouse no, a house built within a massive branching Gingerfruit tree filled with all sorts of different types of fruits growing on different branches. Made of gingerbread seemingly and dotted with color large gumdrops with multicolored stained glass candy windows and a chimney pumping out rainbow smoke. 

The Gingerbread men carried you down to a large basket attached to a pulley system, and Apple pressed a nearby button.

“Doc?” Silence for a few seconds, before there was a crash, followed by the sounds of a man struggling to fix himself up along with a few mutterings under his breath.

“Oh uh, yes Apple?” The voice seemed to belong to that of an older gentleman, with a posh English accent.

“We got a patient here for you, they’re a wily one so get the muzzle if they start to bite you,” Tangerine answered. 

“What?! I’m not some wild-” That's when you were SHOT UP into the air by the pulley, screaming as you went up at a pace fast enough to nearly give you vertigo, until you came to an abrupt stop in the inside of the treehouse, shaky from the sudden ascension. It seems you landed in a doctor's office of sorts, but a very colorful one, the medicine cabinet stocked with pills that looked more like candy than anything, and several anatomical charts on the wall of not just people but gingerbread people, what looked to be lollipop people, and some big amorphous brown ooze. 

“Oh geez…” you looked around before sitting on the medical exam table, and the second your rump hit the seat, a man slammed the door open holding a bag of medical supplies that looked full to bursting. He appeared to be in his early 40s, and stood at five and a half feet tall. He was rather heavyset, with very pale skin and a big mess of wild green hair barely held together in a low ponytail, along with a green five o clock shadow. His doctor's coat was completely splattered with multicolored fruit juice stains, but the suit he wore underneath was pristine and a nice pleasant purple. 

“There’s my little patient!” the man turned to you and grinned in excitement. “Usually I have to do house visits but it’s nice of you to come to me!”

“I don’t exactly have a choice,” you shrugged. “I woke up here, and in this nightgown too, did those gingerbread perverts outside do this to me?”

“Well…I have no clue where’d they even get this lovely little gown you’re wearing,” the doctor took a look at you, and he seemed to be eyeing you up not just out of curiosity, but that grin hid something else underneath. “But, let’s do a few simple checkups. Oh, by the way, call me Dr. Ginger, you are?” “Well my name is-” before you could answer, Dr. Ginger got up close and shined a light into your eyes, and immediately you pulled back and covered your face and winced in pain and annoyance.

“Vision seems good if not a little sensitive…” The doctor pulled out a small hammer, and once it tapped against your knee you might have kicked a little bit too high and too suddenly, possibly from the shock.

“Reflexes are amazing…almost paranoid actually,” He then grabbed your chin to open your mouth, his gloved hand brushing against your tongue. Seemed he took his sweet time especially to examine your mouth, and having his fingers nearly in your mouth like this made you shiver. 

“Hm…” he paused, furrowing his brow. “I might need to take a look into this…my dear, would you mind if I ask for a simple kiss?” Is this this old man’s way of flirting with you? I mean, probably not going to be the weirdest thing to happen here, he was certainly an eccentric looking man, but far from a skeevy or messy pervert. 

“I mean, alright, sure-” The doctor then leaned in, gripping the sides of your head and planting a kiss against your lips. Seems it wasn’t the only thing he wanted. You felt his tongue push past your lips and taste around your mouth, and in turn you got to taste him. He did have a pleasant flavor, the taste and smell of sugar plums on his lips and tongue, and it seemed that your stress already began to melt away, until the doctor pulled away, a look of shock and worry on his face.

“Oh my word, have you been eating licorice…?” he asked. You almost didn’t hear him for a second, the kiss left you a little bit dazed, but you shook your head to get your thoughts back in order.

“Uh, I had one piece, it was a sample in a candy store,” you said. “And then I passed out, and then I woke up surrounded by gingerbread guys.”

“I see…I see what’s going on here…” Dr. Ginger sucked his teeth and shook his head. “That dastardly serpent…”

“What Dastardly serpent…?”

“Well, it seems you really aren’t from the Sugar Kingdom, first off, because someone brought you here. I’m surprised you didn’t just magically wake up in the clutches of that monstrous warlock.”

“What Monstrous warlock? You’re just saying things but not telling me.”

“Well, I can tell you,” Dr. Ginger started rummaging through his pockets. “But I can also show you.” He pulled out a roll of paper and handed it to you. It was a wanted poster.

“WANTED: Lord Anise Licorice, Wanted for theft, several accounts of attempted manslaughter, and illegal practice of dark magic. REWARD: 10,000,000 Candy Crystals.” The sepia tone paper had a portrait of a thin yet broad shouldered older man with a strong jawline, thin nose, long dark hair with lighter streaks in it, and a dark hat obscuring one half of his face.

“That licorice might have been his work to send you to this world, but for reasons I'm not sure of,” Dr. Ginger said. “However, it’s important to have you back to your world before he gets you into his clutches.”

“Well, I know who sent me here and that I can get back, but how do I?” Dr. Ginger snapped his fingers and pointed out his window, and you went to check it out. Beyond the trees you could see that there was a rainbow brick road that stretched out a far distance. 

“Follow the main road to the capital, and you should be there in no time at all. Request an audience with the king, and his magic will be able to take you back home. Of course, I can help you get there, I do have a carriage that’ll get you up there in three days tops if there are no interruptions.” 

“I…well…uh…” your expression softened, and you looked at the doctor with a sliver of hope in your eyes.

“Thank you, I don’t know where I am, but I’m so happy to have whatever help I can,” you softly muttered. “So uh…Thank you for this.”

“Anything for a sweet-faced cutie pie such as yourself!” Dr. Ginger grinned, scratching his 5 o'clock shadow a bit. “But, there’s still one thing that needs to be solved before I can help you back, as travel is stressful on the body, and you already seem to be carrying a lot of stress!”

“Yes I am in fact…very stressed out at the moment,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and letting out a pained laugh. 

“Good thing I have a new little contraption for such an occasion, one moment, and put this on while I’m gone,” the second you looked back at the doctor, he was holding a patient's gown, but one with a rainbow jellybean pattern on it. 

“Uh…okay I guess,” you shrugged, the Doctor leaving so you could get changed. This wasn’t your first time having to wear one of these things, back when you still had decent health insurance. Once you folded your night gown to the side and put on the patient’s gown, you noticed that this was rather…short on you, and a bit tight around the hips. Were gowns always like this??

“I’m back!” Dr. Ginger's voice nearly had you jolted up out of nowhere, and he was coming in holding a rectangular case in one hand. “Alright dear, lay down, and spread your legs.” Curious, but your mind already thinking about the places this could go, you did as the doctor told you to, looking particularly at that color splattered case. He opened it up and your eyes went saucer wide.

“Mr. Cashew tells me this helps in special cases of stress and hysteria,” Dr. Ginger explains. “And you are carrying a lot of stress, so I had to get out the big guns.” And the big guns happened to be a dildo, and an odd shaped one. It was a melty gooey rainbow color with two ends, one of the ends being smaller and thinner, both ends however having a similar look and shape to long thin twisty lollipops. Oh wow, and here you thought he was going to prescribe you whatever sugary “medicine” was in that cabinet. 

“Let’s test this out on you, you’ll be my first patient to try this little device, and oh boy I’m excited to see the results! I was told to write down what happens, and I don’t want to test this on myself in fear of bias.”

“So am I also your little guinea pig in this case?” you asked. 

“Something of the sorts! No matter, I’ll make sure you’re as comfortable as possible, if there's anything wrong, you just tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” Dr. Ginger made sure his gloves were on tight, before pouring a very sickeningly purple liquid on his little device, possibly lube. 

“Now keep your legs spread nice and wide…” He licked his lips, grinning a much more devious, hungry grin. You kept your legs spread, and soon enough, you felt the head of the dildo slowly push past your entrance, and started sliding in with ease. Oh god he was right, you could feel your stress already melting away when you felt inch after inch of the girthy device slowly stretch you out.

“Mmm…oh god…keep going…” you moaned softly. 

“Hmm…the patient seems quite pleased by this,” Dr. Ginger stared at you intensely, curiously, before sliding it halfway into you. By then, you felt the other end of the dildo poking at your ass. Dr. Ginger took it slower than he already was, and the feeling of both ends of you being stretched out started to make you squirm. Dr. Ginger had to hold one of your legs, but even then he looked a bit fussy when you started to squirm.

“You might need to keep your legs still,” he huffed. “If you can't, I'll have no choice but to use the clamps…”

“S-sorry doctor…” you moaned. “It’s just that…oh god…it’s just that I-” You threw your head back and gasped when you felt the dildo begin to vibrate- at both ends nonetheless. Dr. Ginger looked at you to see if anything was wrong, but seeing your flushed expression and you moaning softly under your breath for more, he happily obeyed your adorable little pleas as the dildo went as deep as it could inside you, inside both of your ends. 

“This is the lowest setting, I’ll go up as far as you would like, my dear,” he smiled. “Oh but this is quite the machine. If only I was as tech savvy as Mr. Cashew was, I’d love to have more of these to try on such a cutie plum pie such as yourself~!” The settings went up only  by a little bit, and already your body was shuddering, soft moans and whimpers escaping your lips while you tried your best to keep your legs still as the doctor ordered you to. However, he sighed impatiently and pressed a button closest to the wall. 

Two pairs of mechanical hands shot out from the ceiling and grabbed you by the ankles, and the grip on them was firm enough to keep you in place.

“Another glorious invention as thanks to Mr. Cashew,” Dr. Ginger grinned. “Now you can stay nice and still…while I pleasure you properly…” While you felt the doctor pump the dildo in and out of you slowly with one hand, his other hand reached down, and his thumb began to rub your clit in slow careful circles. You covered your face, huffing and moaning as the sensation began to grow too much to handle, your body shook and your breathing got heavier and heavier.

“Yes…yes, perfect, oh how wonderful~!” Dr. Ginger brought the setting up higher, and already you swear you were seeing stars. Oh god why didn’t you ever get a sex toy like this before? All this while you were using your hands, but this, oh this is your first time being penetrated this deep and it feels so so good…

You cried out, arching your back and gripping the sides of the exam table when you could feel yourself tip over the edge into a climax, the dildo inside you soaking wet with the lube and your own fluids. And that seemed to please the doctor all too much, and he finally turned it off.

“Ohhhh YES!!” he exclaimed. “Perfect, perfect, so far this seems to be working just as intended…but…” You noticed he kept the dildo still placed nearly inside you, and so he used that opportunity to turn it back on, but you felt the vibrations at a much higher setting. You had barely recovered from your last orgasm and already you were hit with another rage of exhausting pleasure, practically screaming when you felt the dildo vibrating inside you.

“Doctor…ohhhh Doctor-!” You cried out.

“Is that your limit dear?” he asked. “Do you need me to stop it now?” You tried to vocalize it, but instead you shook your head. You wanted to keep going despite how incoherent you felt. This was amazing…

“You want me to keep going?” he asked. “Oh…oh aren’t you a special little test subject?” That’s when the Doctor began to thrust the dildo in and out of you at a faster yet steady pace, and this time he climbed up onto the exam table with you, marveling at your adorable flustered expression up close all the while fucking you with just that toy. 

“An absolutely marvelous patient and test subject…!” he grinned maniacally, holding your hips with his other hand while he leaned in to kiss your cheek, down your jawline and chin, down to your neck as he excitedly peppered your neck and collarbones with several excited kisses and licks to really savor you.

“You taste soooo sweet…a different kind of sweetness I’ve never tasted here, not even amongst all my medicines and tinctures, my dear, you are a delicious, delicious beauty…!” His touches were so gentle despite how much rougher and more excited he was getting from pounding you on both ends with the toy inside you, filling you up while the doctor kissed and sucked at your skin. 

“Cum for me again my dear…” he moaned before leaning down to kiss you again, his tongue exploring your mouth a second time out of excitement and lust instead of the way he was simply examining it earlier. He wanted to taste you out of the desire bubbling inside of him, to please you and hear you moan all for him, it was incredible! And it was incredible for you all the same, the sensations were driving you wild, already you knew you were close to a second orgasm, and just as you could feel that second climax…

Dr. Ginger turned up the setting to its maximum setting. You moaned loudly, you were incoherent, your insides were on fire and it was all so much. In fact it was too much for you and yet you wanted it to keep going. Your thoughts were scrambled up, nothing that came out of your mouth made sense except for the shaky loud moans escaping your lips while the doctor looked down at you absolutely wicked with lust. 

“Yes…yes…YES!!!” he cried out. “Keep moaning for me my sweet little guinea pig!! Show me how much this is making you feel good!”

“Doct- Doc- ohhhhhhhhh godddd!!!” You moaned loudly. That was the most you could speak, but you would beg for more, plead for more if you could. Despite your legs being constrained, you tried your best to buck your hips into the toy, but you were at the mercy of Dr. Ginger, and he was to show you absolutely none while his skillful hands fucked you, thrusting the dildo in and out of you even while it was still vibrating at such a rapid body shaking pace. 

“Do you like that dear? Do you like all that overstimulation to your cunt and ass my darling~?” Dr. Ginger asked you softly in your ear. “I wanna hear you saaaay it~!” 

“Y-ye- yes…” You muttered between moans, before squealing when Dr. Ginger thrust rather aggressively in you after nearly pulling completely out. 

“I can’t hear you…” he said with a coy mischievous grin. “I wanna hear you say how much you love it or I’ll stop…” You could feel his pace slow down, and the vibrations getting lower. That’s when you gripped the doctor desperately, grabbing his shoulders and looking at him with that same flushed half lidded face.

“Please- please please pleaaaase….” you begged. “This feels so so good Doctor, please…” Dr. Ginger hummed in satisfaction, and you felt the vibrator going from barely a hum, back up to max oh so quickly, and you nearly felt your head spin from the sensation. Dr. Ginger leaned back down, kissing you passionately as he straddled you and fucked you oh so hard with that precious toy of his. This time you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. 

In that sweet passionate embrace did you cum for the third time on Dr. Ginger’s dildo, holding tight onto him as you felt your voice get scratchy from just how loud you were from cumming a third time. Dr. Ginger pressed that same button on the wall, and your legs finally fell back onto the exam table, and the doc climbed off of you, a visible tent in his pants. 

“Oh I have some amazing results to write down,” Dr. Ginger smiled. “Hooo WEE that was a good time, I think that should aleve your-” He looked back down at you on the exam table, laying on your side, soaking wet between the legs and seeing stars in your vision, and realized that you…might not be in any state to travel after that.

“I have a, er, a guest bed for you,” he said, helping you up off the exam table. “I think you should rest, and I have to pack some stuff for that journey of yours to the capital. I’ll explain all the details for when you’re not…in this state, so…” Dr. Ginger clapped his hands, and Plum peeked his head in, first to Dr. Ginger and then to you, and you just very lazily waved.

“Take our guest to the guest room for now, they need some rest after our little checkup.”

“Of course boss,” Plum went to pick you up, while Tangerine grabbed your clothes. Seems both of the gingerbread men were actively listening in on your time with the doc, cause Tangerine at least had a bulge in his pants from all that…how gingerbread men could have erections you have no fuckin clue. But You were taken up to a guest room in the eccentric color coated gingerbread house, and laid down in a lemon scented bed.

“Uh…I guess…see you later, pal,” Plum waved before closing the door. As soon as you were alone, you sat up in bed. Dr. Ginger definitely helped you from being stressed out, but you were still oh too aware of your current situation. A vintage candy store in your city had transported you to a world where everything and almost everyone was made out of sweets, and there was some Licorice Fiend after you. And now you have to find a way to the capital city to get back to your home before this guy finds out where you are. 

Part of you was still convinced this was a dream, but you’ve never had a dream that felt that good before.

[bambirex]

Me And Mr. Wolf

Pairing: Geraskier

Characters: Jaskier/Dandelion, Geralt of Rivia

Rating: explicit

Category: m/m

Additional tags: plot what plot/porn without plot, porn with a little bit of plot, sexual tension, resolved sexual tension, roleplay, light dom/sub, doggy style, horny Jaskier/Dandelion, horny Geralt of Rivia, dirty talk, spanking, biting, possessive behavior, rough sex, breeding kink, wolf instincts, (not literally but you'll see), anal fingering, jaskier basically writes smut fanfiction and then gets to experience it, coming untouched

Word count: 3,861

Chapters: 1/1

Summary: Geralt looked at him differently, with an emotion in his amber eyes that Jaskier couldn’t quite decipher, but it looked like hunger. And Jaskier tried to signal to him that it was okay to act upon his desires (if they existed at all, of course), but all his attempts were futile. The tension, the lingering glances and touches remained, and Jaskier felt like tearing his own hair out every day.

(...)

All his frustrations oozed onto the piece of paper before him. That was the only way to truly let it all out, by making up an unabashedly horny song using his typical metaphors. It wasn’t as if anyone would ever hear it; this wasn’t the kind of song Jaskier would have ever played in front of a crowd. That was just for him, only he would know who the big bad wolf and the needy bunny of the lyrics were.

Well, Geralt would probably know, too, what with him living his life with the “white wolf” title plastered to him, and the fact he once fondly said that if Jaskier would be an animal, he would definitely be an over-energetic rabbit.

Lucky that Geralt would never find that song.

Author's notes: What the hell is this, I hear you ask. I don't know either. I had a nasty idea and I jumped onto it. Please, check the tags before reading!!!! Comments are super appreciated, but hate commenters will get their kneecaps stolen! (I'll also be very sad and I'll let you know and make you feel embarrassed, so just don't, please)

I don't know how dicks work so you just have to accept whatever I wrote here lol

Read on Ao3

It was a silly song, really.

Sillier than most of Jaskier’s little jaunty songs about horny daughters of fishmongers, or that ridiculous sea shanty about a drunken selkie man.

Jaskier was usually a fine poet; he appreciated the beauty in the world around him and he made sure to translate those into his songs via decorative metaphors. He poured his joy, his heartbreak and his anger into his creations, touching the hearts of many who listened to them and who needed an outlet for their own feelings.

But, he had other emotions besides the most obvious ones that a songwriter usually penned down, very pent-up and frustrating ones that made him grab the bottle of ink one day and write a ridiculous story, which then grew into a very confusing lyrics of a song.

Jaskier and Geralt has been dancing around each other for months, and it was slowly driving Jaskier crazy. Now, he didn’t even know if the witcher liked men, but his behavior was certainly very strange. His touches lingered on longer as he rested his big hand on the small of Jaskier’s back when he escorted him out of a crowded tavern, or when he gently patted him down to check for injuries after Jaskier once again foolishly got caught up in the middle of a hunt. When he walked past Jaskier, his body always brushed into his, even when there was plenty of place.

Sure, these all could have just been the signs of Geralt finally growing more comfortable around the bard and letting himself open up to the possibility of a friendship, but Jaskier enjoyed making up conspiracy theories, especially if it involved his own feelings for his companion. He’s been aching for Geralt since the day he’s laid his eyes on him in the tavern at Posada, and it has only gotten worse the more time they’ve spent together. Jaskier’s heart- and other parts of his body – wanted and needed Geralt so badly, of course he couldn’t help but hope when Geralt’s behavior towards him changed.

There was only one catch, namely, that even though it seemed like Geralt had become more physically affectionate, he still refused to verbalize his needs, or act on them in a more explicit way. Which left Jaskier endlessly second-guessing what this all meant, drinking up these small moments and always craving more. He couldn’t help but notice this strange tension between them whenever they were close to each other. Something heavy has been hanging in the air around them for a while now, fizzling like cracks of lightning, waiting to blow out into a storm. Geralt looked at him differently, with an emotion in his amber eyes that Jaskier couldn’t quite decipher, but it looked like hunger. And Jaskier tried to signal to him that it was okay to act upon his desires (if they existed at all, of course), but all his attempts were futile. The tension, the lingering glances and touches remained, and Jaskier felt like tearing his own hair out every day.

Not even furiously jerking off each night thinking of Geralt’s hands on his body helped. Jaskier’s body was pulled tight like the strings on his lute, ready to snap.

All his frustrations oozed onto the piece of paper before him. That was the only way to truly let it all out, by making up an unabashedly horny song using his typical metaphors. It wasn’t as if anyone would ever hear it; this wasn’t the kind of song Jaskier would have ever played in front of a crowd. That was just for him, only he would know who the big bad wolf and the needy bunny of the lyrics were.

Well, Geralt would probably know, too, what with him living his life with the “white wolf” title plastered to him, and the fact he once fondly said that if Jaskier would be an animal, he would definitely be an over-energetic rabbit.

Lucky that Geralt would never find that song.

Once he was done, Jaskier shoved the paper deep into his bag. He barely even skimmed the lyrics to check if it was coherent at all. His cheeks felt warm, and there was a growing tightness in his pants by the time he was finished. Fuck it all, he thought. He may never be fucked by Geralt, but he could always write down his lustful fantasies using flower language.

--

“I brought an apple for Roach, but I can’t find it for the life of me!” Jaskier groaned as he patted down his clothes, checking every pocket for the ripe fruit. “She’s gonna hate me now.”

“She doesn’t know you were gonna bring her anything,” Geralt replied calmly from the tree trunk he was sitting on, cleaning his sword. “She can’t read minds.”

“Still, it’s so embarrassing,” Jaskier huffed, “I’m trying to impress a lady here, and I’m failing!”

“Isn’t that just the usual story of your life?”

“That was a low blow,” Jaskier murmured under his nose. He rummaged through his bag, but there was still no sight of the apple. “Ah, shit. I think it might be in my other bag.”

Geralt sighed, then reached down for the embroidered bag by his feet. “This one?”

“My hero,” Jaskier cooed, fluttering his eyelashes at him. “I know I can always count on you, my dear.”

Was that a blush on Geralt’s cheeks, or was this a cruel game Jaskier’s eyes played on him?

“You would lose your own head if it wasn’t attached to your neck,” Geralt grumbled as he opened Jaskier’s bag, reaching inside to shorten the process a little bit. He knew that if he’d let Jaskier continue his frantic search, the apple would never see the light of day.

By that time, Jaskier had completely forgotten about the song he wrote a couple days prior, about him and Geralt fucking, disguised as animals. He didn’t even recognize the piece of paper in Geralt’s hand.

It took several moments of heavy silence and seeing Geralt’s eyes widening as he read whatever was written on the paper for Jaskier to realize that it was his horny-frustration song Geralt was reading.

He practically flew over to Geralt to try and snatch it out of his hands, but Geralt was faster, rising from the trunk and holding the paper out of Jaskier’s reach. Jaskier desperately jumped up for it, panic swirling in his chest.

“You wrote a new song,” Geralt stated. His voice was calm as usual, but there was also something else to it. Jaskier didn’t know what it was, but it made chills run down his spine.

“It’s shitty, just a silly little thing,” Jaskier said, forcing out a laugh. He could feel his face flaming, and he was pretty sure Geralt could see it. “I was gonna throw it away. Did you find the apple?”

“The lyrics is interesting,” Geralt said, his eyes drifting back to the paper. He licked his lips, slowly. Jaskier watched his tongue, his own mouth running dry.

“Why would the bunny want to be fucked by a wolf, and not another bunny? Why does he want the wolf so bad?”

“Since when are you so interested in my, I quote, ‘empty nonsense sang by my fillingless pie of a voice’? It’s just a song, Geralt,” Jaskier scoffed. He made another attempt at reaching for the paper, but he was stopped by Geralt’s hand around his wrist. He had a strong grip, not enough to hurt him, but enough to make him halt. Jaskier swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the way his whole body heated up by Geralt’s touch.

Geralt’s eyes darkened as he looked at him. He stepped closer. Jaskier wasn’t all that shorter than him, but right now, it felt like Geralt was towering over him. It made Jaskier feel small and weak, in a way that was equal amounts intimidating and thrilling.

“The bunny seems very frustrated,” Geralt continued. Jaskier felt his breath on his face. He had to bite down on his lower lip to stifle a whimper.

“Poor thing is constantly humping the ground. Why doesn’t he just tell the wolf he wants to be fucked?”

Something about the way he asked that question, and how his pupils dilated, made Jaskier realize they weren’t really talking about the song anymore. Geralt may have been oblivious, but not this much. He clearly understood the metaphors, and now he was giving Jaskier the chance to explain himself. He needed to take this risk: he would either majorly embarrass himself by misinterpreting this whole situation, or he could finally get what he wanted and put an end to this weird tension between them.

“He keeps telling him,” Jaskier said, his voice wavering slightly. “Maybe not outright saying it, but he keeps giving signs. The wolf is just dense.”

Geralt chuckled. “Is that so?”

“He keeps looking at the bunny hungrily, but doesn’t do anything about it,” Jaskier bit his lip, daring to move a little closer himself, until their noses nearly brushed. Geralt didn’t move away. “It’s driving the bunny crazy.”

“Maybe he just wants to eat the bunny. A wolf is a predator, after all.”

“He would have already done that, then. He’d had plenty of opportunities, but he’d never hurt the bunny. He keeps letting the bunny follow him everywhere he goes, and sometimes it almost seems like he likes him. Am I wrong about that?”

Geralt hummed. There was a small smile playing on his lips, barely there, but it still gave Jaskier hope.

“I think you may be right,” Geralt replied. He gently run his thumb across the vein in Jaskier’s wrist, making him shiver. “But maybe the wolf isn’t dense, he’s just never met such an eager bunny before.”

“Are you saying that the big bad wolf is afraid of the tiny bunny?” Jaskier grinned cheekily, unable to help himself. The unexpected slap on his ass made the air in his lungs hitch, and his cock stir in his pants.

“Maybe the bunny should be more careful around the wolf,” Geralt growled. Impossibly, his voice went even deeper. It made Jaskier tremble with need. He didn’t even try to hide the quiet moan that fell from his lips, this time.

“The wolf could destroy him.”

“He wants to be destroyed,” Jaskier breathed. Daringly, he took Geralt’s hand and placed it back on his bum, sighing in bliss when Geralt squeezed it. “He’s been dreaming about it for long months, haven’t you read the lyrics?”

“He wants to be impaled on the wolf’s cock,” Geralt read the line, a teasing edge to his voice. “He wants the wolf to re-arrange his guts.”

“Okay, probably not my finest lines,” Jaskier cringed, “but sue me… I mean, the bunny. He’ll die if he doesn’t get to feel the wolf’s huge dick inside him.”

With a deep, guttural growl, Geralt dropped the paper, then surged forward and smashed his lips against Jaskier’s. His fingers dug into his buttocks through the material of his trousers possessively as he licked into Jaskier’s mouth, his tongue slipping past his lips, coaxing his mouth open. Jaskier obeyed him willingly, moaning as Geralt’s teeth dug into his lower lip.

His own hands flew up, desperately tugging at Geralt’s hair. He pressed his body closer to him, grinding himself against Geralt’s pelvis. He gasped in delight when he felt the hardness in Geralt’s trousers pressing back against him.

This was really happening, that part of his brain that was still able to make coherent thoughts, reminded him. Finally, finally, Geralt understood the message. Jaskier wished it didn’t happen through his embarrassing mess of a song, but he gladly took what he could get.

Jaskier whimpered when Geralt pulled away, desperately chasing his lips. Geralt smirked, giving Jaskier another curt spank that had him arching into his touch.

“How does a male bunny go into heat, by the way?” Geralt laughed. Jaskier groaned, quickly shutting Geralt up with another kiss. He nipped at Geralt’s lower lip, enjoying the way Geralt’s hips shot forward in response.

“Is he still in heat?” Geralt pressed further. He moved to Jaskier’s neck, licking at where his pulse thrummed quickly. He took the pale skin between his teeth, making Jaskier let out a high-pitched whine as he marked him, sucking a deep blue bruise into his neck.

“Yeah,” Jaskier moaned, his aroused body deciding to stop feeling embarrassed about his ridiculous lines. He needed Geralt so badly, he felt like might actually truly die. His body felt like it was going to explode any second, and Geralt’s lips on his neck didn’t help. He swore under his breath as Geralt’s hot breath ghosted over the blooming bruises on his sensitive skin. He was being marked, being owned by Geralt – the sheer possessiveness of it all nearly sent him over the edge right there. He tilted his head back, exposing more of his throat. He was the perfect prey, and Geralt was the perfect predator.

The exact opposites of each other, and yet, that was exactly what made them work.

“The wolf needs to take care of it,” Jaskier panted as he rocked against Geralt’s body. “They ended up fucking in the song, Geralt…”

“Don’t worry,” Geralt drawled into his ear, his large hands travelling over Jaskier’s body, squeezing and pinching and caressing everywhere he could reach, “the wolf wants the bunny just as bad. He’s gonna fuck that little bunny within an inch of his life.”

That in itself nearly made Jaskier come into his pants. He cursed under his breath as he whipped around and fell to the ground onto his hands and knees, not caring the slightest about how ridiculous he must have looked like. His sheer need clouded every single rational thought inside his brain; there was no more shame, no more second-guessing. They wanted the same thing, and it was finally time to tangle up in each other after months of excruciating tension.

“That’s a very needy bunny,” Geralt chuckled behind him. Jaskier lifted his butt higher, wiggling it with a whimper.

“And that’s a very slow wolf,” he shot back, “I thought he said he wanted to fuck the bunny, so what is he waiting for!?”

Geralt slapped his ass again with a growl. Then again, and again, until Jaskier was a panting mess, desperately humping the ground like the bunny in the song. His ass stung with every slap, making Jaskier crave more of the delicious pain. He arched his back needily when Geralt yanked down his pants along with his underwear.

He heard the pop of a bottle opening, and immediately there was a cool, wet finger circling his entrance. He moaned at the realization that Geralt was carrying a certain oil with him, probably hoping to do this for a while now.

“The wolf needs to hurry up,” Jaskier hissed, “if he keeps playing, the bunny will hop onto a different wolf’s dick.”

Jaskier felt quite triumphant as Geralt growled again. He pressed his finger inside not too gently, the stretch burning just enough to make shivers run down Jaskier’s spine. He shut his eyes tight, rocking back against the finger inside him. The callouses on Geralt’s finger felt rough against his sensitive insides, making him keen. He spread his legs further apart, welcoming the second, then the third finger inside. Geralt scissored them, stretching him wide open. He rubbed that sensitive spot inside Jaskier, making him see stars.

“Please,” Jaskier moaned, canting his hips backwards, fucking himself on Geralt’s hand. “The wolf knows the bunny is in heat, he can’t keep making him wait…”

Just like that, Geralt removed his fingers. Jaskier mourned the loss of them for a couple seconds, until he heard the sound of Geralt unbuckling his belt behind him.

There was something so incredibly raw and animalistic in fucking like this, out in the open, with only their pants undone, too impatient to do much foreplay. The whole thing made Jaskier’s blood buzz inside his veins pleasantly; that was what he wrote about in the song, after all. The wolf fucking the living soul out of the bunny, taking him fast and rough, the way they both needed it.

Jaskier gasped as he felt the pressure of Geralt’s cock against his rim. He’s expected Geralt to be big – he hoped he was, even- but the reality of it made him tense up momentarily. He whimpered at the burning ache, clawing at the ground.

“Are we sure the bunny can handle it?” Geralt breathed against his neck, raising goosebumps all over Jaskier’s skin. “He might be too delicate to take the wolf.”

“He’s not,” Jaskier moaned. He took a deep breath and relaxed his muscles as much as he could. Slowly, the head of Geralt’s dick pushed inside. Jaskier’s eyes rolled back into his head as it stretched him, slowly but mercilessly pushing inside him. “Ah, fuck. He can take it, he needs it!”

Geralt caressed his bare hip gently as he buried himself to the hilt. He moved his hips gently at first, letting Jaskier get used to the stretch. Jaskier arched his back impatiently as the ache subsided, giving place to pleasure.

“Come on, now,” he groaned, wiggling on Geralt’s dick and making him swear, “the wolf is a wild animal, isn’t it? He should act like one!”

His voice died on a gasp as Geralt shoved his hips forward. Jaskier felt so full, stretched and owned in every way, and he fucking loved it. He gripped onto handfuls of grass, mouth falling open on loud moans as Geralt started pistoling into him, not holding back anymore.

“Is that what the bunny wants?” Geralt rasped, his fingers digging into Jaskier’s hips, hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises there. His hips shot forward at a maddening speed, knocking the breath out of Jaskier’s lungs. “To be taken apart by the wolf?”

“Yes!” Jaskier screamed. He was surely going out of his mind. This was even better than what he imagined, better than the nasty little fantasy he wrote down: the reality of Geralt’s girth inside him, the delicious pain of being filled to the brim by him, the sound of his deep moans and their skin slapping against one another was beyond everything Jaskier has ever imagined. It was all so nasty, so absurd in a way that thrilled him to no end.

Geralt let go of his hips to drape himself across Jaskier’s back, his body covering his and pushing him further into the grass. He braced himself with his hands on the ground by Jaskier’s head, his hips thrusting in and out of him without any support – it really felt like they were a pair of wild animals coupling. Geralt growled, and Jaskier whined, their sounds creating a confusing, sinful orchestra.

Geralt tilted his hips and drove the head of his cock straight into Jaskier’s prostrate. Jaskier cried out, pushing his own hips back to meet Geralt halfway. There was a tiny string of drool dripping down his chin as he was getting fucked out of his mind, jaw hanging slack and eyes half-lidded in bliss.

“The wolf is going to come all over the bunny’s pretty bum,” Geralt whispered into his ear. He grinded himself into Jaskier’s sweet spot, making them both moan in unison. “Gonna show everyone who the bunny belongs to.”

That sounded wonderful, the idea of Geralt’s cum joining the decoration of bruises on his hips, but Jaskier had different ideas.

“No,” he whimpered, twisting his head to look back at Geralt. His witcher’s eyes were dark, his hair escaped his ponytail, messily framing his face. The strong, wild white wolf, so dangerously beautiful. And he was Jaskier’s.

“The bunny wants to be bred,” Jaskier moaned, face burning with his words that stumbled out of his mouth carelessly, his brain to mouth filter even flimsier now that he was mad with lust, all his darkest fantasies coming to life as he was coming apart, speared on his wolf’s cock.

“He wants to be bursting with the wolf’s seed.”

The sound that ripped out of Geralt’s chest would have been terrifying in any other situation. Right now, it made the heat coiling inside Jaskier’s belly flare up even more.

“The wolf’s gonna breed him full,” Geralt rumbled, driving himself impossibly deeper inside Jaskier, “gonna pump a litter into the bunny.”

By the gods and all the higher entities out there, this shouldn’t have been the sentence that made Jaskier blow his load with an embarrassingly loud, half-sobbing half-screaming moan- but then again, everything they’ve done today was so wrong in all the best ways, Jaskier shouldn’t have been surprised, really. His vision blurred for a couple moments as he spilled onto the ground beneath him, his body trembling and twitching with the force of his orgasm.

His hole tightened around Geralt, making Geralt practically howl as he desperately chased his own completion. He sunk his teeth into the back of Jaskier’s neck, biting down hard on the skin until Jaskier screamed, his spent cock twitching one more time as the wonderful pain exploded in his nerve endings.

Geralt kept his teeth around his neck as he fucked him, growling and hissing as he reached the edge. His hips stilled inside Jaskier, and he let out a shaky breath as he came deep inside him. Jaskier closed his eyes, his lips curling into a tired, but very pleased smile as Geralt emptied his load into him.

They stayed like this for a while, Geralt still inside him, panting against Jaskier’s back. He gently kissed over the bitemark on Jaskier’s neck, soothing the pain with his tongue. Jaskier sighed happily, a very pleasant exhaustion settling into his bones.

“And you say my songs don’t have power,” Jaskier chuckled tiredly, “how long do you think we would have kept this stupid façade up otherwise?”

Geralt hummed softly, kissing Jaskier on the cheek gently. Nowhere was the animalistic horniness now, seeping out of them as they both came down from their high.

“Your metaphors are incredibly on the nose,” Geralt murmured, “at least you could have made some effort and not make the wolf white, or the bunny brown with blue eyes.”

“Leave my horny song alone!” Jaskier whined. “That was my only outlet!”

“Not anymore,” Geralt grinned, gently cupping Jaskier’s jaw and making him turn his head to kiss him on the lips, sweetly, languidly, until Jaskier practically melted against his mouth.

“Not anymore,” Jaskier repeated with a dreamy sigh. He pecked Geralt on the lips one more time, before he patted his bicep with a smile. “Now, as much as I like how this all turned out, I think the big bad wolf should pull out of the little bunny now. We still haven’t found that apple for Roach.”

“Hmm. I thought the bunny would like to go for another round. He could show the wolf how well he can hop. On the wolf’s dick, maybe.”

Jaskier huffed out a laugh, but he didn’t have the heart to argue. Instead, he gently pushed Geralt off and flipped them around with a triumphant grin.

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

How or when did you realize that you love Dimiclaude as a ship? Was it already while playing the game/their routes or some time later? I already picked up on their chemistry in the game, especially their banter during WC (incl. El here, wish there was more House leader content) but tbh it really got me trough good fanwork. Probably bc I'm not that much of a shipper, in 3H there are few pairings I really care about, Dimiclaude and Sylvix on the top there. So, slowly I thought more about their[1]

[2] canon interactions and how good they would be for each other. All the things you and others already mentioned in "why do you ship them" answers, but also they do complement each other so well. Even in Hopes you can see Dimitri really needs someone to help him relax and take things a little more easy - Claude could help here. And Claude really needs someone who he can trust unconditionally to work on his issues there, and who better than someone as honest and good-hearted as Dimitri? ♡

[3] adding to my prior post: I also noticed that there are a fair number of fics that include both Dimiclaude and Sylvix, which is nice for me since I ship both. Most of them are modern au and often one of them is more in the background, but I do think it works really well in the post-AM universe, too. Imagine the King of Faerghus/Fodlan and the King of Almyra, and the Duke and the Margrave (who are more or less the most powerful nobles in the kingdom after the King himself) ... if I ever heard

[4] of two power couples it would be them. Though ofc that means a lot of responsibility and some long distance longing as well, ah poor Dimitri and Claude. Imagine, when Sylvain got send off to deal with Sreng/work to negotiate with them, at least Dimitri and Felix can exhaust themselves in practice, like the training maniacs they are (win-win!) while they "secretly" pine for their loved ones (secretly = obviously Dimi a little down, Felix more grumpy). Ok I'm getting a bit off-topic, sorry lol

Tbh I don’t really remember exactly what made me love them or when I realized it. I know it started in 2019 so it wasn’t too far into the game’s existence, but I don’t recall if it was fanart, Tumblr posts, their chemistry or a combination of those things. I do know it was BL/AM where I first really gave it thought. Originally my main ship was Dimitri and Byleth, but somewhere along the way it just kinda shifted to DimiClaude.

Generally I very casually ship things, like I can say I ship Hilda and Marianne or Ashe and Dedue, but I don’t really actively seek out content for it nor write it myself. It’s rare for them to be really dedicated to a ship and I have a few other OTPs from other fandoms that I love a whole lot, but I have comparatively way more casual ships, so DimiClaude being so interesting to me was surprising.

Aside from their canon interactions, for me it’s also the amount of possibility they have together and how many fic ideas, AUs or canon, could fit with them perfectly. They fit into a whole lot of ideas and concepts that always help explore different aspects of both of them. Having that is fun because it also helps me really see the kind of relationship they could have. They have an insane amount of potential and I love that.

Personally I do think Dimitri’s openness and honesty is perfect for Claude. I think if anyone else just said overly nice sounding things to him he wouldn’t immediately believe it, but considering how earnest and easily excited Dimitri can be, it’s hard to believe Claude would look at him and be like nah he’s lying. After Claude had such a terrible childhood, I think Dimitri would be perfect for making him feel better about himself and really giving him even more motivation to achieve his dreams. Being with Dimitri would also definitely help with his dreams since they want the same thing.

When I write them in fics I like to explore a sillier side of Dimitri that he starts to ease into because of Claude. It’s obvious throughout the game that he really does try to be relaxed and not so formal, but it’s just difficult for him. Claude is basically like... the kind of person who can be joking around one second and then get to work and do what he needs to do the next second. I feel like it’d be easy for him to slip into a relaxed, casual attitude to make sure Dimitri doesn’t tend to feel too uptight or serious around him. I like to think that eventually, being with Claude would help him open up to being a bit more silly and joking more. The way they banter in the game makes me think they could easily bounce off each other in a silly situation and have a really lighthearted moment.

Typically I am one of those DimiClaude/Sylvix people lol. For me it’s mainly because Sylvain and Felix are so close to Dimitri that they’re going to be the people who see Dimitri pretty regularly even post war. Also, I think Sylvain would notice Dimitri’s feelings pretty fast, and Sylvain is pretty loving and protective over his childhood friends. I think he’d want to stay close at first just to make sure Dimitri is alright, kind of also with the whole “if you hurt his feelings I will slay you” kind of thing with Claude. Protective older brother kind of deal.

Another character I love incorporating into DimiClaude is Dedue, because I think he’d be both so happy to see Dimitri happy and so happy and grateful that it’s someone with the exact same ideals as Dimitri that Dimitri is with. Both of them want the same things and have been planning for a long time to work on the same things. I think he would get along well with Claude and be really grateful to him for helping Dimitri.

I have headcanon about DimiClaude to keep them from having a long distance relationship because I’m a nut and I can’t handle them being apart lol. I like to write them as always being together like a normal couple, but they go back and forth between Fodlan and Almyra. Basically they’ll stay in Fodlan for half a month or a month or something at a time, then they’ll go to Almyra together. I headcanon that while they’re away from Fodlan, Sylvain, Lorenz and Ferdinand are the Help Desk instead of Dimitri. Generally I headcanon post AM that Lorenz takes care of the former Leicester territories and Ferdinand takes care of the Adrestian territories, so Sylvain would take care of Faerghus while Dimitri is away. And, of course, people know better than to try to start something while the kings are away, because Felix is grumpy and impatient and will just slice. When the boys are away from Almyra, he’d probably leave his dad and mom in charge like before he was king, or maybe have Nader be his temporary replacement while he’s away.

That way they’re always together and grow together as a couple, which would also help them get very used to each other and being around someone else in their daily life. Dimitri mentions in Houses that he didn’t have friends in the palace after the Tragedy besides Dedue because they all died, and of course we know his only other friends were long distance. I think it would make Dimitri really happy to wake up to someone every day and not have to worry that Claude will have to leave soon and be apart from him for long periods. I think Claude would also be really glad to have someone he knows loves him by his side regularly, because he’s already spent his whole life alone. Both of them were pretty lonely people. I like to think they can help each other not be lonely because they know no matter what, someone will always be there now.

Plus, I think if they show up together a lot, whether it’s a formal event or even just walking around a town together, people would get used to seeing them together and it could open up a lot of chances for their nations to get along better. I feel like Almyra would take to Dimitri faster than Fodlan would take to Claude once they know he’s Almyran, but I also think since their leadership would be so good to the people that they would start to accept Claude (and the marriage) a lot faster than they otherwise would.

One of my favorite ideas I still need to write at some point is Dimitri going with Claude to a poor area in town and visiting the kids... I have a n o t h e r and it’s that Dimitri learns to sew from Mercedes like in their supports but he handmakes things for the kids, and he often visits orphanages to bring the kids gifts. It always makes the kiddos super excited when they hear he’s gonna stop by, and when they get gifts from him they like to tell everyone they got presents from the king. Of course, you know Claude’s good little heart is melting whenever he sees this, and after going with Dimi a few times he starts to also learn some things so he can make some Almyran gifts for the kids. Sometimes they also bring ingredients so the kids can have a huge meal that day, and usually enough for leftovers for another day. They’re kings, they can afford more stuff than they’ll know what to do with in their life!

And yes, bodyguard Yuri will usually be shadowing them... even though Claude insists they’ll be fine because he’s used to being targeted. Yuri is a worrywart though despite his denial about that and will often be making sure they are safe. 

[dorimena]

Are you taking requests could you make a part two for motorboating but the characters are motorboating the reader (sorry if this to much)

Yes I am! And of course! I’m assuming it’s the same three characters so - and it’s not too much! Sorry in advance if it comes out a bit sillier than the original one (´꒳`)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰; Bakugou Katsuki, Aizawa Shota & Monoma Neito

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 1.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; nsfw in Monoma’s part, nsfw-ish in Aizawa’s, motorboating, ⅔ fluff, ⅓ suggestive, cuddling, soft boys, mentioned kink, bdsm harness, cursing, implied multiple orgasms in Monoma’s part

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; gender neutral reader, the boys appreciating your chest, everyone but Bakugou kinda failed, implied dom!reader, implied sub!character, aged-up characters, Monoma & Bakugou are 18+

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; in case no one knows what motorboating is, let us take our beloved Urban Dictionary and recite:

“The act of pushing one's face in between two ample breasts, and rocking one's head side to side very rapidly while making a vigorous, lip-vibrating "brrr" sound.”

Here is part one where these three boys are motorboated

𝕸𝖔𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖇𝖔𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝕽𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊

☙ Remember when I said that if there’s one thing Bakugou loves more than lying on your lap, it’s you lying on his chest?

☙ I lied, kinda

☙ The truth is that he loves laying on your chest more than you laying on his chest, but he’s sure it’s about the same sentiment

☙ He loves using you as a pillow, but he won’t ever really admit that, not at all

☙ Not because it’s embarrassing (it kind of is) but because you tease him about it, which makes him blush and 6/10 times he sometimes indulges in some fantasy and proceeds to accidentally ignore you

☙ And now it’s one of those times where he accidentally did it again

☙ And you’re pouting, the hand that was scratching his head just placed there, still as your eyes drift elsewhere, gaze set on some random object as you try to think up what’s getting him so distracted

☙ But Bakugou thinks you’re upset, sad, because you stopped scratching his head and you know how much he loves that!

☙ He bites back his question, not wanting to bother you out of your obvious thoughts, simply placing his head back on your chest until an idea comes to his mind

☙ And even if it’s something you’ve hinted at liking, he’s still gonna try convincing himself this is revenge, kinda

☙ You managed to find out how much he loves you motorboating him, so saying this is revenge will be out-of-place and just make it obvious how he’s just being a good boy boyfriend

☙ Anyways, let’s get back to the present

☙ He stops any other hesitation lingering in his mind as he slowly turns his face, his face buried in between your chest which startles you out of whatever you were doing

☙ And when you scratch his head to maybe catch his attention, Bakugou takes this as his chance to begin turning his head side to side, slowly

☙ When he picks up speed and is at about the same pace you usually are in when motorboating him, you laugh as you hug his head

☙ Accidentally stops him, by the way, and has him let out a noise of confusion and slight irritation

☙ Did you not like it?

☙ But he feels how you’re giggling, laughing, cooing at him

☙ He’s red, but you can’t see it, not when you’re holding his head still

☙ And he’d be trying to pull back but being buried between your chest is, again, oddly soothing

☙ But now he’s kind of suffocating

☙ So he kind of struggles in your hold, and when you loosen up, he starts again, this time making sure to make much more convincing engine noises

☙ Your laugh grows tenfold, and he eventually joins in, his body shaking as laugh after laugh rakes over and he looks up at you

☙ “Suki, again?”

☙ This might be one of the few times you let him take control, and he will make this worthwhile

☙ In other words, you guys aren’t leaving the couch for a gooood time

☙ Because Bakugou will be trying to argue and convince you he does a better job motorboating and how you’ve been doing it wrong all this time

☙ You retort back how he’s never complained before

☙ He stays quiet before burying his embarrassed face in your chest again, making weak noises before they just turn into his typical grumbles

☙ He wants you to know just how ticklish this can be

☙ Because when he asked you if you wanted to be motorboated by him, you rejected the offer and said it’s fun giving than receiving

☙ Had him wonder if someone’s done this to you and you either didn’t like it in general or the other person ruined the experience

☙ Either way, he came to the conclusion that he’s just going to have to surprise attack you like you did to him

☙ Asking you and convincing you would be futile, with the way you seem to be cautious with his questions

☙ Or you’re hiding something

☙ But he knows that if you’re hiding something, it’s for a good reason he’ll eventually find out, whether accidentally or you ‘spilling the beans’

☙ His surprise attack came into action the moment he saw you relaxing on the bed in a starfish position, staring at the ceiling

☙ He just came out of the shower, but he’s decent; shirtless, but he’s at least wearing pants

☙ So he’s not too eye catching (lies he already had your attention the moment he opened the door)

☙ And seeing how busy you seem, he decided that it’s now or never

☙ And it has to be now

☙ You feel the bed sink a bit, but below you rather than next, but you don’t look at him, not while you’re busy trying to figure out how to tell him that you’re-

☙ Why is his head on your chest?

☙ Not that you mind, but it’s mostly you on him than him on you

☙ Does that make sense?

☙ Your eyes go to the top of his head, blinking as your brain processes the position

☙ But it’s too late because he’s already moving his head and making the engine sounds

☙ Which would look ridiculous from your point of view but really it has you blushing really red

☙ He can, uh, feel it, right?

☙ Your shirt is too thin to hide the-

☙ Aizawa stops and interrupts your mental monologue, lifting his head to stare at you with dilated pupils and mouth opened in slight shock

☙ Did he feel that right?

☙ You shyly smile, wiggling your eyebrows before somehow stripping off your shirt

☙ And on your chest is a black leather harness

☙ Has Aizawa salivating in his mouth until he realizes oh, tonight’s the night

☙ “Keep motorboating, babe. Don’t stop until I say so.”

☙ Has him wondering why you’d tell him that-

☙ Oooooh your leg feels good grinding against his half hard-on, has him almost whimper on the spot but he groans softly instead

☙ Surprise motorboat attack kind of failed, but it came to bite him back with a better surprise

☙ God, he loves it when you put that harness on

☙ Again, remember in the previous post you were up for either him motorboating you or you motorboating him?

☙ The offer is still on the table

☙ But Monoma doesn’t know that

☙ He still doesn’t really like you motorboating him

☙ First, because it’s really ticklish and he’s really ticklish and if he’s tickled enough he lets out embarrassing snorts

☙ Second, because his nipples are sensitive and if you brush against them a certain way, or in any way really, he moans and it doesn’t matter where you guys are

☙ So, it’s torture

☙ He’s been plotting revenge for some time since the last time you motorboated him

☙ Which was the previous night where he had to fucking run to the bathroom because-

☙ Well, you get the idea, I think

☙ How embarrassing! How could you be so mean?

☙ … that’s a stupid question and he knows

☙ So his revenge, unlike Aizawa’s surprise attack, wasn’t to creep on you and motorboat you before you even notice

☙ Rather simply dive right into your chest and go crazy with it

☙ And don’t tell anyone, but he had to kind of investigate how to do it properly because he’s not such an asshole to simply fuck it up and make it hurt

☙ Who knows how hard he’ll fall against you, so he’s been practicing that too

☙ Don’t let him know you caught him practicing his dive one too many times that it had you concerned whether or not he’s been struck by a quirk or if it’s just Monoma being… Monoma

☙ The day has come where he shall give you a piece of his mind

☙ Or so he thought until he suddenly found himself trying to catch his breath from your 3rd round of couch sex

☙ Has him trying to remember why he even decided to come to the living room if he could be in his office catching up in paperwork-

☙ Oh yeah

☙ Your eyes are closed as you bask in your post-orgasm bliss, a small smile on your lips as Monoma shifts, being careful not to have you fall off his lap as he stares at your chest

☙ Inhaling, he goes forward, his face finally buried in your now-sweaty chest, wondering what he’s supposed to do next

☙ You basically somehow fucked all his thorough investigation and practice out of his head, how dare you

☙ Sighing, he plants a kiss on the skin before moving his head side to side, but quite slowly

☙ As if he were finding comfort in your chest rather than actually put effort in his revenge

☙ You open your eyes, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck as you pick up his weak attempts at a motor sound, humming to it as you rock back and forth

☙ And no, I don’t mean in a soothing manner, I mean in a ‘let’s go for round 4’

☙ Monoma whimpers, his head completely stopping as his hips snap up

☙ “Let me motorboat you- hnngh~”

☙ With a laugh and a “do it but I’m not stopping”, Monoma fails in correctly executing the perfect motorboat

☙ But who cares, it somewhat saved him from remembering how he easily forgets things when you fuck him, apparently

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - To wish upon a star

Prompt: Any Fandom | Any Pairing | "Don't be scared. I'm right here."

Word Count: 3,026

Author/Team: LadyMonotone

Fandom/Original: Redacted ASMR (Avior/Starlight) 

Rating: T

Triggers: Canon & Imperium Universes crossover. Angst. Near-panic attack. Profanity. 

Summary: The Meridian is more than just a boundary between Aria and Elegy. There is a w̵̘̥͛͘͘ờ̵͈̲̎r̴̺̟̱͂͛͝l̵͙͛̒̑ḑ̸̯̅͝ ̵̰͑that's best left unknown, but unfortunately, Starlight learns this the hard way. 

ConCrit: Y 

Fun fact: I've a lot of WIPs about Avior/Starlight that I dropped halfway because I didn't know how to continue, so for this one, I did my best to stick to it! 

PS: While there's no food scene in this oneshot, I'll do my best to add one in the next fic, Teddy! I'm actually very happy and a little shy that you enjoyed them!! 

-

Avior only agreed to rest after Starlight insisted sternly. 

After the Meridian flung them and they crashed down to several floors of this imaginary hell with most of their bones broken, Starlight could tell that it seriously disturbed Avior. 

His barbs and sarcasm are less cutting nowadays. He's more patient to their sillier questions; more gentle when he holds their hands or arms to inspect any injuries. 

"You know..." Starlight once spoke up when the two of them were in their little haven within this Bubble. Avior was meticulously weaving his magic to slow down the Meridian attempts to transform the room into what it was before. Under Avior's strict instruction, Starlight is resting on the bed. "You don't have to feel guilty about what happened. I was the one who put my hand through the Meridian before you even finished talking." 

"Yes, Starlight, I still remembered that quite clearly," Avior replied dryly with his back turn to the Freelancer. He's busy channelling his magic around the walls. "And despite you recklessly thrust your hand through forces that neither of us thoroughly understand, it was my idea to try something dangerous." 

"Well, we've exhausted all of our more... conventional ideas. So it's about time we took some risks." Starlight pointed out. "Besides, this place can't kill us permanently." 

Avior said nothing. Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. 

Starlight bit their lower lip. "Avior? I'm sorry." They whispered. Sorry that they now have to take a step back from their research and revaluate what they know about this place. Sorry that they couldn't be much help. Sorry that they're the reason why Avior couldn't even look at them. 

"What? Starlight, no... don't apologise." Avior immediately turned around and strode back to the bed where they left Starlight. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. When Starlight pulled the duvet higher above their chest and turned around, the Daemon sighed. He slowly kneeled and continued, "It was my idea to test the Meridian. It was my idea that... that got you hurt. So if anyone should be apologising... it should be me. Not you. Never you. I-I was the reason you're even - "

Starlight immediately sat up to grab Avior's hands. Their sudden reaction startled him, but it was their eyes that froze him. At that moment, Avior remembered a human phrasing - 'eyes are the window of the soul' - and his nickname for the Freelancer has never been more true. 

A fierce determination, unwavering compassion and gentle understanding shone in their eyes like starlight. 

"Avior, don't feel guilty. Please. I mean, I'm already feeling guilty for making you feel guilty, and if we both feel guilty, then we'll never get the hell out of here. Look, I made a pun." Starlight rambled. Avior noticed they tend to run their mouth whenever they're embarrassed, scared or feeling shy. It's an adorable side to their inquisitive nature.

"Only you can make a joke about our living situation," Avior rolled his eyes, but then he cracked a small smile that made Starlight's heart soar. "Well, if you can make a joke after what happened, I'm guessing that you're back to your old self." Here, he paused to admit, "I'm not trying to trap us in a spiral of self-deprecation and apologies - your God knows this place already does that well - but Starlight, I need you to know that I'm so sorry putting you in this position in this first place. I... I will never forget the look on your face when the Meridian refused to let you go. I was so scared when that blast threw you away from me." 

Avior, who was kneeling beside the bed, rubbed his face in exhaustion. Starlight couldn't help but wonder how many times did he replayed that incident in his mind. 

It's heartbreaking seeing how this Bubble is starting to wear Avior down. 

So Starlight gently knocked their head against Avior. "Don't be scared. I'm right here. As long as I have you with me, Avior, I'm not afraid of anything. So lean on me too, OK?" 

When Avior grabbed Starlight's hand once more, they knew they would be alright together. 

Which is why it pained Starlight to bear this secret from him. 

"I'll be back soon, Avior." Starlight promises and peck on Avior's forehead as he's sleeping peacefully. They linger long enough to make sure Avior is comfortable on the bed before stepping out of their haven as quiet as a mouse. The sulphuric air burns their lungs. 

Daemons don't need to sleep, but a few blissful hours of unconsciousness can help them rest. Especially after a series of intense healing sessions and some persuasions from a crafty Freelancer. 

Starlight hates going behind Avior's back like this, but if they don't continue their investigation of the Meridian, the longer they'll be trapped in this hellish scape, and they couldn't bear to see the Daemon slipping into sorrow and helplessness. 

So Starlight will carefully continue the investigation and returns with results that hopefully won't make Avior scold them too badly for not telling him of their plan. 

"Ok, I just need to be super careful this time." Starlight assures themselves as they make their way towards the 'edge' of the Bubble, descending the levels of this B-rated Dante's Inferno. 

Magic flows easily the closer they get to the Meridian. Starlight could feel all the elements buzzing in excitement on every inch of their skin as the void greets them. 

It's intimidating to be staring at the vast abyss despite how warm magic is blanketed around Starlight. It's silent except for the Freelancer racing heartbeat. 

Avior's advice reverberates in Starlight's head: "We're in a dimension where magic is physically close to us. As a Daemon, that doesn't bother me, but you're a human, Starlight. You need to be very careful when interacting with the Meridian. You're in a dangerous situation where you have to know what you want your magic to do and how to do it or not we'll be facing nightmare scenarios that no one alive has ever seen before. So tell that tap-dancing gremlin that lives rent-free in your brain that you need two things before interacting with the Meridian; intention and how to do it. Understand class?" 

Starlight had to chew the inside of their cheek from asking a million questions about the 'nightmare scenarios' to an already tensed Avior. 

"Don't shove, just glide this time," Starlight huffs loudly, just to drown out the echoes of their nervous beating heart. "You can do this. We want to go home through here, please." They said and steeled themselves before gently brushing their palm against the inky darkness. Like a water's surface, it ripples when Starlight makes contact against the Meridian. Pure energy immediately coursing through Starlight's veins like a steady yet rushing river. Unlike a bursting dam before. "Good start! Thanks for not trying to launch me to the stratosphere this time." They beam at the forces of magic. 

Feeling a bit better and with more confidence, Starlight decides to poke the Meridian now. Same reaction. They stay within that position for five seconds before pulling their hand back. 

"I feel like an overcharged phone." Starlight comments in wonder when they snap a finger, and a small fire burst into life between their fingers. They blow it out and resume their attention on the darkness before them. 

Inhale. Exhale. They got this. Starlight then gently push their hand into the Meridian once more. 

Glitchy, static noises start humming from somewhere. 

The boundary begins to blur as it captures Starlight's hand once more. Panic began to sets in among pure crackling energy running on their nerves. 

"Fuck! Let me go!" Starlight cries out.

The Meridian yank Starlight into it in a blink of an eye, and they know nothing else. 

-

Starlight wakes up to the gentle drizzle of rain on their face and alone at a park. 

"Ow, my head..." They wince in pain and immediately cradle their head. It feels as if they got whack by a gigantic sledgehammer, and the floor pulls beneath them all at the same time. 

They wipe their face and sat up, body sore as hell. The sight of the overview city is enough to shock them into falling over if they were on their feet. Dahlia. They're back in Dahlia! The city lights and familiar park send a wave of sheer delight within Starlight that they nearly sob. 

"I did it, Avior - " As fast as the rushing euphoria envelop Starlight, horrified realisation hit them next. 

Avior! Where is Avior!? Fuck! Is he still trapped in that Bubble!? Did they leave him behind!? Nononononono - 

"Calm down. Calm down." Starlight force themselves to inhale and exhale in a pattern. The words are heavy in their throat, and it feels as if their heart is seconds away from bursting out of their ribcage. The cold night rain seeping through their clothes hardly registers in their frantic mind. 

Not when the thought of Avior still trapped in that hellish plane alone and wondering where they are is enough to make them curl into a ball and scream over the unfairness of it all. 

Freedom shouldn't come at the price of Avior's. 

"Let's think about this for sec," Starlight mutters and rub their wet eyes from the rain or tears, they aren't sure. Their body began to shiver, and they immediately snap their fingers. A protective air dome shields them from the cold rain, and the water on their clothes and body are siphon out to the ground. The pure magical energy from the Meridian is still charging within them. Good to know. "End goal: getting back to Avior. The question is... how? The Meridian. Right. OK. How the fuck do I get back to the Meridian? I can't jumpscare a Dreamwalker and then Rift. I can't Rift. I'm a human, and humans can't Rift. Fuck. Maybe Graviton Energetics could? Gravity usually includes space and time. Oh, that's an interesting theory. Maybe Avior can - fuck! Avior! Right! Getting back to Avior. Ok, OK. Focus - you can do this." 

Starlight curses themselves for their inane rambling. Remember your breathing exercise, Starlight reminds themselves and takes a moment to clear their spinning head and painfully tight heart. 

The first thing that pops in their head is D.A.M.N. Yes! They could ask for help from the Daemons and Dreamwalkers studying there! They shoot up and dash to catch a ride on the first bus towards the academy without a moment of hesitation. 

The short travel to the magical academy through familiar landmarks, familiar shops and familiar strangers help calm Starlight's frayed nerves somewhat. 

D.A.M.N is the answer; they're sure of it. 

But when Starlight hops off the bus, they stop in their track. Their eyes widen. "Eh? What the - " 

While it's been a few years since Starlight had graduated with a full certificate, the academy's entrance remains the same. The white gates are fully open, the tall white walls would block the hot afternoon sun, and the gateway towards the underground parking lot is open on the right. 

What caught Starlight off guard was the giant black plaque beside the gate. Instead of D.A.M.N, it displays I.A.D in white letters. 

Something unpleasant begins to churn in the pit of their stomach. How long were Starlight and Avior in that Bubble for D.A.M.N to change its name? And did the rate of Vampire students decrease while they were away? Starlight fondly remembers how their Vampire classmates would lounge at the courtyard and enjoy the night breeze as they studied.

Anyway, long story short: Starlight is beginning to have some nasty vibes coming from the building in front of them. But regardless, they march through the entrance, hoping they could stumble upon an administrative staff wandering around. 

It's eerie. Despite the bright lights illuminating the halls and little corners everywhere, there are hardly any students lingering around. 

But despite the unsettling atmosphere, Starlight's wish is granted. Standing near the rows of elevators is a group of men. The one at the centre is wearing a dapper-looking black and red three-piece suit surrounded by colleagues wearing a set of uniforms. Starlight wonders if they're the new security for campus; should they approach the men? 

Before Starlight so much as squeak, the man in the suit tilts his head and spots the Freelancer between the gap of heads. His previous bored expression turns bright at the very sight of Starlight. 

"Hey there! I'm glad that you made it here safely." He calls out; his voice carries loud and clear throughout the vacant hall. The men part ways for him to stride forward but remain where they are; allowing the one most likely in charge to greet Starlight in peace. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Did you have any trouble finding the academy?" He extends a black leathered glove hand with all the geniality of a relaxed yet feral tiger. 

"Um... no, Sir." Starlight cautiously answers him and shake his hand. 

Static begins to hum once more. 

"N-No trouble at all." Best to play along for now until they can figure what is going on here. 

"That's good to hear," The man is clearly please at what's he looking at, and that made the hair on the back of Starlight's neck stand up. He eyes them for a few seconds longer, then takes a polite step back, making Starlight realise just how close he is to them. "So! Introduction: my name is Lasko and as the President of this institution, welcome to the Imperial Academy of Dahlia. I've heard so many good things about you that I was a little bit nervous for this meeting." He explains with a boyish chuckle, yet the uneasiness continues to linger. 

The static is getting louder. 

Starlight resists flinching when his eyes bore through them, studying their very soul. This man - Lasko - has a formidable Aura, and the way he smiles implies that nothing can shake him or the power he possesses. It feels like it doesn't matter what Starlight would do because he will get what he wants no matter what they try. 

Also, has he been waiting for them? 

The vibe is off the charts with President Lasko, especially when he name-dropped the academy and title. 

That's when it starts to sink into Starlight that they're in deep shit; that the Meridian didn't actually send them back home. 

This... this isn't home. 

Unaware or uncaring of Starlight's inner turmoil, President Lasko continues, "Anyway, everything has been sorted out for you: accommodations, transportations, security clearance, bodyguards rotation, and I even arranged a Personal Assistant to help you on any errands you might need. She'll meet you at your apartment tomorrow morning. Hmm... I think that's it! Is there anything you're unsatisfied with?" He asks, genuinely curious and ready to provide anything and everything that Starlight requires. It scares them.  

Here is a man that Starlight has never met before in their entire life going out of his way to what, make their career (they assume) at this mockery of D.A.M.N more than comfortable!? 

"Thank you, Sir." Starlight began, struggling to keep their voice and face even. Their body is tense as hell, and they desperately hope that this dangerous man won't notice it. Information, they need information. 

The static is becoming a nuisance. 

"You're very kind, but I'm r-ready to start working." God, Starlight hopes that was the right thing to say! Judging by the proud look on President Lasko's face, Starlight could sigh in relief. 

"Even after reading about the Daemon you'd be dealing with? You're incredible! As expected of a powerful Freelancer such as yourself." President Lasko compliments them with an even wider smile. "You'd probably want to check your office then. It's on the other side of the building, where the haven for Daemons is. There are signs on the wall, so you can't miss them."

Starlight's eyes maybe bug a little. A haven for Daemons!? 

The static pierce through the veil. 

"Well then, I wish you the best of luck with Avior. Don't let his talk of doom and existential crisis get to you, alright? Just tune out when the waterworks start. I hope to see you soon, Coordinator!" President Lasko shakes Starlight's hand once more before returning to his entourage. 

Starlight watches them disappear inside the elevator before sprinting towards the haven; the signs guide them to a connected building in the left-wing. 

Avior! That creep mentioned Avior! He's here! Did the Meridian manage to pull him too? The passing staff members frown when Starlight run past them, but they don't care about these strangers.

They need to see Avior! They