#like how the stamps run of out ink by the end and you can see the last bit got stamped twice

[minamill]

Family album

details under the cut

[tan1shere]

Tattoos

A/n: Was just listening to Agora Hills when I just had to write a little something about it - sorry if this isn't the best. Have this while I work on her favorite. I didn't know what to do at the end 😔

Warnings - smuttyish content ?! || masterlist

You thought you hid it well but you guess not. You were currently on your way home from a long shift at work. It was currently 8 pm. You open the door to your home and head in. You see her standing there infront of you, loose sweats and a loose button up shirt. She had done a few things today so probably just wanted to be comfortable with that and the sweatpants on. You look at her confused on why she's just standing there. "Hi babe." You say with caution. "Licking on her tattoos, or even my own." Whyd that sound so familiar.

"Maybe hitting and smacking too." Your face stays the same, utterly confused. "Hello to you to?" You walk further in when she flashes a black book. Your sex book. It was just some silly thing you had written in for laughs, even if deep down those were some actual fantasies of yours. "Oh..." How'd she even find it. You don't even remember where you last put it, it had been that long. "Got home earlier today and wanted to clean our room a bit. Then found this. Is it true?" You didn't know whether to feel embarrassed or nervous.

Her head tilts at you and that's when your nerves kicked in. Billie would never ever make you feel embarrassed over anything. "They might be." You fiddle with your fingers. "Yeah? You wanna lick my tattoos? The one on my spine." Your throat closes that was the exact one you were thinking of. That and the one on her upper. Upper. Thigh. "Where else?" She walks over to you slowly. "I uhm.. uh-" "My thigh one?" You look into her eyes, hers were droopy. "You didn't read it all right?" She smirks.

How dumb could you be right now. "Sure did baby. Got some interesting desires in here." Your head spins at the closeness, her lips being so close to your own. "You know, I think I wanna lick on that one tattoo of yours. You know what one I'm talking about. It's almost like mine." You gulp loudly. You had a tramp stamp on your lower back, she was talking about that. "You can.." You quietly utter. "Can I?" Her tone was mocking. You stay quiet. "I mean, i was planning to do so anyway." Then suddenly you were being slung over her shoulder. Heading straight for the bedroom. She lays you down, hovering over you hungrily.

Your breath catches as she hastily takes your pants off. Her hands reach to lift your shirt up a bit. "Bills." You sigh out, really wanting to be the one to kiss her dragon tat. "Patience, I'll give you what you want." You let out an annoyed whine, wanting to now. "Hey hey, don't be like that. Just want to admire you first. Then I'm all yours." You nod slowly, taking in her words. Calming down just slightly as her fingers run over your body. But you get impatient again.

"Baby let me lick on your tattoos."

She smirks at you as you say that, grabbing your waist and flipping you so you're straddling her. Your hands retract to the sides of her stomach. She smiles up at you. "Go on then, take my pants off." You gladly obey, starting to pull them both off. Your eyes land right on the tattoo, big and beautiful. Her hand cups your jaw. Swiping some drool that had escaped in the process. "Look at you, such a mess already and we haven't even started. Cute." She smirks at you, loving how your face relaxes into your hand like putty. "Go on baby, know you're dyin for it."

You nod yet again, moving your face to her thigh, your tongue darting out and licking slightly over the ink. She watches you intently, moving her hand into your hair, lacing it throughout. "That's it.." She says more so to herself. But you clearly hear it. Going mental inside. It made you wonder what else she'd be willing to do in the dumb little book of yours. Your tongue eagerly moves all over the dragon, slowly becoming dazed as you can smell her so close, your head moves. Going to just have a little lick but she grabs your face. "Just the tattoo." She was messing with you.

She knew how badly you wanted to taste her with your raging oral fixation. "But please.. The smells going to my head." You whine. She chuckles at you, faking a sad look. "Naww, is it making that stupid brain go fuzzy?" Another nod. "Shame, tattoo. Keep doing what you were doing." She was so tempting, you just wanted to have a little lick of her. But you adored how much she was enjoying the show of your licks on her tattoo. It was different for the both of you, something simple yet still effective. "There you go, so good at listening huh?" Your teeth retract going to bite, she lets out a breath but she sure as hell enjoyed the action. Biting her lip in the process.

You may not of gotten a taste of her that night but she got a taste of an amazing show.

[mwahbabe]

Tattoo artist chloe! x fem reader

you get a tattoo from an “out of the way” tattoo artist, you end up getting more than just new ink….

Men DNI !!!

tags: v fingering (r! receiving), sesbian lex, cunnilingous (r! receiving), porn w plot, loser chloe + yearning chloe rahhh, stoner chloe, reader smokes some weed, kinda friends with benefits?? or client with benefits idk shut up.

a/n: totally not based of a real event in my life. (i wish it were chloe instead 😔)

‧₊˚. °♱༺ ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

You had been wanting a tramp stamp for the longest time, you found Chloe through a friend. At first you were skeptical because her prices were cheap, but looking on her page and seeing her designs, they looked really good and honestly she was hot. You messaged her and sorted out a time the day before. She had told you to just come in whenever since she had no bookings that day.

You nervously walked into the tattoo studio, You had worn short shorts and a crop top so she could tattoo you easier.

As you sat in the tattoo studio room, waiting for your tattoo artist to arrive, you looked around at the various art pieces and designs that adorned the walls. The anticipation of your upcoming tattoo started to build, a mix of excitement and nervousness buzzing in your chest.

Just as you were thinking about how long you had been waiting, the door to the room opened and in walked the tattoo artist – none other than Chloe, as fate would have it.

She smiled warmly when she saw you, her electric blue eyes scanning your exposed skin, taking in your outfit and the area you were interested in tattooing.

"Hey." she greeted, closing the door behind her. “y/n right? sorry i was just having a smoke break.”

“You’re fine.” You smiled “yeah that’s me. Chloe right? i’m here for the tramp stamp i sent you.”

Chloe nodded, “The one and only.”

her smile growing wider as she took a few steps closer to you. "Right, I remember. Tramp stamp, classic."

She looked you up and down, her gaze lingering on your exposed skin for a few seconds before she gestured towards the chair. "You can take a seat and i’ll get it drawn up."

“Okay perfect.” you went to sit on the chair and couldn’t help stealing glances at her, Her arm tattoo was really cool. As well as the one she had on her chest. “I like your ink.”

As you sat down, Chloe picked up a drawing pad and started sketching on it, preparing to draw up the design for your tattoo. She looked up briefly, noticing your glances at her tattoos. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, appreciating the compliments.

"Thanks." she said, her gaze meeting yours for a moment. "This one was done a while ago by someone else.. these ones i designed myself..” Her voice having a hint of nervousness in your presence.

“that’s so cool…”

“can i… look at them closer?” you blurted out.

Chloe looked up again, her hand still sketching out the design on the drawing pad. She chuckled softly at your excitement, clearly enjoying your interest.

"Sure." she said, glancing down at her own torso, where a few of her tattoos were visible. "You can… take a closer look, I mean if you want."

Chloe felt a shiver run down her spine as your fingers traced over her skin, following the lines of her tattoos. Your touch was light, but it sent a jolt through her, one that she hadn’t expected. “Damn these are sick..” you were being a bit forward touching her body when you had only just met her but thankfully chloe didn’t seem to mind.

She watched you closely as you examined her tattoos, a hint of a blush on her cheeks. "T-thanks." she said, her voice a bit shaky than usual. making her curse internally for being so nervous

"So…is this your first ink? "

“yeah… i’m sort of nervous.” you admitted

Chloe nodded, her expression softening as she heard your admission. "It’s normal to be nervous.” she reassured. "But don’t worry, I’ve been doing this for a while. I’ll make sure it’s as painless as possible."

Her hands continued sketching on the drawing pad, designing the tramp stamp that would soon be permanently etched onto your skin.

“okay.” you nodded with a smile. This girl seemed so laid back and not the usual professional and stoic tattoo artists you had been recommended. But her aura was just inviting and you just trusted her.

Chloe noticed the smile on your face, and it made her feel more at ease. She was glad to know that you weren’t feeling intimidated. She turned the drawing pad to you. “how’s this looking?”

You looked at the sketch pad and saw it was a bit different from what you sent her but you actually liked it a lot more.

“ohh i actually like that a lot.”

Chloe’s eyes lit up as you expressed your approval of her design. “yeah?” she asked, her nervousness melting away in the face of your enthusiasm. “I tweaked it a bit, but i think it’ll look great on you.”

You smiled and nodded. You definitely trusted her design and process. “I think so too.”

Chloe’s confidence grew with your assent. Seeing your smile and hearing your trusting words gave her a boost. “Hell yeah. Let’s do it.” she said, setting aside the drawing pad and preparing some of the necessary equipment.

“You good to lie forward on the chair?”

You nodded and got up on the old ass chair that seemed like it was about to break honestly but again you trusted her. “yup. if the chair doesn’t break under me.”

Chloe chuckled, shaking her head at your comment about the chair. "Don’t worry, it’ll hold up. it’s seen many ass and tits in its day." she assured you, patting the chair for good measure, earning a laugh from you.

She took a moment to adjust the chair so that it was more comfortable for you, making sure you were situated properly. “Comfortable?”

You laughed at that as you settled yourself, it was a little awkward at first but you got comfortable and rested your head on your arms as you heard her moving around. “yeah.”

Chloe watched you get situated into the chair, taking a few moments to appreciate the view of your body in this position. She shook her head to clear her mind, reminding herself to stay focused on the task at hand.

She picked up the ink gun and prepared the needle, cleaning the area where the tattoo was going to be placed. “It’s gonna be a bit cold,” she warned, her voice soft and soothing. "But try to relax, okay?"

You nodded and when the cold water suddenly landed on your lower back, You tensed but soon got used to it. Trying not to shiver at the feeling of her hands on your back.

Chloe chuckled softly as she noticed you tense up when the cold water landed on your lower back. She continued to wipe the area, preparing it for the tattoo, her hands moving carefully and steadily.

Her fingers trailed across your skin, mapping out the spot where the tattoo would go. "You doin’ alright back there?" she asked, her voice low and smooth as she worked.

“mhm. still a bit nervous.”

Chloe hummed in acknowledgment, her eyes focused on her work. "It’s okay to be nervous. It’s a big step, getting your first ink." she reassured you, her voice gentle and soothing.

She gently wiped the area clean. “alright.. I’m gonna put the stencil on now okay?”

“mhm.” You nodded and looked back at her shyly.

Chloe smiled subtly as her eyes met yours, seeing the shyness in your gaze. She liked a nervous client, it made her feel in control.

"Hold still for a sec, babe." she said, her voice soft as she positioned the stencil over your lower back.

Babe.

the nickname echoed in your brain. But maybe she was flirty with all her customers.

You nodded and stayed still as she put the stencil on.

As she applied the stencil, Chloe's touch was light and delicate against your skin. She could feel the heat radiating off your body as she worked.

As she placed the stencil, her hand stayed on your lower back for a moment longer than necessary. She smiled at your compliance. "Great. We’re almost there."

You nodded and waited for her to take off the paper.

Chloe finished placing the stencil, her hand lingering on your skin for a moment before pulling away to remove the paper. "Perfect."

She examined the design against your skin, a few inches above the waistline of your shorts, making sure it was centered just right.

"Take a look. What do you think so far?" she asked, her voice eager.

You got up slowly, arching your back a bit as you did. You went and looked in the mirror, your back turned and your head turned to look. you checked it out before you nodded satisfied with the design and placement on your skin. “Oh that looks fucking hot. Yup. looks really good.”

Chloe watched with a grin as you stood and admired her work. She chuckled as you complimented the design, her eyes tracing over the lines of the tat.

"Hell yeah, it does." she said, pride in her voice. "I knew you'd look good with some ink. You like the placement?”

You looked and really liked where it was. not too high not too low. it sat perfectly right above where your panties where.

“I do. it’s perfect.”

Chloe couldn’t help but agree, her eyes darting over your body, taking in the placement of the tattoo. “it really is.”

She cleared her throat, trying to stay focused. “alright then. Let’s get started.”

She indicated for you to lay back down on the chair. “you gonna be able to stay still for this?”

You laid forward on the chair, arching your back again, seeing if you would get the same reaction.

Chloe sucked in a small breath as you laid back down, arching your back and giving her an extra view. She had a hard time maintaining her professional demeanor as she took in the sight, her eyes raking over you for a momenlt.

She swallowed and cleared her throat, her hands itching to touch you in a way that was definitely not tattoo artist appropriate. “yeah, just like that..” she said, her voice a bit huskier than usual.

You pretended like that didn’t make the area between your thighs pulse. You laid forward and wiggled your ass a bit as you arched your hips slightly before laying flat. Acting as if you were just settling. You were definitely feeling bold today..

Chloe’s eyes widened as she watched you arch and wiggle your hips, her hands clenching slightly as her mind went to very unprofessional places. She took a moment to compose herself as you laid back down, trying to maintain her usual cool and calm demeanor.

“I can’t tell you whether it’ll be easy or not, everyone’s different...” she said, her voice a bit strained as she prepared the ink. “Just focus on your breathing and tell me if you need a break kay?.”

You nodded. “okay..” you knew it was obviously going to hurt, especially in such an area first time, but in a weird way it was also thrilling.

you rested your face on your hands looking in the mirror, your watched as she moved your shirt up for her and pulled your shorts down just slightly so your lace panties were visible. The fact that she did it for you instead of asking you to was a huge turn on. You couldn’t help squeezing your thighs together subtly as her large hands touched your exposed skin.

Chloe felt her heart skip a beat as she tugged your shorts down, exposing the lace underneath, her hands lingering a moment longer than necessary on the soft fabric. She swallowed hard, her eyes lingering on the sliver of skin she exposed, before forcing herself to focus. She hoped that her hands wouldn’t be too shaky. Having a hot chic in her tattoo chair making her lose all professionalism.

“Just try and stay still. I’m gonna start now.” she said, her voice a bit hoarse.

You watched her in the mirror, your eyes wandering over her body and her masculine demeanour.

Chloe could feel your eyes on her as she started to tattoo you, her own eyes flicking up to glance at you in the mirror. The heat of your gaze was making her feel flushed, and she had to focus extra hard to keep steady in her movements.

Her hands were deft and practiced, but she found herself struggling to concentrate on anything but your body and the way you watched her.

You tensed up slightly as the needle met your flesh. The burning sensation took a few minutes to get used to before you did.

“Breathe.”

Chloe’s voice was soft and soothing, but it held a commanding tone. She watched as you tensed up, feeling the way your body reacted under her touch. Her eyes flickered to your face in the mirror, checking to see if you were okay.

“Doing alright still?” she asked, her hand stilling for a moment.

“mhm.” you nodded. it didn’t hurt as much as you thought. But it was still unpleasant. Small sounds came from you now and then.

Chloe nodded as you assured her you were still good, her eyes flickering back down to focus on her work. She could tell that while the pain wasn’t too intense, it was still uncomfortable.

Every now and then, a small sound would escape your lips, and each one sent a jolt through her body. She could feel her own breathing getting a bit more ragged but she steeled herself, trying to stay professional.

You watched her in the mirror, the way her hand rested on your upper back… and her focused face, her brow furrowed and the way her hand worked… You hoped you weren’t getting the chair wet.

Chloe could feel the heat radiating off your body, her hand resting on your bare skin, feeling the little trembles as you adjusted to the pain. Her mind was racing with thoughts and urges that were completely inappropriate given the situation.

She could feel your body shifting under her hand, the small sounds you were making, and she had to use every ounce of willpower she had to keep herself from touching you in a very unprofessionally way.

As she hit a more sensitive spot, you made a small sound. Your hand gripping the chair.

Chloes hand stopped momentarily as she checked in with you, "Hurts a bit there huh?" she asked, her voice soft and soothing.

She glanced up at you in the mirror, seeing your hand gripping the chair, and she had to resist the urge to gently run her fingers over your skin to comfort you.

“it’s okay… I can take it..”

Chloe could hear the determination in your voice as you said you could take it, and it only made her proud. She nodded and got back to work, her hand moving with a firm and steady touch.

“You're doing great babe." she said, her voice low and smooth. "Just a bit more and then we're done."

You stayed still for her until she was done. your mind distracted by her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity and yet not long enough, Chloe finished up the tattoo. She cleaned it gently, her hands gentle and sure.

As she put the tools away, she took a moment to admire her work, her eyes studying the tattoo on your skin. "That's it. We're done." she said, her voice a bit hoarse.

As she cleaned it up. The worst part of the process you found out.

Chloe chuckled seeing you tensed up as she cleaned the tattoo, knowing that part usually wasn’t very pleasant.

“Almost done now." she said, her voice soothing as she finished up. "Just a sec…”

She reached for some of the anti inflammatory cream to help with the healing and applied it carefully, her hands gently rubbing it into your skin.

You stayed still for her.

Chloe was careful as she applied the cream, her hands moving gently over your skin, trying to soothe any pain. Once she was finished, she stepped back, her eyes flickering over the tattoo once more.

"You can look if you'd like." she said, gesturing to the mirror, a hint of pride in her voice.

You got up and looked excitedly. you admired your new tramp stamp loving how it looked especially with this outfit. “fuck… i love it so much.. you did really good.”

Chloe's stomach flip as you looked at the tattoo, a smile crossing her face as she saw the look of love and excitement in your eyes.

"Hell yeah, you look damn hot." she said, her voice a bit cocky as she admired her work. "You really like it then?"

“fuck yes. It looks amazing, Thankyou…How much do i owe you?”

Chloe's chest felt warm as you complimented the tattoo again, proud of the work she’d done.

"Considering how much I enjoyed working on such a hot chick, it’s on the house." she said, her voice nonchalant but her eyes filled with a hint of mischief.

“oh? is that what you say to every chic you find hot that walks through your door?”

Chloe chuckled, her smirk growing wider as you called her out on her statement.

"Not every chick." she said, her eyes holding your gaze as she leaned back against the chair. “Wouldn’t have much business then.”

“Right…” You chucked softly as you leaned against the counter.

Chloe watched as you leaned against the counter, her eyes flickering over your body, taking in the way your shirt rode up, the way your hair framed your face.

She couldn’t remember the last time she became so flustered and turned on by a client. It was unprofessional and she knew it, but she couldn’t help herself.

“well.. uh.. my schedules open for the rest of the day. Any other ink you’ve been wanting… or randomly decided on?”

You couldn’t believe she would tattoo you for free and then willingly offer more. but hell you weren’t about to pass that up.

“i’ve wanted a chest tattoo… “

Chloe raised an eyebrow, a smirk on her face as she heard your request.

"A chest tattoo huh?" she said, her eyes slowly raking over your chest, lingering on the exposed bit peeking out from your top. "Anything in mind?"

She shifted on the chair and leaned forward slightly, her eyes dark and intense, her voice low and slightly rough.

“Honestly the design you did for this one was sick so… hit me. draw one up.”

Chloe was surprised but thrilled that you wanted her to design another tattoo for you, and right now.

"That’s a lot of pressure you’re putting on me here, babe." she said, a hint of banter in her voice. "You sure you put that much trust in me?"

“Of course. Unless you want me to leave?”

"No way."

Chloe's response was instant and firm, surprising even her. She didn’t want you to leave. She wanted you to stay here with her for as long as possible.

“Alright. I have something in mind then.” she said, as she grabbed her smoke kit and began to roll. “you smoke?”

“Not much…” you admitted

Chloe nodded as she focused on rolling her joint, listening as you told her you didn't smoke often. It didn't surprise her. You didn't seem the type.

"Do you mind if I smoke then? I find it helps loosen up the creative brain." she said, holding up the joint in her hand before reaching for a lighter.

“Not at all.” you smiled and sat on the couch, wincing at the tenderness on your lower back against the leather.

Chloe lit the joint and took a slow drag, holding the smoke in her lungs for a moment before exhaling. She felt the familiar relaxing effect of the weed as she walked over and sat on the couch next to you, her eyes flickering to your wincing.

"How’s the pain level?“

She asked, her voice a bit softer.

“honestly. hurts more than when it was being done.” you said with a slight chuckle, both out of nervousness and forwardness.

"Yeah it feels like hell once the adrenaline wears off." She said with a laugh, taking another drag on the joint.

Her eyes wandered over your face, studying your expression as the pain hit you a bit more.

"You sure you want another one then? Right now?"

“Hell yeah.”

Chloe watched your unwavering determination with amusement and admiration. You were one stubborn, fearless chick, and she liked it.

"Alright then tough girl." She chuckled, taking another drag before offering you the joint. "Hit that and let's get some art goin' here."

“Okay.” You agreed with her no questions and went to take it before she held it for you to hit.

Chloe watched as you leaned forward, your lips around the joint as you inhaled. Your head was mere inches from her own, and she could feel the heat rolling off your body.

Her eyes were locked on your mouth as you finished taking a drag and leaned back, her mind clouded with a combination of the weed and the close proximity.

You looked her in the eye as you did it and blew it out coughing only a little. Thank god.

Chloe swallowed hard as she watched your lips purse around the joint, the cloud of smoke that appeared as you blew it out making her wish she was sitting even closer than she already was.

She took the joint from you and blew out a long stream of smoke, trying to maintain her composure. "Not bad." she said, her voice low and a bit strained.

“Thanks.” You said with a small laugh, impressed you didn’t have a coughing fit,

Chloe also found herself smiling, watching as a small laugh passed over your lips. She was used to seeing people flinch and cry from the pain of getting inked, but here you were laughing, relaxed on her couch hitting her blunt, and wanting more.

"Now..." she said, her eyes lingering on your chest, "I gotta see some skin before we can start."

You nodded and pulled your top down a bit the top of your breasts, where chloe had definitely noticed you were in fact braless.

Chloe swallowed, her body reacting involuntarily to the sight before her.

She took another drag on the joint, trying to calm her racing heart, before shifting in her seat and leaning closer to you.

"Perfect." she said quietly, her eyes lingering on your skin. "Right here..."

“yeah i like around this sort of area” You traced your finger across the area between your collarbones and the beginning of your breasts. indicating where you wanted the tattoo. Chloe followed your touch with her eyes, her breath caught in her throat.

"Right there?" she asked touching the area you showed her, her voice a bit strained as her mind began to imagine the design there, permanently attached to your skin.

You nodded.

Chloe cleared her throat, forcing herself to focus. She had to be professional, she reminded herself. Despite her body and brain having very un-professional thoughts and feelings.

She leaned forwards, her eyes focused on the skin that would soon be inked. Her fingers gently traced the same path you had, feeling the smoothness of your skin.

"You know it's gonna hurt like a sonuvabitch right here." she said, her voice rough. "You really sure you want it there?"

“yup. positive.”

"Damn girl."

Chloe chuckled, admiring your determination. There was no way she could talk you out of that now, and she knew it.

"Alright then." she said, her fingers lingering on your skin for a moment longer than necessary before she pulled away. "You relax on the couch and don’t move. I'm gonna get my sketchbook."

You nodded and stayed there obediantly, you felt your chest flutter as you watched Chloe get up from the couch and moved towards her desk, her body feeling a bit unsteady. There was something about you that made her feel so off kilter, and it was exciting as much as it was a bit irritating.

She bent over to grab her sketchbook, knowing full well that you had a perfect view of her ass from behind, and didn’t bother to hide the small smirk that tugged at her lips.

You, of course looked. You couldn’t help yourself.

Chloe could feel your eyes on her as she leaned over, choosing to linger there a few seconds longer for your viewing pleasure.

She made her way back over to the couch, sketchbook in hand, making sure to sway her hips as she walked. She sat back down next to you, leaning closer to you than before.

“can i have another hit..?” you asked with more confidence than before.

“go for it hotstuff.”

Chloe took another drag on the joint before handing it to you. As you reached for it, her fingers grazed over yours, a subtle, almost electric touch. You couldn’t hide your reaction to that nickname that would havw otherwise given you the ick from anyone else.

She kept a watchful eye on you as you took another puff, her eyes locked on your mouth as you inhaled, her own lips parting slightly at the sight.

You inhaled and blew it out keeping eye contact. the sexual tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

Chloe’s throat was feeling drier and drier with each passing second. The way you held her gaze as you exhaled the smoke, your lips slightly parted, your chest rising with each breath… it was driving her crazy.

She had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep herself in check, her leg bouncing up and down nervously as the tension increased. Her eyes never left yours, the connection between you two almost tangible.

After a bit of talking and smoking back and forth chloe got started on your chest tattoo, You were laid back in the chair with her leaning over you, her face inches away from yours as she worked on you.

Chloe’s mind was in overdrive. The position you both were in, with her body bent over you and her face so close to yours, was driving her insane.

She tried to focus on the task at hand, the tattoo ink, the steady buzz of the gun in the background. But all she could think about was you, the way you looked, the way your chest rose and fell with your breath, the scent of your skin.

You made sure to control your breathing when she pulled away, You inhaled and as she worked on you, exhaled slowly as not to fuck up her ink.

Chloe was both grateful and frustrated by your breathing. Grateful because you were making things so much easier by not flinching and squirming. But frustrated because every time you drew in a breath, your chest rose slightly, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes on her work and not get distracted.

She was silently thankful that the constant buzz of the tattoo gun was covering up the sound of her heart, which was pumping at a million miles an hour.

Chloe's eyes flicked up to your face as you made small sounds in response to the pain. She could see the slight wince of discomfort, the tightness around your eyes as the gun ran over the more tender parts of the tattoo.

But even that couldn't stop the heat pooling in her gut as you lay beneath her, writhing slightly as she worked her magic.

As she worked on the other side instead of moving around she chose to lean over you. her face inches away now. Not that you minded. You could feel her breath on your skin, she held you still by holding you by the arm gently but firm, besides the uncomfortable sting of the tattoo gun you were soaked

Chloe didn't even realize she was getting closer to you as she worked. All she knew was that she wanted to be closer to you, to feel more of your skin against hers.

She held you still with a gentle touch to your arm, her breath coming out in short shallow puffs against your skin, her eyes fixated on the ink on your body.

Her own body was reacting involuntarily, her pulse racing and her chest heaving as she leaned over you, the scent and sight of you almost overwhelming.

The scent of weed was thick in the air, the buzz of the tattoo gun blending in with the heavy metal music playing overhead. And as Chloe leaned over you, her chest hovering mere inches from your face, her bullet necklace dangled over your face every now and then when she moved to dip the needle end in.

She was completely focused on the task at hand, but even as she worked, her body was screaming at her to touch you, to get closer, to satisfy the ache within her.

“you… can hold my hand if you want.”

You did and gripped her hand hard but not too hard as she worked, You were excited for how this tat would look and also getting excited in a different way.

Chloe felt a jolt of electricity shoot up her arm. Holding your hand, feeling your fingers grip tightly to her own, sent her mind spiralling.

She could feel the tension in your hand, the way your fist tightened as the needle ran over sensitive skin. But it also grounded her, gave her something to focus on as she tried to suppress her own urges.

"Breathe." she said, her voice a bit rougher than normal. "Just keep breathing for me."

You nodded. you were quiet indicating it hurt otherwise you would be more vocal.

Chloe could feel the tension in your body as she continued working. You were being quiet, only letting out small winces every now and then, and she could see the pain in your eyes.

"Almost done, babe." she said quietly, her hand firmly holding yours. "You're doing so good. You're doing great. Just a few more minutes."

You nodded, squeezing your thighs together at her praise.

Chloe's eyes glanced down to your legs briefly as you squeezed them together, and she quickly looked back up, her gaze darkened. She could tell you were starting to lose control, and she was on the same edge as well.

"You're being so good." she repeated, her voice soft but firm. "We're almost there. You can take a little bit more, right?"

“yeah… i can take it.”

"Good girl."

Chloe's breath hitched as those words slipped from her lips, her eyes boring into yours as she looked down at you. Your submission, the fact that you were willing to take the pain for the sake of the tattoo, it was driving her wild.

She was so focused on you, on the tattoo, she was nearly done but she didn't want it to end.

You gave her a look through your lashes, you wondered if she was feeling the same way, but from the way her breath hitched at your sounds and how she gripped your body you could sense it.

Chloe could feel your gaze on her as she continued working, her body shuddering as she felt your eyes on her. And the way you looked at her, those big sultry “fuck me” eyes, nearly made her knees buckle.

She was losing control, losing herself in the sensations, the pain, the pleasure, the sheer need to touch you. But she had to keep it together for now, just until the tattoo was done.

As she dipped the needle back into the ink she took a hit of the joint sitting in the tray, before blowing it out.

“open your mouth.”

You opened your mouth obediently for the joint.

Chloe leaned over you, bringing the joint to your mouth, her hand gripping your chin. As you parted your lips to take a drag, she nearly groaned out loud.

The sight of your mouth open, your tongue darting out to take the joint, had her mind spinning. She was so close to the edge, she could feel her own control slipping by the second.

As she gripped your chin you tried not to moan. You looked her in the eye as you inhaled, your thighs squeezing together.

The look you gave her as you took the joint nearly broke her. Your gaze, your soft lips around the joint, she gripped your chin hard now, her body leaning over yours, her eyes fixed on your mouth as she watched you take a long, slow drag.

Her mind was racing, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, the sounds in the room blending together in a fuzzy mix of sensations. You blew it out towards her face.

Chloe couldn’t stop the small shiver that ran through her body. as you did this. The weed in her system combined with the sight of you, laying on the chair, eyes heavy, breath coming out in soft pants, was intoxicating.

She took the joint from your mouth and tossed it onto the tray, before leaning over you, her hands planted on either of your shoulders, trapping you in place.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice low and rough.

You giggled softly. “maybe…” clearly the joint had loosened you up and made your nerves less stiff.

Chloe smirked at your response, her eyes darkening at the sound of your soft, breathy laugh. She had you right where she wanted you.

“Yeah? You’re enjoying being a tease?, being all laid out for me to work on?”

She shifted slightly, leaning over you a bit more, pressing her body against yours.

Your breath hitched as her body pressed into yours as she towered over you. You couldn’t help the grin on your face. “yeah…” you admitted “I do like it..”

Chloe's gaze darkened further as you admitted, in that soft, breathless voice, that you liked this. Being at her mercy, pinned beneath her body, the pain and pleasure mixing together in a dizzying whirlwind.

She leaned in closer, the scent of your skin, the feel of your body against her, driving her crazy. “you’re really fucking hot...” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“so are you…” You mumbled, your breath fanning her lips.

Chloe was done. All the control she had left was gone as you spoke to her in that soft, breathy voice, your breath fanning her lips.

She leaned in closer, her body pressing against yours, pinning you to the chair. “You wanna do something about it?” she asked, her voice a low whisper, her lips just millimeters from yours. absolutely you did.

“fuck yes.” you said before she kissed you hungrily, your legs wrapped around her and your arms gripped her lean but strong upper back. Chloe had waited long enough, and as soon as the words left your lips she captured your mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss. Her tongue was demanding and possessive as it parted your lips, her body pressed completely against yours.

Her hands trailed down your body, gripping and grabbing at your skin as her body moved between your legs, her hips rolling against yours.

You moaned as her hips rolled against yours, your moans being swallowed by hers. The sound of your moans was like music to her ears, it drove her crazy. Her body moved against yours in a slow, steady rhythm, each roll of her hips sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

Her hands were all over you, touching and grabbing, as if she couldn't get enough of you. The taste of your lips, the scent of your skin, the sounds you were making... it was intoxicating. As her hand snuck down into your shorts, she looked up at you, her pupils dilated, “can i?” she asked in what sounded like a whimper, you nodded a little bit too fast, with your consent chloe’s hand cautiously slipped into your panties finding your soaked folds and puffy clit, you let out a shaky moan and tipped your head back, your hips bucking into her hand.

Her mouth moved from your lips to your neck, biting and sucking at the tender flesh while she gently but firmly drew circles on your clit. Watching in fascination as you squirmed in her seat. She needed more.

Feeling her tug at your bottoms you lifted your hips eagerly letting her pull them off down your legs letting the soaked fabric of your panties join them and kicked them off your ankles. As soon as they were out of the way, Chloe ran her hands up your thighs, gripping them in her hands as she looked down at you. Her eyes darkened seeing you spread out beneath her, exposed and at her mercy.

You sat up on your elbows and watched in anticipation as Chloe’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of you, laid out before her, so willing and wanting. She dropped to her knees in front of you, her hands running up and down your thighs, getting closer to your cunt. You couldn’t help but let out an audible moan and watched her as she lowered herself,

Slowly, almost torturously, she leaned in and planted a kiss on your inner thigh, her lips tracing a path upwards towards your cunt, her eyes never leaving yours. Chloe smirked at the sound of your moan as her hand came down with a playful slap on your thighs She repeated the action a few times, alternating between gentle kisses and stinging slaps, watching as your body writhed beneath her touch.

“That hurt?” she asked, her voice a low whisper, her lips against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You nodded, “I like it..”

“Course you do.”

Chloe chuckled as she came back up to kiss you, her shaky breath against your lips, which she captured again in a fierce, hungry kiss. Her tongue was demanding and possessive as it parted your lips, her body pressed completely against yours. “you taste good.. ” she said, her voice sultry and low, as she once again got back down between your legs continuing to plant kisses on your inner thigh, her hands gripping your legs, holding you in place.

Her fingers dug into your skin, her touch firm and possessive, as she continued to explore your body, her kisses getting closer and closer to your pussy. “bet you taste better down here…” she sounded as if she was breathless, like the sight of you had taken her breathe away.

You watched her and felt her blue hair tickle your thighs as she moved closer and closer to where you needed her.

She leaned in, her breath hot against your skin, her eyes locked on yours as her lips finally made contact with your pussy. You let out a moan through your teeth and your body reacted to it, Her eye contact was so intimate you looked away flusteredly

Seeing you look away made something possessive flare within Chloe. She didn’t want you looking anywhere but at her, she wanted your full attention.

She reached up and gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look back at her. Her mouth was still planted between your legs, her tongue dancing over your sensitive bud.

“Look at me.” she commanded, her voice firm, her eyes fixed on yours.

you turned your head making eye contact shyly.

Her tongue flicked against your clit, her lips sucking gently, her fingers gripping your hips, holding you in place as she worked on you.

“Oh… fuck chloe.” you had never in your life been eaten out this good, she was hungry.

Hearing you say her name in that raspy voice, the way you cried out, filled Chloe with a sense of power. She loved having you like this, completely at her mercy, your body responding to every flick and touch, every movement of her tongue and lips.

Wrapping her arms around your legs, she pulled you closer, her mouth working hungrily against you, her eyes still locked on yours Your cheeks were hot as you tried your best to keep eye contact with her, keeping yourself propped up on your elbows

You were struggling to keep eye contact, your body trembling and quaking with pleasure under her touch, but Chloe was relentless. Her eyes held yours captive, demanding your attention as her tongue worked its magic on your most sensitive spot.

She could feel your legs weakening, your arms shuddering as you tried in vain to hold yourself up. With a growl, she gripped your hips, pulling you closer, her tongue and lips applying more pressure, more intensity, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You moaned and one hand moved to grip something, anything, you settled on the back of her head, your fingernails gently raking on her neck. Chloe groaned at this.

Her mouth continued its assault on you, her tongue moving with a frenzied pace, her lips sucking at your clit with a fierce intensity.

Your chest rose and fell as your moans got louder and more whiney, you wondered if you were the first client she had done this to or if this was a common accurance with the way she was devouring you so good.

As your moans were growing louder, higher pitched and more desperate, Chloe was consumed by this act, completely lost in the moment. Her focus was solely on you, on the sounds you were making, the taste of you on her tongue.

She’d had clients come onto her before, yes, but nothing could compare to this. The connection she felt with you, the way your body responded to her touch… it was different. It was intimate and intense and utterly addictive.

“Chloe… shit.. oh my god you’re so good at this…” your shaky voice filled her ears.

Hearing your voice, breathless and ragged from pleasure, your words of praise only made Chloe double down. She wanted to give you as much pleasure as she could, make you moan and cry out her name in ecstasy.

She flattened her tongue against your clit, a guttural noise escaping her throat as she feasted on you, her hands gripping tighter at your hips to keep you still.

“So good… fuck.. yes baby… right there.” You praised.

Hearing your words of encouragement only fueled Chloe's desire. She loved the way you responded to her touch, the way you writhed beneath her, the way you called out her name.

She focused on the spot you had praised, applying more pressure with her tongue, swirling and lapping at your little clit, wanting to push you over the edge, to make you lose control completely.

When she added a finger you cried out, her digit entered you, slipping inside your wetness, you were lost in pleasure, her relentless double action on your cunt had you a squirming, whiney mess.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from your face, watching as you came undone beneath her touch. The sight of you, squirming and writhing, your body trembling and quaking as she worked her fingers and tongue, it was almost too much for her to handle.

She wanted you to fall apart completely, to lose control completely, and she showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

As she added another finger, stretching you open, you let out a louder moan making her pussy throb.

The stretch felt so good as her tongue continued its action on your clit. When she started to pump her fingers, you were utterly out of your own control.

“Fuck… fuck..!! chloe..” Hearing you cry out her name, so breathless and wanton, was doing things to Chloe that she couldn't explain. It was the most delicious sound and it fueled her desire to push you further and further, deeper into the abyss of ecstasy

"That’s it," she purred, her voice low and sultry, "let go babe, I got you."

You obeyed her and a string of girly whines, cusses and groans came from you as you came, making a mess of her to her utter delight.

Chloe was hypnotised as you came undone, crying out her name in waves of ecstasy, Chloe slowed her actions but didn't stop completely. She watched in awe as you trembled and shook, your body a trembling mess of pleasure and exhaustion.

She lifted her head up and looked at you, a satisfied smirk on her face, her chin and mouth glistening in the lamplight. "damn..." she said breathlessly, still reeling from the sheer intensity of what had just taken place.

Chloe slowly withdrew her fingers, her breath still ragged and uneven from the intensity of moment. She climbed up from her kneeling position, her eyes never leaving yours, and perched on the edge of the chair beside you.

She placed a hand on your stomach, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin, and watched as you laid there, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.

“jesus christ… that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen,” she said, a hint of awe in her voice.

You laughed softly, Still recovering from the most intense orgasm you’d had in a while. “fuck…”

Chloe chuckled softly in response, a satisfied and lazy grin tugging at her lips. She was still coming down from the intensity of the moment herself, but she couldn't stop watching you, taking in the sight of you lying before her, flushed and breathless and beautiful.

She reached out a hand and gently brushed some stray strands of hair away from your face, her touch light and gentle. "You okay there?" she asked, her voice still a bit rough.

“Yeah.. i’m good.” in your mind you couldn’t believe that really happened, your first tattoo and you get your pussy ate by a hot tattoo artist chic. But you somehow managed to play it cool.

Chloe smiled at your response, her fingers still tracing lazy patterns on your stomach, enjoying the feeling of your skin under her touch.

She knew what you were thinking, could see it in your eyes, and she couldn't help but smirk. "Not quite the typical tattoo experience, I know," she teased, earning another laugh from you

“I would have got one sooner.”

Chloe chuckled at your comment, her smirk widening into a full-fledged grin. "I'll have to keep that in mind for future bookings," she joked, her eyes sparkling.

She continued to trace her fingers over your stomach, her touch light and gentle, as if she was savoring the feeling of your skin beneath her fingertips. "You're welcome to come back anytime," she added, her voice low and suggestive.

“I think i will.” You giggled. but you meant it. completely.

“lemme clean you up hot stuff.” she gave your thigh a pat before rising up and grabbing some paper towels and her water bottle before returning to your side, gathering a generous amount on the paper towels before cleaning up any remaining fluids from your “encounter”. You winced a bit from the sensitivity. Much like when she cleaned your tattoo.

Chloe continued to clean you, being mindful of the tender flesh between your thighs, she knew how sensitive you were in that area now, and the sound of your wince went straight to her core.

"Sorry babe.," she murmured as she gently cleaned you up, her touch deliberately gentle.

“Don’t be.”

"She hummed softly in reply, her eyes still fixed on your body as she continued her gentle cleanup.

She couldn't resist the urge to touch you, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your sensitive skin, as she took in the sight of you lying there before her, so open and vulnerable, your body still quaking from the aftershocks of pleasure.

“Can i have my shorts and panties back?” you asked with a slight grin sitting up straight.

Chloe nodded, her gaze lingering on your body for a moment longer before she reluctantly pulled away. She moved over to the side of the room where your discarded clothes were lying, and picked up your shorts and panties.

She walked back over to you, a cocky smirk still playing at the corners of her mouth, and handed your clothes over, You slipped the panties on your legs and then pulled them up doing the same with your shorts, with Chloe watching you silently as you put your clothes back on, her eyes roving over your body appreciatively. She couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment as your tantalizing skin disappeared under the fabric, but she tried to mask it with her usual cocky demeanour.

“alright. Lemme finish up the tattoo. got a bit distracted.” Her voice carried a teasing tone.

“Yeah just a little.” You teased. “but i think we both did.”

Chloe chuckled at your remark, unable to deny the truth in it. “Yeah, yeah.”

She moved back up to your chest, her focus shifting back to the task at hand.

As she resumed working on the tattoo, your mind kept replaying the events of the past few minutes over and over again, the feeling and sight of her buried between your legs eating you like you were her last meal still fresh and vivid in your mind.

As she finished your chest tattoo, the pain contrasting with the pleasure you had seconds ago surprisingly pleasant. Once she finished you smiled.

Chloe took a step back, admiring her work. The tattoo looked perfect on your skin, a permanent and sexy mark on your body that she had put there.

you gave her a warm smile “let me see.”

Chloe pulled a handheld mirror from the table and held it up so you could see your reflection in it. Her gaze followed your every move, watching your reaction as you took in the sight of your new tattoo.

"what do you think?" she asked, her voice steady but eager. She was silently desperate for your approval, her heart aching to hear your words of praise.

As you looked at the tattoo through the mirror, admiring it from every angle, chloe was behind you, both checking for your reaction and getting another look at your ass.

“fuck… I love that..” you said as you looked at it through the mirror from different angles. “you did amazing chloe.” that sentence had two meanings. Chloe's heart skipped a beat. The words you said sounded like music to her ears, and she couldn't help but bask in your praise. Her eyes roamed over her ink on your skin again.

"yeah? you really like it?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of insecurity. she needed to hear you say it again, to know that she had truly satisfied you with her work.

“absolutely Chloe. thankyou so so much.” You wanted to kiss her but didn’t know if that was weird, even during this weird exchange. Seeing how much you loved the tattoo, how satisfied you were with her work... it meant everything to her. And when you looked at her like that, like you wanted to kiss her, she felt her walls crumbling, her usual cool and collected facade faltering.

When she saw you were going in your purse to pay a mixture of anticipation and reluctance coursing through her veins. She didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want to go back to the cold and professional exchange of money.

“Uh..right yeah. Yeah, money.”

Truly she did need the money but she just couldn’t bare to see you go. She didn’t want this to end.

she spoke up, her tone a little bit needier than she liked.

“honestly… it’s fine. honestly after what we did, forget it.”

You gave her a look, insisting you had to pay her. “Chloe c’mon..”

“No. seriously it’s fine. As long as you’re willing to…y’know make this a regular thing. it’s totally on the house, if that’s okay …”

Your eyes lit up, it wasn’t everyday your tattoo artist fucked you silly and then gave you a good tattoo, free at that. You definitely weren’t about to say no. This was a dream to anyone that wanted tattoos.

“Sure. I mean if you’re okay with it.” you gave a slight smirk to the blue haired punk girl with various tattoos across her arm and body, pretending like inside your jumping for joy at the thought of doing this kind of thing with her again.

“Course. Hit me up whenever you want some ink. …or anything else. I got you.”

Needless to say, You had found gold when you found Chloe price.

[afewproblems]

For the angst prompts ;

"You look like hell." "I feel like it."

Famous Eddie showing up on Steve’s doorstep years after Eddie left

Oooo love this idea, thank you very much for sending it Nonny! I hope you enjoy!

***

"So, he's back in town," Robin says instead of a greeting into the receiver, a leading lilt in her voice.

Steve sighs and knocks his head into the wall beside the mounted hand set, "yeah".

She hums, the sound crackles over the line like static in Steve's ear.

"You want me to come over?" Robin asks carefully, as though dismantling a bomb, picking through what to say as gently as she can, hoping it's right.

And Steve hates it.

He hates that even after all these years, Eddie Munson can get right under his skin like this.

It should have ended back in '88, when Eddie had left them all behind to 'make it big'.

Or at least, that's what the note had said.

The one in hastily scribbled blue ink, dropped on the cold and empty side of the bed that Eddie had left. Steve had awoken alone, with only the note and the smell of weed and cigarettes and sex on his sheets.

He had tried calling the trailer, only for Wayne to pick up and explain that Eddie had been planning this for weeks, 'didn't Ed tell you?'

Eddie had left for New York along with Gareth, Jeff, and Grant, bound for city lights and a better music scene.

No, Eddie hadn't told him, but Steve didn't say that. How could he?

Instead, he thanked Wayne, his voice hoarse, and hummed something close to a yes when Wayne asked if Steve would make sure to drop by when he had time, the Pacers season had started after all.

"Steve?"

Robin's voice breezes through the phone again, jolting him back to the present.

"Sorry Birdy," he sighs, shaking the last memories of the Munson's from his mind, "don't worry about me, really".

She scoffs and Steve can almost picture the way she's certainly rolling her eyes, "I always worry about you Dingus, that's what I'm here for".

"I know".

They talk for a little longer, speculating on how much longer Clinton will last in office now that the truth has come out and which of them would host the finale of Seinfeld --'it deserves a special night Steve, we are taping it, getting as many snacks as we can, and indulging in some good old misanthropic comedy'.

He tells her goodnight after another half hour, and insists that he'll be okay.

And he will, of course he will.

It's been ten years since Eddie Munson set foot in Hawkins, and there was absolutely no reason for them to run into one another.

Well, sure, he still kept in touch with Wayne over the years --how could he not when the old man seemed to pull excuses to see him out of thin air.

Robin had always cautioned Steve on his continued relationship with Wayne, questioning why he insisted on maintaining contact with Steve.

But it was nice to have someone to watch the game with over a beer, the occasional barbecue in the summer and hell, Steve had even celebrated a Thanksgiving or two or three with Wayne Munson.

With Steve cutting off his own parents years back, it was nice to feel like he had still had someone looking out for him.

And really, there was no reason for Eddie and Steve to run into one another.

Steve would be fine.

***

It's almost a week after his call with Robin that the doorbell rings and Steve's world comes to a stop.

He's putting away the small grocery trip, and to call it that was a bit ridiculous considering the snack to fruit ratio, but Robin had been very specific about their Seinfeld watch party slated for the coming weekend.

Steve opens the fridge door to pop the milk in, tossing a, "coming!" over his shoulder as the bell rings a second time.

Steve hopes it isn't his neighbor again as he makes his way to the front hall of his small home. It would be her third time angrily telling him that the tree in his backyard had shed even more crabapples over the fence and into her yard.

And considering their postage stamp lots, where else was the poor tree going to do it?

"Look Mrs. Patterson," he says wearily as he flips on the porch light and opens the front door, "I'm going to do something about the branches this weekend--"

But it isn't Mrs. Patterson standing on his front porch.

It's Eddie Munson.

Steve blinks, feeling as though part of himself has been wrenched from his own body to watch from above. His palms are sweaty all of a sudden and there's a tightness in his chest that grips his lungs, he can't breathe.

Eddie tries for a half wave and a smile, but the effect is lost as Steve continues to stand in shocked silence.

He's thin; Eddie had always been on the lanky side but his shoulders were still broad and he was strong enough to lug his band equipment around. He's almost gaunt now, with deep set bags under his brown eyes. His curly hair hangs somewhat limp over his shoulders and he reeks of stale cigarettes.

But it's undeniably Eddie Munson standing at his front door.

There are so many questions, and Steve wants nothing more than to demand answers if he can manage to get the words out without yelling.

What are you doing here? Why are you here now? How did you know where I live?

How could you leave like that?

"You look like hell," Steve says instead, his grip tightens on the door frame as Eddie drops his head in a nod.

"I feel it".

His voice is slightly deeper, more gravely in tone now than it was ten years back.

But perhaps that's what screaming into a microphone and partying in New York for ten years will get you.

"How did you know where I live?" Steve asks after another beat of strained silence.

"Uh, Wayne, I ask him about you a lot and about half the time he'll give me an answer when he's not calling me a dumbass and telling me to call you myself".

"Wayne has been telling you about me" Steve says faintly, feeling as though he might be sick on Eddie's shoes.

Wayne, someone that Steve had been looking up to, getting advice from, and spending so much time with, had been doing so just for Eddie.

All this time.

Robin had been right to tell him to be careful.

"Leave," Steve whispers suddenly, making Eddie step back in surprise, "I don't want to see you, either of you, again".

"Wha--no, Steve, wait!"

But the door is already closing, slammed against Eddie's hands that knock and knock, pleading with him to open the door, to just hear him out.

But how can he?

It wasn't just Eddie showing up after all these years, but on top of that, everything that he thought he had with Wayne had all been some ploy to help his nephew keep tabs on him.

He'd let himself be hurt again, by another fucking Munson, one he thought he could trust.

Steve locks the door and flips off the porch light, uncaring of the muffled curse from the other side of the wood.

He doesn't want to hear what Eddie has to say, after all, Eddie hadn't cared enough to stick around all those years ago.

Why should Steve?

[bluiex]

And even more Magic and Memory loss! Grian begins to have a bit of a breakdown at the end of this one and has some thoughts that can be interpreted as abuse, so fair warning now.

~~~~

He wants to run so badly. This was a mistake. A horrible mistake and he keeps on making more. 

Mumbo stands close beside him, a hand on his shoulder and chest pressed against his arm, the helpful action now being all a reminder to him that he cannot escape no matter how much he wants to. The gentle resting would be unnoticeable to most others, but to him it feels heavy on his shoulder. His mind keeps going to thoughts of how easy it would be for the grip to tighten. For Mumbo to simply move their arm around him to keep him close and in sight. Not to mention, Scar would be there to grab him if he somehow got away from Mumbo. 

All it would take is some words about him being nervous about crossing the border, that he never has done so before and is being irrational, and no one would pay him anymore mind…

They would probably move if he asked, but he doesn't know if he can. His tongue feels swollen in his mouth. He feels like if he tried to talk, he would trip over his words and nothing understandable would come out. 

So he stands. With their hand on his shoulder, wanting nothing more than to run. 

"Sorry about that," Scar says to the clerk, talking over his head and reminding him of their presence behind him. "Had a small thing about something being missing only for it to be found in an obvious place. I'm sure you get that a lot here."

They lie so easily, like it just comes naturally for them. They look so friendly and nice, and talk in such a confident way…How would anyone ever know if what they're saying is a lie? Who would ever think about the words that come out of their mouth if they never see what he is?

The lady at the desk hmps, staring at them all over her glasses with mild contempt. "Important object or not, you wasted the time of everyone here. Every minute you hold up the line is a minute someone else doesn't get to go home. Please do not let it happen again in the future."

"Cold, ain't she?" Mumbo murmurs under their breath. 

Cold? Maybe in some sense…If you are normal and don't live the life of a mage like him. 

She reminds him of one of the elders who was also a no nonsense type of person. Glasses on a chain, relatively the same height, same cold judgmental stare, sits in a chair like they're above you…Just add some more wrinkles and gray hairs and it's almost a perfect match. Maybe even add some threats of carrying out some punishment as well for an even better one.

The clerk drags over a wooden tray with two stampers and two pots of ink, a loud scraping sound being made as the tray moves. When they finally have the tray where they want, they grab one of the stamps and dip it into one of the ink pots, like they already have decided their fate.

"Present your passports, please." 

Mumbo moves away from him a bit, hand moving from his shoulder to rummage around in a leather pack. He tries moving away, but Scar moves up to and presses up against his other side, effectively trapping in-between the two men. 

He tries not to flinch away as they lean close to his ear.

"Mumbo's got this, Gri, don't worry. It's going to be okay."

Going to be okay? For them maybe…He's going to be thinking of all the things that 

can go wrong for weeks either way this goes.He doesn't say all that though, just giving a forced smile and nodding. And in return, Scar gives him a way brighter smile before resting their chin on his shoulder. Then he feels their arms snake around his torso…Oh great…

This is just going perfectly…

Mumbo pauses their rummaging, giving them a sideways glance before setting three small black books on the clerk's desk. They then return to their bag and pull out a sheet of parchment, which they hand directly to the clerk. The clerk takes the paper with a curious look, examining it carefully before dragging over another wooden tray. 

This tray has a much stranger assortment of items. A painting brush, a vial of weird bubbling clear liquid, a box of matches, some thin red papers…He doesn't understand why these items would be set together.

And he is even more confused when the clerk picks up the match box, opens it up, gets out a match, and starts to try to strike the match against the coarse edge of the match box. 

"She's just checking if the pass is real," Scar whispers in his ear. "It's a very simple procedure."

The match lights up with a small flame. The clerk then picks the paper back up and holds the match a few inches behind it, carefully examining whatever is revealed by the flame.

"Has there ever been any damage done by doing this?" He asks quietly.

"A few times. Before the passes had a flameproof coating."

The clerk hmphs again, setting the paper down before blowing out the flame. They set the now brunt match onto the desk and pull over the small black books. 

He watches quietly as she opens up the top one, quickly skims its contents, and picks up the ink wetted stamp from before and presses it against the inside of the book. This all seems way too easy…This can't just be this simple, right?

The clerk moves the top book of the pile to the side, and proceeds to do the same stamping procedure to the second book. It's only when they move on to the third and final book she seems to pause and examine it a bit longer.

"This is the correct information?"

"It should be," Mumbo answers, patting his arm. "I know he's rather short-"

"Ey!"

"-but he is very much an adult and not a child." 

The clerk looks at him. "And you back up that statement of you being an adult, young man?"

"Yes," He says, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"And you understand that having the wrong information makes it look like you're trying to do something nefarious?"

"Yes…"

If only they knew it's not the age on the passport they should be worried about, but the passport itself…

"Miss, don't take this the wrong way," Scar says. "But why would we get a legitimate pass if we were going to use a fake passport? I know your job makes you need to question everything, but that would be a little ridiculous, would it not?"

The clerk's face turns into a glare, and he sees Mumbo move closer and discreetly elbow Scar. Or at least that's his guess of what happened to make Scar let out a faint choked back noise. 

She folds her arms and stares at the three of them with a rather stern look. "What is your relationship with these two, young man?" 

"We're…friends. Close friends, I guess."

He tacks that last part on when he remembers Scar's arms are around him. Friends don't usually have their arms just around another casually. 

Already lied for them…Just what am I doing…

The clerk stares at him for a moment before reaching towards the black book and pressing the stamp to its pages. He hears one of the other two let out a sigh of relief, but he doesn't know which one. He's too busy just staring forward, watching his fate get sealed with a simple stamp…

Funny how the smallest things can change someone's entire life, huh?

"That's all there is?" He asks, seeing the clerk look up at him and feeling the other two jolt a bit. "You check a pass, some books, and you send people on their way?"

"Yes…What did you think was going to happen?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but stops when Scar's arms tighten around him, pressing him against them even more. He takes the warning and closes his mouth. 

"It's their first trip over the border," Mumbo says, quickly taking initiative for the situation. "Coming over was a little difficult, for about the same reason you thought, but the clerk then was a bit more…aggressive about it. So the whole experience got a little soured for them."

The clerk lets out knowing hum, staking up the three books and handing them back to Mumbo, who takes them with a polite nod. The clerk moves her gaze to behind them and motions for someone to come forward, most likely the next person in line.

Well well well, look where you little show of defiance got you…Nowhere.

He lets himself get moved away from the clerk's desk, clasping his hands tightly together and holds them in front of him. Of course this would be how it goes…Why did he think it would be any different? Of course there would be no alarms raised by three people traveling together, even if two of those people are mages. Why would anyone care? It just looks like someone has requested for more magical assistance on a project. Nothing to worry about.

Especially not when there is a non-magic user with them, who has a royal pass you can only get from the king. If you can place your trust in the king, then who can you? The king would make sure to send someone who could handle the mages and keep them in line. Why bother worrying?

Scar nudges his head with theirs, making Mumbo let out an annoyed huff.

"Scar, what did I say about touching them like that? I let it slide at the desk because I didn't want to make a scene, but you really need to stop, mate."

"I'm sorry! They just look so sad and I'm just so used to doing it that I just do it before I even realize!"

The mage one seems to like you…Maybe you can use that to your advantage. Try to use them before they use you.

He clenches his hands even tighter together. Why is this the cycle of his life? Being used and using other people, all because he was born with magic inside him that he can manipulate to his will…at the order of his master.

A hand touches his shoulder again, making him stop where he is. 

"Is there anything you want to do?" Mumbo asks him softly. "Anywhere you wanted to go first? We can go to a town nearby here if you want, get some things. What do you think you need?"

What does he need? Did they really just ask him that? Everything he had is at the estate of the lord he was with before. What doesn't he need?

"Whatever you think is best, sir." He turns his head and gives them a fake smile. "I am but a tool at your disposal, for you to use as you wish. What do you think I need?"

Mumbo's mouth forms a straight line, looking rather uncomfortable with his words. He thinks he can see Scar looking uncomfortable as well.

"Gri, please don't talk like that. You're not a tool."

"But I am. Just nothing more than a special servant. Our lives belong to our masters and we must follow their orders like any other servant in fear of being beheaded, we just get our own rooms."

"Grian..."

"Though most of the time our rooms are mostly used for storage rather than an actual space for us. All our time is to be used to make our master's life easier."

"Grian."

"We don't even get to choose who we marry and have a family with most of the time. Maybe if our lord really likes us, but most think about creating the perfect mage for their heirs. We have no control-"

"Grian." The grip on his shoulder tightens. "Stop. Please."

He stays very quiet as they pinch at the area between their eyes and sigh, looking at him with such pity after. 

No…You're not supposed to look like that.

"I don't know what went on with you while you were…wherever they would place you…but things are different now. Things are different here."

You're not supposed to pity me…

"The laws are different, the people are different…You'll be okay here. I know you don't trust us right now, but you will be okay."

You're not supposed to be comforting me.

"It's going to take some time to get used to everything, and you'll probably feel like a fish out of water, but Scar and I will help you. We can help fill the gaps on anything you don't know and don't remember. If you'll let us, of course."

You're not supposed to still act nice…You're supposed to be mad!

Their hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek, caressing the area like it's normal for them to do it. And it almost feels…nice?

"Will you listen to the plea of a desperate man, and let us help you? To let us show you what you were taken from and what you could have had this whole time?"

A small pathetic noise escapes from his mouth, and a series of emotions well up inside him. It feels…Why does it…This isn't supposed to happen! This is not how this is supposed to go!

They aren't supposed to still act kind! They are supposed to be mad, furious with him even! They're supposed to tell him to not do something like that again, to stay in line or face the consequences! They're supposed to make him apologize for his outburst! They're supposed to punish him and not care if he silently hates them! They're not supposed to care for him at all!

"Why can't you just make this easy?" He chokes out in a shaky voice.

A confused look forms on Mumbo's face, which immediately turns panicked once hot tears start running down his face. 

"No no no, don't cry!" They pull him into a hug, with his face pressed against their chest and their hands gentle on his back. "You weren't meant to cry! I didn't think you would get upset! I'm sorry!"

He lets out a choked sob, squirming in their grip. No, you’re not supposed to hold him. You're supposed to tell him to get over it. That you'll give him a better reason to cry if he doesn't stop! 

"Wow Mumbo, your emotional speech made them cry. Congratulations."

"Scar, shut up and help me get them somewhere more private!"

"That's what-"

"Scar!"

AWWW GRIAN *rolls around* this is getting great omg I adore this bit.

"I know he's short I promise he's not a child" akaknsbcwijs amazing

[extravalgant]

title: crosspaths

summary: You were familiar with Monquistans, seeing as they ran around in Azteca doing whatever they pleased. But this one... you recognized this one.

notes: not much to say about this one... i edited this one about twice? before i thought it seemed good enough to post 👍 may this encourage me to make more switch up au stuffs....

READ ON A03

You think, after all this time, you would forget a name like his – a face like his.

The hustle and bustle of the late-night crowd is loud, but the air is filled with hearty laughs, the ambience of the denizens of this world having a good time; you hear the sounds of drinking glasses clinking together, cutlery sliding along plates, and spoons digging into bowls.

It would be comforting if you weren't running on very little sleep. You can feel your tunic bunch uncomfortably from underneath your coat, feel the itch of the fire insignia still fresh on the back from when you drew it in a rush, eager to get something warm over your body.

You feel as if you look a bit foolish standing there in the entrance to the inn, so you busy yourself with finding an unoccupied table. Regardless of how put together you look at the moment, your mind is still hazy from recent events.

Khrysalis had ended on... a semi-rough note, you reflect. The sting of betrayal is still raw, still twists something in the pit of your stomach if you marinated on it for too long, but you can’t help the wash of embarrassment that rushes over you at the thought of your kindness taken advantage so easily again.

You had gotten too complacent, and that’s why you were here—on the verge of frostbite and too tired to care. You had been too used to the idea that everyone was going to be on your side, that they wouldn’t lie to your face, extend an olive branch, offer any sagely advice that came with being trapped in a shadowy, guard-infested prison for thousands of years—

That train of thought stops very quickly. 

The physical symptoms of that particular adventure still lingered within you—you believe it’s because you absorbed so much of Morganthe’s magic after she had fallen to her demise. You figure this may be your body's way of getting used to having the proper amount of magic again.

Perhaps, a little part of your mind speaks up, voice so quiet you almost wanted to ignore it, perhaps it would have been better to die a martyr – you would have liked to see the look on his face had you not decided to be obedient for once, and died with the magic he so craved.

It had initially been a surprise when Merle Ambrose summoned you to his office, with claims of ‘something important’ needing to be discussed with you. You hadn’t noticed the sharp curl of anxiety in your stomach until he presented you with your diploma, managing a quiet laugh at your shocked expression. The tension bled out of your shoulders almost as easily as it appeared, and your vision focused to better examine the document he gave you.

The paper had felt crisp and clean, so unlike the quest paper you bought from the bazaar, and so unlike the thin and flimsy paper you used when you used to turn in your assignments. It had felt warm to the touch, and your eyes narrowed in on the way ink pooled slightly in certain places, as if this certificate had recently been finished.

And then, there had been your name – printed neatly, slanted in Merle Ambrose’s cursive script, sharp and wondrous across the page, with a golden stamp reflecting in the light.

Graduation. You couldn’t help the small grin that overtook your features. It took this long, but I’m finally… 

The following graduation ceremony had been… quick. You suppose Wizards hadn’t been much for celebrations, always straight and to the point, but it had been sweet. Try as you might, you could not discreetly wipe away the tears as each of the Ravenwood staff stepped forward to say a few words after the official assembly had ended, giving you their own words of encouragement as you stepped out into the new world. 

It wasn’t hard to miss the sudden chill that blanketed the area, and the familiar pit inside you was starting to fester inside you. Bartleby got sick, you knew it had been your fault, in some way or another—and now you were here. 

In cold and icy Polaris, tension is thick and heavy. The air is full of things unsaid, but you’re not quite sure what’s being said in the first place. This isn’t helped by the local inspector, who sniffs with disdain and squints disapprovingly at your lack of prepared attire for the weather. He doesn’t seem pleased by the smudged ink displayed almost proudly on your hand, but lets you pass anyway.

The quest was still fresh–you had to write it in a hurry and head to Polaris, after all.  You had always been a bit sloppy with quest writing—there’s a bit of an excuse now. You have a time limit. 

As long as it's legible, You said to yourself.

(A habit that would never die – a habit that lingered as soon as you learned the practice of quest writing. At the beginning your letters were neat and clean – this habit had stopped during Azteca, until you stopped writing them at all. 

…

Spell Writing 101 had always been your favorite class anyways.)

You digress.

Now, you were familiar with Monquistans, seeing as they ran around in Azteca doing whatever they pleased. But you didn’t think you would ever run into one in Polaris of all places. You didn’t think anyone could stand the cold like the Pingouins. But this one... you recognized this Monquistan. 

Because as soon as you laid your eyes upon the figure, you blinked, pausing in your descent of the steps.

“...Mister Gandry, is it?" You said, stepping close to the figure's table. He had been nursing a mug of... something. You detected the smell of something vaguely sweet and acidic.

Wine. You think, immediately. Wizard wine exists? Well, wine isn't exactly hard to make, is it? It's just... grapes.

That wasn’t important right now, you think.

He scrutinizes your dress for a moment, in a way that reminds you of the inspector at the world door, but he must have recognized you, with the way his eyes widened slightly at the edges.

"Can it be?" He said, and even his tone brings something like disbelief to the surface. It's almost hard to hear over the thick accent he has, and the sudden loud cheers a nearby table gives, but you nod in reply, breaking into a grin.

"The Wizard we met on the ship! My word, you're looking... a bit worse for wear."

He gestures for you to sit down, waving over the nearest waiter to bring them a drink for you as well. You can't even get a word in edgewise about your lack of drinking before the cup is being slid across the wooden table, red pooling deliciously at the edges.

"Worse for wear is putting it lightly." You say, chuckling a bit. Your hands come up to wrap gingerly around the pint, fingers tapping gently against the aged wood. It smells even sweeter than you thought. "I never thought I'd see you again! Where is, ah...?"

"Boochbeard?" He finishes for you, just as he polishes off the last of his drink. You nod. "Who knows. We got separated a while back."

“Aren’t you worried?” You ask, and he levels you with a stare, brow raised.

“It’d be a miracle if something around here manages to kill him.” He shifts in his seat, giving a lazy look around. “I see Polaris still hasn’t gotten back up on its legs after the war, eh? Figures.”

The words begin to blend together into his accent, but you can hear bits and pieces of what he’s trying to say. Something about the ‘armada,’ something about a ‘pirate.’

“The pirate?” You tilt your head to the side before the memory blooms behind your eyelids. Excitement bursts in the pit of your stomach. Yes, yes—the ship, those people, and most curious of all, that robot. “How are they doing these days?”

He takes a swig of his second drink – when he had ordered that one, you wondered – and shrugs.

“You... don’t know?” You’re dumbfounded. “I figured they were one of yours.”

“An orphan.” He amends, but the tone of his voice dips into something more casual, as if this were par for the course.

“Is that... common? Is this common?”

He nods without saying another word, and the two of you descend into another silence. This didn’t exactly astound you, seeing as Wizard City also housed these types—the city was safe enough as it was (with you there anyways, your brain supplies). You had surmised a while back that Ravenwood functioned more as a boarding school then it did a regular school, so the lack of parental figures wasn’t all that surprising to you.

But regardless, a pirate... you didn’t have any experience with them, minus Taylor Coleridge and the Monquistan in front of you.

“Is being a Pirate fun?” You ask.

His mouth twists thoughtfully before frowning. You think that has more so to do with the taste of his drink than your question. “About as fun as being a Wizard is.”

That was… Hm. You can count how many times you stood there and wondered if being a wizard was worth it. For all that it gave you—whether it was the joy and awe of seeing magic for the first time, or the warmth in your chest as you learn the words to another spell, or even just the fact that each spiral key you required earned you a glimpse into a new world, with new places to explore…

There were also things you… loathed about being a Wizard, no matter how hard you tried. Clearly there were things written in the fine script, but you had been reading that contract with younger, naive eyes. 

In Wizard law there are no accidents. 

You think your silence stretches on longer than usual – Gandry pauses, peering over the rim of the cup with inquisitive eyes. He puts his cup down.

"Tell me then," he prompts. "Is being a Wizard fun?"

The edge of your own cup reaches your lips. The first and only sip you would have. "...About as fun as being a Pirate is, I suppose."

He says nothing as you tell him your answer, but push your cup to the side and flag down the waiter for a steaming mug of something hot instead—the tea smells earthy and fragrant, warming your frozen fingers as you blow on it with cooling breaths.

"I wonder how they're doing." You muse quietly. You hadn't even gotten a glimpse of their face, or their personality—only gave words of encouragement, coaxed Mister Gandry and Mister Boochbeard into investigating whatever it is that the Maestro and his robotic friend were keen to stop before it started. “The Pirate, that is.”

You had touched upon their life – altered the course of their timeline, without ever seeing them. You think it's almost better this way, but you can't help the twinge in your heart that wants to meet the person they are today.

Did they have any friends? Do they have family? Did they have a favorite food, a favorite color, did they like the way the stars twinkled at night, or how the clouds stretched upon an infinity? Most of all—

Were they alive? 

You wonder.

"Running from the armada, probably." Gandry’s dry tone snaps you out of your haze. "I want to say I'm surprised the armada hasn't touched this part of the spiral, but – you're here."

"... I'm here." You repeat softly. Almost fondly. You were here, fighting tooth and nail to prevent the rest of the spiral from falling apart. To give others the chance to do the same. You’re not sure what an ‘armada’ is and have no clue whether or not you’d be able to defend against it, but you recognize that the two of you are on different journeys. 

You wonder if you’ll ever cross paths.

The silence stretches on until you stand, pushing your chair backwards as you relay to your companion that you had Wizardly duties to deal with. There's no note of change or expressions on his face, only neutral responses; he nods as he waves you off, and pushes the gold back into your hand when you attempt to repay him back.

"My treat, wizard." Mr. Gandry speaks. This time, there's a grin stretching across his face. "Welcome to Polaris."

[silentprincesswrites]

I am not a writer.

Okay, sure. Technically, that could be wrong, since I am here writing. But I've never seen myself as a writer. I am an artist, through and through, but writing scares me. Words are terrifying.

I am someone who used to adore books. I would stick my face into them, devouring them like I've never had an imagination and reading comprehension until the instant I stuck my nose in-between pages of a novel. Sinking into each and every chapter, and not coming up for air until I found an agreeable pause, or until I realized I had to pee like never before.

Words could swallow me whole.

Being a creative type means I bounce from one inspiration to the next, sucking out all that I can with a vampiric sort of nature.

Art is my thing. I grew up, if not reading or being outside, spending every other possible second hunched over paper, or anything related to it. Scrawling onto napkins and notebooks my ideas, my worlds, my mind. My hands were tattooed in graphite, my face smeared with ink.

But over the course of many years, going through something known as "growing up" and "getting older" (two things I still have not yet understood, and I fear at this rate, never will), I feel stale. Art still holds me tight in its arms. It just feels like we are breaking up. Its' grasp isn't as warm as it used to be. And I know it's the type of dry, cold, "It's not you, it's me," breakup, where we both long for each other while being in each other's arms.

The thing is, I don't want to break up with it. And I also know that I don't have to. But I have been living for so long in this weird...state. A strange cycle that I started, that always ends poorly. Expectations too high for anybody, and a process that wouldn't even get halfway. And yet, every day I give myself a pep talk that this will be different! And I just need to push myself! Four hours later, tumbling down the mountain even earlier than yesterday, cheeks burning as Sisyphus gives me a quizzical look. Art abandoned, discarded, incomplete.

And so, I've started taking breaks. And it's awful. Okay, not that awful. It's actually great. Cutting ties with social media, deleting everything (but YouTube, because enrichment, duh), taking long walks and even journaling (which is different than writing. I mean, it's writing, but it's not writing writing). But there is an itch that hasn't been scratched.

Creating.

It's impossible for me not to create. Anything. As soon as the Art Lights dim, every other Light in My Head blinks on. My mind runs at approximately forty-billion miles an hour, or somewhere close to that definitely real speed, and I am gone from this world and into some other one. The way I see birds flying in and out of trees is so poetic, and I have a flash of a four-page monologue someone with a soft, deep voice would read over a perfectly color-graded scene, just like the ones my eyes are seeing. The way I view people, narrate their lives, and how I think they would narrate mine. Words that are shaped in my thrumming mind, that have a depth and vastness to them that no one else in the world possibly could understand. Because it is stuck in my head. And that's hard.

Because yes, I definitely have a hyperactivity disorder (I do, I pinky promise). And also, yes, I definitely believe and know there are other things Wrong with me., which is also funny.

But it is still hard.

Because, in those moments, it's only me.

Unfortunately, through therapy and a lot of growing up, I have been stamped with red ink, deemed as A People Pleaser. Therefore, I am a ticking timebomb of anxiety about Something until I am detonated by Validation. This goes very deep. It can lurch from I hope I did a good job on this task! To There is a problem happening that doesn't necessarily involve me, but a lot of people are upset, and I like those people, and so, if I don't fix this problem Now then everyone will hate me, and I will end up alone, knitting myself a cocoon of shame and despair as I pass away with no one to find my body. Or something equally as bizarre and exaggerated as that.

This all connects to art, for me, though. Spending hours carefully creating something only to have someone only sort-of get it. Or to only be mildly interested in it, or to not even ask about it. (Side note, I am not shaming anyone who has does this. This is just more or less of a perceived reality because I unfortunately have craved appraisal much like a dog craves a pat on the head).

I have felt really lonely with it. It's unfair to ask for somebody to jump straight into my mind, but I always feel like I try so hard to rip off my skin and hold out my brain as far as it will go. It is never far enough. My mind just seems to bounce off someone the way a rock bounces off a window- crashing straight through.

As art has become a center of my life and partially work, of course I wish for validation on, and in it. Validation requires pressure. Pressure is roommates with expectation. But not the good kind of expectation in this scenario. Thus, Sisyphus watching me fall down a mountain again and again, shaking his head with pity. You get the idea.

So. This post.

Essentially, the pressure got to me. The last few months have been me hellishly tossing and turning in bed, unsure about this idea I've had. A sort of weird one.

To just...try.

In therapy (to my therapist, I love you), I have learned that-hey! Doing things that you like, without the pressure of it being considered work, that don't need to be perceived, and don't need validation, is actually completely normal! And okay do to!!! And encouraged! Because, um, human!

I remember sitting there, slightly leaned over, mouth hung open, agog. I could do that? It was inspiring! I snoopy-danced out the door, stuffing my pockets in my dad's coat I steal from him often.

But then, like a geyser, ideas that were long buried beneath my stomach came spewing up into my brain. Ideas like this.

Where I do something. No strings attached.

Because I wanted to. And it was a secret.

And I don't tend to keep secrets. Project I have ideas on? I'll shoot a message with a photo, revealing it all, tentatively waiting for a reply which will dictate how I move forward. Which usually means I give up.

But this...

Completely anonymously, utterly myself and my own mind spilling out all my thoughts. Because words are art, and art is my thing. And art is scary, and words are too. But it's me.

And it's not drawing, because that is too personal.

But this is personal enough. Because it's me.

I'm extending an olive branch to myself. That all the words, wittiness, things that stick out to me on walks or at work matter. And there's no pressure.

You might be thinking 'Why post it? doesn't that defeat the purpose of it being secret and of being perceived? Also, you said that you deleted social media so why are you on this pla-" And I just smile and laugh, gently nodding because you have a point, but also because.

Because someone else might see it.

It doesn't sit unopened, collecting dust in my head, or in a journal with eighteen metaphorical locks on it.

Because the thought of someone maybe seeing this and being like, 'Hey, woah, this really long-winded post is a little bit cool, and I actually resonate with it somewhat', reminds me of my own humanness. Because I have felt that toward other people, other posts. Like, our hearts are high fiving each other through the long Internet waves that tie our computers together.

It's just for me, for you.

It goes out for nobody to see, and for everyone to see. Because the Internet is weird like that.

And also, I have no idea what the heck Tumblr really even is, and I have no idea how it works, so. It feels the most unlike social media social media I have ever had. And I don't think I'll be...Tumblr-ing hard anytime soon.

Anyway.

I guess this is like an introductory post. (Is that too cheesy to say?)

I use way too many commas, think way too much, and think I am a little bit funny.

I don't have a posting schedule, and won't have one, and probably will never figure out what on earth a Tumblr really is or how to navigate it. (I also will be posting these on Instagram. I think?)

I spent too long in the shower the past however many months, debating the reality of this idea. I never could figure out how to close this without sounding... YouTuber-y. (Crush the like button, hit the bell, and follow along for more written posts about whatever the author wants!!!!!!!!!!) So, I guess,

I am happy to have this secret. Exposure therapy rocks.

See you soon? Or...later? If you want to, that is.

Also, yes, before you ask. I happen to just really like The Legend of Zelda.

With words still being scary and shaking fingers nervously hitting Post now,

silentprincesswrites

[dishtothedeath]

I Hear the Sound of Someone Else's Problems | Liêm 2.4 | RE: wow there's a lot

The sirens call for his name. Their wailing drowns out all other noise, all other cries, all other accusations. Who is he to deny the lure? 

Everything is happening so quickly. It’s too much, in the moment, to focus on himself. Too much, and too underserved. The lighthouse never looks in, never shines upon itself. Instead, it turns its beacon outwards instead, warning sailors of the dangers of the crags as Liêm lifts his eyes. 

So much guilt is alight. 

He doesn’t move or jump when Fergus makes his move - he barely bats an eye. His gaze locks on the cleaver as it soars through the air, and he’s welcoming it to its mark. 

But mercy offers no quarter. Liêm gets to his feet, an automatic lurch as the cleaver bounces back, a shout of surprise hitching stuck in his throat in lieu of a sharp exhale as it returns to sender, signed, stamped, inked in red. 

Liêm watches the red drip down Fergus’s face. He sees the beast, thirsting for the hunt. The kill. There’s no fear in his eyes as he watches the blood drip. But there’s no pity, either. He’s been stupefied into nothing at all. 

Liêm has never been a smart man. But it speaks to years of wisdom gleaned from saying the wrong thing, expressing an errant concern, that he bites back the urge to ask Fergus if he’s alright. There’s not even a passing concern on his face as his threat booms out, and he’s there to shoulder it. All the hatred you had to offer and then some. Pile it on his back, watch as he bends, buckles, but never breaks. 

He can’t think of anything to say that would appease or comfort. It’s the hardest thing to accept that sometimes, there would be nothing he could do. Nothing to say. There’s no apology that can serve. 

Anything he could say or do wouldn’t give Fergus the closure he needed, it wouldn’t net back anything from his losses, and though Liêm’s expression is one of carefully crafted emptiness, unreadable, untouchable, a mask of an abyssal void, this hurts. 

It hurts, how much he hurt you. He wishes you could have been allowed to hurt him back. If wishes it would have killed him, to avoid what comes next.

So he hopes you’ll keep your word. He turns away with grim finality. He won’t look your way again. 

But for the rest he must face, he cannot keep his composure. Death would be a mercy, rather than facing you. 

“...M’sorry, Alfie,” Liêm can hardly manage the words. Alfie’s tears hurt, too. It hurts how much he’s hurt you. “If I’d have known…If I’d known. I’m sorry…I never would have…”

He never would have done this? Maybe. But more likely, he never would have reached out in the first place. Never would have practiced his sick, twisted sham of catch and release. Of closing gaps and spanning distances only to realize he had no idea how to follow up. How to be sincere and open and friendly enough to forge anything lasting. He’d have let you be. He never would have let you entertain the possibility that he was the sort of guy you deserved to be friends. 

“...I never told you my secret. I’m sorry. That was rude of me.” What a thing to bring up, now, of all times. His smile aches deep as he brings a finger up to his lips, eyes lighting the treacheries in the hollows.

Sailors, be warned. 

“My family is very traditional,” he admits, like he’s speaking only to Alfie. “Family honor and pride are our virtues, even if we weren’t…” Wealthy. Impressive. Strong. Or anything admirable, really, in the end. “We were proud, even when we had no reason to be. I told you then, I couldn’t tell you my secret because I didn’t know. There were too many factors. My father, my brother, my aunt, my cousins. They all had a part to play, but they all lead back to one answer. I started providing for my family to earn my way back in after my brother went missing.”

Ostracized from shame. Forced to work to provide. Coming home to be excluded within his own walls for the treacherous blood that runs in his veins. Too like his brother in the ways that counted. Not enough like him in the ways that didn’t. 

“Please, don’t worry. My family will be fine without me. If anything, this is the only way they may face society again with their heads held high. This last mercy will alleviate the shame of their relation to me.” They can finally cut him loose with this final transgression. His death will restore some of their missing pride. 

“...But as for here. For you.” Here, his face crumbles, falls, and it doesn’t pick itself back up. He falters at the finish line. The line snaps just before he can reel it in. “...I’m sorry. If I’d known how much I’d hurt you, I’d have stayed away. I’d do anything to make this easier. Please…Don’t worry. Don’t worry about what they’ll make of me. I swear, you won’t see me again, if it helps.” He promises, this isn’t worth your tears. 

The next surprise is one that rocks him harder than Fergus’ anger, Alfie’s woe, or Bonbon’s forlorn compliment. It’s more dangerous, it’s more fatal, and even though he’d been warning others to stay away, a ship crashes on his rocky shores. 

Liêm freezes like prey when arms come to wrap around him. His breathing stutters to a stop. Fergus hadn’t been able to elicit fear from him with his murderous, vindictive wrath, but somehow, Sunako had. All by offering him the exact opposite. 

Oh, don’t do this. He’s not used to being treated so gently. 

He can feel her shake and sob against him, and it wrenches his heart in two. Why were you crying? Why were you trying to comfort him? Why, when he hadn’t known you at all?

He thought he’d done everything right. He’d stayed away. Kept his distance. He hadn’t tried to impose, never welcomed you in, so what was the point of all this?

Lament stings behind his eyelids. He doesn’t cry, but he blinks, too quick to be natural. He couldn't let this be. He felt cornered in a way that the trial and the vitriol hadn't even come close to managing. Adrenaline sang in his veins.

Gently, with trembling hands he unravels himself from Sunako’s embrace, hands covering hers to delicately pry her away.

Don’t do this. Don’t do this.

“Stop,” he whispers, and he hopes his voice is comforting. He hopes it’s not breaking like he thinks it is. He hopes it’s soothing, calming, not teetering on the precipice of a fatal fall. “Stop. It’s okay.” 

You’re okay. You’re okay. Hadn’t you seen what he’d done to a person he hadn’t known at all? You should be afraid of what he’d do to someone who dared get too close. Don’t. Do this. He lowers his voice for her, and he hopes his next words make her feel as unwelcome as he had before, tender, comforting, a final nail in a coffin of his own design, gingerly turning away one of the only lamenting attendants to his wake. 

He's so scared to hurt you any more. 

“You’ll be alright, okay?”

[starshipsofstarlord]

In retrospect, bend over spy - Natasha Romanoff x reader

Masterlist Link

Summary; Natasha is on a mission, however she certainly gets more than she bargained for whilst undercover

Warnings; smut, gxg, rimming, fingering, strap on sex

The redhead slipped out of her panties, dropping the black lace to the ground, as she kicked the well loved material, that was inked with her wetness, from around her ankles. She bunched the material of her dress up she bent her bosom over your desk, slotting her legs open as she grew eager as she heard your approaching footsteps.

Your fingers plucked at her round and full cheeks, spreading them apart so you could gouge a explicit view of her quivering cunt, and the tight ring of her asshole. It’s spiral of tight skin clenched as she felt your penetrating gaze upon the close knitted ring of muscle. Allowing some spit to douse your finger, you rubbed it against her back entrance, stringing a web of a moan from her engorged and swollen mouth.

She was inadvertently biting her lips, gnawing upon her flesh and sufficiently plumping it, as she awaited for you to do something more. The assassin wiggled her ass back, as she felt you drop to your knees, feeling the curl of your tongue prodding at her rim. “Fuck, y/n.”

You moaned as you peeled the straps of your cami top down, shoving the material down to below your breasts as you pinched at your own nipples, tugging out some relief for yourself, as your tongue firmly pressed through the conviction of tight entryway, as your free hand that was failing to milk your breast slithered up to her pussy.

The fingers on your right hand spread her affiliated juices around, as you delved your nose against her crack, pushing your wet and smooth appendage further into her hole, drawing positive sounds of encouragement to continue your administrations out of her lying, scoundrel, avenger lips.

To frustrated her, you pulled back, instigating a whine from her, as you wore a dirty and privileged smirk. You stood, disappointing her, though she remained in her poised position, watching with wild forest eyes as you rounded the dismissal of your reviewing centre, coming to face her, and blessing her with the sight of your nude and stiff pebbled breasts.

“How’d you know my real name, Natalia?” Shit, she was exposed, in more ways than one. She readied to retaliate in her sultry craft of exposition, however, she stilled as you waved your hand in dismissal of her actions. “Come on tell me, and perhaps I’ll let our fun continue, may even tell you whatever you want to know, Black Widow.”

It seemed like a fair trade, for a moment in thought Natasha pursed her lips together, cocking her flushed head as she ran over her options. This was the easiest way to access an answer, and well, if you were to double cross her, then it’d be no hassle to take you out.

“You have hydra files that you recovered from a base, Coulson has been tracking you for some time. He noticed that your company provided export and import, and wanted to ensure that you weren’t spreading the word on the intel that you recovered.”

“Hm.” Crossing your arms over your free breasts, you paid her a due smile, amused by the information that she had been told. “Open the drawer to the right, Romanova, the flash drive is in there.”

Her hands obeyed your suggestion, slipping inside the storage, retaining a red keeper of files from within. Natalia held it to her face, speculating its exterior, seeing the infamous skull symbol that prompted all content the organisation stamped their works with.

“I used to be like you you know, a heroin, though I found it to be a means to an end. There is so much to sacrifice, and in the end, all you have to give is yourself. Over time, I’ve figured it’s better to be alive than dead, there is no use in instigating the title of superhero if one day you are to lose.”

“You mentioned fun after I recovered this from you, this conversation you are elaborating on hardly seems like the type.” The redhead spy spat with a quirk of her scarlet brow, as she peeled the fabric of her midnight dress up and over her head.

“Guess shield agents don’t like speaking about their travels, they used to have no mind back in my day.” Well, that supposed that you had been a traitor, having the folder of files in your possession. “I guess you don’t either considering who you have been.”

“I’m not here to trade pity tales, if you wish to enjoy our last moments together, I suggest you take those slacks off from your legs, and show me how you can possibly make my remaining presence here worthwhile.”

“Oh honey, it’s definitely going to be worth the wait.” You replied, harshly tugging at your belt, as you unravelled the Italian leather from around your waist, unzipping your trousers as they fell down, and to the ground in a figure right around your feet. “Like what you see?”

There was certainly something to see. A harness enveloped your waist, a faux appendage in the shade of lilac hanging from the centre, taunting her with surprise. It wasn’t what she had been expecting, not in the slightest.

“It’s okay.” She shrugged, no longer having to keep up the facade of an interested intern, though her pupils told a different story as they gazed lustfully at the strap. “Guess it’ll do.”

“It will do something widow, and I can prove that.” The two of you both nude, except from the attachment that’s prime purpose was instigate internal pleasure, walked towards each other, you noticed her leave the drive on the desk, but you didn’t allow her to witness your lingering view.

Instead, you ambushed her against the hardwood platform of your desk, teeth biting their way into her mouth, gaining access to slip your sly tongue within the contents of oral communication. A hum escorted out from her lungs, as her hands dug their manicured nails into your shoulders, scratching red lines into the skin, as she awaited for you to enter her.

“Prove it then.”

Well, that predicament was easy, as you bent her to your will, and arched her back against your work desk, sifting the items in the way onto the floor. “I’m glad you said that Natalia.” Her statement only gave you a rush to do exactly as she said, boy was she going to regret letting that mouth of hers run confidently against you.

Her legs spread, allowing you to stand between them, as you ran your fingertips over their tops, your teeth stretching forwards and nipping at her lip. With her hips, she shuffled, rubbing her sodden folds against the toy, she was desperate. The exterior that she portrayed, the cocky one that was here for a mission and nothing more, had been swept away as she urgently wrapped her legs around you, sending you closer to her.

“I knew you weren’t as blunt with your emotions as you are with your words.” You grabbed the base of the toy that was attached to your harness, dragging the tip of the plastic through her slit, as you readily entered her. Once you were situated completely within her, your hands changed position to be on the table, as she adjusted, your hand slid to the drive, flicking it onto the ground by your chair, changing it out for one that was beneath the mouse pad.

She was oblivious to the settlement of underlying mischief prominent in your actions, instead of focusing on your seclusive intentions, she was perused by the seducing revels that you wantonly deposited upon her, as your hips ground ceremoniously against her own, leaving a trail of erotic pecks up the expanse of her neck, as your other hand opposed a grip around the strap.

It felt like power embedded in your hand, as you provided it stability against gravity as you teased her folds with the ludicrous tip, entering the length within her walls as she cowered a mewl at the sensation of penetration, as you nipped down at her pulse point, sliding your competent fingers down to fiddle with her satirised clit, moving it around like a paddle in water. Once she was adjusted to the size of the toy, you began to retract it, only to thrust back into her.

Her head whipped back, exposing her clavicle which you eagerly traced with your tongue. With one moderately ravenous hand, you groped her breast, it filling your palm as you prowled deeper inside her, tracing your hips back and forth to create a sustainable rhythm. A glow brew upon her skin, defining her collarbones with a powerful sheen that gripped her pores wonderfully. Moans rattled huskily out from her throat as she received, as she bent her shape against yours, optimally accepting the rounds of stimulation that you adorned upon her body.

“I’m gonna cum y/n.” Her nose crinkled as she made her statement, and thus, you made your administrations that much more fast, belting into her to appease her a gyration that brought her closer to her orgasm. The last method that had her half screeching through her retrospective high, was a bittersweet pinch to her clit, that had her hurtling over the edge. You continued to move for a few moments, until it became too much for the spy.

As she caught her breath, you gently stroked her nipples, causing her to heave heavier. “Shame you were only here on a mission, that means I have no chance of convincing you to go out on a date with me.” Pulling the fake cock out of her cunt, watching as she whimpered from the notion. She grabbed for her items of clothing, slathering them back into appropriate placement upon her body.

“I don’t do dates.” She thickly stated, making you hum in acknowledgement, Natalia tried to soothe her hair with her hands until it looked presentable enough, going to turn, until you caught her arm, preventing her from doing so. You picked up the hard drive off from the desk, and simply handed it to her. “It was nice meeting you, you definitely made my breach here... interesting.”

“I aim to please.” You brashly shrugged, accepting her grateful smile as you watched the deceived and overplayed spy walk out of the door to your office. You threw your shirt over yourself, removing the harness that hugged your hips, and rolled your panties up your legs. You bent to the ground, retrieving the true aspect of your game. “Well, I guess you can’t have it all.” The real flash drive was pinched between your forefinger and your thumb as you blinked towards it.

You had managed to deceive an avenger, yet the whole cover would only be viable to hold up for so long. Your entire operation would have to move elsewhere if you were to have to avoid that fine fox and her friends. Paging your assistant, you filled her in on the business cards that were currently laid out before yourself.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Then... "Oya, what a cute bird the wind blow here"

Raven shuddered as familiar voice sound too close to her ear. She sharply turned around and saw Jade in dorm leader clothing. He looked as usual, but she couldn't ignore feeling that he secretly enjoyed that was happening. Her reaction wasn't exception.

"G-Greeting to the new dorm leader of Octavinelle," nevertheless she tried at least pretend to be polite. She didn't think that as soon as Rook would become dorm leader Jade would take this place as well.

It promised to be bothersome.

[You can read the accompanying Miss Raven and dorm leader Rook AU ficlet here! Or follow along with the entire dorm leader AU by browsing the most recent additions to the #AU tag~]

asdjlasfbioyaslIFsoguabiflaiuotfivuagd THE D D DO R M LEADER AU CONTINEUS............ .. . .. .... . . . . .. . . . . .. . . (Okay but 😷 I legit want to write a series where all the vice dorm leaders become dorm leaders... including Ruggie and Ortho, even though they aren’t technically vices~)

The ocean provided an eerie blue backlight to Jade’s figure, his single golden eye glowing in the murk. He stood tall and proud in his uniform—clothes that had once belonged to Azul—shirt tucked in, bowtie done, and jacket buttoned up well. A gentleman dipped in darkness and smoothed out by silvery moonlight... that was what he was.

"Please, please...” Jade called, beckoning with a hand and a sharp smile. His voice was silken and welcoming. “Have a seat, put your feet up. The Mostro Lounge is honored to have such an esteemed guest return to us.”

Raven bristled, chilled by his invitation. “I’m actually here to redeem a stamp card, not for a meal.”

Trade a completed card in for a free consultation, so went their campaign. By the mercy of the Sea Witch, we will hear you out.

“There was a plant I had trouble acquiring for a new ink color, so I was hoping to discuss some tips on how I could home-grow it...” Raven mumbled, averting her gaze from the eel’s. She couldn’t retain it for long before her cheeks started to heat up. “... but since Azul is no longer... erm, occupying his seat, perhaps I should excuse myself.”

She backed away toward the door, and got as far as gripping the handle before a shadow fell over her. A weight pressed on the door, forcing it back shut with an ominous, soft click. Raven gulped and slowly looked up—

—finding Jade looming above her, a hand to the door, and he rest of his body caging her in. Lounge lights swam in his eyes, running the length of his teeth.

Her mouth went dry.

“Nonsense,” Jade purred, clicking his tongue—as though addressing a disobedient child. “I assure you that I am fit to hear you out in place of Azul. After all... it is the duty of the Octavinelle dorm leader to uphold the spirit of benevolence.”

“Wha... I-I don’t want you to hear anything of mine out!! You... You sea rat!!” Raven protested, tugging hard on the handle. It rattled, but did not budge against the pressure Jade placed upon it. “I... I want OUT!!”

“Fufufu. Miss Raven, you’re making such a scene, disturbing our other guests...”

Jade’s gaze cut to the dining area, where waiters drifted with plates of food and drink, and customers passed suspicious looks over their shoulders. Too many prying eyes. Too many potential witnesses.

He returned his attention to Raven and slid a gloves hand on the small of her back. The bird jolted at his delicate touch, and the haunting smile that graced his lips.

“Shall we take this to my office? We will be able to discuss this matter in private there.”

His firm tone implied it was less of an invitation and more of a command.

Only a peep was able to escape Raven. No proper words could be formed.

Jade chuckled, tapping her hanging chin shut with the end of his—Azul’s—magical cane. “I see that I’ve taken your voice away... but alas, as charming as I find your fright to be, I must act as one of my position would and seize control of the situation.”

His hand slid to grip her shoulder like a crushing vicegrip, and he bent down to meet her at eye level. Despite Raven’s best efforts, she was forced to look right at his face—his full lips, the dangerous angles, the hypnotic gold and olive of his irises. She stared at him, even as her body started violently quivering.

Fight or flight? her brain screamed at her.

She could, realistically, do neither.

“This is a trick I’ve picked up from my dear peer and fellow dorm leader, Riddle-san,” Jade murmured, allowing his breath to smother the tiny raven. “When I give an order, your response should be ‘yes, dorm leader’. Do I make myself clear?”

Raven swallowed her courage, and it sank to the very bottom of her. A heavy anchor, cast into the sea an unable to be summoned, to be hauled up.

The air around her was stifling, the light blocked out by Jade’s form. The water pressure could not touch her beyond Octavinelle’s glass walls—but the immense authority, the self-assuredness Jade radiated was even more constrictive.

She fought for her breath, and managed to choke out, “Y-Yes... dorm leader...”

“Fufufu. That’s better. I’m glad to see that you take to following directions so well, Miss Raven.”

His hand returned to her back, giving a slight push. “Now then, let us be off to discuss your important matter. I shall brew you some tea and serve some biscuits to help calm your poor nerves.”

He led her away, deeper and deeper into the depths of his new lair.

Somehow, Raven felt as though she were caught in the jaws of an underwater beast.

[lustbile]

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

���Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

wonderland, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: The curious thing about adventure is that you never know when it starts. For Jeon Jungkook, it starts on a train, staring at a woman with exposed shoulders, eventually leading to his lips on her wrists, his tongue dancing over the words, eat me, drink me.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; graphic descriptions of fantasized sexual acts (fem reader, slight ink kink, biting / marking, dry humping, m and f-receiving oral, cowgirl, a ridiculous amount of sexual tension); non-idol!BTS; Alice Adventures in Wonderland themed; strangers-to-lovers; (purple-haired) Jungkook's POV; based on this

--

"How do you know I’m mad?" said Alice. "You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn’t have come here.”

excerpt from alice's adventures in wonderland by lewis carroll

He swallowed hard.

He shouldn’t be staring.

But he was.

She turned her head and looked right at him.

He quickly jerked his eyes away, zoning in on a screw bolted to the floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. He should not be gawking at some random woman on the train. That was creepy, no matter how attractive she was. Her outfit was eye-catching, that was all. He had noticed her because of the off-the-shoulder, v-neckline of her black-and-white tartan top that exposed her shapely collarbones and shoulders. The floaty bishop sleeves ended with delicate hands that were elegantly poised on her bare knees, complete with a flared black skirt that revealed most of her juicy thighs because of her crossed legs. And those calves. Fuck. All that and it unexpectedly ended with chunky, ribbon-laced black boots.

Beside her was a black leather purse that was shaped like a coffin.

It rested against her hip.

The train screeched to a stop and people began to move, shoes appearing in his line of vision. She didn’t notice, right? No. Of course not. He just… zoned out. He wasn’t staring at her collarbones and shoulders, imagining planting kisses over that skin, running his teeth over them and leaving bright red marks.

Shit, what the hell was wrong with him?

Someone sat down on the seat next to him. He scooted closer to the window, away from whoever it was. There were plenty of seats on the train. Something hit the outside of his thigh, flat and oddly-shaped.

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the coffin purse against his black jeans.

He jumped, snapping his head up.

“Sorry about that.”

His eyes shifted and she was looking right at him.

Expression unreadable.

His heart exploded, frightfully fluttering like a trapped bird in his ribcage.

“I-It’s okay.”

She lifted the purse and placed it in her lap. Then she tapped her right ear.

“It’s the earring, isn’t it? You’re curious what it says.”

His eyes darted to the earrings gleaming on said ear. She had three piercings, all silver, two on the lobe and one on the cartilage. The cartilage was a ram skull whose horns curved around the outside of the ear. The two lobe piercings were a hoop with an embedded black stone and a large script earring that dangled down, swinging every time she moved her head.

It read, eat me, drink me.

“It matches these.”

She lifted her hands and turned them around, pulling down the bishop sleeves and exposing her wrists to him. One had a tattoo of a small, square-shaped cake with text printed in the center – eat me. The other was a bulbous, potion-shaped bottle with a vintage-looking tag on it in the same font – drink me.

“Alice in Wonderland,” he breathed.

She smiled at him and he swore his heartbeat multiplied into seven birds feverishly flapping in his ribcage.

She turned her wrists inward, resting them on her purse. “I don’t see many people with exposed tattoos,” she commented, ticking her head to his right hand.

“A-ah… yeah,” he stuttered, covering the back of his hand with his left, leaving only the sheepish emoji tattoo on his upper middle knuckle exposed. “My mom hates them. Well, not hate, but she doesn’t like that I got so many at once.”

“Your mom ever told you that staring is impolite?”

His cheeks burned hot. “S-Sorry!” He bowed his head downward in guilt, gulping nervously. From this position, he could see her hands.

The left was tipped up, exposing the eat me tattoo on her inner wrist.

“Whoa, no need to apologize like that. I was only teasing you.”

He lifted his head slowly and her wrist turned back inward, now simply the back of her hand. His eyes flickered up and she was looking right at him. He almost jerked his head away in embarrassment, but tried to maintain eye contact.

Don’t be a creep.

Her gaze was unwavering, unreadable.

“You think I’m weird, huh?” she said with an amused smile.

He blinked rapidly. “No. No, I don’t. I thought… your purse was pretty unique,” he offered, pointing to it. It made him look down to make sure he was pointing at the right thing.

Her right wrist was exposed to him, the drink me tattoo stark and enticing.

He had a brief, obscene image of his lips attached to it, running his tongue up and down the inked skin, catching a bit of it in between his teeth and releasing it, moan on the tip of his tongue.

He yanked himself out of the moment of jamais vu, quickly switching to her face, his peripheral vision noticing her wrist turned back inward, pressing against the leather. Her lips curved into a coy smirk.

“I get questions about that too, on the regular. I saw it in a shop and liked it, so I purchased it.”

A lock of purple hair fell into his vision, somehow dislodged from his ear, but he couldn’t look away. Something about her tone made it seem like she was going to say more, so he sat there, frozen, captured by those alluring eyes that called to him.

“That and if I’m single or not.”

He felt his eyes widen a little, breath catching in his throat, the birds in his ribcage smashing against their confines, anxiety and anticipation roused from deep within him. Fear wasn’t the right word. It was more like seeing something from the corner of your eye that makes you do a double take, a mix of curiosity and interest, invested in what you might see.

“I am, if you’re curious.”

“O-oh. I… see…”

Her smirk grew into sly delight. She lifted her right hand and placed her palm on her chin, lips against her closed fingers, elbow resting on the coffin purse. Movement slow, deliberate. His lips parted, more violet hair falling around his face. His normal nervousness would have him looking away and pushing it back, but he somehow couldn’t. At least there was safety in this veiled curtain of purple surrounding the edges of his vision. Her hand turned, fingers cupping the left side of her face. Lips sliding down, emphasizing the plushness of them, and he could almost feel the warm inhale on his skin, but there was no way he could – he wasn’t that close and she wasn’t breathing that hard, but that was the feeling he got. Goosebumps prickled on the back of his neck.

He held his breath.

Her lips pressed to her tattoo, the faintest flicker of tongue against the ink.

There was no way anyone would notice unless they were looking very closely to her mouth.

His lower lip trembled, shudder shaking his shoulders.

The train screeched to a stop and the intercom called nonsensically, mumbles as stamping feet rushed out. No one seemed to notice the impossible electricity of this moment, shrinking it to just him, those lips, and that tattoo, the drink me text right there between her lips, an image that he had already seen, except it was his lips on that skin, and that image was imaginary because it only existed in his head.

She pulled her lips away and looked out the window, past him.

“I have to get off at the next stop.”

He was the stop after the next.

“May I…?”

Her eyes drifted back to him. “Hm?”

His eyes flickered down to her right hand, her inner wrist resting on black leather.

“Have a closer look at your tattoo?”

He wasn’t looking at her face. He was staring at the back of her unmoving hand.

“I mean, if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable–”

But before he could finish his sentence, the wrist was turning, lifting, placed right in front of his hungry eyes. Her forearm slid down the leather, grazing her skirt, suspended in the air for the briefest of moments, and then it brushed against his thigh, his left hand turning, and her graceful wrist rested on the pad of his palm, black ink standing out against that skin.

He was touching it.

Holding it.

Her presence neared. His eyes widened.

Goosebumps prickling, her warm inhale feathering right on his curve of neck to shoulder. His white sweatshirt was several sizes too big so the neckline was also oversized, revealing the tops of his own collarbones.

“It doesn’t bother me. Take a look.”

The train rushed into a tunnel, deafening all sound, and then it was only her voice and his gaze on that potion bottle, mesmerized. His hand rose, lifting her arm close to his face, his breathing shallowing. What was he doing? This was crazy. Absolutely crazy.

“If you want, you can bring it even closer. It's quite detailed.”

Insane.

He was lifting her hand, curiouser and curiouser, closer and closer, the script getting bigger and bigger, expanding, taking over his vision. His eyes following the elegant and prominent outline, drink me, the slightly dashed lines that emphasized the roundness of the bottle, the added etched fraying of the edges of the tag, drink me, the way the liquid was drawn to look like it was sloshing a little, as if it was really moving, drink me. He thought it was all in his head.

Her whisper, like sultry smoke, swaying the dangling earrings on his left ear.

“Drink me.”

He pressed his lips to the drink me script and moaned, so soft that she probably couldn’t hear it, but she could feel it on her wrist, vibrating her skin and his tongue tracing the lines, kissing softly, the taste somehow sweet, or was it just his imagination? Was it just a dream or was her body really a wonderland?

The edge of desire, on the cusp of something unknown.

He hadn’t even realized his eyes had closed and he opened them, seeing her looking directly at him, amusement sparkling in those mysterious orbs. He whimpered quietly, realizing how strange this was, how unbelievably weird, and this wasn’t him, this wasn’t something he ever thought he would do, or even something he ever imagined he would ever be in the position to do, kissing the wrist of a stranger on the train, but she pressed her wrist to his lips, her own parting in a faint Cheshire Cat smile.

“Don’t be afraid. I like it.”

He should let go and apologize for his odd behavior. His lips moved on her skin and there was nothing but her taste lingering on his lips, lost in images his head had conjured, tumbling, tumbling.

"Me too," he whispered, looking up into her eyes, silently saying, I don't know why.

Her smile was all he could see.

"You're very handsome...?" She tilted her head, inquiring.

The subway tunnel made the train roar around them.

"Jeon Jungkook."

The smile widened. She lifted her left wrist.

"Would you like to, Jungkook?"

His eyes flickered to it. The little square-shaped cake, eat me. Then back to her, heart racing, lowering her right and her left neared, his fingers slowly encircling her wrist, his eyes following the detail of the small crumbles, eat me, the added line shading to make the cake seem fluffed and appetizing, despite having no frosting or other decorations, eat me, the letters that looked almost stamped on her skin, eat me, and then he attached his lips to it, lightly nicking with his teeth, a nibble that flooded his senses with rushing pleasure.

He looked at her through his lashes, licking at her wrist, and she breathed out, unmistakable desire, her fingertips ghosting his cheek.

There was a sudden bloom of light as the train exited the tunnel, rays of overhead lights expanding through the windows, and he pulled back, gasping, holding her hand tightly, suddenly aware of the world around him, people getting up, sound crackling through the intercom, her hand in his and his thigh pressed against hers, the corner of her coffin bag digging into him because he was so close, so close to this stranger with beautiful tattoos and sweet-tasting skin.

The doors opened.

His eyes darted from her to their joined hands, then back to that faint grin playing on her lips, somehow the only thing he seemed to see.

"Coming?"

His other hand closed around his backpack.

They walked out together, hand in hand.

No one paid any attention to them.

Why would they? They had their own lives, hurrying home, pushing past each other, late for something, early for others. Time tick, tick, ticking, frowning at their wristwatches and wondering where the time had gone, an absurd thought, because time was made to provide linear reason to a nonexistent plane that flowed in every direction and preceded all other things, and so you were always late.

Always.

Jungkook stared at the back of her exposed shoulders, her hair pushed to the left, script earring dangling of her right ear, following on her light steps, all while holding her left hand and watching those muscles flex and relax, spellbound by the movement. She weaved through the crowd, slinking in spaces where he didn't think there was space, stopping for a moment to let someone pass, and Jungkook bumped into her back, his body flush to hers. Because of her tall shoes, the height difference was lessened and those long legs meant her ass and his crotch matched up is perfectly when otherwise they wouldn't.

His breath caught in his throat at the contact of softness to his hardness.

"Thank you for waiting."

The old woman smiled gratefully and the younger bowed her head, letting the elder take careful strides to the escalators.

She rolled her hips into Jungkook's jeans and his unbearable, stiff erection slid down his right pant leg, trapped against his inner thigh and layers of fabric, hot and pulsing.

He swallowed hard, releasing his backpack to grip her shoulder, turning his head so his long purple hair shadowed his eyes and cheek, smelling the tea-like scent of her hair. His inked hand stood out against the nakedness of her shoulder. She turned her head and the long earring bumped against his cheek, icy cold to flushed skin.

The images crept into his mind, them sitting on the train and her in his lap, his left hand pressing her head forward, her hair spilling down, neck and shoulders exposed to his waiting mouth, lips to delectable skin, kissing, sucking, biting, his hands sliding down the curves, pushing her legs apart, spreading them wide, his nails sinking into her inner thighs, her ass on his crotch, grinding down. Marks on those shoulders and neck, her mouth open and soft cries tickling his ears, her hands finding his, eat me on top of his left wrist, drink me above his right wrist, his hands sliding down to wet heat, fingertips pressing into drenched, slick fabric.

What was wrong with him?

"Let's walk a little, hm?"

Jungkook had been holding her left with his left. He let go of her shoulder and readjusted his backpack on his, standing behind her, not quite shy, but still shadowing the path she laid for him, his steps in her steps, his breath on her neck as he spoke in this moment.

"I'm not like this, normally."

He wasn't like this, ever.

"Isn't it alright to fall into abnormality to discover what is wild and new?"

His lips brushed the ram earring on her cartilage, gasping lightly as her hips swayed against the front of his pants, instant, hot, radiating friction.

Her fingers that were laced with his stroked the back of his hand.

This train stop connected to an underground mall, still alive with people and open shops. The scent of restaurants cooking away at this busy time made the air heavy and thick, wafting around the crowd, inciting customers to fill their bellies.

"Does it bother you?" she asked, walking through the crowd with feline grace, but there was a playfulness to her movement. She turned back to look at him, smile dancing on her lips.

"Uh... I... I don't know," he admitted truthfully, staring at those lips, feeling them ghosting his inner thigh, long tongue extending and licking his hard, throbbing length from tip to base before pushing it up, making him gasp, tongue swirling around the bottom, wrapping around his balls, soaking them with saliva, her eyes on him, watching, her wrist pressed to the red, aching, leaking head of his cock, pre-cum smearing all over the words, drink me.

"That's odd, Jungkook. Usually people know if they're bothered by something."

His eyes drifted up from her lips to her eyes, little lights that glimmered or maybe it was simply the sparkly lighting of the whimsical shops around them, crammed full of knickknacks and cute things. Something caught his eye in one of the windows – a writing desk, covered in pastel stationery, set up with pens and half-written notes, as if the busy student had just left the desk.

An obsidian raven plush was perched at the corner of the desk, looking down at the mess left behind by an imaginary child dreamt up by sales associates.

He looked back to her right in front of him. Her head was tilted, her body twisted because he was still holding her left hand. In her right, she held her coffin purse.

"It's not you I'm bothered by," he said slowly, realizing that it was the truth as he said it. Despite this woman being completely unfamiliar to him, a riddling enigma, she had done nothing but present him with things to consider.

"I don't understand what's going on in my head."

He let go of her hand.

Underneath these lights and surrounded by passerby that walked around them without a second thought, Jungkook stared into the eyes of the stranger of his memory.

His hand tentatively touched her waist, waiting for her to step back. She stepped forward, into his warmth. His fingers closed, resting snugly on tartan fabric and the waistband of her skirt, the slimmest sliver of skin in between the two articles of clothing.

She smiled.

"You're a little curious, aren't you?"

His middle finger pushed the hem upward, the pad of his finger directly on her skin.

Her lips parted.

Her left hand raised, touching his chest lightly, elegant fingers barely on the fabric, but he felt more, felt those fingers dig into his sweatshirt and clutch it tightly, pulling it up and over his head, his own left hand pressing her chest down, grabbing the bottom of that off-the-shoulder tartan top, his lips on her stomach, hungry kisses, his hands on her skirt, forcing her to hold it up, dragging her panties down as he looked up at her on his knees before leaning to hot, wet nectar, letting it fill his tongue and mouth, the viscous juices sticking to his lips, his cheeks, sweet and tart, so delicious, and he wanted it all, his hands gripping her ass, fingers of her left hand tangling in his hair, pushing him closer, not letting him go until she was satisfied, her wrist surrounded by dark purple stands curling around the words, eat me.

"You have beautiful eyes, Jungkook."

He blinked, the image gone, feeling his neck heat. "R-Really?"

Her hand lifted off his chest and reached up, nearing his face. Her fingers traced the air, hovering.

"The shape. The way it raises in the center and curves down like this," she whispered to his chin, sounding awed. "The inner corner, so sharp and defined. And the color, like freshly brewed black tea cradled in a delicate teacup."

It was the most bizarre love letter to his eyes that he had ever received and, yet, it suited her and tore his heart asunder, beating wildly in his chest, the anxious birds trapped in his ribcage suddenly released, the stinging air of his rushed exhale making him feel strangely detached, as if his head was no longer part of his body.

"Touch me," Jungkook whispered.

Her fingers millimeters from his face, the eat me cake tattoo and his own purple hair shrouding his peripheral vision.

Fingertips pressed to his right cheekbone, caressing it gently.

He started at her lips and he could feel it, her hand encircling his head, lips to lips, heated, all-encompassing kisses that consumed him, his hands on her waist, pulling her on top of him, his hardness pressed to her softness, sliding in between soaked folds, her gasp on his tongue, gripped by her tight walls wrapped around his stiff length as he pushed deeper, his eyes rolling back as he bottomed out, her tongue tracing his open mouth, her teeth nipping on his lower lip, whispering his name in burning ecstasy, rocking her hips to his, surreal pleasure enveloping him, her hands in his hair, moaning onto his chin as she held onto him, his hands clutching her hips, lost in the heat, the softness, the tightness, the sweetness, thrusting up into her pussy, his cock drenched with her, their dragged-out pants echoing as he took her wrists, one by one, pressing eat me, drink me to his lips, his tongue tracing a circle around the words, staring into her eyes, a wonderland he had yet to discover, all in a golden afternoon.

"Jungkook, may I kiss you?"

He blinked, realizing his gaze had landed on her collarbones and shoulders. He raised his head, a smile forming in his lips.

"Please."

She leaned in and he met her halfway, lips to lips, her wispy, contented sigh as they connected, warm and inviting. His hands around her waist, holding her to him, and her hand cupped his jaw, fingers sliding back to tangle in his purple hair, pressing her chest and thighs to his body, tongue flitting against tongue, teasing, and he wasn't like this normally, truly, all of this was absurd on many levels, but the kiss was like being shaken awake, comforting him from head to toe, the sounds of people swirling around them. Laughter, conversation, footsteps going forward.

The kiss broke. She pulled away with a smile, her lips flushed from the contact.

"What's your name?" he asked breathlessly.

She laughed, leaning against him, her fingers playing with his long violet hair.

Her name, formed by her lips and then by his, the beginning of an adventure.

What a curious, curious happening for Jeon Jungkook.

--

masterpost

[isolemnlyswear]

can i request sirius x readers where they fight? something like “youre just obsessed to fix me” but with a fluff ending? thank you so much, have a great day❤️

fix me

young!sirius x fem!reader

a/n : thank you for the request my love!! i hate angst but this turned out okay ! if ur reading this please follow me on @mullthingsoverinthehotwater i’m one away from 500 :P

warnings : smoking, swearing, angst, fluff!!

taglist : @oldschoolkiddo @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @faeinorbit @tomriddleswifey @inks-and-jinx @jxsperhxle @punkrific @the-gazette-of-tea @krasivayadarling @orifortheweeknd @fallin-4-ya @incxndio @daisyyy2516 @hoe4cedricdiggory (dm or send me an ask to be added or removed!

---

“Sirius, you have to stop doing that, my love.” You sigh, not looking up from your book.

He scoffs, exhaling so that a thin ring of smoke leaves his mouth, hovering in front of him for but a moment until it wisps away into the evening air of the black lake.

“No.” He takes another whiff of his cigarette - from where he procured, you're unsure - and looks at you in defiance.

At that, you look up from your book, shutting it and turning to the boy.

“I'm only trying to help you, Sirius, they're really-”

“What, they're really bad for me? As if I haven't been told that before.” He runs his left hand through his raven hair, rolling his eyes just barely.

“Well, they are-” you begin, but he scoffs again, cutting you off.

“I'm aware, Y/N.” His use of your full name, rather than a nickname or a pet name, alarms you, and you furrow your brows.

“What is going on, Sirius, why are you being such a-”

“A git?” he interrupts you again, cocking his head as if in petty amusement, and you take in an irritated breath.

“Why do you keep interrupting me?” you ask calmly, desperate not to lose your temper on the boy you love.

“Why do you keep trying to fucking fix me? It's like your obsession, like you can't refrain from trying to ‘help me.’” His voice is raised now, and he's glaring at you angrily. Your voice constricts in your throat, words of retaliation dying on your tongue.

Tears are welling in your eyes, and he looks perfectly composed except for the anger that boils behind his silver irises.

“Spoiler alert, you wannabe martyr, I don't need to be fixed. Nor do I fucking want to be,” he practically spits, and you blink to try to hold back the tears pooling at your waterline.

“I'm fucking sorry that I want the man I love to be the best he can be, alright? I don't know what the fuck you even want from me, Sirius Black.” You get up from where you're sitting, leaving the clearing just as tears start to fall uncontrollably down your face.

You run as fast as you can, attempting to wipe the tears from your eyes as you go the only place you can think to - the common room.

You stumble through the porthole after sobbing out the password, receiving a judgemental look from the painting. As usual, Remus and James are lounged across the red velvet couch, discussing Merlin knows what, when they see you walk in.

Remus rushes to your side, leading you with a hand placed tentatively on your elbow so that you can sit down.

“What happened?” James asks apprehensively, and you attempt to steady your breath, rather unsuccessfully, in order to speak.

“S-Sirius-” is all you can choke out, and Remus’s face hardens as he makes the connection.

“What did he say, Y/N?” the lycanthrope asks, teeth clenched. He loves his best friend dearly, but man, can he be a royal asshole.

“He s-said that I w-was a wanna-wannabe m-martyr, ob-obsessed with fixing h-him.” You're fully sobbing now, unable to restrain the cries that choke between your words.

“That fucker,” James curses under his breath, rubbing your back soothingly.

“‘M j-just trying to help him, h-he said he didn't want t’be fixed,” you wail, and Remus shushes you comfortingly.

“S’okay, s’okay, he's just being an arse, alright? He isn't used to letting people in, he's scared, Y/N. It's not your fault, okay?” Remus says softly, and you nod, tears falling into your lap.

James ushers you upstairs to take a shower, and Remus, meanwhile, sets out to find Sirius.

Sirius is still sitting by the black lake, gazing off into the distance, still smoking his cigarette.

“Sirius Orion Black, what the fuck did you do?” Remus says, jaw clenched, and Sirius raises his eyebrows at the boy.

“Did Y/N fucking-” he says after a beat, cursing under his breath.

“Wannabe martyr? Really, Black? You had to stoop that low?” Remus glares at the raven-haired boy, who takes in a deep breath.

“She told me again that I need to stop smoking, I don't know why she can't just let me be-”

“Let you be? Sirius, she's your fucking girlfriend! You still love her, do you not?”

“Of course I do, but she just-”

“No fucking buts, Black. You love her. And you see how much she loves you, correct?”

“Yeah, she'd do anything for me-”

“Exactly! Are you daft? Can't you see that she'd do anything to make you happy, to make you thrive, to give you a better fucking life so that you can live it with her?” Remus is practically yelling, now, and Sirius looks down at his feet.

“I didn't look at it like that,” he says quietly, running a hand through his raven hair.

“Apologize, and tell her you love her. For the love of Merlin, that girl is incredible, and you need to show her that what you said was a fucking lie.” Remus demands, shaking his head.

Sirius nods, getting up from his seat on the grass and summoning his ashtray, stamping the cigarette into it firmly.

“Thank you, Moony,” he says, nodding curtly before leaving to find you.

You've just gotten out of the shower, brushing up with some makeup and clean clothes in the mirror.

You walk out in one of Sirius’s jumpers to find the owner of such stumbling into your dorm room. You purse your lips, turning away from him and walking to your desk, blinking back the tears that threaten to return.

“Y/N, please-”

“Please what?” you snap, turning to face him.

“Please forgive me, angel.” Sirius’s lip is trembling, and he's looking at you with pleading eyes.

“Sirius, I-” you cut yourself off, breath hitching in your throat. He doesn't interrupt you, rather, gulps as he holds your gaze.

“I'm sorry, I really, really fucking am. I know I can't just take it back, but I didn't- I didn't mean it, love, I didn't. You're incredible, and beneficent, and I truly love you. It's alright if you need some time, I was a dick, but please let me make it up to you. All I want from you is you.”

Tears are rolling down your cheeks, and you throw yourself onto the boy, burying your head in his neck. Although what he said hurt you, it's not hard to tell how much the boy completely and fully loves you.

“Tu es mon tout et plus encore, ma chérie. Pour toujours, nous le serons.”

translation, courtesy of my mediocre french and google translate : you are my everything and more, my darling. forever we will be.

[lunaastoir]

cute things i think the genshin characters would do

characters included: diluc, kaeya, venti, and albedo 

****minor lore spoilers for diluc!****

an: i’m thinking of making this into a series bc this was such an adorable concept to write so lmk if you’re interested 👀 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

diluc 

sorry kind of starting off with something a little sad 

i think diluc would have a habit of rubbing his vision 

ok seems kinda dumb at first but let me elaborate: 

after the death of his father, diluc was quite obviously devastated 

he basically withdrew into himself after letting all the grief, pain, and rage flood his senses

i think during this time of grieving, he would’ve developed this habit of running the pads of his fingers across his vision to calm himself down 

(v similar to katara from atla) 

since his father had always been proud of diluc’s vision, the thought of touching something that reminded him of his father has always been able to bring him some sort of relief no matter how short lived

it serves as a constant memory of his dad and i think being able to have that kind of connection - no matter how small would hold a significance to him 

stressed? you’ll see his fingers dance across his vision as the crease between his eyebrows gradually loosens 

ok here’s a bonus habit (bc the previous one was sad) 

whenever he’s bartending at angel’s share, he always flips the bottles in this cool bartending way before pouring the drinks 

like the whole shabang - flips in the air, shakes it in a way that the drink foams just right 

people are usually v surprised when they see this bc woah mans has got some sKILLS 

but also bc he’s known for being pretty serious and reserved so seeing a “trick” is kind of breaking the stoic image they have of him 

after he’s done pouring the drinks he’s also really precise about closing the bottles 

he makes sure that the caps are on tightly and that nothing is leaking (which ig is another reason why he does flips with them so he can make sure that the bottles are tightly closed) 

yes he’s rich but he also wants to make sure the drinks don’t go bad bc 1) kind of a loss if they do and 2) his customers deserve the best 

sweet man pls protect him <3 

kaeya

when he’s sitting down at his desk, he brings his legs up so he can sit on his chair criss- cross applesauce 

since he’s in his office and the only other person who’s in there with him is jean, he feels like he can drop the suave, charming cavalry captain facade he puts on when he’s in public and just dial it down slightly to who he really is in that moment 

jean doesn’t say a word the entire time even tho she quite obviously notices 

don’t get me wrong, he’s still the smooth talking kaeya but just,,, more relaxed and comfortable?? if that makes sense 

so since he’s a lot more comfortable in his office, he usually folds his legs into his chair bc damn they hurt from walking around all day

this is kinda dumb but i also think he has a lot of ink stains on his hands from writing so whenever he sees a fresh one he just likes to stamp it onto a piece of paper 

usually that piece of paper ends up being an unimportant report that goes to jean 

dw he also has a bunch of pretty small towels in his bottom drawer that he uses to wipe his hands on bc the public can’t see the pretty cavalry captain w ink stains!! the world would end!! 

oH kind of a side note but i also think he would keep a small folded up picture of something klee drew him in his pocket 

he thinks it’s very sweet and he periodically takes it out just to look at it soft for this man 

last one for kaeya but since he wears boots that have the little lip on the bottom (not really a heel but enough to make some noise) he makes sure to always try his best to walk quietly around the streets of mondstadt at night 

if anyone catches him doing it he’ll wave it off and say something like “oh me? i’m just practicing my stealth - it comes in handy when you have to sneak up on enemies you know?” but in reality that’s just bs 

he really just doesn’t wanna risk waking people up <3 

venti

this adorable man is obviously notorious for drinking 

he loves alcohol!! i mean he’s the anemo archon of the city of wine and freedom so is anyone really surprised 💀

anyways venti always jokes abt not having any mora (he really doesn’t he’s not wrong) but he always makes sure to pay his tab at angel’s share 

the only reason diluc lets him drink sm is because at the end of the day, venti always comes through w the mora 

he really is a talented bard so everything he makes in singing and composing music for other people to listen to always goes straight to angel’s share (debatable if that’s for the best or not but i’ll leave that one to you) 

so yeah <3 basically venti pays back his tabs even tho he’s an archon since he doesn’t want people to experience a loss bc of him 

it’s the archon nature coming out but also the venti nature bc he’s a sweet boy 

anyways getting onto the actual habit 🕺

he has a tendency to skip/hop regardless of wherever he’s going 

he uses his anemo elemental skill a lot while doing this just he can feel a light breeze whenever he skips around 

i also think he carries around extra bard strings in his hat bc he thinks it’s a cool party trick to take them out and be like tada i have extra strings no need to worry!!! 

people are usually not that amused but he does it anyway 

also yeah uh those strings sometimes fall out when he’s skipping 💀 

he’ll be hopping and suddenly bOOM they fall out, he loses them, a kitten by the name of prince takes them, and he has to ask for help to find his strings (i believe this is exactly how venti lost his strings to prince during the windblume festival and no i will not take any criticism and if venti says something different he is lying 🔪)

also has a habit of putting his hair into a bun sometimes!!! 

he loves his pigtails but he finds that he gets bored of them occasionally and his hair needs a break from its wavy tresses so he just plops it into a bun instead 

so so cute 10/10 hairstyle he can do my hair 

anyways love this man thanks for coming home <3 

albedo

i had a feeling i would kind of have a hard time w albedo since he is a little hard to read so i hope this is ok LMFAO 

he has paint stains. everywhere. no you cannot change my mind. 

they are subtle tho i will give him that 

you can’t notice that anything is amiss until you really pay attention and then you’ll start to see the pretty pastels and greens of the sunset he was painting up on dragonspine softly smeared across his clothes 

very rarely you’ll see a cute swipe of paint across his cheek or neck and it’s honestly adorable 

he was probably pushing his hair out of his face while he was painting and some excess paint on his finger landed on his cheek :,) 

he doesn’t really care tbh he thinks it’s just a part of him and it really isn’t that noticeable so he just leaves it 

also!!! since he is a big alchemist and he’s constantly working on labs and experiments i think he would accidentally misplace a lot of his written work 

he seems very organized but w someone as intellectual as him w his brain running miles a minute, i’m sure he has definitely forgotten where he’s put stuff away 

so!! in order to help him remember, he has little notes across his lab detailing where everything is 

if he was working on something and he immediately has to put it on hold bc something came up (klee came in demanding attention or sucrose needs help) then he’ll quickly jot down a note and stick it to his desk so he’ll remember when he comes back just in case he forgets 

sucrose as a result has noticed A LOT of notes across the lab and it’s simultaneously funny and endearing 

“started experiment with sweet flowers to try and turn them into a youth elixir: papers --> on the desk right next to klee’s photo” 

final point: he lets klee braid his hair sometimes if she wants to 

she doesn’t really know how given how young she is so she ends up messing up but albedo always walks her patiently through the steps again 

always makes time for klee no matter what bc he really does care a lot abt her :,) 

i love him sm pls 

[abbatoirablaze]

Teller Morrow Tragedy, The Prequel, Chapter 6

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: underage drinking, underage tattoo, sexual situations/sexual tension.

JAX'S POV

"I can't believe you did that," I laughed. She smiled, and pulled me to herself, kissing me roughly. I smirked into the kiss and pulled her back against my body.

"I know!" she exclaimed, pulling away from me. She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the street, "come on."

"Where are we going?" I laughed.

She kept pulling me along until we'd reached a tattoo shop, "I know it's five, and you would much rather do anything but be in a sho-"

"Let's go," I grinned, partially already knowing what she wanted to do. She smiled and pulled me into the shop. The guys at the counter looked bored, like they wanted to go home.

"Sorry guys, we're closing up early for the night."

"I'll pay you a grand," Tara said. She pulled out her fake ID, and her bank card, "I want a crow on the small of my back."

The two guys looked at one another. The one guy shook his head, "I'm going home. We were only supposed to be here til 4. Should have come in earlier."

Tara turned her attention to the other guy, "Can you, do it? I'll give you a grand. You can run my card right now and everything."

The guy bit his lip and nodded slightly, "I'll do it if it goes through."

"It will," she smiled. She took my hand and we watched as the guy ran her card and nodded.

"I'll catch ya later man," the first artist said, heading out the door. The second guy led Tara back and had her fill out some forms while he prepped the ink and he did a quick sketch. I heard the needle start up about half an hour later, and I walked to the front of the shop. Tara was getting a crow tramp stamped on her, and it kind of turned me on.

Yeah, I wasn't patched in yet, but this was something her and I argued over all the time. She told me that she didn't want me to be part of the Sons. Told me that it was a waste of both of our time. But lately, she’d been falling in line. She’d come on rides with me and had even shown up to the clubhouse a few times for the holiday parties. Guess she changed her mind.

"I'm your old lady now," she smiled a few hours later, admiring the work in the mirror. The guy patched her up and ushered us out of the shop so that he could go home. She smiled and kissed me, but winced when my hands went to wrap around her, “shit…super sore, Jax.”

"You realized you were my girlfriend before that, right?" I joked.

She stuck her tongue out at me, "yeah, but before...you know, Alicia had the crow because of you. Now I do."

I took it in stride but sucked in my cheeks. She seemed oblivious to my reaction as she didn't notice. I tried to smile it off as we made our way back to TM for the new year's eve party.

Did she only get it because of Alicia?

Did she really accept what I am, or did she do it because she's jealous? I hadn’t been allowed much time with Mikey ever since her and I had gotten together, and I knew that it pissed both Alicia and Tara off to no-end.

“Mikey is your daughter too,” she hissed, “Alicia is just being a bitch by not letting you see her.”

“I mean we live in the same house,” I shrugged, “I see Mikey all the time.”

“But she doesn’t let you take her out and do things with her,” she said quickly in response, “she doesn’t let you take her out when we do things.”

“Mikey doesn’t really know you, Tara,” I replied with another shrug of my shoulders, “you know how wary she is of new people.”

“She’s around bikers all the time,” Tara sneered, “she just doesn’t trust women other than Alicia and Gemma.”

“If I was a baby girl I wouldn’t trust the guys in my family around crow eaters either,” I laughed, trying to make a joke of it. Tara frowned and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, “aww, come on, sweetheart, what did I say?”

"Jax," she squealed, making her way back to me. I don't know how far ahead she'd gotten, but she started coming back for me. She took my hand, "come on."

I nodded along, following her as she practically ran to the clubhouse. Mom was there, sitting on Clay's lap. Bobby's wife, precious Ryan had taken the night off and were there as well. Off in the corner I saw how Happy had come down from Tacoma yet again and was talking to Alicia. It kind of pissed me off, for the past few months I would catch her on the phone with him. He would come down and visit when he passed through and visited his mom. Even Mikey had started taking a liking to him.

I walked over to the bar and nodded to a crow eater. She handed me and Tara beers. My mom pulled them away from us before we could take sips, "what in the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Aww come on," Clay laughed, ruffling my hair, "it's new year's eve Gem, give em a break."

"You two going to stay at the clubhouse tonight?"

I nodded, lying to her. She gave me a stern look and I smiled at her, "of course we are, mom."

Mom narrowed her eyes at me before looking to Tara, "and you?"

Tara nodded her head, "of course, Gemma."

I smiled as mom gave us the beers back. I nodded over to the corner Alicia was in, "what's with SAMTAC being here so much?"

"He's trying to make her his old lady," mom laughed, leaning against the bar, "she had a date with Happy ass over there a few months ago and ever since then he’s been coming by every couple of weeks."

I nodded, taking a swig of my beer, "thanks mom."

We started walking off to the table where Chibs and Tig were playing cards with Piney, "Jacky boy."

I smirked as Chibs got out of his chair and hugged me. I looked over to Piney, "Ope coming by tonight?"

He shook his head, "Mary took the keys to his bike. He snuck out to go see Donna."

I laughed and sat down in the chair, pulling Tara onto my lap. Tig nodded at my beer, "your mom say that was alright?"

"And Clay," I added in. Tig shook his head, and they dealt the next hand. We bullshit with everyone for a while, until our beers were empty. Tara took my empty and went over to the bar to exchange them.

"She changed er tune quick, huh, Jacky boy?"

I shook my head, "I don't know. I'm just going with it. She dragged me to a tattoo shop today and got a crow tattooed on the small of her back."

"Your 16-year-old girlfriend got a tramp stamp?"

I nodded at Tig, "Yeah."

He shook his head, "Oh I'd kill Dawn and Fawn if they did that."

I chuckled as Tara came back. I sat for a few more hands before Chibs got himself out. I saw him walk over to the pool table where Alicia now stood with Bobby Elvis and his wife. I looked around and couldn't see Happy or any other SAMTAC guys.

"Clay pulled em about twenty minutes ago."

"What?" I asked, turning to Tig.

"It's quarter til 12. Clay grabbed them so they could help with the fireworks. That reminds me," he said. He turned around to the crow eater at the bar, "go wake up Missy. Gemma told me to make sure she's awake for the fireworks. She's sleeping in Clay's room."

The crow eater nodded and went to wake up my little sister. I looked back to the pool table, "wanna play pool?"

Tara nodded, "Sure."

We excused ourselves from the cards and made our way over to the pool table. Precious Ryan and Bobby had left, and it was just Chibs and Alicia, "need another pair?"

"No," Alicia laughed, "I don't even know what I'm doing. We aren't playing a game. Chibs just said he’d show me a few things."

"Awwwww, come on," Chibs urged, playfully pushing her shoulder, "Come on Alli cat, I know we could beat Jacky boy."

She smiled, "I doubt it, Chibsy. You know I’ve never bothered learning to play."

"Come on," Tara urged very tipsy, "It will be fun."

I smiled, "come on Leesh."

She nodded, "Alright, but I'm terrible. Don’t be mad at me when we lose, Filip."

"It's all in good fun," I smirked. Tara nodded and kissed me. I saw her rack em up, and Chibs broke it.

A crow eater brought the table a round of beers and Chibs thanked her before turning his attention back to the game.

“Wait,” Alicia called as the crow eater turned around. She gave him a look and pulled his beer from him, “he prefers Jameson! Go get him that.”

The crow eater shot her a look but said nothing as she turned and went back to the bar, “you didn’t ‘ave to do tha’ lass.”

“She’s a crow eater. She should know what you drink, Chibsy.”

He smiled and playfully smacked her ass, “alright lass, yer up.”

“Help me,” she giggled, giving him doe eyes. He helped Alicia line up her shot and I felt a small pang in my chest as she kissed him on the cheek in thanks, “you’re the best, Filip.”

Chapter 7

[bau-baby]

the ultimate loss. 2/?

aaron hotchner x gn!reader

Summary: While you and Aaron are grieving the loss of Haley, an untimely realization comes up on your part after a night of consolation. Will anything come of it?

word count: 3k

warnings: grief, loss

A/N: Holy cannoli I am so sorry for how long this second installment took me!! Also the ending seems kind of rushed and it’s not the greatest, sorry! Now, onward with the story! 

read part one here

It has only been a few months since Haley’s service, and you have been at a loss. Ever since the time you and Aaron had together on that patio, something changed. Something that you couldn’t really put a finger on. Neither of you addressed it for fear of messing with things you weren’t ready to face. So you both did what you do best: ignore it.

You’ve filled your time with hours on the job, Aaron has been doing the same. You both merely dance around one another, not allowing your colleagues to pinpoint or figure out what happened. And if you were honest with yourself, you weren’t either. Hell, you weren’t sure Aaron knew what was going on, and he is one of the best profilers you have the pleasure of knowing. 

It’s another late night, early morning at Quantico. You’re burning the candle at both ends, losing sleep by the day. You blame it wholly on losing a friend, and sure that was the big, main reason, but you also know it’s a ploy to throw whatever it is that’s happening with you and Aaron out the window for a time.

After-action reports fill your time as the coffee keeps getting brewed and your pen isn’t running out of ink anytime soon. And you always love to think that this is your time away from Aaron, when in reality he’s right up the stairs, hunched over his desk just as you are. You saved your glances for when your hand got cramped or you needed a refill on coffee. What you don’t see was the glances he’d send your way while you were engrossed in the paperwork. 

You normally end up staying late at the office since you have a tendency to take some of the extra files from Aaron as well as the team so they could get home quicker.

You finish up a majority of your reports just before midnight, opting to take the unfinished ones home. You gather your finished files, making the short walk up to Aaron’s office before knocking. You hear him faintly say “It’s open,” and open the door.

“Hey Aaron, just wanted to drop these files off before heading home for the night. If you-” Your words die in your throat as you finally look at Aaron much closer. His eye bags were getting worse, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. “Are the nightmares still happening, Aaron?”

He knows there’s no use in lying, especially to you. He nods as he presses his pointer and middle finger to his temple, trying to alleviate the dull headache that hasn’t left him in so long. It was one of the only constant things in his life, outside of Jack and you.  With the headaches and the nightmares saddled on top of the grief, he hasn’t had true peace in months.

You tentatively take a seat at his desk and wait him out. You know that once he feels like talking, he will. He takes his time, twiddling his pen in between his thumb and pointer finger.

“I miss her. I left her at home with Jack almost every day, I was never there for his appointments or for his big milestones. I forced her to be a single mom when I could have easily just been there. I-” He stops, and you can see his eyes are brimmed with tears. You swallow the lump forming in your throat.

“Aaron, she loved you-” He scoffs, “-No, she really loved you. It tore her to pieces when she left, she just reached a point where she had to put Jack’s needs first. She still cared for you. The call I got the day you were admitted into the hospital told me enough,” You look down at your hands, trying to find the words, “You’re a great dad, Aaron. You do your best and right now that’s all anyone can ask for.” 

Aaron lets out a huff of breath and leans back in his chair. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to lessen the pulsing headache still fully present. You only hope that your words made a difference, and you start to get up to leave.

“Wait. Please don’t go. I- I can’t stand being alone here anymore,” The admission makes your heart swell while simultaneously hurting for the broken man, and you settle back into your seat. Maybe finishing up the rest of your reports in the company of a friend wouldn’t be so bad after all.

-----

The late nights you and Aaron were pulling to keep each other company quickly transitioned to going home early to see Jack, still keeping each other’s grief at bay. Didn’t help that Jack was the sweetest kid on the planet, and one you definitely couldn’t say no to.

There were days where Aaron would just break down away from the watchful eyes of his son. He wanted to remain strong and not worry the young boy, but he knew Jack was hurting too, just as you were. Even if he was vulnerable with you at times, he still kept some walls up and held some feelings to his chest.

And Aaron would never tell you, but some days it was hard to even be in that apartment. The wall has been long since repaired, the bloodstains lifted from the carpet. But that didn’t remove the nightmares that haunted him every time he came home.

He could never forget the acrid smell of Foyet’s breath as he continuously taunted him, the knife driving into his abdomen. He couldn’t forget the fleeting memories that he surrounded himself with, a hopeful yet useless distraction as he was bleeding out on his apartment floor.

He couldn’t forget Foyet’s smile, his laugh that haunted Aaron’s deepest nightmares. 

Foyet’s words would come to him in flashes, always coming back to remind him of everything he lost.

“Do you know how much you have to study the human body to stab yourself repeatedly and not die? I don’t want to brag but I’m somewhat of an expert.”

The humor Foyet found in what he was saying was not ever lost on Aaron.

He always felt the ghost of the knife, cold metal gracing his abdomen that was slowly losing heat due to the blood blossoming around his still body.

“Do you wanna see my scars?”

The image of Foyet’s mangled abdomen was stamped into his brain, a fateful image that spoiled his sleep every night.

“Yours are gonna look just the same.”

And that they did. Aaron hated the scars that riddled his chest, the raised, gnarled skin always a reminder of his failure. He not only failed Haley, but his son that he swore to protect and give a good life. He ripped the life away from both of them. Haley would never see what Jack would become, and Jack would never remember the woman who gave her life to protect him.

No matter how much he trusted you, there was still that wall that held him back from telling you all of this. His rational brain told him that you’d help him work through it, but his trauma-riddled brain told him that he’d end up overwhelming you, even though you both lost the same person, she just had different emotional ties to both of you.

That call that you listened in on while racing to Fairfax was imprinted in your brain. You’d continually tried to tell yourself that you couldn’t change anything that happened, that you couldn’t save Haley. You couldn’t give Jack his mom back, and you couldn’t bring back Aaron’s closest friend. 

You knew it wasn’t right to blame yourself. You knew that Foyet had fooled all of you. That didn’t stop you from taking the blame, forcing yourself to relive the worst moment in your career, just to subject yourself to something you felt you could have prevented.

Jack wouldn’t have any memories of his own mother. You would just plant four years’ worth of stories as he grew up, telling him tales of how strong his mother was, and how she was the best thing that happened to his father.

Maybe these similar trains of thought are what led you to be knocking on Aaron’s door late at night. And maybe, that’s what led him to answer.

“Y/N? It’s so late, what’re you doing here?” The opened door revealed a distraught yet cozy Aaron, floppy hair and eye bags in all.

“Can I, uh, can I come in?” You remain composed, trying to regulate your breathing before you possibly could fly off the handle.

“Yeah, of course. Are you alright?” 

Now isn’t that the question of the hour, Aaron Hotchner? You aren’t really sure what you feel, so instead of answering, you walk over to his couch and sit. 

Aaron trails in behind you, two cups of coffee in his hand. You accept the cup, the ceramic mug already bringing life back into your hands. Aaron sits on the other side of the couch assuming the same position you are: a blank, grief-filled stare aimed at the table in front of you. The only sign of either of you being cognizant is your periodic sniffles. You don’t even realize you’re crying.

“I just miss her, you know?” The sentence comes through a wavered tone, and you hiccup through the tears. 

Aaron’s in a similar state, his red-rimmed eyes giving way to a tear-filled, “I know. I miss her too,”

A watery laugh leaves you, “Y’know, one time when I visited Haley, told me about how you two used to be. Before Jack, before…”

Before the divorce. Before she died.

“-just, before. She even gave me a little insight on your stint as Pirate #4 in Pirates of the Penzance,” A watery smile makes its way onto your face, and you hear Aaron huff out a sad laugh, shaking his head as he does so.

“I swore her to secrecy on that. She liked you, honestly. She loved how you were with Jack, and I can’t say that I don’t either. You being here, for us, is something we’ll always be grateful for. Thank you,” The sentence makes your heart swell, as more tears fall down your face. They’re full of grief, sadness, and a love you don’t catch onto right away, but when you do, you force that back down to whatever depths it came from.

You hear the feet padding across the floor before you see him.

“Y/N? Why are you crying?” Jack asks as he clambers up next to you and into your arms.

“Hey, bud, what’re you doing up? Your dad and I were just talking about your mom, and how much we miss her,” You say, rocking the boy as you hold him.

“I miss my mom too. Do you think we could talk to her?” He asks. You could hear how tired he is, and you look at Aaron.

Go ahead, his look says, and you stand up with Jack still in your arms. You pick up the candle and lighter on the way.

You lay Jack back in his bed, grabbing the picture of Haley off his dresser. You light the candle and hand it to him.

“Hi, momma. Y/N is here, and I miss you. I love you,” You continue to listen to the boy, but you can feel the tears pressing at the back of your eyes again. You can’t imagine what this four-year-old boy is going through, trying to understand why his mom isn’t coming home anymore.

You feel a certain pair of eyes on you from the doorway of Jack’s room, and you see Aaron watching you and Jack. He’s got this soft, sullen smile on his face as he hears Jack recount his days since he’s last talked to Haley. Soon enough, the four-year-old runs out of steam and says goodbye, blowing out the candle. You reach over, tucking the covers up to his chin, and tell him goodnight.

You walk out to see Aaron sitting on the couch again, his elbows resting on his knees, hands covering his face. You sit with him until the early morning light washes over the DC skyline, sunlight peeking into the windows. You both laugh, cry, and sit in silence as you talk about whatever, but the topic keeps coming back to Haley.

“Well, if I want to make it to the building on time, I better go back to my apartment and change,” You say as you get up to grab your shoes that have long since been forgotten, as well as your keys and such. “Oh, I didn’t even notice the time. See you at work,” He says, getting up off the couch too.

“Bye, Aaron. See you at work,” You give him a soft smile, and make your exit.

Aaron doesn’t make light of this, but seeing you leave after the night he spent commiserating with you, made him miss it more than he thought he would. The freshness of it all, the connection you shared with mutual grief, was something he never thought he’d get out of his job.

-----

When you step into the bullpen, you’re the first one there for once. Fresh clothes and a rejuvenated heart puts a small pep in your step, even on no sleep.  After the night of vulnerability you shared with Aaron, you felt refreshed, if only a little tired. 

For the sake of making sure you actually stay awake, you make two cups of coffee. Made one cup just how you like it, leaving the other one black. You set your cup down at your desk, climbing the stairs up to Aaron’s dark office. You turn on his desk lamp, setting the coffee down. You knew he wasn’t too far behind you when coming to the office, it was only a matter of time before he walked out of the elevator. 

When Aaron finally makes it to the bullpen, he sees you already cutting into the reports he left on everyone’s desks the night before. He practically floats to his office, his lack of sleep starting to catch up to him. When he opens the door, he sees the coffee mug at his desk, a sticky note attached to it. Very familiar handwriting fills the note. 

Thought we could both use some coffee after our late night. 

You know where I am if you need anything, old man. 

Sincerely, 

A very concerned friend :)

Aaron just shakes his head at the note, a smile he’s not used to filling his face. He looks through the window out into the bullpen to find you with an equally facetious smile on your face. 

That’s when it all comes crumbling down for you. The realization hits you as you turn back to your work, and you have to slow your breathing so as to not worry anyone else making their way to their desks. 

Fuck. 

You’re in love with your boss. 

You’re in love with Aaron Hotchner. 

You could not have worse timing, you realize. He just lost his wife, you just lost a friend. Neither of you should be open to dating. He isn’t open to dating, and you’d be damned if you were too.

You were never known for your timeliness, but this is a whole other level of bad.

 What are you supposed to do? There’s no handbook, nothing to tell you what you’re supposed to fall in love with your divorced boss who just lost his ex-wife. And there shouldn’t be, you’re being careless. 

It’s normal for people in grief to come together, and after a loss people make strides to fill that gap. That’s all you're doing. You don’t actually feel this way about him. 

That’s what your profiling tells you, but you don’t try to reason with it. No amount of reasoning can fix this. You’re screwed, and you know it.

That’s why you make a vow to yourself- right there in the bullpen. 

You are not going to let this get too far too fast, and you are not going to scare this man away. He is your boss first, friend second, and lover will never make that list if you keep up this fast train of realizations and possible confessions.

You get saved from your rabbit hole as you hear Reid and Morgan walk into the bullpen, talking about whatever those two can talk about at 8 AM. You just shake your head at their antics.

Those two really are like brothers.

Slowly, the rest of the team trickles in, and you’re expected for a day of paperwork when JJ flashes a file at you. Seems like you won’t your day of reprieve, but if you’re honest with yourself, you’re glad.

On top of the Aaron Revelations™, It’s been really hard these past few weeks without Haley. You usually went over to see Jack and her often, talking and laughing over some glasses of wine. Now, you just... don’t have that.

But, all that aside, you have a case.

So you put the pieces of yourself back together, compose yourself, and take a breath.

You can do this.

-----

You can’t do this.

You did fine on the case, and you know that. You remained composed, and kept your head on straight. That doesn’t change your realization, nor does it settle your feelings. Professionalism is at the forefront of your mind as you settle into your seat on the jet. Aaron sits next to you like always, and you school your expression for most of the flight, but that didn’t stop your brain from going faster than light.

You lean your head against the window, and hope against hope that everything- every feeling, every thought- would just leave you. They didn’t, but you welcome the sleep that comes like an unknown force.

When you wake, you smell Aaron’s cologne. You’re groggy, and it takes you a minute to realize that his suit jacket rests across your upper body. 

“You looked cold, just thought I’d help,” Aaron says, not looking up from his file.

That man never stops working.

“Thanks, Hotch,” You say, sleep still laced through your words. You get lost in the moment, the familiarity of it all sinking into your bones. You smile blissfully, sleep consuming your conscious again

You just miss the small smile Aaron gives you after your eyes close, sleep taking your body again.