#it wouldn’t FIX me but it would make everything a little easier ;^;

[kitten4sannie]

[tjwritesfanfics]

I’m not jealous (Aaron Hotchner)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: Aaron was going to show you how not jealous he is.

Rating: Mature 18+ only

Warnings: Jealous Aaron (though he is adamant he isn't), Reader taking advantage of a sweet guy, manhandling, Dom!Aaron, condescending, being called good girl (which made me MELT), Aaron spanks her once, fingering, overstimulation, Aaron is a sweet aftercare guy

Words: 2.9k

Main Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist

Jealousy can be very ugly.

It can also be very hot. And on Aaron Hotchner it was sexy as hell. The way his jaw clenched, his eyes darken, and the air around him just got thick with tension you knew about, but the line was never crossed.

You had feelings for Aaron, everyone in the BAU knew it, he knew it, and he still had yet to decide what, and if, he felt for you.

You always tried to push him, loving the way he seemed so close to losing it only to watch him attempt to reel himself in. Once you had danced with a guy at the bar after a long case and your eyes never left Aaron. No matter how many times the guy dipped his head to kiss (more like slobbered with how drunk he was) your neck, you continued to stare at him, surprised that the glass he was holding didn’t break with the force of his grip, his knuckles already white.

And when you decided you were done with your dance partner, you attempted to leave only to have him get aggressive. You knew you could fit him off if need be, but it was much more satisfying when Aaron strode over and introduced him to that amazing right hook of his.

It was even better when he took you roughly by the waist and led you out of the bar.

In his car, you tried to push a little more, wanting him to finally admit something to you.

“God,” You sigh and brush your hand down his arm, admiring the way they flex under your touch, “You are so hot when you are jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“There is no need to deny the chemistry between us, Aaron. We aren’t on the clock so you aren’t my Unit Chief, and I am not your underling, though I would so love to be under you.” You purr, warmth flooding your as his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, your eyes following the motion longingly.

It would be easier if he would just give in to what was going on between the two of you.

But sadly, that was where the night ended for you.

Aaron took you back to your apartment, walked you up (like the gentleman he was), and left you there all alone.

Over the next few months you tried again and again to prove there was something between you, not only physically, but emotionally as well.

Pulling him out of his office for lunch or bringing it to him, just to make sure he would eat. Putting sticky notes on his monitor or his desk with little encouragements and reminders since you knew he could get too far into his own head and needed some help out.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t do things for you.

Bringing you coffee, made just to your liking, at the beginning of the shift or when you run low on your own coffee. He always seemed to know when you needed your fix. He also would save you a seat on the plane, the one next to the window because he knows you like to look out at the clouds during long flights.

“When we land, Y/n, Reid and I will go to the police station to set up. Morgan, you and Emily check out the crime scene.”

Aaron dished out the rest of the orders as the plane started to descend. Honestly after he told you where you were going to be, which of course was with him because he always seemed to think he needed to keep an eye on you, something you couldn’t decide if was out of how similar your skill sets are or because he has a constant need to be near you, you stopped listening.

You were certain that it was both. You knew Aaron wouldn’t sacrifice the case or the people involved just for a romantic feeling towards you.

Once you landed and got to the police station, everything seemed to flash by in a whirlwind.

You barely had any time to focus on anything other than catching the asshole that was killing women.

“You seem to be running into the ground, Agent.”

Officer Danny Grant was such a little cutie and seemed to immediately take a liking to you.

“I’ll rest when we catch this guy.” You reach for your cup of awful cop coffee, even though it was the only thing keeping you going at the moment, but frowned when you found the cup empty.

Cursing, you turn away from the board to get more.

“Here.” Grant offered you another cup, his face a little flushed and a smile on his lips. “I noticed you were low. I don’t know how you take it so I just made it black. If you need any creamer or sugar I can get it for you.”

“Thanks, Grant.” You smiled and took the cup. The warmth of it not only warming your hands, but your heart a little as well. Usually Aaron would bring you coffee, but this case seemed to take a toll on him, which you remind yourself you would have to check on him later. Now that someone else noticed and cared enough to bring you something so small, yet so vital, was sweet.

You take a sip of the black coffee, wishing it was sweeter, but the jolt of bitterness was the wake up you needed.

“I usually like it sweet, but black is fine. It’s just what I need.”

Grant continued to stick to your side, helping with the case whenever he could and bringing you more coffee (this time with a side of sugar). He was actually very helpful and you enjoyed the company of him, conversation and ideas bouncing easily.

Aaron on the other hand didn’t like the attention you were getting from the young, wide eyed officer.

He couldn’t stand the fact that he was distracting you from the case at hand (even though he wasn’t actually), the way you laughed when he said something you deemed funny, but it wasn’t, and the thing he hated the most was the smile you beamed at him when he brought you more coffee.

The smile you usually only gave him. Why were you giving it to this guy? Even when the group went out and you flirted with other men, knowing that it would get a rise out of him (though he would never admit it out loud) you never gave them that kind smile, the one that made your nose scrunch up so adorably.

It would be so easy for Aaron to go over there. He can imagine himself pulling you away from Grant. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how you felt pressed against his own body. The amount of nights he had to pull himself away from you, unable to cross that line, the line between boss and subordinate. A line that he’s tiptoed since the first time he saw you.

If only it was that simple to give into you.

A few hours later, you could feel your steam running out and your eyes drooping, no matter how much coffee you drank.

“There hasn’t been any new information.” Aaron’s voice woke you just before your head hit the conference table for the second time that night, “Let’s call it a night and look at this in the morning with fresh eyes.”

“No no,” you whine, failing to lift your eyelids, “I can keep going.”

“Agent Hotchner is right. Come on, let's get you to the hotel.”

Just as Grant reached for you, Aaron was quick to his feet, striding over to you with only a few steps and grabbing your shoulder before Grant could. “I have her.” Aaron lifted you up, one hand resting under both of your legs and the other on your back, smirking at Grant as you wrap your arms around his neck and snuggle into him.

The look of shock on the officer’s face was sickeningly satisfying.

Never would Aaron be this bold, especially in front of others, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn't just let this man touch you. Not after spending all day watching his poor attempts at flirting.

You could, and probably would, be upset with him tomorrow.

Aaron lifted his chin, daring others to say anything as he made his way through the precinct with you tucked in his arms. Once you were outside, you push your face into his neck subconsciously, inhaling his scent and sending a shiver through him, thankful that at least some part of you waited until you were out of sight to get clingy with him.

“You are,” You yawn, lips brushing against his skin,”so hot when you are jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

All you did was hum in response as you drift off to sleep in his arms.

For the rest of the case you stuck to Grant every chance you got, barely paying Aaron any attention.

He knew you were doing it on purpose. You knew he knew that you knew you were doing it on purpose.

Thankfully the team was able to wrap up the case and it was only one night left before you left.

No more case. No more reason to stay in California. No more Grant.

Aaron wonders if he should be as happy as he was as he pressed the button for your floor on the elevator. He doesn’t have much time to think about it when a minute later the elevator door opens and he sees Grant standing at your door, leaning against the open door with you.

“So now that the case is over, do you want to get dinner before you leave? I’m sure hotel food isn’t as good as a good burger at this little dive I know down the street.”

You giggle at his forwardness. While you do love and want Aaron, turning down a free meal from a cute man before you never see him again couldn’t hurt, right?

“You know a little dive? Is it a ‘California delicacy?’”

Grant leaned in, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh absolutely.”

Rage and jealousy flows through Aaron, his jaw and fists clenched. His legs carried him towards you before his brain could catch up.

No more games.

In a flash, Aaron grabbed Grant by the collar of his shirt, yanking him back and away from you.

“A Aaron?!” You squeak as the man pushes you into your hotel room, closing and locking the door behind you.

His hands grab your wrists, tugging and trapping them above your head, the air leaving you completely as his lips crash against yours.

The months and months of tension finally exploded within you, arching your hips to meet him, gasping when he grips your wrists tighter in warning.

“You really can’t resist flirting can you?” Aaron’s voice may have been calm, almost bored, but his eyes betrayed the fire, the anger he held. “You just love to rile me up.”

“I thought,” you moan when he moves to kiss your neck, “you weren’t jealous.”

His laugh is condescending, one of his hands snaking down to your side while the other held tight. This was the Aaron Hotchner you wanted, the one you knew he could be if you just pushed right, but now that he was here you didn’t quite know how to handle him.

Not that you would let him know. Not as your body shivers when he rests his hand on your waist, nails digging through the material of your jeans.

“You and I both know I am not. Why be jealous when your body is so truthful with me? It tells me everything,” His smirk widens as he cupped your cunt and you whine, subconsciously grinding against his hand, seeking the dull pleasure you could get through the two layers of fabric separating you, “I need to know. It is an open book for me.”

You want to cry when Aaron withdraws from you, only proving his point further. God you want him. More than absolutely anything.

“Now be a good girl and get on the bed. I want you naked and on all fours by the time I get out of the bathroom.”

“T The bathr…” Your words die on your lips when Aaron gives you a pointed stare, one that has you clenching around nothing, before he walks away from you and into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar, almost as if daring you to disobey him.

As much as you wanted to, just to see what he would do to you, you decided that would be for a different time. Quickly shedding your top and jeans, you obey like the good girl you want to be for him.

You wait for what feels like an eternity, but was probably only five minutes before you could hear Aaron’s footsteps coming out of the bathroom. Instinct has you turning your head to look at him, “Don’t you fucking move.” but his harsh voice has you snapping it back and a shiver running down your spine.

Or was that his fingers that danced along your back? Honestly you didn’t know, but you didn;t have time to ponder it before he splayed his open palm across one of your ass cheeks, drawing back and coming down with a swift smack.

You moan, the sudden motion causing you to fall forward, your arms giving out.

“Just a little taste of what happens when you play with me.” Aaron rubbed the spot where you were sure was going to be slightly red from the force. “But I won’t give you more since you seemed to follow my orders like such a good girl.”

A whine escapes you at his words. You wanted to hear them over and over. To be praised by him over and over. His fingers ghost from your ass straight to your center, pressing and feeling, but never fully sinking into you.

“Oh fuck,” You squirm under his carful attention, “Please. Please Aaron!”

“Please what? How will I know what you want without words?”

You cry as the tip of his finger comes dangerously close to your clit only for him to pull it away just as quickly. You knew what he was doing. He was teasing you just like you had teased him, almost like a form of sick payback, and though he did have the upper hand, you felt like you had already won.

You had him in bed.

“Please touch me, Aaron. I need your hands on me, in me, anything.”

“There we go.” 

The reward for your confession was sweet. His fingers circled your clit, applying the right amount of pressure that had you moaning loudly. Aaron continued to work you, leaving your brain in a haze of pleasure which only intensified when he finally moved to sink one finger into your core.

“Fuck..” Aaron curses, his finger setting a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you, admiring the embarrassingly wet noises your cunt makes. “You are so wet.”

You moan when he slides a second finger in, then a third, the stretch burning oh so deliciously.

He’s got you at his mercy, hips rocking back to meet his thrusts, drool pooling on the hotel sheets below you. “Aaron!” You cry, the coil in your gut pushing and pushing you closer to the edge, threatening to break and toss you into a sweet release.

“Let go.”

With his permission, and his fingers brushing that sweet spot that made you see stars, you do.

You scream as your orgasm crashes into you. If the outside could hear you, you didn’t care. All that mattered was Aaron, his name the only thing occupying your mind and the only thing spilling out of your mouth as if it was the only name you knew.

And right now it was.

Aaron continued to thrust his fingers into you, helping you through your orgasm until you tried to pull away from him, but his other hand gripped your waist, pulling you back and onto his fingers.

“Aaron!” You squirmed. It was too much, but you didn’t want him to stop as his fingers expertly stroked and thrust, bringing you to a second orgasm in record time. Tears prick your eyes, your body shaking, feeling weightless and not here.

You didn’t even notice when Aaron carefully turned you on your back, brushing your hair back from your face and kissing your forehead. He treated you like procaline, peppering kisses all over your face until you came back to him. “There’s my girl.”

His girl. The thought had you smiling like a lovesick fool, which was appropriate because you were. No longer were the steel eyes and lustful gaze, but soft brown eyes filled with an adoration you weren’t used to seeing. You swallow and reach for him. Aaron wrapped you in his arms and held you close.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Now what? Was he going to continue? Fuck you? Or, and something you hoped he wouldn’t do, leave you.

Aaron, the ever brilliant profiler he was, could see the war going on in your head before you could speak. He leaned down to kiss you, hand gently rubbing shapes on your upper thigh.

“Don’t worry. I will be right here for more when you wake.”

You feel a little guilty about not returning the favor, but Aaron quickly shuts that down. He grabs the hotel comfort and pulls it up, covering the two of you, tucking you into his chest. Your eyes feel heavy from the force of cumming twice (and Aaron’s skilled fingers) that you couldn’t seem to argue, eyes closing as sleep takes over.

You definitely would make him feel good when you wake up.

(Banners by cafekitsune)

[itaipava]

— little hints f1 boys would give that they have a crush on you.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

he is interested in all your passions and hobbies: even if it is something he knows little about, he’ll ask you about your passions or things you like to do to have more to talk about with you and to get to know you even better. he also likes to research on the internet and send you videos that he finds about your favorite topics and, when you least expect it, he will start conversations about it, leaving you surprised but happy to know that he puts a lot of effort into connecting with your world.

˒ ⌕ GEORSE RUSSELL

he always includes you in his plans: whenever he travels, he talks as if you’re going too, without even inviting you directly. when you ask him about it, he usually says, “well, you’re going with me, aren’t you?” and when you can’t go because of work, he gets really frustrated, but he makes sure to keep you updated. he’s also always saying “we should check out that new place together… when are you free?” or “wouldn’t it be fun if you go with me for the next race?” he loves planting the idea of ​​future moments with you, and he loves it when they actually come true.

˒ ⌕ SEBASTIAN VETTEL

he loves teasing you: he always looks for a way to tease you, but always with a touch of flirting, which leaves you wondering if it's really just a joke or if he means something with it. he also hates it when someone else does this and he doesn’t hide his anger, and it’s at this moment that you also don't miss the opportunity to tease him; and the look in his eyes tells you that in fact, he doesn’t tease you just for fun.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

he always offers to help you with whatever you need: no matter what you need, he will do whatever it takes for you and to make your life easier. he will get you a coffee (and a sweet treat) in minutes when you say you want it. he will buy you something you said you needed but couldn't because you were too busy. he will come to your house to fix that broken drawer. he will always be there for you, even when you don't ask him directly, he will be there.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

he always remembers little details about you: sometimes he'll casually mention something small that you've said in the past, like your favorite snack or a specific memory. and sometimes you're delightfully surprised by how accurately he tells you these things because you could swear he'd forgotten or didn't really care, but he's always paying extra attention to you and everything you say is important to him.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

he always compliments you a lot: but they’re not generic compliments that you always hear, he focuses on unique characteristics of yours that he really admires, like “you always have a way of making everything more fun and cool” or “you always seem to know the right things to say”, he’s always complimenting you, and he always means it.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

he always looks for reasons to text you: he likes to send you news about your favorite singers, bands, authors or something he knows you’ll like. it’s things like “you popped into my head when i saw this, and i had to share” or “doesn’t this remind you of that joke you made?” and he always tries to keep the conversation going, no matter what.

˒ ⌕ LIAM LAWSON

he is always your biggest fan: whatever you do, he gives you all the support and help in the world. he is always the first one to show up when you need encouragement, whether it’s to wish you good luck at an event or send you a bouquet of flowers with a little note, or a brief message saying that he believes in you, and that he knows everything will turn out fine. he also loves talking about you to people like “did you see what y/n did? she’s amazing, right?” he is your biggest fan, and he doesn’t hide it from anyone.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

he looks at you a lot: when you two make eye contact, you have to look at something else first because he can’t get enough of you - and he loves it when you get embarrassed about it. he also loves to admire you when you’re distracted and don’t realize he’s looking at you; he loves looking at you and learning your mannerisms. to him, you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, and even though sometimes you catch him staring at you and ask him with a smile what he’s looking at, he doesn’t stop or give you a serious answer, which creates a spark of curiosity in you.

[aphroditelovesu]

can you please write 🦄 for either yan!steve or yan!bucky?

❝🦄❞ - ‘’I... I really can't let you go.’’

❝tw: kidnapping and slight angst.

When Steve found you at home, well, at least he considers it your home, you were lying on the couch, reading a book of your favorite genre. The mere sight of your presence made him smile and he unconsciously moved closer to you.

"Hey, honey." He murmured as he sat down next to you on the couch, close to your feet stretched out and bare beneath the soft fabric. Steve frowned slightly when you didn't respond to him. "Honey? I'm home." He tried again, his voice firmer.

But he got no response.

Steve sighed irritably when he realized what you were doing. The punishment of silence.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, feeling his frustration growing. He knew the punishment of silence was your way of showing that something was wrong, but he couldn't understand what he could have done to deserve it.

Everything he did was for you. Always for you and would always be for you.

He leaned forward, placing his hand gently on your knee. "Honey, please tell me what's going on." He pleaded, concern evident in his voice. "I can't fix what's wrong if you don't tell me."

The book in your hands continued to be your only answer. Steve sighed again, deeper this time, and decided to try a different approach. He got up and went to the kitchen, preparing your favorite drink. Maybe, with a little patience and a gesture of affection, he could break the silence and find out what was going on.

Steve quickly returned to the living room, bringing with him a silver tray with your favorite drink and snacks. He placed it in front of him, on the coffee table. However, you refused to talk to him, or even look at him.

Had he done something wrong?

Steve tried to search his mind for anything he could have done that triggered such a reaction from him, this coldness that hurt him more than anything. He sighed when he finally realized that it may have been the sudden change in your life that caused you to become so cold towards him.

You still hadn't completely gotten used to his presence, to living with him. It had been something sudden when he brought you here, but Steve couldn't leave you alone, not when the world was becoming more and more dangerous. He couldn't even imagine what he would do if something happened to you.

Steve sat next to him again, this time closer. He gently touched your shoulder, trying to get your attention. "I know things changed too quickly." He began, his voice low and full of regret, "I brought you here thinking it would be for the best, but perhaps I didn't consider how much it would affect you."

He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, "I just wanted to protect you, make sure you were safe. But I understand if you're feeling like you've lost your freedom, your old life. I'm sorry if I was selfish in not realizing it sooner."

Silence still hung between you, but Steve continued, determined to get through to you. "I want you to feel at home here, not like a prisoner. And if there's anything I can do to make this easier for you, please tell me. I'm here to listen."

You finally looked at him and placed the book down in your lap. Your gaze met his and you spoke, your voice loud and clear. "I want to go home. To my real home."

His gaze suddenly hardened and the grip on your shoulders tightened, becoming painful. His voice was low but you could feel the anger, the pain, in them. "No."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden change in his behavior. Steve had always been protective, but he had never been so authoritarian. You tried to pull your shoulders away from his grip, but he wouldn’t budge.

"Steve, you're hurting me." You mumbled, trying to keep your voice calm even as fear rose within you.

He took a deep breath, eyes softening a little, but his grip still firm. "Sorry." He murmured, slowly releasing you. "I just... I can't let you go. It's dangerous out there, and I can't risk losing you."

You rubbed your shoulders, feeling relief mixed with growing discomfort. "But I can't live like this, Steve. I need my freedom, my space. I can't be a prisoner. I can't."

He shook his head, visibly struggling with his own emotions. "It's not a prison. It's to protect you. You have to understand that."

Steve grabbed your hands and squeezed them gently, touching you as if you were made of glass, and with any wrong touch, you could fall apart. He rubbed your fingers and replied, "I... I really can't let you go."

His words were painful to hear because you knew he was telling the truth. He would never let you go.

[warping-realities]

Parental Pressure 

Eddie watched the personal trainer's video for the thousandth time as he was getting closer to the little gym for his first class. He had snuck out of his house super early and quietly because he knew Nick, his old man, wouldn’t approve of his son wasting time on this kinda stuff. He became a single father really young, back in high school, and now, at 35, he did everything he could to make sure his kid didn’t follow the same path. Becoming a doctor was Nicholas Rousseau’s biggest dream, but early fatherhood messed up his chance to hit the books at college. Not that he blamed Eddie for it; on the contrary, they usually had a solid relationship, except when Eddie strayed from the plans his dad laid out for his future. If Nick couldn’t get into med school, Eddie sure as hell would, whether he liked it or not. And now, with less than a month before college kicked off, Eddie was having doubts about the path laid out for him. So, in a rebellious move, after getting an invite to check out Rocco “Rocky” Mancini's gym, an Italian bodybuilder who moved to the States, now retired and not exactly a big name in the game, who a few years back started hustling as a personal trainer and, according to the promo video on Eddie's Instagram, was looking for young men to boost his portfolio. It looked like that gig wasn’t going great either. The first person to sign up would get a month of free daily training. Perfect for Eddie; after all, a month of training with an expert before college would make things way easier when he had to hit the gym away from his overprotective dad’s watchful eye. Surprisingly he was the first one to sign up! And so, the young  skinny man, with light brown hair found himself stepping into the dimly lit gym at 6 AM.

As he stood frozen at the door, anxiety washing over him, a monstrous figure approached, strutting with swagger, muscles bulging looking like they might burst from the thin layer of skin wrapping them. With a fuller beard and looking at least five years older than in the video Eddie had seen over and over, the guy oozed confidence and a certain arrogance. But those weren’t the only things he was giving off, as it became clear to Eddie when the dude came up to him with a sweaty hand extended to shake, a distinct animal musk dominating his senses.

“You must be Eddie! Nice to meet ya, kid; I’m Rocco, but you can call me Rocky—everyone does. Welcome to my little temple. So, you ever trained before?”

“Ahn, no... I wanted to, but my dad... no, I’ve never trained.”

“Feeling a little bit of Daddy Issues here? Just kidding, son! Where’s your workout gear?”

“I thought, since it’s the first day... I... didn’t bring any...”

“Damn, son, you weren’t kidding when you said you’ve never trained; you don’t have a clue! But don’t sweat it, we’ll fix that! You can wear the shirt; I’ll get you some shorts.”

“I... don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Son, you came here to train, and train is what you’re gonna do. I don’t know what your pops taught you but it looks like you got a lot to learn from me. First thing, you gotta be more assertive—don’t be scared to say what you think or do what you like.”

Hearing that, Eddie felt something shift inside him; the fear and anxiety that had been eating at him for weeks seemed to fade away. He wanted to be there, and nobody was gonna take that away from him, not even his old man.

After hitting the locker room and putting on the shorts Rocco lent him, which were way too big in the legs but surprisingly just right in the waist, Eddie went back to the main room where the personal trainer was waiting for him.

“We gotta fill those shorts, son!”

“That’s why I’m here, Mr. Mancini.”

“Hell yeah! That’s the spirit but none of this Mr. Mancini nonsense; you either call me Rocky or coach.”

“Yes, sir, coach!”

“That’s right! Now, back to our chat, you said you’ve been training for a while, but how long is a while, son?”

That info was totally wrong; he’d never trained, right? But why did he have fuzzy memories of sneaking out to hit the school gym before class during his senior year? If he hadn’t trained, where did those small but tight muscles come from?

“I’ve been training for almost a year, coach, but I don’t think I’ve seen much result.”

“Two more things to teach you, son: first, we’re never happy with the size we are, and second, even so, you’re never gonna downplay your achievements; you’ve done something that most people can’t even pull off. Be proud of that.”

“I... I’m proud, yeah!” he replied, realizing the coach was speaking the truth. He had a lot of pride in what he accomplished, even though he knew he was still far from where he wanted to be.

“Awesome! Now you’re talking like a real champ. But enough chit-chat, let’s see what you’re made of.” Rocco said before putting Eddie through the most grueling workout he’d ever experienced. His self-taught training hadn’t prepared him for this level of exhaustion. After half an hour of intense agony, they took a break, and Eddie tried to recover before what he knew would be another half hour of torture as Rocco praised him.

“Damn, son, all that fuss you had with your pops to come train with me in your junior year was worth it. You’re huge; another minute and that shirt ain’t gonna hold!”

Still exhausted from the workout, Eddie took a moment to wrap his head around what the trainer had said. A fight with his dad...? And training here for at least three years...? No... it didn’t make sense... but then he saw his own reflection in the gym mirror, and he was... fucking swole! And that... that wasn’t just possible; it was thanks to the time he’d spent caring for his body all this while, even with his dad breathing down his neck.

“Thanks, Coach, but I’m still not anywhere near where I wanna be!”

“Well, if you get closer, this shirt definitely isn’t gonna hold. I’ll grab you one of mine, or you can train shirtless until the other clients show up, son. In the meantime, figure out how to get that thing off, but I doubt it’s coming off without tearing. Maybe you should film a video for your social media; I bet your followers will go wild!”

“Haha, I don’t think that they will care, and I feel kinda uncomfortable putting myself out there. So I’ll take the shirt.” Eddie replied as the coach returned with an enormous shirt in hand and offered it to him.

“Son, there’s no reason to be shy about showing off; you sculpted that body for a reason. Don’t tell me that’s another one of your dad’s ideas? You never cared much about what he thinks, and I’ve known you since you were a little brat, fourteen years old, showing up on opening day to get an autograph!”

Once again, Eddie felt something shift inside him; the cordial relationship he had with his overly protective dad was turning into a conflictual one, with both of them constantly arguing about the expectations they had for Eddie’s future, which drove him to practically live at Rocco’s gym, where he helped with maintenance or took care of the place to keep training without having to pay.

“You’re right, as always, Rocky; it’s just that, I dunno... I think this crowd that needs to post everything they do is kinda empty and vain.”

“Son if you don’t show off your gains, you won’t grow your followers, and so what if it seems kinda empty? What matters is being seen. And nobody builds a body like yours without a bit of vanity. I’ll let you keep training; I’ve got a client in twenty minutes. If you need me for anything, just holler.”

“Rocky, I can train better than a lot of pro bodybuilders, man! You know that!”

“Son there’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance! You can strut around all you want with your followers, but don’t come at me with that!” Rocky shot back, though he couldn’t hide a smile of approval.

As the trainer moved away to organize things for his client, Eddie focused on finishing his remaining exercises. Kicking off his sneakers and heading to the squat rack barefoot, he stacked plate after plate until he formed a sizable pile that would surprise anyone. But the truth was, despite the insane weight, it was relatively easy for Eddie. Next, he hit the leg press and finished with deadlifts using a bar that weighed more than a baby rhino. When he sat down to do his last exercise of the day, calves, a distinct funk emanated from his armpits, but mainly from his giant size 14 bare feet. Looking at himself and feeling pumped, he couldn’t resist pulling out his phone to shoot a TikTok video. He was in the middle of recording when Rocky interrupted him.

“Damn, kid, you reek! No offense, we all have a little man funk; I know how it is, but clients are gonna start showing up, so take a shower and let’s get to work.”

“Damn, coach, sometimes you’re worse than my dad.” The kid replied, stopping the recording.

“I am your father, boy!” The older man shot back with a sinister grin and a predatory look at the younger man before continuing. “And if you really wanna please your fans, be a show-off; don’t hide your assets, son; show off that chest and those abs, but hurry up, ‘cause this place is gonna be packed soon. We’re not the biggest gym in town by luck, Wardo. This young stud pose might please your fans, but the morning ladies prefer when you play the part of the innocent bambino.”

This time, the wave of strangeness hit Eddie so hard that he felt dizzy and nauseous, exacerbated by the potent funk he was putting off. And for the first time since he stepped foot in that gym, he fully realized what was going down as he automatically took off his shirt and walked toward one of the gym mirrors, a gym which seemed to expand with every step he took, turning from a small studio into a gigantic complex. As his skin took on an olive tone and his dark brown hair curled into perfect black curls, while his nose turned aquiline like a Roman emperor from antiquity, Eddie struggled within his own mind while Edoardo Mancini took control. If someone could hear the debate between the two, it would sound something like:

“Dude, I am... no, we are what you’ve always wanted to be! Pops gave you this chance; why not embrace it?”

“’Cause I... I’m going to med school...”

“You never wanted that; we never wanted that; that was Nicholas’s thing, not ours. This is our chance to be whoever we wanna be!”

“No... we are what Rocco made us; we’re just trading one controlling dad for another!”

“Not even close, dude! We chose this path; he didn’t pressure us! We followed him out of admiration, and that boosted both his success and ours; we’re legends in the fitness world!”

“Rocco was a mediocre pro... he’s using us for leverage!”

“And what’s wrong with that? We’re getting something out of it too! And how is that different from Nicholas pressuring you?”

“I... I... don’t know...”

“Dude, if you didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be here. Chill and enjoy; besides, Pops already got what he wanted from us. He’s not gonna pressure us to follow in his footsteps. We can be whatever we want: bodybuilders like him, or fitness models, or even kickstart an acting career; and I’m not even talking about porn, even though this big guy between our legs would be a hit. Just accept it.” Wardo said, stroking the giant cock in his mind and in real life.

“I... I... damn... this feels so... fucking... good!”

“Wardo! Wrap it up, kid, and stop playing with that thing; we got a new client coming.” Rocco scolded his son.

“Damn, Pops, another ruined video!”

“You weren’t gonna post that, kid; you wanna get banned from social media?”

“I was just messing around...”

“Kid... you’ve got five minutes to take a shower and get your ass to the front desk.”

“Okay, Dad! Did you hear that, folks? The great Rocco Mancini has spoken, and the good son obeys! I’ll be back with updates soon.” The young man said before stopping the recording.

“I’ll edit it so nothing racy gets out; don’t worry, Dad!”

“Five minutes and counting!” Rocco replied with fake irritation, but in reality, he was puffed up with pride for his son as he headed for the reception, spotting a man in his mid-thirties, wearing glasses and an outfit that screamed he’d never set foot in a gym in his life.

“Good morning, sir; welcome to Rocky's Gym; I’m Rocky Mancini, the owner and head coach. Are you looking for something?”

“Good morning, I’m Nick Rousseau, and I’m actually looking for my son; his phone tracker showed he was here just a few minutes ago before it suddenly stopped working.”

“Tracker? Isn’t that a bit much? Anyway, how old is he and what’s he like? We haven’t had anyone too young around here today, except for my own kid, but if I can help you out…”

“I... I don’t know...”

“You don’t know? What kinda dad doesn’t know how to describe his own kid?”

“I... I...” Nicholas replied, his voice filled with genuine desperation, which made Rocco feel a bit of sympathy, but not enough to stop him from making the next call.

“Hey, Wardo... Wardo!!! Damn kid never listens! Edoardo Mancini!!!!” Rocky yelled while watching Nicholas slightly tremble at the sound of that name.

“What’s up, Pops? I’ll get ready in a sec.” The handsome young man replied as he prepared to flex the powerful muscles that no kid his age could get without maximum dedication, watched by his dad and the other boy.

“Not that, you insubordinate ragazzo! This guy’s looking for his son; has anyone younger shown up today?”

“Nope!” He replied, giving Nicholas a quick glance over the shades he was wearing just for style before turning around and finally heading to the locker room.

“Sorry about that, teenage boys; you know how they are.” Rocco said, smiling at the other man.

“I... know?”

“Didn’t you come looking for your son?”

“Son?? Son... no... I don’t have kids... do I?” Nicholas replied, looking both confused and desperate.

“Are you feeling alright? I’m no doc, but I can try to help.”

“Doc... doctor? No... no need... I’m a doctor.” Nicholas replied with more confidence.

“Seriously? That’s awesome! Doctors are always good clients; they know how to take care of themselves.”

“Client?”

“You didn’t come here to train? We’re in a gym, after all.”

“Of course... I came... to train. You come highly recommended.”

“Modesty aside, it’s because I’m the best. I normally don’t take new clients, but we could use a doctor to evaluate our clients, so we could do a trade; you wouldn’t happen to be a sports doc, would you?”

“No, I…”

“Awesome! Just what I needed! But I can tell you’re already in shape!” Rocco said, grinning. “Let me show you the gym. Normally, this would be Wardo’s job, but the kid’s been so focused on his influencer career that he’s slacking here... between us, I’d rather he be a bodybuilder like me, but I think a dad should respect his kid’s wishes; don’t you think?” Rocco asked, and without waiting for a reply, he continued. “Don’t you wanna have kids? Are you single or married? Dude, if you’re single, I gotta introduce you to my sister; no disrespect to her, ‘cause my mama raised me right, but between us, she’s a total smoke show...” And so he went on while Nicholas followed, not realizing that with every word spoken, his reality was adjusting to the other man’s desires.

Minutes later, Rocco stepped into the locker room bathroom and watched his son recording another video, already showered but still unable to shake off the musk that surrounded him, maybe because he was still wearing the same shorts from his workout. He admired his boy, feeling proud knowing all this was his hard work paying off.

When the young man finished recording, he turned to him.

“Wardo, finish getting dressed and come out here for a minute; I got a surprise for you.”

….

“Hey guys, Wardo Mancini here, and I’ve got some awesome news! You’re probably tired of seeing my pops in my videos, but today, besides him, I wanna introduce you to someone else.” He said, repositioning the camera in the packed gym.

“This handsome fella next to my dad is my doctor, Nic Russo, and on top of that, he’s my uncle, married to my dad’s sister. And now for the biggest news: he’s about to be a dad, and he asked me to be the godfather of his boy! Just think about the genetics of that kid with a dad like this and an uncle like my pops. My uncle says the kid can be whatever he wants, but we all know the iron bug is in our blood, and as far as his godfather is concerned, Rocky Russo is gonna be a champion bodybuilder!”

[glitterjay]

ENEMIES TO LOVERS | 이희승.LHS

summary: heeseung finds himself drawn to the girl he initially clashed with. two competitive rivals notice the sparks that fly every time they encounter each other. beneath the surface of their hatred lies a hidden chemistry drawing them closer despite their efforts to resist. could love possibly fire up from sparks?

genre: feuding families, a little bit of everything (smut, fluff, angst), enemies to lovers

warnings: will contain smut, heeeseung and reader are in their late 20s, more to be added.

in case of wanting to be part of taglist, please send an ask with what fic you would like to get @ for as I will be making one list for each one. series masterlist

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taglist (open): @drunkhee @jvjsssnaa @minniejenseo @slut4hee @nyxtwixx @m1sskz @tanisha2060 @heelee-01 @enhypenlovre @rainingleaves @hommyy-tommy @hollyoongs @seungjiseyo @cheeryyyyyyyy @ramenoil @yorukoshii @pockettwinzz @samouryed @capri-cuntz @jjklvr9 @minjaexvz

lee incorporated, one of the biggest companies to rule the world, was now facing trouble with its sales—something never seen before in the many years the company has been in operation.

its success had been ongoing throughout the years, making it impossible for new competitors to even make it as such—until the last few years.

the feud between the two companies had been going on publicly, only adding to the sales of each one as well as increasing their popularity.

heeseung didn't understand why the other company seemed never to give up and, in fact, kept shooting up in sales before his very eyes. his family was counting on him to keep the legacy of lee incorporated, but he was beginning to think it was impossible.

throughout the last year, you've been meeting up with different investors who seem to be interested in having some kind of connection with your company. you've also had the opportunity to be in the same room as heeseung, the future owner of your competition.

it was evident how frustrated he would get when an investor would set up a meeting with the both of you, thus making it easier for them to see which company would be the better option. his eyes shot glares at you every time, as if every look was a dagger thrown straight at your back.

that was the case now. both of you stood side by side as you gave a presentation as to why the investors should choose one over the other. you were both professional enough to keep it calm but couldn't help glaring at each other from time to time.

"thank you for your time, both of you. we will be reaching out to the candidate we like most, and we wish the other party the best of luck."

both of you bowed politely until the meeting room was empty, leaving only the two of you in the room. you sighed, taking a seat in one of the chairs that had been occupied moments ago.

"if you're that tired, just give up," heeseung said, fixing the sleeves of his white button-down.

you scoffed, grabbing a fistful of hair to tie it into a bun. "as if."

every encounter ended almost like this. sometimes you would exchange more than two words; other times you would bicker until someone else caught both of your attentions; or sometimes you wouldn’t say anything at all, one of you walking out of the room right away.

there was a spark you felt between the both of you that only lit up in such moments. heeseung felt it, too. but it was only normal to feel such hatred when your enemy is in the same room as you.

© glitterjay | tumblr

if you could leave any type of feedback—whether it be an ask, reblog, or comment—that would help me a lot.

[lonely-cowboy]

breaking point

pairing: connor (rk800) x gn!reader

summary: to prove which of you is the better detective, you and connor like to play a little game. this time around, connor is more determined than ever to reach your breaking point.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: nothing but wildly ooc connor, it’s just them yapping away and being arrogant lil assholes

author's note: do i like this? not at all. am i gonna blame it on the fact it's 1am? sure. i just wanted to write smth ok, leave me alone

masterlist ⟡ requests

The best days at the precinct were the ones with no work. No crime scenes to investigate, no files to sort, no nothing. But they weren’t your favorite because you hated your job and the workload (quite the opposite, actually). No, they were your favorite because you could have some alone time with Connor, playing the little game you always did. 

As head forensic psychologist, you were primarily tasked with interviewing suspects and analyzing their reactions. Your job got a lot harder when Connor joined the department, making your job look so much easier than it actually was.

Rather than view him as your rival, you viewed Connor as a challenge. You wanted to prove (to yourself more than anyone else) that you were just as good at your job as any android. Besides, you respected Connor’s interrogation process far too much to hate him. Or rather, you liked watching him during his interrogation process. Really, you just liked watching him in general.

When there was no work and the precinct was nearly empty, you and Connor were allowed to take over the interrogation room. You would sit across from each other, doing everything you could to make the other break in a mock interrogation.

It was there that you found yourself, hands neatly clasped atop the table and brow raised in arrogant curiosity. Connor stood opposite you with his palms pressed against the table, scrutinizing you with narrowed eyes. His eyes scanned over you as he tilted his head in that annoyingly endearing way before pulling back and rubbing his hands together in thought.

“Do you believe Lieutenant Anderson is a good mentor?” Connor asked.

The two of you always asked each other meaningless questions, doing your best to refrain from answering or to successfully lie to the other. At this question, you remained silent for a moment longer than you should have. 

“Yes,” you replied simply, offering a nonchalant shrug in an attempt to throw Connor off.

“You’re lying,” he accused immediately.

“I would never,” you retorted. “I’m offended you would think so.”

Connor ceased his questioning to eye you suspiciously. His eyes trailed over your body for any indication of discomfort or nervousness. You hoped he wouldn’t find any.

“The brevity of your response and lack of natural movement suggest you’re lying,” Connor said as he studied you again. “You believe you’d be a better mentor than Lieutenant Anderson, don’t you?”

“In some aspects, yes,” you answered truthfully. After all, to lie properly was to occasionally tell the truth.

Connor nodded along with your response, noting the way you remained unaffected despite being caught in a lie. He would need to do something more to break you, something that would make you sweat.

Your gaze followed Connor as he started to pace the length of the room. Your attention was drawn to his LED as it flashed quickly between colors. Blue. Yellow. Red. Red? Yellow.

The occasional bright red made your brows furrow. Was he really that stumped? He couldn’t think of a single way to break you? You doubted it. Something else must have been on his mind, your thoughts racing at what could have him so conflicted.

“Connor,” you whispered hesitantly.

The sound of his name seemed to snap him back to attention. Connor immediately stopped pacing and fixed you with a steady gaze as if he had come to a decision. With careful steps, Connor rounded the table to stand beside you. He leaned against the table and looked down at you with his arms crossed confidently.

“You’re hard to break, aren’t you?” he murmured.

The crease between your brows deepened as your confusion grew. You were puzzled by Connor’s sudden proximity and the low tone of his voice.

“Well, I… I guess it’s part of the job,” you said softly.

Connor nodded and agreed simply, “Truth.”

Another beat of silence passed as Connor did nothing but watch you. His eyes flitted about your figure, though it seemed as though he wasn’t analyzing you this time around. It was like he was looking at you just to look at you.

“Do you find enjoyment in our little game? In successfully lying to me?” Connor inquired.

You were hesitant to answer, your confusion outweighing any thought. When you did speak, your voice cracked slightly when you answered, “Yes.”

“Do you find enjoyment in other ways from our game?” he continued.

“No.”

“Lie.”

You couldn’t help but stare at Connor. You wanted to tear your gaze away from his desperately, but there was something so appealing about the hardness of his typically gentle eyes. 

When you didn’t answer, Connor raised his brows and leaned forward expectantly. The intensity of his gaze made you suddenly nervous, your heart racing as you moved to fidget with your hands.

“I need a truthful answer, Detective,” Connor stated firmly.

He knew the answer. He knew you were lying. He just wanted you to say it. There was no point in denying anything now.

“Yes.”

Connor hummed and finally pulled his gaze away from you, allowing you to sigh in relief. There was something in his eyes that made you… inexplicably anxious. 

“Can you elaborate?” Connor prodded after a moment.

“I can,” you replied quietly. “But I don’t want to.”

At your refusal, Connor’s attention snapped back to you, the crinkle in his brow suggesting his mild surprise.

“Why is that, Detective?” he urged. When he got no response, only your steady gaze locked with his, he continued. “Are you worried it may incriminate you?”

“No,” you replied calmly. 

Admittedly, you were very proud of yourself for keeping such an unperturbed composure. Your face remained tranquil and your voice confident. But your external composure meant nothing, not when it was Connor interrogating you. He could detect your pounding heart and uneven breaths with ease. You bet he could even sense the claminess of your palms.

“Lie.”

You weren’t entirely sure why you even attempted to lie anymore. Connor was a walking polygraph, he could see through any of your lies no matter how believable they were.

But being as stubborn as you were, you refused to admit that Connor was right. Instead, you sucked in a slow breath and pressed your lips in a thin line, eyes locked on Connor the entire time. Your stubbornness made him frown, though you knew it was a quality he had always admired.

“Fine. If you won’t tell me yourself then I’ll just have to guess,” Connor shrugged with mock defeat. He pretended to think for a moment, lips pursed in a way that made your eyes dart to his mouth. “Is it because you find superiority in besting me?”

Connor started tame. Anyone would feel superior after besting an android, he was well aware of that. And you knew he was aware. What was he trying to get at?

“Yes, partially,” you said, cursing yourself for admitting that it was only part of the reason you found your mock interrogations so enjoyable.

Connor seemed unphased by your answer as if he already knew there was more to your enjoyment. He sat in quiet deliberation again, though he had already settled on his next question. 

“Is it because you’re attracted to me?” Connor questioned innocently.

Connor was smart, you knew this. You knew this and still thought that maybe– just maybe— he wouldn’t be able to guess correctly.

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing away from Connor, knowing that it only made you look more suspicious. You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes focused on the wall in front of you. 

“Detective?” Connor pressed as he waited patiently for an answer.

You startled at the light touch of his hand on your chin as he slowly turned you back to him. He kept a gentle but firm grip on your chin, looking down at you questioningly. The feeling of his skin against yours didn’t help at all. It only worked to accelerate your heartbeat, which Connor immediately took note of.

“Your heart rate has increased by 32%, Detective,” Connor observed. “An increased and irregular heart rate is typically a sign of nervousness. Are you nervous?”

“You know the answer,” you mumbled.

“You’re right, I do,” he confessed easily. “But I want to hear it from you; are you nervous?”

“Yes.”

“Because I was correct in assuming you’re attracted to me?”

You inhaled slowly, working up the nerve to answer. But there was no point, you both knew your answer. He knew. You knew. It felt like everyone in the precinct– everyone in the world– knew.

“Yes…”

The corner of Connor’s lips quirked into a satisfied smirk having successfully broken his most stubborn participant. He slowly pulled his hand away from your chin, resting it flat against the tabletop. His arrogance sparked something inside you, compelling you to act unnaturally bold.

“Fine, you win,” you grunted, rising from your seat. “Congratulations.”

Without much thought, you reached for Connor’s tie and yanked him into you, smashing your lips against his. Your hand was tight around his tie, your nerves seeping into your grip. You pulled away sharply, only allowing him a quick kiss before your nerves could fully return. You released his tie and gently pushed his chest to put some distance between the two of you. 

“There’s your prize,” you hissed, though you both knew there was nothing menacing behind your tone.

It was Connor’s turn to feel flustered, finally. His cheeks were coated with a faint blush, his eyes wide and utterly perplexed. His lips were still parted slightly like he was savoring the feeling of your lips against his. Unease boiled in your chest the longer Connor did nothing.

But the look in his eyes settled any feelings of insecurity. He looked entirely infatuated with you. And when he spoke again, that infatuation only made itself clearer. 

“If that’s my prize, I’ll have to win more often.”

[cameronspecial]

I saw you were looking for some angst ideas lmao

So rafe and reader are together. Loves her more than life but his addiction gets in the way of that. One night they have a fuming argument and she doesn’t talk to him for a few days. He then makes a plan for them to talk about it somewhere private at nighttime, but when she shows up he’s not there. She waits for him for a while then she gets attacked by the rafes dealers because he owes them money and she was the next bet. Rafe finds her and he’s freaking out but she won’t let him near her and she blames him. You can choose how this ending goes or if you even want to write this but this has been on my mind

You Deserve Better

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Drug Use, Swearing, Stabbing, Blood, and Death

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.1K

Masterlist

The centre of Rafe’s life wasn’t always the white powder that tumbled around the little Ziploc bag that lined his pockets. His centre is supposed to snort or wheeze a little whenever she laughs, refusing to use her inhaler because she doesn’t want to embarrass him. It will stay up past her bedtime because she is in a flow with her work. His sun crosses her eyeballs whenever he presses a kiss on her nose because she knows it would make him chuckle. Y/N Y/L/N used to be his rock and now, all because of an accident, she isn’t anymore. That is something not a lot of people know. They assume his addiction started because he was a bored rich kid who had the money to spare. However, in reality, it began with a torn ACL. One wrong shift of his leg and his football career was over. At first, the oxycodone was only to manage the pain from the ACL surgery. He had the hope that he could recover the way he needed to get back on the field, but then the news came that he wasn’t progressing the way his doctor wanted… That was when the problem started, suddenly the drug he was taking to help ease his physical pain became the one to take away his mental pain too. The pain of not being able to play football. The pain of missing out. The pain of not knowing where his life was going.

Don’t get him wrong, Y/N was by his side the whole time, except a person can’t be everything to someone else and he needed a therapist. He just wasn’t ready to admit that. It was only when he stopped being prescribed oxycodone that he turned to cocaine to fill the mental hole the prescription used to be for.

———

Rafe’s blown pupils are hidden by his eyelids as he lies back on the couch. Y/N is still out with her friends, so he isn’t sleeping. Not when she is not at home. The front door opening and closing makes him jerk forward. His eyelids are just a sliver because the light from the ceiling is too bright for him. Her footsteps approach the living room and the large sigh she lets out makes her arrival known. “You didn’t do the dishes,” she states, her hand resting on her jut-out hip. “And the hole in the hallway is still there.” Yesterday, Rafe, in a high state, accidentally made a hole in the wall when trying to put up a picture frame for her. He promised her before she left for work this morning that he would get what he needed to fix it this morning and in the afternoon, he would fix it. However, before he could get himself to the store, he saw a post from one of his old football teammates, who went pro and he spiralled. 

He doesn’t mean to roll his eyes, yet it happens and this causes her to let out another huff. “I didn’t get a chance to go to the store,” he grumbles like he didn’t care. He really did though. He wanted to be able to do something that simple for the girl who meant everything to him, except his mind seemed to disagree with his heart. It is easier to pretend it doesn’t bother him. Her eyes narrow in on the residue of powder on their coffee table, “Let me guess, you got your nose caught up in some business. Rafe, you promised me you wouldn’t do that shit at home.” He can’t keep looking at the way tears start to appear because he knows how worried she gets when he does drugs, always scared he might overdose. He looks anywhere but at her. “Don’t get on my ass about this again Y/N. You don’t know what I am dealing with,” he argues.

“I don’t and that’s the problem. You need to talk to someone about how you are feeling because you are going to put yourself in an early grave if you keep doing what you are doing now.”

“Seriously, we are going to argue about this again because I didn’t do the dishes or fix a little hole in the wall.”

“No, we are going to argue about it because you aren’t the man I fell in love with anymore and I don’t think if I can do this anymore. I want to be by your side to help you get better but if you don’t want to, then I don’t know if I can be here forever.”

Her words hit his ears at the same intensity as they would if he were sitting next to an airplane engine. They had arguments about his sobriety so many times before, yet those fights always had the underlying understanding that she would be there to help him. She never once mentioned the possibility of her leaving him because she truly did want to help him find his sobriety. His mouth falls open to talk. No words come out. How can he possibly swear that he wants to get better when he isn’t at the self-realization point in his journey? She takes the silence as an admittance that getting clean isn’t on his mind. “I need some time apart. I’m going to sleep at Deliah’s place tonight,” she informs, turning to leave. He doesn’t stop her; he wants to give her the space she needs in hopes that she realizes she can hold on for a little bit longer. The only word he can respond with is “Okay”, right before she closes the door behind her. 

———

She hasn’t answered any of his texts and calls. Her night of taking some space turned into a week and it is driving him crazy. Her non-existence return may have to do with his unwillingness to agree to go to a therapist. After the thousandth attempt at calling her, she finally answers the call. “Normally, when a person doesn’t pick up the call, it means they don’t want to talk to you.” He lets out an internal sigh, “I know, I just need to talk to you. Please, can we meet at our spot, Sunshine?” She could never resist the usage of his nickname for her. “Okay, meet me there in an hour,” she agrees. The call drops right after her response and he gives himself a small smile. Not only does he get to see her again, he gets to try to get her back. 

———

By the time she realizes she is being followed, she is alone under the bleachers, where she and Rafe used to spend their time in high school. It was where they found themselves when they didn’t feel like going to class or they needed to get away from the chaos after his team won a game. It was the place she fell in love with him in because even before they were dating when they were just friends, it was their spot. She spins around at the sound of grass being pressed down by a set of feet, ready to scold him for being late. It isn’t Rafe as she expected; instead, an average-height man with a dangerous air that scares her. The gleam behind his eyes tells her the bald man is up to no good, which is confirmed when he pulls out the hunting knife from his hoodie pocket. She steps back in an attempt to get away from him, but her back hits against a metal beam. The man rushes toward her and presses the sharp edge against the soft skin of her neck. “Your boy owes me money and since he is taking too long to get it back to me, I thought I would hold onto something precious to him until I get what I want,” the man explains with a wicked grin. She refuses to show him fear and looks him dead in the eyes, “Rafe’s dealer is Barry so I have no idea what you are talking about.” “He stopped going to Barry because Barry started getting on his case about how much he is using,” the male growled, not enjoying the bite to her bark. She chuckles like a maniac, “When Rafe comes, he is going to beat your ass.” “Shut up, Bitch.” Angered by his words, her knees find their target between his legs. 

He lets out a howl and doubles over in pain. She uses this as her opportunity to attempt an escape, trying to run past him. Unfortunately, he reaches out to stop her and this results in the blade driving into her abdomen. A gasp passes her lips, causing the dealer to look in her direction. “Shit.” His eyes bloom open and immediately begins to pull it out. “No. Don’t pu-,” she warns, except it is too late. The weapon is already out and he is running toward the exit. She hunches forward and stumbles back against the beam, pressing her hand to her stomach to keep from bleeding out, feeling as though she has been punched. Calling 911 seems to be the logical answer; however, when she goes for her phone, she finds it broken on the floor. She thinks about going to her car and is stopped by the feeling of even more blood gushing out of the wound as she tries to push off the beam. It doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. 

“Sunshine,” rings through her ears. Her dizziness makes it difficult to focus on the speaker, yet she knows who it is based on the nickname. She slides down the beam because her legs lose all their strength. Rafe rushes to her side and kneels beside her. “Shit, Sunshine. It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. I’m going to call the police. They are going to fix everything,” his voice breaks as his hand joins hers to stop the flow of his blood. She can hear him relaying the information to the dispatcher, but her body is telling her something Rafe isn’t going to be ready to hear. He places his phone on the floor so both of his hands can press on her abdomen. “They’re coming, Sunshine, just hold on. I promise. I’ll be here the whole time.” Her handshakes as she raises to his cheek, staining it with her blood. Her tears water at the edge of her bottom eyelid, “I don’t think I’m going to make it.” His head shakes vigorously. “Don’t say tha-.” She cuts him off, “Can you please just listen to me?” He nods to let her continue. “It was your dealer. I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad. Just to make sure he gets arrested. But I need you to know that you are more than just your addiction and football. I know you don’t think so, but you are and if you just realize that, then you will see the man that I fell in love with.” “I don’t deserve that though. Look at all the shit I put you through. You deserve more than a druggie as a boyfriend,” he cries, holding her hand against his skin.

She smiles up at him, “You deserve more too. You deserve to be truly happy. You deserve to try to find a new purpose in life. I want that for you.” “How can I find all of that if you are gone?” he questions. Her breathing begins to become laboured, “You’ll find yourself and once you grieve, you’ll find someone who can help heal your broken heart. That’s how.”

“I don’t want anyone else. I just want you. Please, don’t go. Will you please stay if I promise to get sober?” 

“I will be with you every step of the way.”

The words tear his heart in two. He knows what it means. She truly doesn’t think she is coming out of this alive. “I want you to see me get better though. Please. Just hang on a little longer.” His tears cloud his vision. When he doesn’t hear a response, he wipes his eyes to get a closer look at her. The world goes dark at the sight of her glassy eyes only reflecting back his face with no recognition or life behind them. The rise and fall of her chest have stopped. The universe decides to answer his calls for help at a cruel moment as he hears the siren finally approach. There is no use in their hurry if the person who needs saving is the one to do it because Rafe isn’t going to let her last words die with her. He is going to get better, not only for her but for him too. He deserves more than a life of chasing his pain away with drugs and he is determined to achieve that.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura

[unreliablesnake]

MDNI, mention of sex, afab!reader

That son of a bitch shot him on their last mission. König was often in the way of bullets, but this was friendly fire. Ghost and him were on the same side, yet he managed to get a bullet in his side from the Brit. Maybe he was petty for not being able to forgive him. Yes, he did say it was okay, that there was no issue between them, but deep down he was mad at the lieutenant. So what was he supposed to do? Let it go? No, that wouldn’t be right. He hired a private investigator to find out more about him, to find his weak spot.

No one was allowed to see his face, but he heard his surname on the field, then he overheard a conversation about Manchester, and later Soap accidentally called him Simon in the pub during a conversation before making König promise not to tell anyone he said that. “Especially not the Lt, he would murder me if he knew,” the Scotsman slurred with a sheepish smile. He nodded, of course, then forwarded the now complete name and location to the PI.

That’s how he learned about you. Ghost’s pretty little ex, a precious porcelain doll he should have kept locked away to keep it safe. The PI was young, barely thirty and fairly handsome, so he had no issue getting close to your circle. According to one of the women you were friends with, you were the one who ended the relationship. “She said he was away a lot, but if you ask me, it’s the age difference. He was what? Thirty-four? Thirty-five? And he acted like he was over forty. She can do better. Too bad that asshole still bothers her to get her back,” she added with a roll of her eyes.

By the time his current mission ended, König had your address and some additional information about your daily routine on his phone. According to the report, you spent every Saturday with your friends in a pub near your apartment, so he went there and watched you from afar. Then he not-so-accidentally bumped into you, his hand falling on your shoulder as he checked if you were okay. “Careful, you wouldn’t want to waste that beer,” he said with a smile, then moved on towards the bar.

It didn’t take much time for you to find him, taking the empty bar stool next to him and flashing a disarming smile at him. “Your eyes are ridiculously blue,” you blurted out.

You were drunk, it was clear as day, but he didn’t mind. It would be easier to get close to you, to convince you to go to his hotel room with him and let him fuck you stupid. He would record the whole thing, making sure your cockdrunk expression was visible on the footage so Ghost could see what he took from him.

In his head he had everything planned out right to the very last tiny detail, because he wasn’t planning to stop at one night. No. Ghost has a good taste, he had to admit that, this is why he didn’t feel like letting go of a pretty thing like you too soon. He would have fun. Maybe he would marry you. Maybe he would put a baby in you to keep you near. Yes, he could surely turn you into a trophy wife, sitting home, looking pretty, raising your kid right, and of course taking care of the man of the house.

His fingers brushed your cheek as he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes fixed on your plump lips that shined so bright from the lip gloss. There was no way to fight the thought of having you on your knees in front of him, these shiny lips being wrapped around his cock as you tried to take more of him despite your gag reflex kicking in. He would talk you through it, whispering praises as he patted your head.

When you realized he wasn’t about to talk, you turned your head a little to kiss his hand and put a hand on his thigh. “Don’t you wanna buy me a drink, big guy?” you purred with a flirtatious smile.

He had a feeling it would be easy to pick you up, but this was almost too easy. You came to him yourself; all you needed was a touch of your arms as he bumped into you and now you were pretty much begging him to fuck you. Because König wasn’t stupid, he knew that’s what you wanted. And who was he to say no? So he flashed a smile at you then pulled you into a kiss, even slipping off the chair to trap you between the bar top and his body. You had your hands on his hips, thumbs moving under his shirt to draw circles into his skin.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t we go somewhere private, hm?” he asked as he leaned closer to the shell of your ear. One of your hands moved up to his back under the shirt, long fingernails scratching his skin in a way that made him shiver. You were truly something. No wonder Ghost still wasn’t over you. “Let’s go.”

[andejoe]

Jngyi loved teaching humans. Truly. Most of them were problematic in their own ways, but he loved being able to help shape them into beings that wouldn’t destroy the galaxy. One of his favorite lessons was teaching humans that sometimes there was no way to ‘fix’ something. Humans needed that lesson. They tried to fix everything, and sometimes made things much worse.

Jngyi gave his students the task of ‘terraforming a planet for habitation’. The goal was to give students a planet that could not be terraformed so they would admit the planet is undesirable and thus accept defeat. Most of the time, even humans would admit a planet would require too much money or effort to change or that attempting terraformation would damage the planet beyond survivability. Ganix was the planet assigned to the more stubborn or supercilious students.

The planet Ganix is unsuitable for life, any life. Most of the planet’s surface is covered in black water, both colored and contaminated by the ash of overactive underwater volcanoes. The excessive ash in the water choked any wildlife that had the misfortune of trying to live there.

What land exists isn’t even dry, instead covered in large patches of marsh. The three seasons observable from a safe distance fluctuate so quickly and harshly that these marshes freeze over and melt in a matter of days, effectively destroying any flora that tries to survive.

While it’s hard to call anything a ‘flood’ when the planet is mostly water to begin with, the tides still completely cover what little land exists when the lunar cycle reaches perigee for a full day every standard two weeks. The climate is no easier to deal with. Rain carrying enough ash to coat the ground, ice falling like rocks, or the excessive heat that accompanies the ‘dry spells’.

The planet isn’t even able to be terraformed as the unstable tectonic plates would fracture and cause even more geological disasters. Which is exactly why Ganix had been classified as uninhabitable and used only as a way point for those whose nav systems broke down.

Jngyi felt very confident that Millie, Elan, Rene, and Brenden, his four most human students, would come to the same conclusion.

The report Rene handed in for the group was over 20 pages long.

“This is quite the long report for what should be a very short sentence,” Jngyi stated.

“What do you mean a short sentence? Just setting up appropriate farm land takes up three of those pages. Elan wanted to write five but we convinced her to shorten it down.”

Jngyi quickly scanned his eyes down the first page of the report. “In our research, we have discovered terraforming in its current meaning is not required for habitation. What do you mean?”

Rene glanced at Millie, who nodded encouragement.

“Well, we don’t believe you need to alter the planet to adjust its climate or structure in order to live there. We believe that it’s possible to adapt to the circumstances available with a little bit of outside supplies.”

Jngyi slapped the report down on his desk. “The assignment was meant to make you admit defeat, not write nonsense to make you sound clever.”

Brenden stepped forward next to Rene. “We didn’t make up stuff! Everything in the report you haven’t bothered to read yet will work.”

Jngyi stared at the upset boy. “You cannot be thriving members of the galaxy if you cannot admit you are incapable of something. Ganix cannot be terraformed. The last attempt at it is what set off the underwater volcanoes to begin with. It is beyond repair and thus is not sustainable for life.”

“Well we say you’re wrong,” Brenden fired back.

Jngyi tried to remember that these were children, mentally unformed and unable to refrain from stubbornness and stupidity. “It is not just me. You’re saying the galaxy is wrong. You’re saying that you four know more than every species, human included, who’s tried to live there before. Even you must see how-“

Millie cut in. “What if they are?”

Jngyi paused to let the eager child’s words register. “What if what? What if the entire galaxy is wrong? How can you ask that?”

“You always teach us that the galaxy is always changing and it’s important to adapt. Well, what if this is another change just waiting to happen? What if they’re wrong?” Millie reasoned.

Jngyi shook his head. “It’s not the same thing. I’m sorry, but you’ve failed this assignment.”

Brenden started to say something, but Rene spoke up faster.

“Will you please read the report before making a final decision? You might change your mind.”

“Fine. I will read the report. But tomorrow the grade will be submitted.”

The four humans left Jngyi to read in quiet.

Jngyi put off reading the report until after dinner. He regretted that decision when he reached page two and had to start contacting other experts. Jngyi knew some earth history, but floating gardens and sun shades and buoyant cities were beyond his working knowledge. Certainly his students had done their research.

By the time the four humans regrouped in his class, Jngyi had a virtual group of his own. Experts in survival, plant growth, microbiology, construction, watercraft, and climate all watched the students enter the class. Each expert had their own copy of the report, along with their own research on the planet itself.

“Prof J, what’s going on here?” Brenden asked.

“Your plan is insane, arduous, possibly nugatory, but it may be viable all the same. I’ve gathered together some experts to question your tactics. If they agree that this could work, they will add their expanded knowledge to your concepts and we will submit this to the terraformation council for further review. If you do well today, this could well allow all four of you entrance to whichever field of study you desire after basic schooling.”

Jngyi motioned for the children to sit down at their seats. Each desk had their report and a pad to pull up more research during the debate.

“If you need a moment to ready yourself, please take it. We begin in fifteen minutes.”

——————————————

Deidre, the expert human on the terraformation committee, looked up from her itinerary. “Hey Kleri, why is Ganix on the schedule for the next meeting? I thought this planet had been deemed unlivable a long time ago?”

Aide Kleri nodded. “Yes Madam Deidre, you are correct.”

“Has something changed?”

“Apparently some teenage humans received the planet as a homework assignment.”

Deidre laughed, cutting off whatever else Aide Kleri would have said. Kleri waited until Deidre calmed down.

“Madam Deidre, why is that funny?”

“Because Kleri, there is nothing worse than a human teenager with a good idea.”

[cherry-pop-elf]

Breakfast

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: It was finally the weekend, which meant rest for you. Not so much for George, but that wasn’t an issue. He loved his job. Regardless, early mornings can be lonely. Luckily, he always does open the store later in the day. So today, you THREE get to spend time together. You, Georgie, and little Freddy

((Btw yes I’m using ASL instead of BSL. It’s easier to get accurate with research, and it can help teach more people to!))

“WHOOPSIE-!” Certainly a concerning word, in any house hold. Was what made you wake up. You didn’t want to, but oh well. The sacrifices every parent makes. George wasn’t in bed with you anyway. No fun being in bed, with out someone to cuddle.

You would pull yourself out of bed, while steal your husbands sleep robe, and proceed to try and figure out why your son was going Whoopsies. Because if he’s saying that, something’s probably on fire. Or exploded. Or currently trying to climb itself out of a trunk.

“Hey, accidents happen. Don’t worry. Here, I’ll clean it up-“ That sweet voice would comfort, as you entered the kitchen. The smell of breakfast heavy in the air, and the windows open to the early morning noise.

What a sight it was. Seeing your handsome husband. That ginger hair all a mess in the early morning. Plaided pants, with hand me down shirt that was somehow surviving from either spite or love. (You bet it’s a mixture of both, with those Weasleys)

Little Freddy himself was in a bright purple pajama set. With the cutest little designs all over it. Just like his uncle, he just adored purple like no other. Like hell you wouldn’t let him enjoy such a color.

Your husband would wave his wand, and repare the broken plate on the ground. Nothing magic couldn’t fix. Seems like the two of them were making breakfast together. George teaching little junior how to cook, and clean. Made your smile, as you leaned on the door frame.

“See? No harm no fowl. You did the right thing, though. The plate was hot, and you let go before it could hurt you.” He would encourage, as to make sure little Freddy knew that everything was alright. Gentle, calm, and soothing. No need for yelling, after all.

“Can you sign Hot-?” He would ask Freddy, as he quickly nodded. His tiny hand would make a claw shape towards him mouth, before turning it away. As if eating an apple, and placing it down.

“That’s right-! Good job-!” George would cheer, as he yanked his son into his arms. Got him to giggle, as he was attacked in kisses. Such a proud father. You swore you might cry. George just adored his son to no end. It reminded you of the many, many, reasons you fell for him.

“Well now, look who’s awake-!” George would smile at you, before your son made grabby hands at you. That was your que, and you happily took it.

You would steal your bouncing baby boy, and pepper him in kisses all the same. A good distraction for George to make the plates for breakfast. Just laughter, and the sizzle of food.

“What has my little trouble maker been doing this morning?” You asked your son, as he gave a big smile. One that echoed the likes of his father. Helped that the ginger curls were over those chubby freckled cheeks.

“Daddy and I made breakfasts together! And he’s teaching me how to sign stuff that means breakfast!” Freddy would giggle, as you gave a wide eyed expression of curiosity. A means to encourage such behavior.

“He’s gotten so good at it. He’s gonna be better the me even. And I’m the deaf guy-!” George would snort, as you rolled your eyes at him.

Did have a point though. Being raised to learn sign language is alot different than having to learn it later in life. Luckily, though, George is far smarter than people give him credit for. Just look at the empire he made. Even with Fred’s help, it’s no easy task.

“We made waffles, and pancakes, and and-“ Freddy would babble on, and you listened to each little word. Cherishing it all, as you helped him sit at the table. Making sure he was secure in his seat, before sitting next to him. With George on the other side of him. Your shared bundle of joy, between his parents.

“You did a good job. It all looks so yummy.” You praised, as you gave his chubby cheek a kiss. Had him giggle, before he grabbed his sippy cup. Happy to enjoy some morning juice, as you reached behind your little boy.

“Just perfect.” You almost whispered, as you held George’s hand. The grip was returned, as he stole your fingers to his lips. Kissing them over, and making you blush all over. As if just an early year again, and admiring his skills on the quidditch team.

“Terrible.” You tease, as he gave an eyebrow wiggle at your manners. Had you snort, before he was quick to lean himself over. Had to make sure his partner got a kiss too. A kiss you oh so happily returned. All to the ‘gross’ babble of your son.

That soon had you both pamper his face in kisses, as he squealed at such an attack. Flailing little fingers, as you made sure he was adored in all the love you two could muster. That was quite alot, mind you.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” You asked, as George gave a groan. Had you giggle that he never truly gave up all his childish habits. As if you would want that. You needed to smile, after all.

“Work, work, and more work. Love the job, I do. Wouldn’t trade it for anything, but I wish I could just close the doors for one day…..I mean, I can do exactly that. I’m the boss here. Hm…..Maybe I should do that. ‘Closed for a family picnic’ and all that. Yeah, yeah I should do that-“ He spoke out loud, as he enjoyed his waffle.

“We can see uncle Fred!” Freddy would shout, as you would wipe the syrup off his face. Messy eater he was, but you savored it. Just was nostalgic, after all. A messy eater like when his father was young.

“The cemetery normally has, like, no people this day in the week. That could work, honestly. Just a private little family get together like that.” George nodded, as he showed he liked the idea. Made junior grin, with such pride.

“Sounds like a plan then. A nice picnic to see uncle Fred, and just a day to spend with us three. I love it. Good job.” You would add to George, as Junior was just all smiles. So much like said uncle, but certainly George all the same.

With the plans all set, the three of you enjoyed the breakfast between you all. With plenty of George teasing his boy. With silly faces, and stories of his youth. Was just divine to watch. To see him so happy again.

“All done-!” Freddy would suddenly shout. Was followed by placing both his hands to his chest, before bringing them back to the table. Multiple times, as to practice what the sign meant. Warmed your heart. Smart like his daddy.

“Good job, Freddy. Now, what do we say next?” George would ask, as Freddy had to think. With his little brows furrowed, as he huffed. Trying his best to remember what to sign next.

“We clean….” He muttered, as he gave sign language babble to himself. Trying hard to figure it out, as you both waited. With no rush. No yelling. No pressure. Just waiting, and letting him breathe.

“Clean….” He muttered, as would place his right hand on his left hand. Then he made a swiping motion, as if trying to wipe something off his hands. It wasn’t quite as smooth as it should be, but he still remembered it regardless.

“Got that right. We clean up. Well, try to.” George would give that awkward smile, as you gave him a knowing look. No yelling, like Molly would. George had a bad habit with his messes, but no one is perfect. He had quirks to make up for it. Much like yourself held your own bad, and good, habits the same. The goal was to try and prevent such to junior. The best you could, anyway.

“Yeah-! Clean up!” Freddy nodded, as he would stumble out of his chair. Adorable little waddle was made to the sink, only to realize he was to short. Made him frustrated, as he gave an angry little stomp. As if that would somehow make him grow.

“I’ll never get tired of that.” You sighed, as George nodded. The both of you enjoying the sight of little Freddy trying to figure out how to reach the sink. Just enjoying the moment, while you could.

“I’ll help him. You go out the sign up.” You said, as you stood up. He was quick to do that same, before stealing you into his arms. Just to hold you a moment, and savor it. Savor the bliss of the morning. With his head resting against yours. No words were needed, as you cupped his face. Tracing the scars, and admiring him in his entirely.

“Love you to, you big trouble maker.”

[goddessofmischief]

Hey! I adore your writing - everything feels like a character study and by that I don’t mean it’s lacking artistry I mean that each piece is so dynamically engaged with their internal worlds. Now I love me some Shanks and Mihawk but I am a Buggy Bitch and was hoping to get some time with him in this early on stage? If you wouldn’t mind, can we have a shot that shows why Buggy’s infatuation keeps going? Maybe a meaningful moment of kindness towards him or the like?

Thank you for your writing 💛

      GOLD RUSH - BUGGY X READER

A/N: Dude, I was smiling all day because of this message. Thank you so much! This is part of this series, which requests are open for! These fics are all one-shots, so they can be read separately. Also I highly recommend listening to the song linked in the title while you read.

Shanks and Mihawk had loved you, for various reasons, for their own motivations, from minute one.

...Buggy hadn't fallen for your charms so easily.

You were suspicious to him. He knew well enough that if something appeared too good from the outside, it was probably a trap. So for a long time after Roger had rescued you and brought you home to live with the pirates, Buggy treated all of your actions as if they had been the exact opposite, and always indicative of some secret evil.

You were kind to him? Only because you hated him so much. You looked pretty? Only because you were disguising some inner, deeper ugliness. You were a strong fighter? Only because of all the blood on your hands. You were intelligent? Only to deceive him.

It took a long, long time, and many months and even a few years to really wear him down. But when that had finally happened, Buggy was yours for life.

He fell for you in not one, but two moments: this, he vividly recalled, was the first.

It was a stormy day at a small port when you and Buggy stopped into a tavern for a drink. Shanks and Roger had stayed behind to fix the ship.

He had watched you with the smallest amount of interest, as if you were an amusement, as if you were a pretty bug. His original interest in you, small as it had been to begin with, had gone completely downhill when he realized you weren't really the performing type. You didn't like jokes or attention, and you certainly didn't beg for it the way Buggy did. The two of you hadn't really been able to form a relationship anyway, considering you spent most of your time with Shanks.

He'd ordered a drink too big for himself, and watched as you sipped daintily from a small one.

"That's so little," he said. "What's the point?"

You shrugged.

"I like being alert," you explained. "Makes it easier to stay safe."

Buggy snorted, rolling his eyes and turning back to his drink.

Two larger, older pirates sidled up on either of your sides', eyeing Buggy, but mostly you.

"Hey, sweetheart," said one of them. "You know this guy?"

"Yes," you said quietly. "He's my friend."

"...This clown?"

Buggy stiffened.

"Fellas, let's not-"

Shanks would have said let them talk. Shanks would have sat quietly until they were gone, or maybe just snickered at Buggy's plight.

But that's not what you did.

"He's stronger than either of you," you said nonchalantly, and the larger pirate stared at you.

"Really? The clown?"

"Really," you confirmed. The two pirates looked at Buggy, menacingly.

"He doesn't look very strong to me."

"We'll protect you, sweetheart. You don't need him."

"Honk, honk," the larger pirate jeered, reaching for Buggy's nose, and completely without warning you reeled back and punched him in the face.

Buggy was not prepared for that to happen.

The two pirates stood up and leered over you, intimidatingly. Buggy was stricken by the sudden realization of how large they both were, and how comparatively scrawny the two of you were.

But he knew he had to protect you. (If only to keep Shanks from killing him.)

And so Buggy punched the second guy, wincing as his fist hit him.

He wished he was stronger. God, in that moment, how he wished he was stronger.

(He didn't have the Chop Chop fruit yet. That would've been great.)

But Buggy was scrappy, and he didn't need much of an advantage in a melee situation. He was a kicker, a scratcher, and a biter. You were more elegant in your movements - almost balletic, and Buggy resolved to ask you about it later - but both of you managed to defeat them, and make it back to the ship in mostly one piece.

"Thanks," he said, quietly, as you sat cross-legged across from him, applying eyeliner. You had offered to fix his makeup using your own, and after a lot of protesting, he'd agreed.

Your eyes lingered over him. He looked away, suddenly embarassed.

"What for?"

"For, y'know, helping me out back there."

"Of course," you said, smiling sweetly. "You're my nakama."

You applied a bit to your own lips before holding it out to Buggy.

"Um," he said. "Can you do it? I'm feelin' kinda shaky."

"Mhm," you hummed, carefully painting it on.

"Good?" he asked.

"Good. I do happen to like your nose, by the way."

"That's nice," he responded. "I like yours."

You grinned.

"I didn't realize you were such a fighter," Buggy said.

"I'm not," you confessed. "I'm terrified. I hate fighting."

"But you punched him."

"Well, he was being mean. And I knew you'd help me."

"How?"

"I don't know, it's what you do."

"Did you mean what you said? About me being your friend?"

"Of course," you said. "You're nearly all I have."

Buggy had never fallen in love with anyone before, if only because most of the time they hated him so openly before he could even consider it. But he thought that maybe tonight, under this sky, he might be in love with you.

The second thing that made him realize how he felt was later that night, as he fell asleep in the bunk under Shanks'.

"How was it?" Shanks asked, sleepily. "...Spending the day with her?"

"Oh," said Buggy. "It was alright."

"Alright?" asked Shanks, propping himself up to look at Buggy. "She's the best, what are you talking about?"

"You think so?"

"Well, yeah, I mean - she's smart, funny, a whole lot nicer than most of us-"

And while Shanks carried on about all these great things about you, two ideas bounced around in Buggy's head - first, how much Shanks was correct about all these great traits of yours, things Buggy had never dared notice before, and second, how much Shanks cared for you. It made him think that maybe there was something special about you, something he hadn't seen before.

And so Buggy told Shanks about your little adventure, and told him about what you'd done for him, and Shanks smiled to himself, and simply said "It's just what she does..."

What could he say? Buggy just loved how you loved.

taglist: @sawendel@twinklesnake@literaturewithliz@sordidmusings@foggyturtleknightangel@toertchen@96jnie@lunanight1021

[plaidpajamallama]

(You scared me) RHEA RIPLEY X JEY USO

Chapter 10 part 2

________________________________________________

He kissed he again

putting her hands in his hair

He brought a hand to the side of her neck. Giving her goosebumps, he moved his hand that was around her waist, making her week

She pulled away, catching her breath.

He said out of breath you could have told me you needed to breathe.

She smiled. Why would I do that?

He chuckled. God, you are amazing.

She looked over at the clock; it was going on at midnight. I didn’t know it was so late.

He looked over at the clock. Oh shit, I should get going,

I mean, you don’t have to leave. She said, moving a piece of hair out of her face.

I’ll stay if you want me too.

Yeah, I want you too.

Ok, then it looks like I’ll stay, he said, smiling.

He let his hand run across her waist as he moved away from her.

She walked into the bathroom, taking a moment to look at herself in the mirror.

Her face was bright red, and her hair was messed up a little. She took a moment to collect herself. She fixed her hair, walking out.

Jey was putting the rest of their food in the mini fridge.

She sat down in the bed, getting under the sheets, looking for something to watch.

After a moment, Jey stood up, walking over to the other side of the bed.

He threw back the blanket, getting into bed.

Laying next to her, she moved closer to him, laying her head on his chest and wrapping his arm around her.

Thank you for making me feel better. He said, kissing the top of her head.

Always she looked up at him. You know you can always talk to me.

I know it’s just hard for me to talk about.

I get it. I don’t want to make you, but I can see it weighing on you. I’m here for you.

He ran a hand through his hair.

My relationship with my family is difficult.

You know how Roman treated me.

When Jimmy came back, he couldn’t even recognize me. Being with Roman changed me.

People called me a crashout. I hurt people just because Roman said so.

But you know when Sami joined the Bloodline

He opened my eyes and showed me a way out.

And I took it. I left; it wasn’t easy, but I did.

I worked hard to earn people's trust on Raw.

Now with Jimmy back, everything is fucked up.

He’s not going to stop trying to get me to help them.

What are you going to do?

I’m going to go see Solo. Tell him to leave me out of this. Tell him he better not come over to Raw.

What if you run into Jimmy?

I’ll tell him exactly what I told him tonight. He looked down at her, seeing a bit of worry on her face. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.

I know I just can’t help but worry.

I’ll be okay. I can handle myself, he said, taking her hand in his.

I’m here if you need anything.

All I need from you is not to worry. You need to focus on the street trash. You took a nasty hit tonight.

Yeah, she said, rubbing the back of her head.

God, I mean who wears heels in the ring.

Our missed money in the bank, which could help you out?

She cut him off. I’m not tagging with her anymore; her voice is almost as bad as Liv's.

No, I’m saying that she could cash in on Liv; she could see Liv as an easier target to cash in on instead of Nia, which could benefit you.

Your not wrong. If Tiffy was the champion, it would be easier to get my title back.

Exactly. You shouldn’t be so mean to her so you could convince her to cash in on Liv.

I don’t know if I can do that; she gets on my nerves.

She can’t be that bad now.

You get in the ring with her and hear it’s tiffy time, she said in a high-pitched voice.

And tell me that’s not annoying.

He sat there for a moment. Yeah, that sounds annoying.

Exactly! And I took a heel to the head because of her.

Did you get checked out?

Yea, I stopped by the medic. I’m good, which is good sense. I got to deal with Raquel.

Well, she's going to feel the brutality, and anyone who tries to come out

One of these days I’m going to hit Dom with a riptide. I mean it

Hey, I believe you, plus I wouldn’t be mad to see that either.

She chuckled, turning the lamp off so just the TV was lighting the room.

They laid there watching TV for a while.

In each other's arms

She thought about how a thing that started as technical flirting to get a leg up in the ring

Now here she was laying in bed with him.

head over heels still thinking about their kiss.

She knew he was still thinking about it too.

He’s been wanting her longer than she’s wanted him, but damn did she fall hard. She snuggled closer to him. You cold, huh, he said, looking down at her.

I mean, yeah, she said laughing.

I knew it!

Can I ask you something?

What’s up?

What is this? What are we, she said, gesturing to themselves.

Well, what do you want this to be?

I want us She gestured again to be us. She said hesitantly

Ok, then we’re together.

Wait, really, it was that easy.

Yeah Rhea I have been trying to holler at you for forever. If you wanted to be my girl, then you're my girl.

Alright then, I’m your girl. She smiled; she couldn’t help it. Jey just made her so happy.

He made her forget everything, all her problems, when she was away. When she was with him, she lay in his arms watching TV.

Jey woke up. The TV was still on.

He looked over at the clock. It was 7 in the morning. He looked over at Rhea; she was still asleep. God, she was beautiful.

He couldn’t believe that she was his

Who knew all it would take was both of their families to betray them?

He remembers Jimmy making fun of him for getting distracted because of her.

Rhea's eyes flickered open.

He pushed her hair out of her face. Good morning; you sleep well.

Good morning Yeah, I sleep well. She gave him a kiss.

He grabbed her waist, pulling her closer and giving her another kiss.

You have to go to Europe.

I don’t give a fuck about Europe

I think those people who want to see you do

He rolled her over so he was on top of her.

I think Europe will understand what he said, kissing her. More aggressive than before

You miss your flight.

Then I’ll rebook it

Jey! She said hitting his arm playfully

What! He laughed

You have a flight that you can’t miss. I’ll see you when you get back.

Alright fine Europe gotten Yeet too

Exactly, plus I have to tell Damian.

Okay, he said sitting up. I got to go get my stuff together. I’ll call you.

Alright, she gave him a kiss. I’ll see you when you get back.

________________________________________________

I love them so much 🖤

[dottcre]

RAAHH YOU DO?! -transmasc anon

okay so..what about dottore being pussydrunk on us and he just can't stop fucking into his boyfriend, but meanwhile said boyfriend is just reading a book while dottore goes crazy trying to get a reaction out of him, he wants to know he's doing good, he wants to hear that he's doing good, he needs the praise or else he'll keep whining and fucking into you for your attention...

sub dottore who wants to please his dom in anyway🤤🤤

OFC I DO ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 trans community forever RAHH

contains : transmasc!reader, afab!reader, sub!dottore, praise kink, cockwarming, pliant dottore because he’s soft from the pleasure, kind of a sudden ending bc i dont know how to end fics 😭

dottore’s trying everything to get your attention but you eyes remained fixed on your book, and by the looks of it you weren’t going to be done anytime soon. he knew that you told him to be patient, but it was much easier said than done when your pussy was so warm, spongy walls clenching around his helpless dick.

he called out your name, hips bucking up toward you for the nth time that night as he struggled to keep his voice level. his eyes lit up ever so slightly when he heard you click your tongue in annoyance, not expecting you to actually respond this time. you marked the page of the book you were on before shutting it, the crisp and loud sound another sign of your irritation toward the man beneath you.

“what is it this time, dottore?” he pouted at your usage of his fatui-assigned name, but quickly hid it after remembering that you weren’t too ecstatic about any type of disobedience.

“…please, talk to me?” he was uncharacteristically flustered, the skin hidden under his clothes burning from embarrassment. “…need your voice.”

he was cute today, absolutely pussydrunk and reduced to nothing but jelly. there’s no way you wouldn’t take advantage of that.

“oh, you want to hear me?” you teased, cupping his cheek gently to make him look into your eyes. “you wanna hear how good your cock’s making me feel?” a “yes” fell from his lips with shocking enthusiasm, making you laugh a little.

“do you really think you deserve it even when you’ve been such an impatient brat?” dottore hesitated, red eyes widening as his hands kneaded at your thighs, probably to attempt to keep you in place if you chose to move away. you wanted to mess around with him a bit more, seeing how wrecked he was. his scarily dilated pupils and the sweat coating his skin was a clear indication that he was close to his limit. perhaps you’ll play your game another day.

you faked a disappointed sigh, slapping the side of his face softly, condescendingly. “however, since i, your dear boyfriend, am feeling generous today, will let it slide.” with a grin. “do you want to make me feel good, dottore?” you got a response from him in the form of a deep whine and a twitch from his throbbing cock.

“yes? i do, i do,” he was begging, arms holding you against him as he attempted to hump against you like a dog in heat. “want to fuck you and make you feel, hngh, so good. be used by you like a toy.” he was blabbering in absolute joy, desperation, and the book you were reading completely thrown to the back of your head.

he would do anything for your pleasure and attention, that you were now absolutely certain of.

[cambria-writes]

Chapter 2: You're too old to be so shy

pairing: astarion x bard!f!reader word count: 5,395 warnings: swearing, mentions of sex and innuendos, implied past sexual abuse/assault, nothing explicitly mentioned, please let me know if anything else should be tagged

a/n: here it is! this has also been proofread twice! still writing chapter 3 but i'm mostly done. hoping to be upload chapter 3 this coming sunday. :)

though i'm still a little sick i am feeling much better!

Your camp is not suited for more than your traveling party. That much is made obvious as soon as the first few tieflings arrive once the sun has set and the stars have come out. 

Gale has been toiling away to prepare enough food for the sizable crowd you expected, and enlisted the help of both Wyll and Scratch—the latter to help gather kindling for the three fires the mad wizard has going on. As soon as you spot Mol, you immediately fix her a look that lets her know you expect impeccable behaviour, if only for tonight. The tiefling girl makes a show of crossing her heart and spitting on the ground. Not... a fantastic response, but at least you can spend an easier night knowing that the ringleader of a bunch of restless children won’t be up to her usual misdeeds. Probably.

As soon as you’ve redressed in your casual clothes, you’re scooped up by Zevlor, who insists on speaking to the entirety of the assembled crowd to sing your praises. When Alfira starts playing a gentle tune along with him, it becomes quite literal. Rolan conjures some pretty fireworks, Volo joins in with Zevlor’s off-key serenade.

It’s a mess, and, blessedly, Komira presses a bottle of some kind of alcohol in your hand.

“It’s one of our better bottles,” she says, conspiratorially, though how loudly she has to speak to be heard over everything else defeats the effort of being sneaky. “As thanks for helping our girl.”

You laugh a little, trying not to sound as uneasy as you feel. “You’ve already thanked me, though,” you say, pulling on the chain to show you are, in fact, wearing her locket. Komira’s face lights up.

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d wear it!” she exclaims, and you frown a little.

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a pendant, it’s made to be worn.”

“Oh, well it’s such a small enchantment,” Komira says, rubbing at her collarbones. “I just—I had figured you might keep it to sell, you know?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, perhaps a little harshly. You try to soften your tone when you speak next when you see Komira’s taken aback. “I’m sorry, I meant to say that something like this can’t just be sold. The value this locket has isn’t just gold.”

She sighs, just a little, and nods. “Right, thank you. It’s just so strange to be...”

You nod in understanding. Respected, appreciated, treated like an equal; given their initial reception by Kagha and half the grove, you can see how she wouldn’t assume anyone else would have the best of interests.

You put a hand to her upper arm and try to smile in a way you hope is reassuring.

“Hey, no time to be sad or apprehensive. Your family have a long road ahead, you should have fun while you can.”

You and Komira part ways shortly after that. You fiddle with the locket’s chain as you fulfill your social expectations for the night. It’s exhausting; Zevlor catches you another three times during the night, and every time he seems even more intoxicated than the last. Lae’zel walks up to you and confesses just how arousing you are when you fight with blood on your face.

She is the first person whose advances you have to rebuff tonight.

You speak with Halsin, glad to see him among you. Your conversation is lovely and easy, until you try to convince him to mingle with the rest of you. The way he looks down at you—eyes half-lidded and a set to his jaw that you’ve become familiar with—makes you excuse yourself fairly quickly. That isn’t a conversation you feel like having with him, of all people.

Karlach excitedly tells you about Dammon and his offer to help the infernal engine roaring in her chest before showing off and making you try some of her... dance moves? Footwork? You’ve drunk most of the bottle Komira offered you, so you gladly follow and stumble along. You wish her a good night when you’re out of breath and move along.

Shadowheart and Wyll seem to be engaged in quite the debate. You watch them for a while, as Gale hands you a bowl of something that smells amazing, and pay them no mind when you realize they have no intent on murdering each other.

“Haven’t seen our pale friend in quite some time today,” Gale mentions while absent mindedly tossing some scraps behind him and into Scratch’s eager maw. “Oh, well, speak of the devil.”

You turn around to see Astarion emerging from his tent. He almost immediately snatches a bottle of wine from an unsuspecting, far-too-drunk Danis as he walks by.

“He escaped the grove the same time I did,” you say, distracted, following the vampire with your eyes until he settles under a mostly-bare tree, with his back against its bark. When you look back at Gale to say something else, he looks shocked. “What? You didn’t notice I left almost immediately after talking to Zevlor?”

“You left and didn’t tell anyone? On your own?”

You cringe, can tell that there’s a lecture coming on, and raise your hands in defense. “Look, I was covered in blood and gore and was profoundly adverse to socializing in that state. I think it’s perfectly normal and reasonable of me to excuse myself under those conditions.”

Gale fixes you a disapproving look but nods as he moves to spear a fish grilling over another fire. “Can’t hold that against you, I suppose. You would’ve smelled revolting after a few hours.”

“I’m glad you understand,” you reply dryly.

Gale sends you away once you’ve finished the grilled meat and vegetables he’s given you. You spend some time playing with Alfira as she sings, manage to rope Karlach into providing percussions by enthusiastically thumping on an overturned, probably-empty barrel. When everyone is well and enthralled, you discreetly leave your post by Alfira and let the tiefling continue the entertainment.

You begin to wander when your eyes catch the back of Astarion’s head. He’s speaking to one of the tiefling women—Pandirna, you think, pleased to see she’s still standing on her own two feet. She does, however, look very drunk and Astarion looks very uncomfortable. He doesn’t flinch when Pandirna puts a hand on his bicep and laughs, but he immediately looks like a coiled snake ready to strike. You look around quickly and wave down a tiefling who looks... well at least she looks slightly less drunk than Pandirna does, so she’ll do.

You approach tiefling and vampire with a smile. Pandirna immediately begins waving at you in large, exaggerated motions.

“Hey there,” you greet, taking her hand off Astarion’s arm and taking it into your own. “How about we get you something to eat?” When the woman you had waved down walks over, you quietly ask her to take Pandirna somewhere quiet to rest and get something in her stomach. Or... maybe empty her stomach, you’re not quite sure. You hear Astarion sigh behind you when the tiefling women are out of earshot.

“Thank you, the only thing worse than this wine are her drunken attempts at what she calls seduction.”

You can’t help the bark of laughter that leaves your mouth. No, you don’t suppose you would be terribly receptive to the inebriated stumblings of a group of people you hardly know, let alone have barely spoken more than a complete sentence to.

“I don’t suppose this means you have to come rescue me next time someone wants to declare their undying lust for me?”

Astarion snorts in his wine but otherwise doesn’t offer an answer. You motion for him to move, and lean your back against the same tree. Your shoulders are pressed together, and this is perhaps a little closer than you’d otherwise like to be to anyone, but with decent wine in your body and the small spark of satisfaction of a job well done, you find you don’t quite mind.

You especially don’t mind if Astarion doesn’t mind, and he seems quite content being next to you like this—or, at least, he doesn’t seem terribly bothered by it, which is as good a sign as any.

“You know,” he starts, looking out onto the revelry and taking a moment to look at another of Rolan’s firework displays. It’s... messier, this time. You think maybe he’s gotten into the wine, too. “I never pictured myself as a hero. Never thought I'd be the one they toast for saving so many lives. And now that I'm here...“

Astarion takes a swig of the wine bottle like he’s forgotten what’s in it and screws his face in disgust. “I hate it, this is awful.”

You bend over with your laughter, this time. When you manage to lift yourself back up straight, you feel your chest swell with a strange kind of pride in seeing Astarion smirk. Nothing toothy, condescending or rude about it.

“Oh come on! It can’t be that bad,” you breathe, brushing hair out of your face. “Think about all the goblins you got to kill.”

Astarion makes a show of thinking about it and tilts his head in agreement. “True. That was fun,” he says, taking another swig of the wine, before immediately pulling it away.

“Give me that you big baby,” you mutter, swiping the bottle from his hand and lifting the mouth to your lips.

Right, so it’s not amazing wine, but you’ve definitely had worse. You think for a second that it might make for great cooking wine when Astarion speaks up again.

“But what do I get for all my hard work? A pat on the head and vinegar for wine,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “I’m just looking for a little more excitement,” he ads, and leans in closer to you after you bring the bottle down. “A little more fun.”

You realize you’re a little too drunk for this conversation, a little too late.

“Hm, right, fun,” you repeat, trying to glean what Astarion’s trying to say. “What.. kind of fun are we considering? Because I’d rather you not eviscerate anyone if it’s all the same to you.”

Astarion sighs, a long and weary sound, as he rolls his eyes.

“I’m not going to—sex, darling, passion? Fun? Have you heard of it?”

A strange and unpleasant sensation rises through your spine, balls in your throat, before heavily settling in your gut.

“Not with you, just to be clear,” Astarion adds quickly, and you think maybe he sees the dread in the bead of sweat that rolls down your temple, the way your knuckles are white around the wine bottle. “I mean—can you imagine? Urgh, no.”

He’s not convincing anyone. Even with... two? Three? Bottles of wine, you can hear the frantic overcompensation in his voice.

“No need to be mean about it, gods,” you answer more or less half-hartedly, taking another swig of the wine bottle. Which is empty. You groan and toss it somewhere behind you where it won’t get away.

“Oh don’t misunderstand me,” Astarion starts, turning to lean his shoulder on the tree to better look at you. Look down at you. You’re beginning to resent how tall everyone is in comparison to you. “If our circumstances were different...” he trails off. Begins to look you up and down in a way you think is meant to be appreciative, but his eyes eventually stop their roaming just above your chest.

“You say you wouldn’t sleep with me,” you bring your hand up to fiddle with the locket’s chain again. “But it lacks an awful amount of conviction if you’re just blatantly staring at my breasts.”

Astarion laughs quietly and turns back to lean against the tree and face the ongoing celebration. You want to ask what he was looking at, just now. It wasn’t you, you know that much. But you wonder which memory got pulled to the forefront of his mind. Wish you could pin it down and dissect it and remove all the necrotic tissues from it. Give it back cleansed, blessed and free from—

“Yes?” Astarion looks at you from the corner of his eye before looking back out at the party. You... hadn’t realized you were staring so intensely. Or how far away from you your thoughts had gotten. “If you keep staring at me like that, someone’s going to get the wrong idea.”

You exhale sharply through your nose—halfway between scoffing and laughing. There’s a retort burning the tip of your tongue, but it feels a little too sharp even to your dulled senses. You instead press your hands to your warm cheeks in an effort to cool them down. At least this much you can blame on the alcohol.

You turn back to ask something else—probably about what his plans for dinner are—but your thoughts are immediately knocked out of your head when you catch a glimpse of something against Astarion’s skin. His shirt has parted and billowed just enough, in just such as a way that you can see a braided leather cord. A very hastily braided leather cord you remember stringing a pendant on.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. Astarion is a gods damned feral cat. You absolutely never know when he’ll react well to anything you do, especially if it’s anywhere remotely near the  domain of kindness. As far as you can figure, though he hasn’t gotten into any amount of depth of detail about it, his existence as a vampire hasn’t been the gentlest. You can’t say you understand, but you can begin to see why, after decades if not centuries of mistreatment, someone may be excessively apprehensive and wary of any perceived kind act.

It ignites something raw and furious in your wine and exhaustion-addled mind. Makes you want to consume every ounce of cruelty Astarion has ever been fed to replace it with something better. Not softer, you don’t think he’s fond of softness in anything but his clothing. But something brighter, warmer. Kinder.

“Darling, I think you need to go lay down,” Astarion says quietly, right next to your ear. So caught up in your own thoughts, you hadn’t noticed him leaning into you. You feel the rumble of his chuckle more than you hear it. When he pulls away, you can’t place his expression. Guarded, then. “Let me walk you back to—”

“No,” you shake your head before leaning it back against the tree and closing your eyes. “It’s going to be noisy here for a while still. No point lying down somewhere I can’t rest.”

“Oh, of course, now you develop high standards,” Astarion bemoans, but moves away from his spot and walks around to your other side. “So tell me, where were you planning to sleep for the night?”

You shrug and nod vaguely in the direction of the woods. “There’s a clearing somewhere in the woods. I’ll just... lie down and rest for a bit, until things die down.”

Astarion rolls his eyes again. “Alone? Drunk, with a murder cult nipping at our heels, frothing at the mouth?” You wrinkle your nose. Well, yes, of course it sounds bad when he says it like that. It doesn’t even occur to argue your state of inebriation. There’s another few seconds where he crosses his arm, taps the toe of his foot and looks around. You figure maybe he’s trying to find someone to pass you over to, but he doesn’t even make it halfway through scanning the camp before releasing a put-upon sigh.

“I suppose keeping watch while you have a cat nap can’t be much worse than looking over this bunch.” Astarion uncrosses his arms and, with a hand at your back, slowly begins to guide you toward the treeline.

“I still don’t see why I need a sitter,” you grumble, snatching a sloppily folded blanket off the back of a cart. You shrug your shoulders when Astarion raises a brow at you. You’ll just have to make sure to return it before they leave in the morning.

The clearing you’re led to is far enough from camp—and, consequently, far enough from the boisterous celebration—that you can’t hear the sound of Aldira’s lute anymore. You can’t even make out anything being shouted. Your shoulders drop when you let out a deep breath. Though the moon isn’t full, her light is bright, and feels like it washes your nerves and mends their fraying. You rush to the center of the clearing to unfold and lay the blanket on the soft, overgrown grass.

When you lay down, you carefully place your hands just below your chest, over your stomach. You hadn’t planned on sleeping or trancing, really. Just get some needed alone time. Some space to exist without having to worry about choosing your words perfectly or schooling your expression into collected confidence. You glance up at the moon and sigh, content, before closing your eyes.

“This is wonderful,” you breathe out. “Thank you, Astarion.”

You hear him pause as he moves to sit by your hip. He settles in rather quickly after that. “Yes, well,” he starts, with an air of detachment even you can tell is forced. “It wouldn’t do for our noble, valiant leader to be exhausted. I rather like my odds with you.”

You don’t hum or otherwise acknowledge what he’s said. His choice of words tickles at something in the back of your mind, but you’re not quite sure what. It’s strangely discomfiting all the same.

“Wyll and Lae’zel are perfectly capable of taking the helm,” you reply, adjusting your shoulders and settling deeper into the padded ground. “I’m not sure why they haven’t, honestly. Letting a bard lead should be a terrible idea.”

“And yet here we all remain,” Astarion replies back, but there’s a softness in his voice that does make you frown. When you open your eyes, you see that he’s sat, cross-legged, with his back to you. Offering you some kind of privacy. You close your eyes and try to smooth over your expression.

What a complicated man.

“Through sheer dumb luck, you mean.” You hear the sound of a page turning. You hadn’t even noticed Astarion had brought a book along. “If Shadowheart hadn’t happened to have that gith artifact, we’d all be illithid by now.”

“And yet you took her under your wing without knowing that of her.”

“Of course. She was conscious and in the same situation as I was. It would have been unconscionable to leave her in that pod.”

Astarion hums but doesn’t reply for a moment. Long enough for you to hear the sound of another page turning. “You gained a follower nonetheless.”

“She is not a—”

“You can deny it all you want, darling,” he interrupts you, and this time you lean up on your elbows when you open your eyes. Astarion’s gaze remains fixed on whatever he’s reading. “But as far as most of our... party is concerned, you’re the only reason any of us are still alive and in possession of our faculties. Of ourselves. We’d follow you into the fires of Avernus if you had a good enough reason to believe it would save us.”

You frown at the back of his head. You can’t tell if his last words were spoken with venom or reverence. You don’t know what to say to that, and so you say nothing at all. It’s high praise coming from someone with Astarion’s temperament; you don’t want to do or say anything that would tarnish that.

It’s also a heavy burden to lay at your feet.

“Best not to dwell on it, dear,” Astarion says, almost a whisper.

“Right,” you exhale sharply, slowly lowering yourself back down onto the blanketed ground. “Don’t dwell on the fact that everyone’s continued cooperation and therefore survival hinge upon my ability to make split-second decisions in the midst of the absolute worst conditions I’ve ever been in and have no idea how to deal with. No pressure, nothing to dwell on there.”

Astarion makes a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and an annoyed groan. You hear him snap his book shut. He leans over to lay the book somewhere near your feet. He stays there for a moment, long enough for you to contemplate reaching out, but rights himself and turns around to face you before you can move. The look he fixes you makes you feel like a child being scolded, and you recoil from him accordingly.

“Hells, woman, have you ever relaxed a day in your life? Have you no idea how to decompress?” You open your mouth to answer—a rebuttal half-formed on the tip of your tongue—but Astarion waves you into silence. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You are going to lie down like an obedient little pet, close your eyes, think of whatever saccharine, tooth-rotting thing brings you comfort, and you will rest.”

You feel your face warm at being called a ‘little pet’, but ultimately simply huff before closing your eyes. You fold your hands carefully over your stomach and do your best to think of ‘saccharine’ things.

When you actually decide to follow Astarion’s instructions, you try to think of the forest at the edge of your family’s property. The few nights a year when your whole family could get together and enjoy food, games and music. You think of Scratch, and of the small owlbear cub you’ve seen creeping around camp when it thinks no one else is watching. You think about how, a few nights ago, you were able to bathe in the cool water by the shore in bright moonlight.

You can’t help but to think that all these moments may be the last you ever get to experience those things. Selfishly, you wish that you could at least have someone familiar with you. A friend from your childhood, maybe, or a distant relative. You wonder if maybe even a past lover would be a comforting presence to you now.

You wince when you hear Astarion sigh heavily, yet again. You expect him to speak right away, but open your eyes when he remains silent. Even from where you lay, you can tell that he’s measuring his words.

“There is... something I can do to help,” Astarion starts, slowly, turning to face you. The look in his eyes as he peers down at you makes your stomach flip in a way you’re not sure is excitement or apprehension. “How do you feel, when I feed from you?”

Frightened, vulnerable and excited, is what you immediately think. You frown and bite the inside of your cheek while you take a few seconds to properly consider the question.

“Warm, at first,” you say, tilting your head back to look up at the sky. “Then cold. Light-headed, after a while. Everything feels lighter, I think. Like I’m floating.”

Astarion hums in acknowledgement. He leans over you, bracing a hand on the other side of your neck. You think you know where this is going.

“And how’s your head, like that?” You don’t expect the tadpole wriggling in your skull, and so you don’t think. You simply allow him into your mind. He does you the courtesy of aiming directly for a single set of memories; that first time he bit you.

You can almost feel Astarion recoil when he feels the terror and beginnings of resignation that licked at you that night. The shock after waking up with a man looming over you that hadn’t been after sex, and the immediately ensuing relief. Blood?, you remember thinking. That’s all?

You see Astarion again in your memories, and his bewildered expression in the face of your lack of anger makes sense, now. Your relief and near-amusement at the time make sense to him now, too. And then there was the bite, itself.

The pain wasn’t unlike what you’ve experienced with tattoos before. Sharp, at first, but eventually the pain fades. Your mind scrambles to hold onto the pain, because the intimacy of having a man with his fangs buried in your neck is perhaps just this side of too much to handle.

And then you feel your mind start to clear. If your thoughts had been a heavy fog, your progressive bloodless state lifts it. Leaves room for little else, in fact; there is Astarion’s heavy breathing beside your ear, his weight carefully kept just above your body, and the smell of brandy, rosemary and... another herb you can’t remember.

You wonder how it was for him. A fleeting thought, but it makes your tadpole squirm. You catch brief flashes of yourself from Astarion’s eyes before an unspeakable feeling floods you. Something like burning, but invigorating. Like the best meal you’ve ever had and the most restful night’s sleep, all sliding down your throat. Something else begins to burn, but Astarion pulls away from both you and the strange connection with a choked sound.

You struggle to catch your own breath, for many reasons.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you begin to apologize, but when you look over at the vampire his eyes are round and glassy. It’s an expression so sincerely gobsmacked and floored that you can’t help but be shocked in turn.

“That... I saw myself. You—that was me.” Your concern at his sudden lack of eloquence tumbles around your head only for a second until you realize why he’s so shocked, and why, of all things, his own face is what he’s gleaned from your connection.

It makes sense that a man deprived of his own reflection for hundreds of years would be shocked to see it. “Yeah,” you say quietly, nod minutely. You bite the inside of your cheek and argue with yourself for a moment over whether or not you should continue. Looking at the tension in the rogue in front of you, you figure maybe a bit of humour wouldn’t be amiss. “Oh, don’t act so shocked. People tell you how breathtakingly handsome you are all the time.”

Astarion’s brow furrows just a bit, and he waves his hand. Again, he seems to be looking somewhere beyond you. “None of that is relevant,” he says, a bit harshly, and then remains quiet. You give a single nod and look away.

A few minutes pass by, and you’ve just closed your eyes when he speaks up again.

“I’m not fond of the score right now,” he says quietly, and when you open your eyes he’s determinedly looking away from you.

“Wasn’t aware we were keeping track of anything but magical items and smokepowder kegs,” you reply tentatively.

“You allowed me to drink your blood,” Astarion begins, and you catch him glancing over at you for a second, almost like he’s making sure you’re paying attention. “You’ve allowed me to see my own face, after two hundred years,” he continues, drumming his fingers on either of his thighs. “And you’ve let me remain among you despite what I am.”

“Well, hold on, that’s—”

“Please, spare me.” Astarion’s tone is a little drier and stings a little more, as he holds a hand up to quiet you. “You can say that it’s ‘just what’s done’ all you want, the vast majority of the world disagrees with you and acts accordingly.” His hands have stilled, instead gripping his thighs with white knuckles.

You can’t help but feel sheepish. That is, in fact, more or less what you would have replied with. This is simply how you’ve learned to treat people, if given half a chance. Even if the person reaching a hand out has a dagger hidden in the other. You can try and put on a face and say that bards can only write about people if they’re alive to do things to write about, but that’s never been your primary motivation.

“Rest,” Astarion says after a moment. Gentler, softer than before. “If we’re going to go find this... crèche, we’re going to need you to have your wits about you.”

You cease the fidgeting of your hands and flatted them against your ribs.

“Just make sure we’re back at camp when it dies down,” you request, settling deeper into the blanketed ground. “You can’t keep watch over me all night.”

Astarion scoffs. “Of course, dear.”

You feel hazy and heavy when Astarion rouses you. Rather than trance—rather than chancing being presented with things you didn’t want to quite think of yet—you’d chosen to sleep, for the first time in a long time. A light, pleasant and dreamless slumber that left you feeling almost drunk upon waking. Your bleary eyes can barely make out where you are or where you’re going as you walk, but you trust the firm pressure at your back guiding you.

You grab at Astarion’s arm before he turns to leave you at your tent.

“Did you, do you need to fee–to drink?,” you ask, stumbling over your words in an effort to speak them before your fatigue sweeps them away.

You think the look on his face is consideration; you recognize the shift in his gaze, the tension in his brow. You feel it on your own face often enough when put in a position to make any choice on behalf of your companions.

“Darling,” he starts slowly, pulling his arm away just enough to be able to grasp your hand. It feels pleasantly cool against your sleep-warmed skin. “You’ve let me have you not two nights ago.” You swallow thickly at the phrasing. “I’ll manage perfectly fine.”

You drop your eyes to your joined hands. “I’ll trust your judgment, then.”

When you raise your gaze back to Astarion, you’re finding he’s now contemplating your hand in his. He looks leagues away for a few seconds, and you wish you could ask him what he was thinking about it. Or, maybe it would be fairer to say you wish you could trust that you’d get a straight answer from him if you did.

So you stay quiet.

“I suppose a... sip couldn’t hurt.” Astarion moves forward, forcing you to take a step back, as he holds the fabric of your tent open for you. “Best to lay down.”

Your ears feel hot and itchy, and you feel your cheeks beginning to burn. It’s terrible enough to get some kind of excited about this, but the embarrassment you feel for it is almost worse.

You make quick work of making room for and laying on your bedroll—but not so quick as to look over-eager. Astarion kneels patiently by your side as you lay down and take a deep breath. It’s only when he’s barely a hair’s breadth away from your neck—his lips close enough to brush the skin there—that he speaks up.

“This will only hurt a little.”

It’s a lie, but at least it’s what you hope is a well meaning one. You carefully exhale and make sure to release the tension in your neck and shoulder as fangs pierce your neck. It always burns, more than just a pinch, and the initial feeling of intrusion is strange and uncomfortable.

And then the pain fades, slowly and then all at once, and you’re finally able to take a deep breath.

Astarion doesn’t linger long. You don’t think he’s had more than a few mouthfuls before pulling away, softly pressing a cool thumb to the small wounds. He wipes at the corners of his mouth with his free hand. Fingers smooth over your neck before he rights himself.

“Thank you,” Astarion says, and his tone, combined with half-lidded eyes, makes something run up your spine and settle at the base of your skull. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And soon, it’s as though there was never anyone else with you in your tent. You don’t know what you should attribute your light-headedness to, or the strange rhythm your heart is drumming against your ribs. You think perhaps this is why you hadn’t let yourself genuinely sleep in so long. Your brain’s foggy, your body feels loose and light and your thoughts slip away from you like sand between your fingers.

You close your eyes against the sudden thought that you wish Astarion would have stayed, just a bit longer.

You exhale, deeply, almost a sigh, and you pretend that all your irrelevant, childish thoughts of vampires float away in the air, too.

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[neuvetoile]

Do You Think Something Would Really Happen?: OCD and Shame.

I remember sitting at the dinner table with my parents after coming home from school, pushing my food around with my fork. Steak, potatoes, and corn. It was late at night, my parents having picked me up from daycare after their 9-to-5s, and we sat in a collectively exhausted silence. Half of the table was taken up by mail, flyers, and my old homework sheets.

I analyzed my plate. My corn touched my steak, my steak touched my potatoes, and my potatoes touched my corn. As I’d start with the corn, I’d have to grimace as I came to the conclusion that whatever touched the steak and potatoes would need to be left on my plate. It was contaminated. I’d cut around the edge of the steak that touched my potatoes and corn, and ate around the mashed potatoes that also touched the steak and corn. 

My parents would raise their brows and dismiss the quirk until it became a constant habit of mine. Any food on my plate that touched was suddenly contaminated and therefore, inedible. They’d occasionally scold me for leaving so much food on my plate, not because I was full, but ‘because my food touched’. 

They would eventually learn that it was easier to divide the food so it didn’t touch in the first place, in which case I’d be able to clean my plate.

It eventually became a joke at the table.

“You know, it all touches in your stomach.” I’d nod, “It’s different on my plate.”

And, they’d laugh. My face would flush, and I’d very quickly learn to be ashamed of my little rules, despite the accommodations both me and my parents made to enforce them.

Underwear, and then socks. It was always the right sock. Then I could put my pants on, and then my shirt. Any other way was incorrect. I’d restart if I did it wrong, and everything had to feel right. I can’t wear those jeans because they don’t feel right. Not today, maybe tomorrow. I’d become ashamed of how long it would take me to get ready. When I went to a uniform school, it became much easier.

Forks all go in the dishwasher, facing the same direction. They can only take up two rows. All big spoons go together, and all little spoons go together, only taking up a row each. All of the bowls faced inward on the top rack … I think you get the idea.

My parents would tease me by putting a dish in the dishwasher improperly. I would feel violently ill as I was forced to fix it before turning the dishwasher on. I would get caught doing this, and my parents would let out a little laugh.

Someone at daycare named the dog on their DS game after a phallic body part. I felt like I was going to be ill. I had to tell the caregiver. I tattled. I felt even worse when she was punished for it. It was my fault. 

I had to punish myself too.

I never realized that all of these little events were textbook symptoms of OCD. Nobody in my life did. A lot of my compulsions were mental, and because of it, I thought everyone did them. I thought everyone felt a duty to report when someone broke the rules, because if they didn’t, something bad would happen to them. I thought everyone avoided the cracks in the sidewalk, just to make sure nothing bad would happen. I thought everyone put the knife in their hand back down until everyone left the kitchen to be sure they wouldn’t stab someone. 

Saying it out loud makes a lot of sense. However, the inherent shame that would follow my sudden realization that I had OCD was never something I expected. I had gotten through C-PTSD treatment easily, but the grip of embarrassment that coiled around my stomach, up my spine and around my mind would be unbearable from these new symptoms. The shame has done nothing but make my symptoms spike. As someone who has been mentally ill their whole life, I have never felt worse.

OCD is a disorder often attributed with two symptoms: obsessive thoughts, and compulsive behaviours. However, OCD is such a broad disorder that it’s impossible to truly understand its breadth through this two-symptom definition. Obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviours can take on dozens, if not hundreds of different themes, and can be difficult to pinpoint without the appropriate knowledge and understanding.

And, there’s an inherent shame that comes associated with these obsessions and compulsions. An inherent knowledge that they’re foolish, unreasonable, and illogical. And yet, I lock the door anyway. I put the knife down anyway. I isolate myself anyway.

Nobody talks about the shame associated with OCD. There’s such a medicalized view of OCD, focused on treatment and eradication, that I find early on a distinct lack of care from medical professionals on the symptoms I experience. So easily do people brush off my distressing thoughts, ones that leave me isolated to my bed, ruminating about what I could have done better. And yet, reassurance is bad for OCD.

I was scared when I had to tell my doctor about my symptoms. I was more petrified to even tell my therapist who I had grown to. I remember trembling as I typed out the obsessions and compulsions I engaged in, once on notepad and again on my phone. I remember feeling violently ill as I convinced myself I was insane, that I was going to engage in these horrible acts. That I was a monster pretending to be a good person. They would lock me up when they heard all of the horrible things I had done in my head. I could never be the ‘good’ person I needed to be. That this wasn’t OCD; this was just me.

I remember getting a psychiatric appointment set up with my doctor as she seemed relatively unphased by my symptoms. The reassurance I so desperately craved, some sort of absurd reaction that embodied the illness and distress I felt, was nowhere to be found. I’m so desperate for the claws of adoration to tear deep into my skin, so deep that I bleed before I realize how much this love hurts. I needed her to cry for me. I needed more.

I needed more validation. I needed more love. Love so much it stings.

I remember having to find a new therapist, because I needed someone who knew about OCD. I remember thinking I found a good one, and I disclosed some of my more taboo symptoms. I was, instead, dismissed outright. I was told that I could be schizotypal. That I could have commanding hallucinations.

“You should tell the psychiatrist about your commanding hallucinations,” she said,

“they could get dangerous if you act on them.”

She spent so much time trying to understand and dissect these ‘commanding hallucinations’, trying to understand the ‘source’ of my intrusive thoughts, that she forgot I was a person. Maybe it was tied to my cat dying in grade 7, or the way I was raised as a kid. How did my dad treat me? When did I learn to speak? How was my birth? When did I learn to read? Did I grow up with friends?

She dug her claws of ‘care’ so deep into my body that I became nothing more than a cadaver in her eyes. I was in so much pain that I can’t remember the rest of that therapy session. I fauned. And yet, I still tried to convince myself that she was just caring for me. That, this was the affection I hungered, right?

Still, I know that everything is fine. That I am personally loved by so many people around me. I have a supportive partner who would do anything to make sure I’m okay. I have amazing friends by my side. I’m successful and beautiful and wonderful and optimistic.

Yet I still crave that violent, awful reassurance and care. There’s a shred of doubt that I could secretly be a murderer, a rapist, a liar. I have to make sure I’m not. I have to.

As I filled out the YBOCS with my new therapist, I made it to the last question. A question where the score didn’t matter. It wouldn’t impact what the clinical severity of my OCD was. I don’t really even know why it was there. It read: “Do you think something would really happen?”

No. But I ashamedly do the compulsions anyway. How am I supposed to feel loved without reassurance?