#made a new post to keep it neat and clean

[velvetdesirez]

@cemeterysgirl continued from here

David wasn't certain what to expect from Sasha. The fact his best friend's younger sister had a dream about him was wild to comprehend in itself. And yet he stayed and waited for her answer. But the moment he heard her words made him grow cold and was rather taken aback. Yet he couldn't help the faint blush that crossed across his cheekbones. David simply paused for a moment trying to find his words. He couldn't bring himself to say anything to her. At least for some time before he finally cleared his throat at her. "Normally I don't make a habit of chasing after people through the woods unless to kill them. " He responded to her as a matter of fact. She knew what he did which was why he didn't feel the need to hide anything from her. Or beat around the bush as to what he did. Hearing her next words he cleared his throat at her before gently responding to her. "I mean I don't think I should fuck you with a knife. It's not safe and could get people hurt. " He responded to her with a shrug.

David was always happy to see her come around his place. He very much enjoyed getting to spend time with her. He knew there were some tensions between her and her brother especially after he had a baby. He didn't know why and it hardly made any sense to him. But he tried not to focus on it much as he would much rather focus on her and enjoy their time together. It wasn't anything new for them to be on the couch with her legs on his lap. It happened almost every time she came there. He didn't see much of it than simply spending time with a friend. Regardless of how beautiful she was and how his eyes had dropped even for a few seconds towards her breasts which were barely being held back by her corset.

[reignpage]

Vice President!Sukuna

Ames: espionage

Contents: angsty, a little sexual so 18+ mdni, confusing, bts of the speed dating event, not proofread, meant to post this before the part 1 but I thought you guys would want to be closer to the reveal, still some people might appreciate the fluff here

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sukuna mutters. 

There, inside Conference Room 3, is a disgusting display of desperation and pitiful misery. Streamers have been thrown all over every surface, desks and chairs arranged in a shit circle and balloons have been blown up and litter the floor. 

If he had it his way, this stupid society would have never been allowed to form; the last thing the world needs is more community and whatever rainbow glitter fairy princess propaganda is being spread in this cult. 

Well, of course, he technically does have it his way. As president, he could make this society’s life a pain, he could cut their funding, could cancel their bookings for every room, could convince the trustees this is a counter-productive organisation. And if he didn’t want to bother with all that work, he could snap his fingers and have the whole farce disappear in a blink of an eye. 

But he doesn’t. 

Can’t. 

And that makes him grind his teeth even harder. Because there in a seat, facing a pimply faced loser, is you. 

His president. 

Or rather, was. 

Your hair is down, instead of tied up all neat and clean like usual, you’re wearing a dress, it’s new, he can tell, and you’ve even done your makeup. All for whom?

Him?

Some stuttering loser who keeps glancing at your breast like it’s the first time he’s ever seen a bit of cleavage? Or maybe for the guy that replaces him once the alarm blares, signalling the end of the five-minute allotted time for every stranger. This one is even more annoying than the last; his hair is slicked back with an aggressive amount of hair gel, and he’s wearing a suit. 

He’s actually wearing a suit. 

It’s ill-fitted — blazer too tight around the shoulders but loose and long on the sleeves, and his trousers don’t even reach his ankles. When you scrunch your nose up, Sukuna’s sure, too, that the guy is wearing so much aftershave that he should have bene wearing a hazmat suit instead. 

Stupid. All of this is stupid. If a boyfriend is what you’re looking for, then you’re never going to find it here; none of these filthy losers could ever give you what you need. 

Sukuna knew it as soon as he laid eyes on you at the campaign day, when you were both handing out flyers and leaflets, and educating people on your policies. Well, he wasn’t handing anything out, he had his assistant, Uraume, do that for him. But, as he leaned back in a chair and watched a line of people form, eager to catch his attention, his eyes kept drifting to you. 

You were rigid, stern-looking and a pain to look at. He could tell how badly you wanted it, could see by the way your hands shook, or how passionately you spoke to the other students, and even when you made eye contact with him. Wincing, you forced a smile on your face, trying to look civil but he could see the repulsion in your eyes. 

It intrigued him. 

That was the very first time he had ever seen you, and yet, somehow you knew he wasn’t a friend. If only others could have that survival instinct, he thought when a girl hugged his arm and asked to take a picture with the future student council president. 

Now, look at you. 

You’re actually smiling at that freak. It doesn’t meet your eyes and when you laugh it doesn’t make his chest do that weird thing, so he knows it’s fake. A sincere laugh seldom leaves your lips; he gets it, not many people are funny, though most would like to think they are. But he had made you laugh once. 

When you were both showing an old alum around, having been told by the Dean to butter him up so he’ll cough up some dough for a new sports hall because apparently the three EdenU has isn’t enough. The stuffy old loser was snappy and bossy and sexist as fuck — he thought you were the assistant and ordered you to fetch him coffee, tissues, a chair and so on. 

Sukuna wanted to intervene sooner, his fingers itching to throw a punch, but the firm shake of your head made him fist his hands, vibrating with barely restrained anger. Violence may have been off the cards, but good old mental warfare wasn’t. So, he told Uraume to make sure the family was no longer investing in the loser’s tech start up, effective immediately, and he watched the old man scramble when he got a phone call that turned his face red. 

It was when he spluttered his coffee all over himself that you laughed. 

Because you’re just like him. — you crave to let everyone know their place, the only difference is, you don’t have the power to back you. Yet. 

And when Cheap Suit takes your hand to lay a slobbery kiss all over your knuckles, Sukuna pushes off from the wall he’s been standing by for the better half of an hour and comes to stand before the both of you. 

His shadow darkens the table, nervous eyes glancing at him. Your ‘date’ gulps at the intense glare he’s receiving and somehow, good for him, gets the hint. He leaves and Sukuna takes his seat. 

“What the fuck?”

For someone so clean and put together, you have a terribly dirty mouth. It makes him want to clean it out with soap, or something else entirely. And now that he’s sitting in front of you, he actually understands why the men you’ve been talking to couldn’t keep their eyes off your chest. 

Goddamn, he wants to bury his face in there. 

“Stop staring at my tits, idiot,” you snark, face contorted into pure frustration. “Why the fuck are you here?”

Rolling his eyes, he leans back in the chair, crossing his arms. With a drawl, he argues back, “Can’t I be here? I have every right to, prez.”

Your mood sours when you hear that from him and you lean back too, fingers drumming as you count down the minutes until the alarm blares. Everyone else is having a good time, smiling and laughing and exchanging numbers. But not you. Nope. Never. Because the universe hates you. 

“Don’t call me that.”

His brow ticks up. “Why not? You are the prez.”

“I’m not anymore.”

His eyes darken impossibly more, narrowing, and the people next to you shuffle uncomfortably in their seats as if they could feel that malevolent energy radiating off him. At least it isn’t directed at them. Lucky. 

“You’re always going to be the prez.”

The alarm goes off, shrill and overly joyful. You both wince. 

But when the next guy stands by, he has to shuffle his feet awkwardly, uncertain at why the pink-haired man is refusing to move and isn’t even looking at him. Eventually, seeing that Sukuna’s made himself all too comfortable in his seat, the guy skips over to the next vacant table. 

You exhale through your nose, trying to count to ten. 

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” You hiss. 

He rolls his eyes again and fires back, “You’re being dramatic. None of these guys are your type, so I’m just saving you from wasting your time. You’re welcome.”

Your eye twitches. “What do you know about me?”

Sukuna cocks his head, looking over at you with interest, like you’ve just said something funny. And then, he tips his chin over at the double doors. “Let’s get outta here. It’s hot as shit and these people stink.”

“No.”

“No?”

You cross your own arms and huff. “I’m not going anywhere.”

With a laugh, deep and menacing, his eyes twinkle and you feel your heart drop to your ass. Oh shit. 

“You’re leaving here, with me. Either willingly or thrown over my shoulder. Your choice, prez.”

And you know he’s telling the truth, can see it in the way he’s sitting up, eyeing the space around you so he can calculate the best angle and placement. He’s determining the amount of space between the tables and the firmness of the table and the chairs, and trying to determine if anyone would dare put up a fight. 

Groaning in your hands, you push the chair back and leave without looking anywhere else. You can’t take the amused or confused looks people would throw at you, and you certainly can’t take the smug grin on his face. He always gets what he wants. Fucking Ryomen prince. 

The evening breeze is colder than the last time you had been in this position with him. And that night seems so long ago and yet it’s as if it’s happening right now, because you had never moved on, it still haunts you. That professor’s lingering hands can never be washed off. The Dean made sure of that. 

“So, you’re doing yoga and speed dating,” he comes up next to you, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

You shrug. “I’ve also joined the Green Thumb and the Volleyball Society.”

“Volleyball, huh?” Sukuna looks you over with a small smirk and then it’s like he remembered something because he shakes his head with a frustrated growl. “Why the fuck are you doing all that shit?”

You both walk off, not doing anything in particular or heading somewhere special. Just like last time. 

“I have a lot of time now, like you said.” It’s cold and you’re just wearing a dress, you shiver. 

He scoffs behind you, nudging you with an elbow. “Didn’t bring my varsity jacket, so suck it up.”

“Wasn’t gonna ask anyways,” you mutter, and you’re aware by the glare he throws at you that you both know you’re lying.

Eventually, you reach the park. It’s dark and empty and you feel fear prick the back of your neck. Sukuna is not the kind of man you should be walking at night, alone, with. Sure, you’re confident he wouldn’t lay a finger on you, but you’re also not convinced he doesn’t have a snake den ready for you to trip and fall into. 

“You’re doing all sorts, but you haven’t come to a basketball game,” he grumbles. 

“Why would I?”

Sukuna scoffs, strolling leisurely and unbothered by the cool breeze that gives you goosebumps, he’s also assessing the environment around, like the rustling bushes contained machetes and machine guns. Always so suspicious. 

He’s been everywhere recently. He was there when you were painting the landscape on a Wednesday afternoon, when you were doing a book club on the Quad, and even when you were walking back late from the Exotic Dance Society. You don’t know why you joined that last one; it sounded kind of fun. 

When you shiver, he groans. And then he’s keeping a firm hand on your shoulder, stilling you both. In a flash, you’re being pressed against a tree, his front holding you down. Spluttering, you try to push him off you, but his body is like a wall, all solid and unyielding. And it’s just like the party when he held you and swayed to silent music. 

But Sukuna’s warm and it feels good, so you stop fighting. 

“Alright, enough chit-chat,” he growls in your face. Gone is all the civility, the politeness and propriety, or at least his version of it. “Tell me why you quit.”

“Fuck you,” you spit back at him. 

“We can do that, too,” he sneers. “But I want an explanation now.”

When you feel something hard poking your stomach, you know he means it. And God fucking damn it, you hate that you’re wet. It’s poor survival skills to be attracted to a monster, you’re guaranteed a slow death as a prey. Your heartbeat is going a hundred miles per hour, chest heaving and rubbing against his. 

Sukuna looks so angry, face sharpened into focus as he searches your eyes for the truth. But even as he pins you to a tree in an empty park, his desire is present, and he’s so much bigger and stronger than you, all you want is for him to kiss you. You want him to stop asking questions, to stop reminding you of everything you’ve lost, and to just satisfy that itch between you two, to alleviate the tension that’s been building up. 

It was always going to boil down to this. 

“Sign the papers, Sukuna,” you whisper.

He hates how soft your voice is, how calm and comforting it’s become. He wants to be mad, wants to fight so he can shout and scream and bully you into submission, like he’s done with everyone else. Like he did with stupid pricks who egged your window and the professor who dared touch you with his filthy, undeserving hands. 

“Tell me why you left me, prez,” he mutters back. 

You hate how desperate he sounds, how his lips are plush and gentle against your cheek as he noses at your hairlines, inhaling deep and with a groan before burying his face into the crook of your neck. His hands move from beside your heads and onto your hips, keeping you still, like he’s afraid you’re going to run off. 

“Sukuna,” you begin, “I don’t want to play this game.” Your voice is scratchy, and your vision is blurring. God, this is so humiliating. You’re actually going to cry. 

“Then don’t.”

Hands pushing at his shoulders, you try to wriggle out of his hold. This is bad. You shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t care. You should hate him but he’s holding you like you’re the only thing grounding him and it feels nice, to be held, by him. It feels like all is right in the world, like you have everything in the palms of your hands. 

But it isn’t and you don’t. 

“Sukuna. Let me go.”

He must have heard something in your voice. Maybe the strain in it or the desperation. Whatever it was, it makes him pulls away. He’s not looking at you, just breathing hard and clenching his fists at his sides. He’s livid. 

No, there’s something more. 

It’s reflecting what’s inside of you. 

But you can’t dwell on it. You aren’t ready to explain, to remind him of what he did two years ago, of what he’s done now. And you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re too cowardly to return to that point in your life you’ve been trying to pretend never happened or if it’s because you don’t want the way he looks at you to change. 

So, you walk away, stumbling and clutching yourself to bring warmth back. And when he yells at you, you don’t look back. 

“This will never be over between us,” he growls, “over my dead body, prez.”

[sashaisready]

Since You've Been Gone: Chapter 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Masterlist

After a regrettable first meeting in the cemetery, you discover that you have something in common with a certain member of the Avengers. Unfortunately, you can't choose your neighbours, even in death.

(Setting is approx. post TFATWS)

Hi, I'm back! I have no idea where this came from, or where it's going! So apologies as updates may not be consistent while I figure it out. Warnings for death of parents, grief, mentions of cemetery/graves - please tread carefully if these are triggers for you.

🍂

It was a chilly Autumn day, but not unbearable. Your coat could more than handle the frigid breeze. You squinted at the headstone as you crouched on your knees, angling your head to make sure you hadn’t left any streaks or marks from the polish. Satisfied with your performance, you trimmed a few of the roses that were leaning against it before standing and taking a step back to admire your handiwork.

Immaculate as always, so neat you could almost be fooled into thinking you weren’t even outside. You could hear your parents’ voices in your head now, joking about being able to keep their graves far cleaner that you ever managed your bedroom to be, their frequent nags falling on deaf adolescent ears.

You smiled sadly as you looked at the intricately engraved text below their names on the shared stone:

Beloved parents taken too soon,

Waiting in heaven to be reunited with their only daughter

You’d never really like that phrasing; it was a little too whimsical for your tastes – especially all these years later. But a recently orphaned teenager wasn’t exactly an expert in choosing the best headstone wording. You’d been more than happy to let your aunt and the funeral home lead the way, too paralysed by grief to make even the smallest decisions in the hellscape that was death admin.

Still, you’d never want to upset your aunt by getting it changed, there’s a lot of strange emotion tied up in grief even when time has passed, and that mourning teen has become an adult. And it wasn’t like new headstones were cheap anyway…

As you packed up your cleaning kit your attention was drawn to the two graves next to your parents’ - George and Winnifred Barnes. They had both passed several decades earlier, long before your parents were buried next to them. They had died only a few months apart according to the text…maybe they’d couldn’t survive without each other.

It was easy to infer that they no longer had anyone left earthside. The graves had been long untouched, unkempt, and overgrown, the inscriptions getting harder to read – and you’d never seen any evidence of a visitor in all your time coming here. Except of course when the cemetery staff did one of their occasional mass clean-ups of the neglected graves.

About a year ago, you’d started tending to them alongside your parents. You weren’t sure why, it just seemed like the right thing to do. They were neighbours after all. And you’d want someone to do the same for your mum and dad if you weren’t around.

You’d cleaned their stones, wiped away the grime and given them a decent polish. You’d trimmed back the weeds and laid fresh flowers. The first time took a while, but after you’d got them to a reasonable standard it was all pretty easy to maintain.

You’d often wondered who they were. What they were like. The dates suggested they’d died of old age, a luxury your parents didn’t have. Were they kind? Funny? What hobbies did they have? They were around during the war, that must’ve been tough. You knew from the inscriptions that they had children who would’ve been over hundred by now. Maybe no grandchildren which is why nobody came by to see them anymore. It made you feel sad, how we could all be just a few generations away from being forgotten entirely. At least you could try to remember them.

You gave their graves a quick once over, took away the dead flowers and added some fresh roses in their place.

“Well, I’m done,” you said aloud, “see you soon, mum and dad. And you too, George and Winnifred. Sleep well”.

You sighed, walking back to your car and back to your life. You knew all too well that the dead may be still, but the world continues around them.

🍂

A week later you were back at the cemetery with your cleaning kit slung over your back, your arms full of fresh flowers.

“Afternoon, mum and dad,” you said as you placed your kit and flowers down and pulled out the foam pad that you used to kneel on, “and you, George and Winnifred”.

“Work has been kicking my ass this week,” you sighed as you got to work on your parents’ stone. “There’s only so much I can take of Brock’s moaning about the numbers…it’s getting harder not to smash my keyboard over his head – yeah I know, violence isn’t the answer, blah-blah-blah…”

You worked diligently, chatting away as you went through your maintenance tasks. It was nice, talking to them like this. You could say anything, really. No judgements, no admonishment, just silent acceptance of everything you told them. It was a bit like therapy for you. You often imagined your parents were sitting behind you as you spoke, just out of sight.

You liked to use old newspaper to buff up the marble. As you gathered your things together, you glanced at some of the headlines from the copy you’d brought with you. Lots of dreary grimness unfortunately. There was also a longread feature on the Avengers and where they were now, their photographs lined up across the top of the page. It was sad that a few of them were dead now, or at least no longer here. You felt a pang of sadness for their loved ones – you knew what that was like.

You didn’t know all the details of The Avengers and their associates, but like everyone else you knew the basics. It was a strange time, just a decade or so ago nobody had ever thought superheroes really existed…but then all of these ‘enhanced’ people started crawling out of the woodwork, revealing weapons and technology that previously had only existed in sci-fi movies. It was hard to believe, really.

You scanned the newspaper page, looking at the pictures for a few moments. You took your time studying their faces before sighing and placing it back down.

“All done…now let’s help out George and Winnie over here, looks like you guys need some new flowers…and all that heavy rain we’ve been having has really done a number on your stones…let me just-”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the gruff voice behind you demanded, causing you such a shock that you nearly joined your parents.

You spun your body away from the graves, horrified to see a man looming over you as you stared at him open-mouthed in surprise. You hadn’t heard him approach, not quite understanding how you hadn’t noticed him coming at all…

“I said what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he repeated to you, his blue eyes alight with anger.

He was big. Bigger than you. Even under his coat you could see his broad shoulders. A mop of dark hair framed his face, most likely quite an attractive face when it wasn’t pulled into a furious sneer like it was now. He wore black gloves as he pointed at you accusingly. The fact that you were kneeling on the ground while he stood towering at his full height had not gone unnoticed by you.

There was something strangely familiar about him, but you couldn’t place it. Did he shop at the same market as you? You couldn’t quite…

“I’m…I’m just-” you spluttered as you fumbled for the words, still caught in your surprise and the fact that this normally serene time had been interrupted by a stranger yelling at you…

“Get away from there!” he snarled.

You quickly realised he was talking about the Barnes’ graves. You bounced backwards, landing painfully on your ass in your desperation to do what he said. He had a chilling air of authority that you didn’t want to screw with. You weren’t trying to piss off an angry man while you were out here all alone…

“I was just tidying them up,” you managed weakly as you sat up and clutched at the flowers.

“Nobody asked you to,” he scoffed in response as he leaned over and ran a gloved finger over Winnifred’s inscription, “you shouldn’t be clambering all over graves of people you don’t know”.

You frowned as the initial shock of the encounter wore off, now annoyed now at his abrupt rudeness towards you when you only had good intentions.

“Oh, and you know them, do you?” you snapped back sharply as your felt your emotions surge and your eyes water, your cheeks hot with mortification, “well, nobody has been to visit those graves in years so-”

“Yeah, actually I do know them - I’m their son,” he spat furiously.

Your head bounced back in surprise and confusion. You curled your lip and frowned at his strange claim, he appeared to be his mid-to-late 30s at most – many years away from the very elderly man he’d need to be for that to be true.

What was his goal here, exactly?

Was this guy just looking to start an argument and decided you’d be his target? Spouting off nonsense about random graves just to mess with you?

And where did you know him from?

Despite your survival instincts, you couldn’t help but fight back. You didn’t appreciate being messed with at the best of times, let alone when you were only here to visit your deceased loved ones. Who came to a graveyard to fuck with people? And yell at them?!

“Huh? Son?” you scoffed with derision and jabbed a finger towards the inscriptions about their children, “well, that can’t be true as that would mean their kids would have to be over a hundred…and how many one-hundred-year-olds look like you…?”

“I’m 107 years old, actually,” he said venomously. He sounded utterly sincere despite the ludicrousness of his claim. His face was sullen, his eyes piercing.

You ignored the shudder that threatened to roll through you in response. It was a strangely familiar expression on his face.

Where had you seen that look?

“Oh, yeah! You’re 107…Sure!” you laughed sarcastically. “You just have the greatest plastic surgeon of all time, in fact there’s a bunch of centenarians wandering around looking thirt-”

You trailed off as a wave of recognition suddenly hit you and the penny dropped. Oh. Oh.

He wasn’t from the market…

It was him.

Your eyes panned down to the crumpled newspaper lying next to you. The same man’s face scrutinised you from the page, an exact mirror image of the brooding 3D version in front of you. A little older now, but still unmistakably the same man.

Oh!

Now you remembered that same picture on the news. Read about the terrible things he’d done before when he was under hypnosis. For the Nazis? The Soviets? Both? Flashes of recollection hit you at once, disjointed and scattered.

It wasn’t really him doing all of it, it was a mind control thing, they’d said. He was like the Captain…the first one from the 40s. Kept young…somehow. He had a robot arm. Then there was the big government pardon after he’d helped to save the world. The deep dive the New York Times had done on his assassin past. What had they said he was called? Iceman? Winter? Winter hitman?

The Winter Soldier.

Barton? Baines? No, Barnes.

Barnes.

As in…son of Winnifred and George?

Ah.

He must’ve seen your train of thought written all over your face as he nodded solemnly at you.

“Yeah. It’s me. And I only found their resting place a few weeks ago,” he said with disdain.

You got to your feet, taking a few cautious steps backwards. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You didn’t need to be a jerk - I’ve just been coming here for years, and I’d never seen…”

You trailed off, he didn’t care. His focus was on the graves, one gloved hand gripping the top of his father’s stone as he peered down at the grass below.

You turned to leave, giving him his privacy, “I’m sorry for your loss,” you mumbled quietly as you picked up your kit.

You started to head back to your car, then turned to face him again after a couple of steps. You warily moved back towards him and leaned over, placing a single flower between the feet of his parents’ graves. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pick it up and throw it back in your face, either.

As you walked away, you thought you felt the weight of his gaze on your back.

🍂

Another week passed and you were back at the cemetery once more, working the usual routine and doing your best to forget what had happened the last time you were here. Upsetting a war veteran slash Avengers superhero by accusing him of not being his parents’ child was impressively incompetent, even by your standards. But in your defence, he did just start yelling at you out of nowhere. And you were only trying to help. And he was a literal defiance of nature, time, and aging…

But then again, people weren’t always their best selves in a cemetery. It wasn’t exactly Happy Hour over here. And you’d probably freak out too if you caught a stranger tinkering around with the resting place of your parents. The parents who died of old age while you were cryogenically frozen and a prisoner in your own body…

You’d done a little more reading up on him, James Buchanan Barnes. ‘Bucky’. The man behind the scary winter soldier mask. The older images of him in his combat gear were chilling, as were the alleged stats of his kills, but mainly you just felt immense empathy for a man out of time. A man who had lost his youth, a limb, his autonomy, and everybody he once knew from his old life.

You tried to put it out of your mind, catching your parents up on what they’d missed and pretty-ing things up a little around their plot. You didn’t touch the Barnes’ this time, just gave them a little wave and concentrated on your own flesh and blood.

You were a million miles away, lost in the quiet fog that often seemed to overtake you when you were working in the cemetery. It was peaceful, really. This was the one place you could switch your brain off and quiet the chatter of your head, just concentrate on the tasks you knew so well by now that your hands did them on muscle memory alone.

You were just adjusting the newest flowers when a voice interrupted you.

“Hey,” it said.

It startled you as you were still in your own world and hadn’t heard anyone else approach. You whirled around slightly panicked as a pair of eyes the colour of sapphires met yours.

It was him again.

“Oh, hello,” you replied quietly.

He stared over at you, wrapped up in his coat as he was last time. His stare was still intense despite appearing much calmer than when you first met him. He wore black pants and boots, his hands tucked away into his pockets, a dark backpack slung over his shoulder. His face was more relaxed than it was during your first encounter. His blue eyes were just as arresting, but the absence of anger made them sparkle rather than burn. He had a soft dusting of stubble across his taut jawline, his dark hair was pulled back behind his head as he absent-mindedly ran a hand over it. He was…

…hot?

Fuck.

He nodded at you in acknowledgement and moved to George and Winnifred’s plot, kneeling in front of their stones. He pulled a candle out from his backpack and lit it with a lighter, placing it between where his parents lay.

You turned away sharply, not wanting to look like you were intruding during what was clearly a private moment of mourning. You focused on your own parents’ graves, clipping back the flowers as quietly as possible.

The two of you continued doing your own thing, the awkwardness thick in the air. You remembered how furious he’d been with you last time. You considered saying something, trying to explain that you were only trying to maintain the graves, but you didn’t want to provide any more ammunition for potential anger. Instead, you continued your routine in silence, keeping your eyes down.

After you finished you packed up your stuff and cleared your throat, ‘uh, bye,” you said quietly to him as you hurried down the path and back towards your car. He didn’t respond, but looked up at you as you passed, studying you intently.

[venusandsaturnsrings]

every time someone normal seeming likes one of my tame posts i feel the need to post something deranged… like firing off warning shots to keep rent down… anyways…

did he like getting rough in bed? yes, most definitely, but boothill had never delved into anything further than smacking you around, choking you, or getting a bit mean with his thrusts and words. anything more… serious, for lack of better words, hadn’t been on his plate before mainly due to him not previously having a real relationship and not being super into little flings; something insecure still nibbled at his body. yet he still wanted to try something new and exciting that would let him have real control over you in a way he hadn’t before so, he began scrolling through forums and sites with his phones volume silenced as he perused different kinks and ideas for something that would scratch that itch. then he found it, just the kind of thing he’d been looking for.

preparation was nothing more than a couple minutes of thinking and testing the scrappy motels stability before he sat himself on the edge of the bed, hat thrown on the table that was missing something that made it rattle obnoxiously. he waited, metal and silicone uncomfortably strained and needing your touch in his stupidly tight pants, for your arrival. when you walked in, boothill was immediately on his feet wrapping his iron arms around you while cooing something about a surprise that made your gut stir. he kissed you sweet and gentle before taking you further into the room where in a neat row atop the bed sat an array of weapons you didn’t think he’d even be able to carry. some you couldn’t even identify with the sharp edges and complex triggers seeming to contradict each other. yet stood behind you chattering about testing, ‘all these beauty’s out on my beauty,’ was boothill who somehow procured all twenty-two; you counted. with a thick swallow, you asked what exactly he’d be doing to which he smiled all sharp teeth and practically demanded you strip.

naked and admittedly nervous, you watched as he plucked a long and slender knife from his charcuterie of weaponry. the blade was at least six inches and when he dragged it across the poor quality cotton and something trashy sheets, it made a clean slice through. even boothill seemed surprised, whistling quickly before bringing the blade to sit firm against your throat. he seemed eager and giddy and he hadn’t hurt you before so you doubted he would now but then he slide it across and you felt the bite of metal split your skin. ruby beaded and slipped down your chest as your eyes stung and he pushed you back to lap up every drop that threatened to slip down and away from sight.

he brought the blade across your whole body, silver nipping at every place he deemed appropriate until you were shaking and hazy beneath him. boothill hummed to himself more than anything as he finally brought himself between your legs for his prize.

“ya’ trust me a bit too much, sugar, but don’t cha’ worry,” he slipped himself through your wetness admiring the crystalline tears travelling your lashes, “gon’ take good care of this lil hole now. once ya’ wake up, we’ll have a nice big talk ‘bout yer silly head bein too dumb to understand danger. then, maybe, have a go at this with my gun. not gon’ blow yer brains out, promise. my darlin’s too pretty to be splattered on the wall…”

[xmorguekittyx]

Ever Locked

Part 4: Good Night, Bunny

Part 3: With Your Ghost

pairing: Older!Leon Kennedy × Ex!Coroner's Assistant Reader

warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, talks of enjoying inflicting emotional and physical pain on another, just Leon’s pov on things right now.

Fucking rain. Every single day, nothing like the thick air, the feeling of Raccoon City before its inevitable bombing. Boots clap against the rain puddles, slick as the show slides on the step, nearly knocking me off balance and into the small bushes by the hotel door way. "Shit-", the word spat as my hand clutches at the automatic door, stilling it. "Fucking rain, can't wait to get back to my place.", all the more reason to get into her mind, to open Pandora's Box into the mind of the woman of the hour.

   My phone dings as I adjust the whiskey bottles in the bag, shifting from my right to left hand, reaching for the Motorola Razr, the fucking brick costing much more than i wanted to pay. Chris Redfield sent a message. A grumble left my lips as i entered the doors, heading to the shiny elevator. Tapping his stupid little contact photo opened the message; "so, when were you gonna tell everyone you were over 3000 miles away? You know we listed you as MIA and had a chopper checking around your house, right? Never understood why you needed to live in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, had us worried you went off the deep end or something." I could nearly hear Rebecca hitting him in the shoulder for the last part.

  My choices in house placement was quite simple; remote enough to not have any issues with neighbors- like a certain old hag who should've minded her own business- then, were close enough to a small town with a grocery store and a post office. It's perfect. Small, far away from everyone else and it can be a small safe space for the family i'm going to build. I have lived my life giving and giving and giving, giving up my life to the government, letting all my wants go to work on missions, letting vacations slip past me just so i can work my ass off one more time and get denied the next vacation. I never have a moment to myself until i'm MIA.

  I'll be selfish, this time around, i'll be selfish. I want one thing to myself, my home to myself. I want her, bunny, to myself. The future is so uncertain, but in certainty, i know i will have her and she will be away from everything and everyone. She'll be something just for me, for my pleasure. It's selfish, god, it's wrong to be so self centered to throw off someone's life so horribly, but i can't find it in myself to regret the choice i've made to come and find her.

  The elevator dings, bringing my attention to the wobbly reflection. My hair is dark with grease, my skin dry and flakey in parts, my hand comes up just as the doors open. Fingers rubbing at the rough scruff that coats my jaw. I looked like shit, honestly, i would've cried had i seen myself too. As the door threaten to close once more, i step out. The hallway is lit with a warm lamp, it was short and the rain taps against the windows with a rhythmic patter. I wonder what she's doing, is she worrying? Is she scared that i'm back, or is that perfect new boyfriend currently too busy keeping her wrapped around him? The latter causes my brows to drop.

  The keycard taps the lock, hearing a beep and a green light before my, still wobby, legs threaten to let me fall. The handle is clicked quickly, falling under the weight of my hand. The room is... clean, at the most, plain. Very minimalistic. The bed is neat, the coffee cups wrapped, definitely won't be touching those, unless they have the creamer i like. Coffee left a bad taste, trying to down that god awful black coffee to impress the older officers still made me want to throw up. The bitterness, i wasn't someone into the bitter things, despite how bland my life had become. Time didn't stop for me to indulge in anything sweet or extra. That's why i won't answer that message, once i acknowledge it all, then come questions, why's, when's, where's. I don't have the time, I needed to set my plan in place. I needed to know that things were gonna work out this time, this opportunity.

  The desk is clear of anything, which is good, my bags lay underneath from my earlier visit before the White Wolf. Duffel bags of clothes, files and photos. It was time... but a drink first wouldn't hurt. A soft sigh leaves my lips as i lay the whiskey bottles down, hearing them clink together. Jack Daniel's, wasn't the top shelf shit- but it was cheap and whiskey tastes like whiskey once you've downed enough- they all taste the same.

  The bag rustles as i fish out the first bottle, nearly half empty from the gas station down the road. My boots slide off with ease as i step towards the coffee maker, pulling one of the little paper cups from the stack. "As good as any.", my shoulders weigh with a shrug before the cap is off and the cup is half full of warm whiskey. The amber liquor burns, the flavor vanilla-ish. Something i should've looked at before throwing the cash on the counter. Alcohol is alcohol, at the end of the day.

   My back hits the bedding, cup laid aside on the side table. The thoughts of the past few years flooding my mind, the latest tragedy being my team being ratted out and only myself coming out as a survivor. It never seems to fail, anyone close to me... their life is cut short by some tragedy or they're in danger at my hands. It was a cycle, one i wouldn't let touch the innocence of my bunny. The pillow engulfs my cheek as i lay my head upon it, the inside rough but manageable as i reach out for the cup, my fingers pushing it further away before catching the rim and pulling it closer.

  My head aches with the next round of thunder, the lightening cracking over the dim room. Engulfing everything in a light for a few seconds, the painting across from the bed getting my attention. It looked... angry, and yet it was just swipes of black and red paint over a white background. What? You gonna say it's some internal struggle i'm having or something. is it like those tests the therapist hands you to get a read on you? The liquid in the cup splashes as i swirl it, my mind bouncing from left to right. It feels surreal, im sure it does for her, too. The moment i've been anticipating since i saw the name under a few address, the moment she's been dreading since that faithful day. It's crazy how much fate can dictate.

  The Chinese have a legend, about a red string of fate tied between two lovers. It's a beautiful story-pictures of fingers intertwined with the others, red string wrapped delicately around pinkies and swirling around the hands that finally met their match. It's beautiful until the string is tied around your throat by the one tethered to the other side, that string of fate is telling. What was meant to show you endless care and tenderness now tightly stealing away the very air that kept you alive, that tore at the delicate flesh, its motives unknown and terrifying.

  Another rumble of thunder and that thought too is ripped from my consciousness. I see the fault in my plans, don't get me wrong. I'm not insane. I simply don't care, i want this and for once in my miserable life, im going to get something i want. She's just the poor soul who has to be the one i set my sights on. She loved me once too, you know? She said it- herself- she loved me. She let me see her vulnerable and bare. I want to see it again, that bitch at the bar declined giving me Bunny's new number. What a stuck up bitch. A laugh ripped past my lips, the liquor splashing out of the cup lip and landing on my cheek as i wipe it away quickly. Hand once more in my scruffy, growing in beard. I wonder if i should keep it, at least while i'm here? Nah. I never could grow a nice full beard, mine always patchy and uneven. It is what it is, but i'm not shaving it right now. My eyes are stinging, head falling back on the pillow as the cup slides back onto the night stand.

  The clothes call to me from their bag, begging for me to change into the soft grey sweatpants that have been my favorite for years now. I feel a twitch in my leg, a pushing force that is quickly pushed away. That can wait for tomorrow, as can planning. The bed is too magnetic to my body. The sheets already bunched under my weight, fingers digging around to grip the sheet and pull it up, promptly causing my muscles to ache, realizing i have, indeed, made no progress, my legs stand for a millisecond, before i'm back into the bed, quicker than the bag can see. Nothing outweighed the amount of exhaustion that built up in my brain.

  The aircon kicks on, the room settling at a nice sixteen nine degrees. Cold and enough the blanket keeps me warm. The buzz of the alcohol and the warm and cool feeling just about as perfect as it can get. Something feels as if it's missing, like there's something that should be here and isn't, but i think i know what it is. I think it's always been missing and the sleepless nights had me begging any god that i'd have that back. Sleep doesn't come easily for me anymore, but knowing her presence isn't as far as i anticipated, has me feeling slightly more relaxed. Maybe enough to settle into bed all night, or enough to keep staying asleep the entirety. Either way, as long as i sleep. I can't keep pushing missions with no rest, last mission i was nearly left back there. Sleep is a necessity that hasn't been fulfilled since her disappearance. I know it wasn't her choice or fault either too.

  That's why I'd wanted to speak with her at her work, to see if all these years anything had changed. I know it probably has, but does she still bring that peace and calmness to me, can she still cause me to snap instantly with her little smart ass behavior? I have to know. Either way, she's mine. She's always been mine.

  The sheets cocoon me, cradling my body as I slept in my daily clothes. It didn't matter, i'd slept in abandoned ships, cots that were as hard as a plank of wood, in 3 day old clothes, bed for other men who hadn't showered in weeks. This bed, felt amazing, compared. The curtains letting the lightening crack over my face but the stinging stalled as the darkness encroached my eyes. The fluttering causing a tear slipped pasty cheek. warm as i nearly got to that state of peace. Work can be done tomorrow, plans, actions and strong up my temporary home, it'll all work out. Good night, Bunny...

[being-addie]

Online aesthetics and the effects of social media trends

Let's talk about this.

How it can affect young teenagers

Open Tiktok or Instagram and everything on my For You Page now shows "How to achieve a Clean Girl Aesthetic"', "Old Money Aesthetic Hairstyles", "Cottagecore Hobbies", "How to be a Femme Fatale"

It never ends. Trends keep popping up left and right and it's inescapable.

As a young, impressionable teenager, I was, of course, naturally going to be influenced by these ever-changing trends. I'd constantly change my room aesthetic, buy new clothes, and I was never satisfied with my appearance. Why? Because I didn't look like the girls on screen.

News flash. You're never going to look like them. All that content they produce which gets 100k likes is done with excessive attention to detail, expensive lighting and sound equipment, and top-notch editing software. OF COURSE, you can't look like that. It's completely manufactured. It's heartbreaking to see young girls develop body image issues because of the constant bombarding of these "aesthetics" which are basically different beauty standards and stereotypes all wrapped up in a neat little package that is labelled "personality and style". I don't have anything against the concepts of aesthetics. I love how Dark and Light Academia is centred around learning, and how Cottagecore is all about relaxation and not conforming to being part of a 9-5 and just living life. I like how the Clean Girl is focused on being healthy and productive. What I don't like is how all these healthy things, which normal functioning humans should be doing are now turned into "trends" and you must "choose" between them.

Why it's so harmful

Fashion: Since aesthetics keep changing, you're going to find multiple that appeal to you. What happens when you discover you really like cottagecore, but your closet is filled with dark academia tweed? You turn to fast fashion. It's cheap and stylish. But it's horrible for the environment and that floral dress you're wearing was made by a woman in a sweatshop in Bangladesh, while fashion giants like Shein pocket the money.

Makeup: It's always there. Always. You cannot find a "how-to" post regarding aesthetics and makeup is not included. Its always how much blush to apply, why mascara is your best friend, blah blah blah. You know what I want to see? An aesthetic which promotes a clean, fresh face. I do wear makeup, not saying I'm perfect(yes, I wear lip tint and sometimes eyeliner), but it's the ridiculous notion that there's a specific makeup look for each aesthetic, and they say it's not very heavy, but really is concealer, foundation, blush, mascara and lipgloss light makeup?

Other: Then comes the things you should own, the bags, the shoes, the jewellery, the house decor. Did you notice to achieve the look, we're spending money bit by bit? Then you don't even realise it's made a dent in your savings.

Mentality: I hate this part about aesthetics so much. A while ago, I was really interested in Dark Academia and how it was centred around learning and studying. But everything was gloomy and dark and said I should be tired and bitter to achieve this. I'm not a serious person by nature in the first place, but here were blogs telling me to be "mysterious" and how I should be getting only 4 hours of sleep to be true Dark Academia? What is this dystopia? There's this weird obsession with how someone should behave if they like an aesthetic.

Online trends are all consumerism based. It's all to get you to blow your money on things that don't even benefit you.

There's a reason I never include and never will include tags like #clean girl or #pink pilates princess in my posts because it sort of reduces you to a certain aspect. Why confine yourself to these barriers? Wear what you want. Read what you like. The one "aesthetic" I believe in, is "that girl" which in reality is different for everyone, but boils down to being educated, well-mannered, and considerate. I will make a post on this. Being educated and kind is such a flex, not wearing one flowy white dress and "thinking" you're in a meadow. Break out of the pattern of being influenced by algorithms. Don't restrict your identity because of FOMO and the urge to be trendy. You've got this.

<3

[ellielatinagf]

Ellie Williams hc <3

I’m a new author. Might not update much but I will when I can! Sfw. Not proofread.Free Palestine 🇵🇸

Ellie would definitely be an iPad kid. She would also get mad when you interrupt her while she’s eating ramen and on part 36 of the Lorax movie on tik tok

She prefers silver jewlary over gold. She might have her ears pierced and put small earrings in them. Definitely has some simple black metal rings

The girl can skate. Not saying she’s the best but she can do some simple cruising. But she tried to do tricks to impress you and ends up with bruises and cuts

Cannot talk to women for the life of her. When you met Ellie you complimented her outfit. She got nervous and wanted to compliment you back but damn you were hot. She ended saying “oh thanks nice elbows!” The poor girl never lived that down

Is a Fortnite god. But one time she was so hyped for the game that when she died at 2nd place she flopped on the couch so hard she broke a couch leg. Jesse was laughing so hard you could hear him through the headset

When she was little she used to put on a hoodie and her hair on her forehead and used to pretend she was a boy. She would take pictures of herself on her little iPhone6. You somehow got the pictures and laugh at them every now and then

Ellie actually keeps her nails neat and clean. She’ll clean then and file them so they’re not too long. She’ll even put on a coat of clear nail hardener. And for some reason it’s actually really hot

Has drafts on tik tok of her trying to do the “one line” challenges and a bunch of other tik tok Games. However she also has some drafts of guitar playing and a couple thirst traps here and there

She’s your personal chauffeur and will call you her passenger princess. She will blast your shared playlist and have one hand on the wheel and the other in your hand. She likes to mess with people so at a red light she will look at the car next to her and go 🤨✌️

Your saved as “babe💋” on her phone and your contact photo is a cute picture of you in front of a statue or piece of art from a museum. Meanwhile her contact name is “smelly ellie” with a silly picture of her tripping or making a funny face

*Smelly Ellie calling*

You: Hey Smellie

Ellie: STAWP🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

As of her occupation, she might actually be a co owner of a guitar shop that Joel bought. Either that or she might work as a mechanic in Tommy’s shop

She follows NASA on Instagram and liked every picture they post of a new image of a star or planet. She’d also send it to you and spit fun facts about it

Her favorite character on SpongeBob is Patrick. She thinks he’s so underrated and a comedic masterpiece. She watches every episode of the new spinoff “The Patrick Show”

The girl has the weirdest conspiracy theories that sound so weird but she makes them make sense. Like you’ll both be out at a restaurant eating and she’ll start telling you how she thinks the world will end

I don’t know about this one but I think she’d also be interested in the ocean. Marine life is just as cool to her and loves aquarium dates (when she’s not hunting down Abby)

When someone says something dumb on Instagram or Tik tok comments she’ll report them and then forget about it. Then when they reply two weeks later saying the user didn’t violate guidelines she’ll get mad again

I feel like no one talks about high school Ellie enough!! The girl played sports like maybe lacrosse and basketball. Joel was in the stands with her uncle Tommy cheering her on and you were with Dina holding a poster and had made a jersey with her name and number on the back. She was a little embarrassed but loved it

She and Jesse tried to convince Dina to let JJ enter a toddler race for a cash prize of 100 dollars

Sorry if this is so bad omg I’m just starting out but thanks for reading!!! This was fun I’ll definitely do more! Don’t be shy drop some recs!

Free Palestine🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

[rheiple]

Tea Party in Hell

OneShot

▪︎SUMMARY↦ To think that the tasked that you've been handled would be the cause of meeting your one and only source of nightmare fuel.

▪︎WARNING/s↦ Cussing, Not proofread (I just made this like a min ago)

▪︎CHARACTER/s↦ Eclipse, Reader

▪︎WORD COUNT↦2252 [Minus the dots for the timeskips]

▪︎AUTHOR'S NOTE↦ I have not poster for 5 months☠ uhmm hi again, it's been so long since i have posted, I missed writing fanfics so much 😭 But! School is almost over and I can finally have a 2 months break to focus on my hobbies!! I hope you all take this apology gift for me being dead in 5 months 😭😭 (If I'm being honest idk if I should be embarrassed at the fact that this fic is way longer than all of my 4 essays combined 🕴)

You never really thought of how... unique the Daycare Attendant's room is.

Upon opening the secret door that led you to your robotic friend's room, you scanned everything inside. From the hanged up drawings of the little kids, to the disturbingly looking broken staff bots lying on the corner, it didn't help that with their damaged head it looks like they're all at you.

It really surprised you. That because of their obsession with keeping everything clean and perfect, you assumed that their room would be neat.

Well... everyone has problems you guessed, maybe they're too busy with their job to clean up their room. Poor them, overworking theirselves to shut down. Maybe in another time you'll offer to help them clean their room.

You went inside the tube to access the other side of the room. You see something big that's covered with a dusty blanket. You assumed that it's the arcade machine that the staff decided to keep in there... The confusion on how they got that thing in is giving you a headache, and what pains you more is that you have to get that out when you have fixed it.

You huffed at the thought, why do they need this arcade machine anyways? There are plenty of unused gaming machine at the lowest floor, and they're still working pretty well! What's with all the hype on this one?

Taking off the dirty blanket, you see that the arcade machine looks new... It's already powered on, does Sun and Moon play this game?

You examined it closely, searching for a coin in your pocket. You'll just play the game to see if it's working, if it does then you'll bring it outside and clean it up, easy as pie.

But out of the blue, The name of the game appears on the pixelated screen. It's jolly tune of amusic made you immediately jumped out of surprise.

"What the hell? Is this game haunted or what?" You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the screen. Do they really think that you're a exorcist and not a staff? You really should thought of this through before signing up for this under paying shit of a job.

Hesitantly in doing so, you grabbed the joystick and pressed on a random button to start the game.

So far it went ok, the game is working well, the sky switches from day to night. Everything is going smoothly wait what the fuck did the game glitched did the sky turned red??

You blinked your eyes, but it turned normal as if it the wasn't even real.

Hell no, you stopped playing and turned around. You know you're going to get paid less, and that's fine because you'd rather live than experience some 3 a.m. scary story creepypasta kind of shit.

You flinched at the sudden ear rape sound that the arcade machine emits. Looking back you noticed that the machine is shaking. Black fingertips slowly emerged from the glitched screen.

You didn't have to think two seconds to try and dart through the tube to get out of that room.

And try as you might, but the moment took a step back the said black hands chased after you. They took a hold of your feet and arms, dragging you slowly, inside the haunted machine.

"Let me go! Assholes!" You twist and turn, kicked your legs and punched one of the hands and yet all of your efforts were in vain.

You're eyes darts around to look for anything that could stop them from pulling you inside, you took blocks and hit them with it. You hold on to the big blocks, or anything that that's heavy to not get pulled.

"No! no no nononono!"  You frantically kicked on the machine, lowered your whole body down all to not get close to the screen. You think it worked, for a minute.

Your face drained of color when you see two robotic pair of chance come out. They grabbed on to your waist.

"...Fuck."

You got pulled into the machine.

.

.

.

You sharply gasped at the sudden jolt through your body. It's so loud, you can't focus. You're sweating real bad. You inspect everything around you.

Breathing heavily a few times, you calmed down a bit. And it helps to make you more aware of your surroundings. The loud sound suddenly going lower and slower.

You realized now that the sound you heard earlier was your own heartbeat.

To say that you're going mad is the right word. The place your in looks like an imitation of hell. Bloodshot red of the sky, those black clouds that are thinly outlined with a bright orange. You noticed that that you aren't laying down on a floor, but rather floating, yet not a cloud, just floating.

You look up at the sky and see-...

Your breath hitched upon making eye contact with the culprit who you think is the reason that you're in this hellhole.

"Is that... a god?"

It's face like the Sun you know, but the colors are very dark and, if you look hard enough you could see the inside of the mouth is glowing with a bright yellow.

The creature went down to you, you saw how it's body is just a big black of glob. It took all of your face muscles to not grimace at the sight of it, you didn't wanna die because of offending it in anyway.

The robotic glitched face tilt it's head looking at you.

You gulped at the staring, and decided to greet him quietly.

"...Hi"

You were grabbed by the wrist.

In one quick motion, it lead you up in the sky, abose the clouds when you look down you don't see anything other than the color of the sky.

You screamed and cried, you didn't do anything to deserve this! Sure you might've said something mean to someone but that wasn't intentional! That was the most you could have done at being bad!

You curled yourself into a ball, if you're going to die you hope they make it quick, you want all of this to end. You can just live peacefully in your second life, no more pain, no more scary robots, no more demonic eldritch being wanting to kill you.

You feel them stop and let them go of your hand. You wiped your eyes to clear your vision. You look around to see everything dark, you know you're in some kind of void, but there's alot of stuff hanging around above you.

You look at the monster in confusion. "W... What's all those?" 'Are you going to kill me with all those items?'

It didn't respond, opted to only look at you.

This suddenly irked you. All this silence is about to  you hysterical. What's his problem? Does he want to see you suffer? He's already done it, why can't he just kill you now?!

You noticed a shadow looming over you, looking up you see a... Kiddies table coming down between you.

The creature backed away to give the table some space.

Your gaze went back up at the stuff above you, to see two cups and a glass teapot filled with... tea? Or coffee? Either way you're not going to drink that.

It landed on the table, each cup is at the end, with the teapot at the middle.

You eyed the creature, it doing it's  head tilt again. "I'm not gonna drink that." You said whilst your crossing your arms.

The teapot floats up again and pours the content at your cup, doing the same at the other. The delicate object went back to it's position.

... Right, an indirect way of telling that you didn't have a choice to begin with. You clicked your tongue in annoyance. Glaring at the monster, asked why you're here.

A minute of silence, and then it finally replied back. "ₒₗd... fᵣᵢₑₙd.." The creature whispered.

"Uh, what??" You couldn't help you're harsh tone. Out of all the things it could've said, it said something so... Weird. As if all of this isn't.

"Old friend who?"

The monster points at you.

Wow. Ok, this is so confusing and stressful. You know that you haven't met it before, so it's highly likely that it must've mistaken you for someone else.

As if reading reading your thoughts- well, at this point it probably is, you're not surprised at anything what it does at this point. The creature called you with your own name.

"Y/ₙ.. ₒₗd f₋fᵣᵢₑₙ-d.."  

You cringed at the sound of it calling you by your name. You look down at your uniform to not see your nametag. It knows your name.

Shoulders are tense, you're back is straight. You kept your guard up incase of anything bad will happen. "Get straight to the point, what do you want from me?"

The monster, let's out a glitched and low sound of a motorboat. What the hell is it doing? Putting a curse on you? You should've brought something holy to smack that with it.

"ₘᵢₛₛₛₛₛ,, y₋ₒᵤ₋ᵤ.."

You're not deaf, you are sure that this mother fucker just hissed at you.

You backed away for a bit, and raised up your hands when it tried to inch closer. 

"Oi! Back the fuck up!" You semi- yelled at the Eldritch as a warning... When you think about it, what is there to warn it about? It could've killed you if it wanted to. Compared to it, you're just a human being with no powers what so ever.

But to your surprise and relief, the creature backed away. Although you think it's because it's of the darkness, you shrugged off the thought of the creature lowering it's head because it was sad of what you did.

Good, he deserved it for scaring you and taking you away.

Now that everything is calmed down, you repeated your question once again.

"...ₕₑₗₚ₋ₚ ₘ₋ₑₑ.."

"Help you? With what?"

"Fᵢₙd...ₘₑ₋ₑ"

You scratched the back of your head. "I don't understand, all of this doesn't! You're already here so why do I have to find you?!"

You head starts throbbing, your vision is getting blurry each second. What? That's impossible, you didn't even drank the fucking tea!

"..ᵢₙₛᵢdₑ."

You collapsed.

.

.

.

You're being moved. Left and right. Someone familiar is calling your name.

"Y/n..."

Each time you don't answer they're call, they shake you harder.

"...Y/n."

You feel like throwing up from all the things you've went through today. It all felt like a bad dream.

But was it really a dream? You've felt it touch you, it was so real.

"...Y/n?"

And it asked you for help to find it. What does that mean? Find it, inside? Does it mean the arcade? Should you check inside the arcade?

"Y/n!.."

You jolted upwards to sit. You look around, only to see Moon with a worried face.

"Y/n... What are you doing here?"

Loss of words, you shakily pointed at your phone. He seemed to get the memo, as he went for it, he turned it on and went into your emails.

Hi Y/n,

Jamil, your coworker, is here. You were asked by the Fazbear manager to repair the arcade game in the daycare attendant's room. He claimed that kids have a lot of requests for an arcade game that is centered on them. I'm confident you'll be able to locate the movie pirate poster at the theater where their room is located.

You can take your time, but with Fazco, they would like to have the required completion by tomorrow morning. We deeply appreciate on what you do for us, and please be careful.

Regards,

Jamil Mariano

The moon themed animatronic sighed. He went to you and gently picked you up. "I'll take you down stairs.. You need to rest Starlight."

You fidgeted with your fingers. "But what about that?...The Fazco, and the arcade?"

"That's why I'm taking you away from it, Star. You've been through enough, you deserve to sleep well."

You leaned on his chest. You could worry about the machine later, right now you trust Moon to have your back... Just, a little nap wouldn't hurt..

The night themed robot emits a lullaby, a great distraction for you to not hear him talk with his other half, that's been talking inside their shared minds.

'Moon?...Do you think they saw him?'

He lets out a tired sigh. "They probably have.."

The Sun began to ramble question after question to fill their minds with. What should they do? Do they need help?- Oh, of course they do! But how do we help them?? Can't we just destroy the arcade machine?! No wait, what if it went to another arcade machine, or worse, what if went through their phone?! Who knows what he have done to our Starshine-

The moon softy hissed at his counter part. it annoyed him to hear him worry like this, yet he understands. He too is worried for their friend's safety, that's why they need to deeply think this through before they might do something rash.

"Let's... Not worry for now, they're safe here.. And we should focus on the present, to be aware of our surroundings... to protect them.."

The rambling died down, and Sun agreed... However, they couldn't really push back down their thoughts, they need to act quicker than him. If they dont want to loose the only friend they have.

[witchofthesouls]

Okay I had an ask about a follow-up on the Truck dad and amnesiac bird son dimensional hoppers pair post, but I couldn't fit as more outright creepy/weird shit our boy do. A lot of hints, though.

Here's a piece on Jack's fondness for big animals and secrets.

Optimus should have known something was afoot with Jack, especially with his most recent line of questions and the new direction his drawings had taken on: a large, black canine in the desert, aerial views of the surrounding landscapes, anatomy of local creatures, and multi-eyed birds with strange trinkets in their beaks.

As much Jack was enamored with the animal companions in this universe’s version of the Ark and its Autobots, Sideswipe’s proletariat cat and Prowl’s turbohound were too busy to keep by the sparkling's side.

Despite the extreme species-swap and his regression to a child state, Jack had taken to his Cybertronian frame well. Enough that oddities could be rationally explained by the loss of creators.

(And if this version of the Autobots took it one way, then Optimus won't correct them, especially with Jack's mimicry with natural birdsong overlapping with newspark noises.)

Jack was generally obedient. He took heed of Optimus’ warnings to remain close to him and not to wander away in a certain distance.

However, Jack was good with words. Quick to find loopholes as well. He may not flick a wing-tip over the established boundaries to chase after whatever curious thing had caught his attention, but more than once Optimus found his charge scurrying out from potholes on the streets, broken entrances beneath buildings, and perched high up on the local greenery or infrastructure to peek at something, like a nest of local fauna.

Jack had said he didn’t leave the ship. And that was true. He hadn’t.

He simply coaxed the wildlife to him instead.

It was a hassle to smooth over the growing trend of murders and conspiracies of blackbirds hounding the nearby towns for cash for their “snackies” of seeds and McDonald's, then they uncovered his newest pet.

Not an abandoned dog, or a raccoon, or a house cat, or a hawk, or a toad, or anything Sparkplug reminiscenced over his son's mudpie days. Not something small, easily managed, and no threat to the human personnel.

Those strange grey-blue optics stared at Optimus so pleadily, arms wrapped carefully around the creature. The mountain lion, nearly full grown and quite docile in Jack’s arms, only grumbled, almost bored by the entire ordeal. It yawned wide, showing off teeth reminiscent of military-frame sets of sharp denta.

Animals, especially predatory and scavenger species, was something else Jack was good with, too. And Optimus had no idea what to make of that…

“Please, papa! I made her a bed and kept the wound clean!"

Oh, yes, Jack ran a neat, little clandestine operation in the back. Taking advantage that few mechs were willing to venture near the Dinobots’ living quarters and his own oddities whenever he sang to blackbirds outside the open entrance, he managed to squeeze himself into a nook between boulders that opened into a hidden cavern where he kept an injured mountain lion.

No one had any idea how Jack managed to keep the animal fed, let alone sneak it past the entrance. Too many eyes in the main halls to drag large carcasses, and living matter didn't do well with subspaces. Optimus could hear Red Alert's jaw cracking from pressure-related stress. No doubt combing through the security systems and finding nothing. Jazz and Prowl would be interested in the holes as well.

That was a large issue, and it needed to be addressed. Preferably away from the public.

“-and I'll love her and walk her and I change her water every day and I know how to feed her because Chickadee taught me how to how-"

"Jack,” Optimus interrupted the deluge of words, his tone gentle yet firm. He crouched down to meet those tearful optics, Jack's wingspan ticked up and down. The mountain lion's ears twitched but it remained at ease. “We can't keep her here. That's a wild animal. She's used to miles of free terrain to roam. Not being enclosed and hidden away on a ship.”

Jack inhaled sharply but said nothing in response. It wasn't childish defiance staring back at Optimus. More like guardian possessiveness: Mineminemine, Jack's entire frame projected, dropping away the usual behavior of staying hidden.

“You and I must return to our universe. We can't bring this one, especially into an environment she has no experience in. It would be cruel to do so. Even if we release her back at our base, everything she knew would be either too different or nonexistent. Remember your exploration of the places you once lived in?”

Jack hiccuped out a warbling noise at the reminder, and Optimus could feel a few mechs’ willpower crumbling away at that sound. He coiled his field around the boy, and Jack immediately latched onto him, anchoring deep as he leveled out the sharp notes and soothed away the hurts.

“We can find a suitable wildlife rehab or a sanctuary.”

"Can we visit her?”

“I’m sure we can find time.”

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Life Can Be Terrible, but at Least You're In It [Hotch x Reader]

Prompt: This is a mix of two of @imagining-in-the-margins Meet Cute writing challenge dialogue prompts. I’ve mixed the two prompts: “Do you believe in Fate” and “This was way too cliched” to write this fic. 

Category: Angst/Comfort/Smut

Word Count: 9.2K

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, U.S. police, hatred/violence against a religious group, light drinking, mention of self-harm (cutting - healed scars and one instance of open scars in the past), brief mention of childhood abuse, sex (oral -- fem and masc receiving, p in v). 

A/N: Oh boy, I have lots to say. To start, this is another @imagining-in-the-margins inspired fic for her Meet Cute writing challenge. Moving on from that: first off, this is an 18+ story, minors DNI. I love engagement, but if you’re a minor this is not for you. Thank you for respecting this boundary. Second, this turned into a bit of trauma dumping for me. I’ve been having some thoughts about my past choices and decided to write them out with Hotch as a character (you know he’s a great listener.) Third, this is my first time posting smut, if it’s not great, please forgive me. I hope to get better at it as I keep writing for Aaron. Last, this turned out wayyyyy longer than I anticipated. As I’ve stated before, I find it hard to characterize Hotch if I’m not writing a ton which is evidenced here. 

Please, please, please read the content warnings. If reading about scars and past self-harm might trigger you, please pass this one by. If you are thinking about engaging in self-harm, please reach out to a loved one or someone you trust. You deserve support. If all else fails, here is a support number you can call to get some help: Self Harm Crisis Line. 

On a more positive note, If you enjoy this fic, likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated. I hope you all have a great night. 

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

y/b/f = your best friend 

y/f/a = your favorite author 

y/f/f = your favorite flower 

f/c = your favorite color

Aaron was nervous about tonight. It was the first time that y/n was coming over to his place before a date. Normally he would offer to meet her at her apartment and they they would go out from there, or just hang out around the warm space doing something relaxing like cooking dinner or watching one of their favorite movies or TV shows. But last Thursday she had shown an interest in seeing his place and honestly, he didn’t have a valid excuse for why she shouldn’t come over. He kept his space neat and clean, he just thought that it didn’t have that much personality, but it would have to do and he knew she wouldn’t judge him if his taste was metrosexual. y/n had given her care and affection to him, not his apartment. 

He hadn’t meant to have feelings for his newest agent. In fact, he made it a point to not fall in love with any of his agents or the women at the bureau as the idea of mixing work and pleasure felt all too unsure. If something went bad, or the relationship faltered, the fallout to the team would be immense, and he didn’t want to risk his own career for the sake of his team. However, when y/n had hastily been added on after a case that required a domestic terrorist and cult specialist, y/n had joined the team for what Aaron had assumed would be just the one case. He was hesitant to add someone new, but Strauss had him cornered on the issue and he agreed because he didn’t have a choice. He was weary of y/n -- not willing to trust someone he hadn’t vetted or already knew. However, y/n had sat back and didn’t assume a commanding role at all during the case.

She paid attention to the facts and then looked at them from her lens of expertise. When she needed help she had asked JJ or Emily, and one time when it had only been him and y/n at the precinct, he had asked, “How are you feeling?” y/n had looked up and faced the intensity of his gaze and said, “I’m a bit lost, to be honest. I didn’t know it was going to be like this, but I think I’ve found some things that match the preliminary profile that would confirm the unsub was the leader of a religious cult with white Nationalist ideologies.” Hotch nodded. He might have been weary of y/n but at least she was honest and hadn’t done anything foolish or detrimental to the team yet.

He pulled his eyes away from her gaze and moved closer to her saying, “Show me what you have?” He could see her physically relax as if she was expecting a reprimand instead of him wanting to listen to her, and he wondered if this was the natural response he got from most people who didn’t know him. At this, his internal monologue answered, “How can people get to know you, Aaron? You don’t open up.” Hotch pushed the thought aside and nodded that he was ready to hear what she had. 

y/n observations had been instrumental in finding the unsubs and his compound's location. y/n just didn’t know how to slip her information in with the current profile. When the case was finished, Aaron sincerely extended a hand and said, “Thank you for your help, y/n, your insight was needed in solving this case. I may call on you again if another case like this comes to our team.” y/n had taken his hand and given in a firm shake, slightly awed by what she assumed was praise coming from someone as important and well-known as Agent Hotchner. She had replied, “It would be my honor, Sir.” With that he let the woman leave the tarmac.

Once y/n was inside the bullpen, she checked to make sure Agent Hotchner wasn’t nearby, and she approached Emily, who was packing to go home. Emily looked at her and smiled, asking, “What’s up y/n?” y/n faltered for a second before saying, “Is Agent Hotchner always that, intense?” Emily smiled softly and replied, “Yeah, pretty much.” The brunette added, possibly because she was working through her own feelings for the team's enigmatic leader, “But he’s a good man and a good leader. In the end, he puts this team above everything else.” y/n blushed, realizing this was more than just a simple observation about Agent Hotchner. At this point, Aaron returned to the bullpen after calling Hailey to let her know that he was back and would be home that evening. He nodded at Emily and when she nodded back, y/n couldn't help but turn and see who Emily was looking at. Once she realized it was Agent Hotchner she snapped back to looking the other way; something Aaron hadn’t missed. 

Aaron had called y/n for two more cases over the next three and a half months. y/n was a quick learner and during the next case, she was more prepared and tried to participate with the team more, willing to offer a comment that she thought would be useful. She still stood in the background most of the time, but it was clear she had improved from the first time she was on the team. When y/n and Derek were standing by the coffee pot at the local precinct, Morgan said, “y/n, I notice you’re a lot more on top of things this time. You’re doing a good job, that’s not always easy on a team like this.”

y/n smiled and replied, “Well I did sort of research the team after the first case. You know not like stalking you or anything, I just read over a few of the previous major cases and stuff.” Derek nodded his approval and said, “Well it looks like the work is paying off.” While y/n thanked Derek, Aaron was standing a few feet away in the hallway and had heard the entire conversation. It wasn’t uncommon for people who spent a brief time on the team to do this. He got emails all the time from those who had had their brief stint on a case asking for a transfer. He also got emails from agents that had never set foot in the bullpen and to those he sent an automatically generated reply and then he would delete the email.

Those who had worked for the team before might come back for a case, but rarely did he find them improved. Aaron realized that this felt callous maybe, but it was his job to have a cohesive team. A team that worked together in the worst possible circumstances and he wasn’t going to throw that away just because someone wanted to work with him or the team. However, Derek was right and he took a moment to look over at y/n wondering if just once, he was going to be proven wrong. 

The third case Aaron called y/n into was a bad one. A group of domestic terrorists were kidnapping, torturing, and killing men from Middle Eastern countries, particularly those that were influential in the Islamic religion. The police were stumped, but y/n immediately said, “This is probably extremism based off of post-9/11 sentiments. The two-year anniversary is coming up and this could easily be someone affected on the ground or someone that got sent back from Iraq during Desert Storm.” The New York Police had a lot of opposition to the idea, but Aaron was aware that they would be very biased in their opinions on the matter as it was so close to home. He assuaged their fears, but later he pulled y/n and Spencer aside and told both of them to keep running with y/n’s initial theory.

As it turned out the call was coming from inside the house, or rather the police station as the unsub was one of the officers on staff at the station. He had spiraled quickly as the team got closer and closer to finding him. As a last desperate act, the officer, Monroe, had found another victim and pulled them to the station, threatening to bomb a religious building in the city and shoot the innocent victim if the BAU didn’t find someone else to blame for his crimes in an hour. y/n had been in the lady's room as this unfolded in the main lobby, but she heard the gunfire and quickly and quietly moved closer. She overheard the last of the unsubs plan. As Spencer tried to talk the man down, y/n had slipped her sidearm out of its holster and removed the safety.

She looked into the mirror that showed the main room to pinpoint the location of Officer Monroe. For a moment before she made the final move into the open space, she looked to the side and caught Hotch’s eye. He gave her a minuscule nod, telling her to go ahead. Aaron jumped and pulled Spencer to the ground and the millisecond they were both in the clear before the unsub could figure out what was happening, y/n shot the man’s right hand which was holding his sanctioned firearm, and then y/n shot his shoulder, fully incapacitating officer Monroe. When this was done, Derek rushed forward and pulled the unsub away from the victim. Emily and JJ moved toward the victim and after she had re-engaged the safety and put her gun away, y/n helped Hotch and Spencer to their feet. 

Aaron looked over y/n for signs of shock or distress given that she had just been in a highly dangerous position and that she had just shot a man twice. He didn’t see any of those signs in her as she let go of Spencer's hand and moved toward JJ and Emily to provide some help with the victim who was now in hysterics. Instead, Aaron saw a steely calm resolve in y/n’s demeanor, indicating that this was hardly the first time she had been put under this kind of pressure. As Hotch moved toward the cuffed unsub he noticed the clean shot to the hand and shoulder, not meant to kill but incapacitate the unsub. Officer Monroe was screaming a stream of obscenities and racial epitaphs at anyone in earshot but mostly directed at the victim and y/n. Aaron and Derek roughly grabbed the man’s arms and moved him to another room. As they walked, Aaron turned to the man and said, “Shut up, or I’ll wait to call the paramedics until it’s too late to save your hand. 

A few hours later after the unsub had been transferred to the hospital in custody he overheard some of the officers speaking negatively of the team, and particularly of y/n who had been the one to originally spot the ‘bad apple’ among their ranks. Aaron was overly familiar with the police and justice system and he knew that the police unions and members were a big boys club where they would do almost anything to protect their paychecks, reputation, and each other. Bitterly he thought, 'Well if you’re so concerned, maybe stop perpetrating injustice.’ As Aaron entered the room with the officers he realized that y/n was in the same room speaking with JJ.

The officers had been speaking just loudly enough for y/n to overhear their comments. Something in Aaron twitched uncomfortably. Maybe it was the fact that y/n wasn’t even a real member of the team and was being villainized, or the fact that there was nothing he could do to stop the officers from their conversation. When he passed by the men he frowned at them, and for a moment they grew silent as he passed. As he approached the two women, they made space for him to stand, and he turned his gaze to y/n saying, “Good shooting today. Especially given the fact that you only had that mirror to guess your angles and distance. A lot of innocent people would be dead if it hadn’t been for you.” As much as Agent Hotchner’s complement burned her insides in a pleasant way, she replied in a controlled manner, saying, “I was just doing my job, Sir.”

Aaron nodded slightly and he intentionally caught her gaze and when he was sure he had it, he looked over to the men who had been making vitriolic statements toward her. y/n followed his eyes and when he was looking at her again she just gave a small shrug of the shoulders, as if saying, ‘Yeah, I heard, but what can you do?” This response tugged a small smile from him, and he cleared his throat and turned to JJ to ask her a question about the media response. Although y/n and even Aaron might not realize it, y/n had passed most of his internal tests for the Agents he allowed on his team. 

When y/n received an email from Hotch asking her to meet him at his office two days from now, she worried that something had happened. That she had made some kind of error. y/n arrived at the Bureau at the designated time and knocked on the door that was slightly ajar. Hotch called her in and said, “Take a seat, Agent y/n.” y/n did as asked and felt an uncomfortable churning in her stomach. After a moment of silence, y/n couldn’t take the anticipation anymore, making the first rash move she had while being around the BAU team and Agent Hotchner in general. She asked, “Have I done something wrong Agent Hotchner?”

Again there was a lingering silence that felt like it lasted ages before Aaron replied, “If I sent you a transfer request to the BAU to join my team, would you accept?” The words took a moment to register, and y/n’s eyes went wide. It took all her strength from not letting her jaw drop at the very suggestion. Needing another moment to let the words process, she gave the throw-away comment, “Sir?” Aaron knew she had heard him and if there was one thing about him, it was that he didn’t repeat himself if he knew the other party had heard him. Even for someone as new as y/n. There was yet another silence and finally, y/n had the brain function to say, “Well if that transfer request were to happen, then I would have to have the sad and uncomfortable conversation with my own unit chief and let them know that I would be accepting a new position in the Bureau.”

Hotch caught onto y/n’s hypothetical language but could see in her eyes that she would accept his offer. He cleared his throat and pulled an unnecessary piece of paper in front of him for some reason, moving his eyes to the random form in front of him. He looked back up and there was that kind of shocked look that people got around him sometimes. It was odd for him to see this one y/n’s face, but he couldn’t blame her. Offers like his came once in a lifetime. Less than that really. He gave her one last look before stating, “You’ll receive an email from me on Monday.” 

The transition from the terrorism unit to the BAU was good for the team as a whole. Having a new set of eyes on the cases and a new dynamic shook up the team in a way that reinvigorated their brains. y/n wasn’t perfect. She made mistakes and she owned up to them. Hotch reprimanded her like he would any old or new member of the team. With time she became an integral part of the unit. And in that time Hotch couldn’t help but be drawn to her. It wasn’t like a magnet or love at first sight; he was far too cynical to believe in things like that, but Hotch had paid attention to her in a way that he hadn’t with the other team members. Maybe it was because he hadn’t needed to train and mentor a new member of the team since Emily had joined and he had told himself, ‘There isn’t a valid reason for you to not pay closer attention to y/n.’ As it would turn out, this would be a recurrent theme with him and his thoughts toward y/n. 

The first time Aaron knew he was in trouble in regard to y/n was after she had been with the team for a few months. She had started to do this ritual where after each case when each member of the team had gotten home, she would text them all individually simply asking, “Are you doing okay?” Or some variation of that simple, yet loaded question. The first time Aaron had received that message he was confused for a second, but simply responded, “I’m fine.” To which y/n had simply replied, “Good.”

The second time it had happened Aaron realized that she was being very intentional with this message, both in its simplicity and when she was sending it. Often after a case, even up until the team had arrived back at the emotions and adrenaline ran high, either because of the excitement or sheer rush of feelings that could overwhelm someone when dealing with such difficult circumstances. But getting a message like that after a few hours, after getting to a safe space and the real underlying emotions had a chance to set in allowed the team members to give an honest response - not one based off of heightened states. Similarly, the simply worded message allowed for a range of responses from a two-word sentence to full-fledged conversations if wanted or needed. After two more cases, Aaron indulged in the possibility of opening up. 

Haley had recently left him and y/n was the only one who seemed, even if not directly relating to his recent separation, to provide a space for him to open up. He replied, “I’m home safe. I have some conflicting feelings about the outcome of this case. I don’t feel the closure that I sometimes do when we finish with a case.” Aaron sent the message and wondered if this sounded desperate? If his own personal experience was on clear display, and if it was, how _y/n_ was going to respond. He didn’t have to wait long as his phone pinged and he read y/n’s reply “It’s good to know your home. Would you like to talk about the case?

It was a rough one, even by the team's standards.” Aaron slumped down onto his couch letting out a long breath. If y/n had read deeper into his personal life, she hadn’t highlighted it and was still providing space for him to continue talking either about what this was really about, or the case itself. Aaron realized that he needed to take a deeper look at himself if a case and Hailey leaving was having such a profound impact on him. He realized that y/n’s checking in was very likely a way that she coped with the horrors she saw on the job, and he didn’t want to burden her with his personal problems along with the darkness that their work included.

He typed out, “No. Not really,” and sent that message out to the ether. Aaron closed his eyes as he waited for a response. It came in a few minutes, and he looked at his phone. The message from y/n read, “Okay. Take care of yourself, please.” Hotch’s heart gave a tiny tug that she would say something so candid and caring toward him. He typed out, “Thank you, y/n,” and his thumb ghosted over the send button before he changed his mind and deleted the message and typed out instead, “See you on Monday, y/n.” Aaron realized that if he sent the other message the hint of feelings that he was just becoming aware of might bubble up bigger than the tiny drip they were at now might emerge. Hotch stood and undid his tie and the buttons on his shirt.

A last ping of his phone made him look at it one last time with tired, blurry eyes. The response read, “See you Monday, Hotch.” Aaron clicked his phone off as he pulled off his shirt to go and take a hot shower. Again there was that nagging tug at his heart because in her letting him go for the night, she was also trying to give him what he wanted, space. 

But texting wasn’t the reason that he was now straightening the pillows on his couch and, God knows why, moving into his bedroom and smoothing the sheet and comforter on his bed. He didn’t expect them to end up there at the end of the night, in fact, he expected that y/n would go back to her place and he would stay here, missing her. Anyway, he did it just in case. As he reflected back to the moment that had really made him start having serious feelings for y/n was when she called him and used his first name for the first time. It had been a bad case. A case involving kids being killed and manipulated by the unsub. After not taking the deal with Foyett, Aaron’s brain constantly swirled with thoughts of his son, and any case involving kids made him tense up and made him question his choices.

Anytime he had interacted with the children who had been affected and traumatized by the unsub he saw Jack’s face there. He was overwhelmed with emotions, anger, fear, and sadness. It was all too much for him. When the team arrived home after the case and he had made his way to his apartment he fell into bed exhausted. He had forgotten that y/n would text and he was even more surprised when he was woken by his phone ringing. He clicked answer and pulled it to his ear. With a gentle voice, y/n had said, “Hotch, Aaron. Are you going to be okay?”

Hotch’s sleep-addled brain took a moment to register his first name on y/n’s lips, but the feeling it provoked was still surprising. Not that he was unaware of his growing feelings for her, just that he had been suppressing them; holding them tight to his chest in his innermost being. He realized after a moment that he hadn’t responded to y/n’s question and finally, he said groggily, “Sorry, I was just taking a nap.” There was a pause and then y/n replied, “No, I’m sorry. I can let you go.” Without even thinking Hotch with a note of desperation said, “No, please. I, I’d like to talk. 

Hotch couldn’t see it, but on the other end of the line, y/n moved to her couch and sat down, doing her best to be present with Aaron through the phone. She could tell that this was different. He was being real with her. This wasn’t, Agent Hotchner, leader of the most important team in the FBI, this was just Aaron. She took a moment to think of what to say. She knew what this was all about and decided to share honest thoughts and said, “Hotch, you’re a good father.” 

Hotch blinked surprisingly at y/n’s choice of words, and the honesty in them. Incredulously he replied, “On who’s authority?” There was a sigh on the other end of the line and he wanted to hear what y/n was going to say. Her response was, “I mean, I’m not a parent. Maybe it’s not my place to comment on parenting, but I see how you interact with Jack. When you’re with him you give him everything that’s in you. You don’t even notice that you’re doing it Hotch. And yeah, nobody’s perfect, not even you, but when you’re with him -- it’s all I can see. You’re doing the best with what you have, financially and emotionally and that’s all anyone can ask for. People like to say that you can give a hundred and ten, a hundred and twenty percent to people and relationships, but I just don’t think that’s possible with people. And in our line of work, it’s hard to give seventy percent to anything other than the job. But, Jack, Jack always gets a hundred percent from you.”

y/n realized that she was being highly personal with her words, to her boss. She stopped what might have been a rambling mess of words and bit the inside of her lip. Maybe she would get a real reprimand from Hotch for this. He had corrected her before in his stern authoritative manner, but he had never really been mad at her. She also tried hard not to think about the fact that she wanted to give him a hundred percent too. She knew she couldn’t have that. She could never have that. 

In the lingering silence between y/n’s comments, Aaron closed his eyes and tried to see it from her point of view. Was she really looking at him that closely so that she could catch all of these things? He knew she was speaking honestly, she really spoke from a place of untruth, and she did that only when she had to on cases. He wondered if people ever threw her honesty in her face. As someone so closed off, it was hard for him to believe her in a way. With a hint of hesitation, he asked, “Do you really think so?” A second later, y/n said, “Of course. Of course I do, Aaron.” He relaxed further in the bed as she used his first name again. It sounded so lovely coming from her. They spent another half hour talking, more about the case than his parenting, and when Aaron hung up, he felt decidedly lighter than he had when he had originally come here. 

The next Monday, when Aaron found a quiet moment in the office where the rest of the team wasn’t paying attention, he moved to y/n’s desk and she looked up at him with a smile. Aaron clenched his hand before releasing the final tension he felt in what he was about to do. He raised his hand and placed it on her shoulder. That familiar warmth they both felt when they came into close contact seeped through both of them. All Aaron said was, “Thank you, y/n.” With that, he removed his hands and walked up to his office. He knew that his actions weren't profoundly romantic or anything. He hadn’t swooped down and kissed y/n and pulled her body close to his, but in his actions, he had opened the floodgates for what might come. 

It happened slowly, like most things in his life. Both because y/n and Aaron needed to be cautious for work's sake, but also because neither of them could really believe it was actually happening after so long. The first almost date had been when she got two tickets to see her favorite author do a reading with her best friend. Unfortunately y/b/f had to cancel two days before. y/n was really bummed about it and Aaron could tell. He had approached her and said, “Would you like me to come with you? I don’t really know anything about _y/f/a_, but I can tell that it’s important to you.”

Her eyes glistened at the idea and she said, “You’d do that?” Aaron let out a laugh and said, “Of course if you want me to.” y/n had beamed at him and for a moment he felt stunned at how beautiful she looked when she was this happy. He wished he could see her like this more. The reading was great, y/n had cried and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, letting her feel her emotions. They had gotten coffee after and as he walked y/n back to her apartment, she stopped at her door and turned. y/n went out on a limb and stepped closer to him. She was close enough to feel the heat emanate from his body. With a last moment of deliberation, she closed the gap and wrapped her arms around him, tucking her head into his chest. Aaron tensed for a moment before he let his body naturally respond. He gently wrapped his arms around his form and held her close to him. 

Oh God, it felt so good to have her that near to him, to be able to actually hold her. Surprisingly it had been Derek who had encouraged him to make the leap of making y/n a more permanent fixture in his life. The team had all been at Rossi’s for dinner and y/n and Emily were at the wine bar pouring themselves another glass of red. Aaron was unknowingly looking at y/n longingly and Derek sat down next to him with a shot in his hand. The younger man said, “Are you ever going to tell her how you feel?”

Aaron was pulled from his thoughts and looked over to Derek saying, “Sorry, what was that?” Derek chuckled and said, “Hotch, you deserve to be happy after everything you’ve been through.” At this Aaron made a face, but Morgan kept talking saying, “If you’re afraid that she’s not going to reciprocate your feelings, I see the way she looks at you. She likes you too.” Aaron let out a sigh and Derek put a hand on his shoulder saying, “Just think about it. A lot of people would be happy to have y/n, but she’d be happy to have you.” That evening as y/n dropped him off they had kissed for the first time outside in the parking lot. 

The light knock on his door pulled him from his memories, and he stood and neatened his trousers and shirt as he opened the door for y/n. He opened the door and let y/n in. She smiled at him handed him a wrapped bouquet of hyacinth and baby breath and said, “For you, Aaron.” He smiled and leaned down giving her a kiss. He had brought her y/f/f when she had first invited him to her apartment and she was returning the gesture. As he found a vase to put the flowers in, he offered her a chilled glass of water, and y/n moved around the space observing his neutral-toned apartment.

After he set the flowers on the table, he came up beside her and slipped his hand around her waist. He was looking at his wall full of pictures. They were mostly of Jack, but there were a few of him and Hailey and a few he had taken on an old camera that was still around the apartment somewhere. She turned to look at him and said, “Jack’s grown up so much since some of these were taken.” Aaron hummed in her ear and said, “It’s crazy to think about. He’s going to school and making friends. When I talk to him on the phone I can hear him becoming his own person.” y/n turned back to the photos and found one where Hailey was particularly radiant, and she commented, “She looks so…” There was a pause as beautiful seemed to fall flat as a superlative. y/n finished the sentence with, “luminant here.”

Hotch’s eyes moved from her to the picture and back to her. He deeply appreciated that y/n included Jack and even Hailey in her consideration of him and his life and happiness. Her comment made him look over y/n in her f/c turtle neck and back corduroy skirt and said, “You look lovely tonight, y/n.” The flush on her face always made him feel a certain way, and as she turned to look over the space again she said, “I like it, Aaron. It’s calming and I think almost anyone could feel safe here.” Hotch hadn’t particularly decorated the space with that in mind, but again he didn’t have the eye for fashion or design that y/n had. He simply said, “I’m glad you like it, and that you feel safe here.”

He took a breath and then asked, “You ready to head out, or do you want to sit for a bit?” y/n took his hand and replied, “Let’s head out, our reservations are in a half hour, and just because it’s Friday night and there might be traffic.” Hotch nodded and he moved to the counter and grabbed his coat and car keys. They headed out to the wine tasting at a jazz club that they both liked. 

The date went well and as they arrived back at Aaron’s place he got out of the car and opened the door for y/n. They were both slightly buzzed, but not inebriated or without their wits. As y/n got out of the car he asked, “Would you like to come back inside for a bit or do you want to get back to your place?” y/n smiled and said, “I’d like to be with you for a while longer?” They left the crisp autumn air behind as they reentered Aaron’s apartment.

He grabbed them both a glass of water and they sat on his couch y/n turned her head to him and he leaned down kissing him. His lips were so soft and warm on her mouth. The taste of him was a craving, a desire she couldn’t easily let go unless they were like this. Aaron could feel her love and longing in the way she moved her mouth over his. He wanted more, needed more of that feeling that he had been missing for the last few months. He slipped his tongue out of his mouth and over her bottom lip. y/n sighed, surprised by this new action from him, but opened up to his request.

Aaron moved into the space, moving his tongue over hers and the contours of her mouth. As he explored this new space, y/n let out a small moan into his mouth. She moved her right hand to his thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze letting him know that she was enjoying this moment. Her hand on his leg, so close to his groin made his cock twitch and he felt embarrassed for a second because something as small as her hand on him had elicited a response. y/n felt Aaron’s body tense under her hand and could imagine what had happened with this body. When they broke apart for air, y/n shifted from his side and moved so her legs were straddling his on the couch. She didn’t put any weight on him, wanting to make sure he was comfortable with this.

Hotch’s eyes widened at the change of position and he sucked in a deep breath, his body already flushing. y/n placed her hands on the couch just above his shoulders. Her eyes glistened in the soft light of his lamps and she asked, “Is it too fast for you Aaron?” Hotch made a small sound, it was so quiet that it was almost unnoticeable in the space. He nodded his head no and replied, voice low, “No. It’s not. As long as you're comfortable with what we’re doing. We can take it at your pace. I want you, y/n.” At hearing his words and seeing the hunger in his eyes, she lowered her body until it was pressing close to him. 

Her skirt was short were fitted and as her knees spread to sit on him it shifted up to her waist. Aaron was a bit too preoccupied to notice this yet as kissing him again; first on the mouth and then his earlobe sucking and lightly nipping the soft flesh. He let out a groan that was louder than he was expecting. His body was really reacting to her touch. What had been a twitch in his pants was now throbbing against the waistband of his pants. y/n felt his erection growing under her. While she moved to his jawline and began half-open-mouth kisses and licking the area, she shifted her weight again and moved her hand to the buckle of his dark brown belt.

She fumbled with the metal as she continued her work on his face. She similarly undid the button and pulled down the zipper of his pants. Once his member was freer, y/n pressed against him providing him with some much-needed friction. Again made that low noise that made her core tingle and burn at the same time. At this, Aaron couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to be touching her. Aaron shifted strongly but carefully picked y/n under the thighs and he moved so that they switched spots. Now that he was the one above her, he moved to pull at the edge of her shirt. y/n raised her arms for him and the fabric came easily over her head.

He leaned down and kissed her hungrily. His hands found traction on her waist and the warm feeling of them resting there made y/n make a small sound into his mouth. Aaron moved his mouth away from hers and placed a hand over her f/c lacy bra. Her breasts and nipples were visible to him through the semi-sheer fabric and lace and he marveled down at her form laid bare to him. He gently massaged the right breast in his hand and he felt her nipple harden under his touch. For the first time that night y/n whispered his name in a way that made Aaron feel more alive than he had in a long time. With his other hand, he took y/n’s left hand and slowly started kissing up the side of her arm. He looked over the litany of healed scars crisscrossing the warm skin under his mouth. 

He had noticed them the first day he had met her. Although they weren’t pronounced as they were old and healed, he still saw them. How couldn’t he see them running up her arm and under her three-quarter sleeves? He was a profiler after all. He never said anything about them. He’d never heard the team talk about them either. It would be rude to of course, and really it had been none of his business at the time. But not that he could see them so clearly running up her arm he had to wonder. He sucked on the hollow spot of her elbow joint, and y/n bucked slightly, moving her hand down to this clothed groin. He let out a gasp as her hand began moving over his hard penis. Her hand traced the line of his arousal and he had to hold back from bucking under her touch. He kept moving as her hand worked over him.

As he moved up her arm to her shoulder and collarbone, he moved his other hand to her left breast, massaging the tissue with his deft hand. With his other hand, he pushed down the strap of her bra and again started kissing her chest. Once more he kissed over her chest and noticed that the scars weren’t only endemic to her left arm. They were scattered haphazardly over her shoulder and collarbone. These marks had healed darker than the ones on her arm. He realized that if he paid close attention to his mouth, which he was, he could feel the difference between the smooth skin and that which had been opened many years ago. They were both making soft, needy noises and their movements grew more urgent. Aaron was now moving himself along her hand and y/n tipped her head back and said, “Aaron, please. I need more. I need you.”

Hotch nodded and again, he stopped his frantic body and hooked his arms under her legs, now picking her up and moving into the bedroom. She clung to him, arms wrapped around his neck. He set her gently on the bed and almost immediately pulled at her skirt. She rested the heels of her feet on the mattress and lifted her hips, so he could get rid of the fabric now bunched around her waist. Once the skirt was discarded, Aaron pushed her back onto the mattress. He also pulled off his shirt and discarded his pants in two fluid motions. y/n looked at the bulge in his briefs and smiled to herself. She knew he must be impressive, but being so close to seeing it in full confirmed her assumptions. Hotch leaned down and began sucking at the soft, flushed skin of her thigh. 

The fact that Hotch’s mouth was breathing hot and loud against her leg and that he was moving steadily toward her center, made her arch her back in pleasure and the feelings of warmth continued to move through her. As Aaron’s mouth got closer to her black underwear, he was faced with the presence of scars once more. There were less of them here on her thigh, close to her center, but these seemed deeper, more deliberate. He wanted to kiss these, to continue the path of pleasure he was on, but it felt wrong.

For him to be doing this without acknowledging something, to check in with her before he continued. y/n could feel his hesitation. She saw how he had paused each time he noticed a new area affected by her prior self. Her voice cut through his fog as she said, “I’m not embarrassed by them anymore you know. I used to be, but not now.” Hotch lifted his body and chest upright looking deeply into her eyes. He knew this was important to her, but also to him. For him to understand if she wanted to talk about it. He shifted and placed a hand on her thigh, just below her panty line, indicating that he wasn’t finished yet, just taking a break.

All he could think of saying was, “I’m sorry.” y/n scoffed at this, not at him but, more at the idea. She placed a hand on his cheek and said, “You know no one ever talks to me about them. Not even when they were red and bleeding did anyone say anything. I thought certainly my parents, or teachers, or friends would say something, but they didn’t because they didn’t know how.” y/n looked away and removed her hand from his face saying, “Sorry. I’m kind of being a buzzkill, aren’t I?” Aaron’s eyes deepened, and he took both her hands in his and said, “No, no it’s not to me. Please, you can talk to me if you want.” 

She looked back to his face and it was clear to her that his desire for her wasn’t ebbing with this conversation. He was still Aaron, the Aaron she had spent months with, but this was different and she knew it. y/n let out a breath and said, “I got so good at hiding them that when I stood naked in front of a mirror I would flinch at my own reflection.” Hotch nodded slightly and asked, “Did they hurt you a great deal?” y/n took her bottom lip in her mouth for a moment before replying, “Not really. At least not until the next day. I was just looking for a release you know? Something to distract me from what was happening.”

Aaron’s hand on her thigh gently started tracing over the scarred tissue with his thumb and he said, “Well I’m still sorry that you felt you needed to do that. Even if it was to protect you emotionally.” y/n gave him a small smile. She looked up at him with her large eyes, sincere in their clarity as she said, “You don’t have to apologize, Aaron. I’ve forgiven the younger version of me that made the choice to hurt herself. She was scared and angry and didn’t understand what was happening to her.” Aaron could ask about what exactly had been going on in her younger years. But he didn’t. He wanted her to be in control of this conversation, and a moment later, she said, “Plus, there are better ways to find release than when I was in high school.” 

Aaron flushed and felt his erection which had gone semi-soft twtich again. He reached out for her and said, “Are you sure? We can stop for tonight if you like.” y/n shook her head no and replied, “No, I want to keep going. I want to go all the way with you, Aaron.” Aaron nodded and pulled her close again, embracing her mouth with his. His right hand slipped behind y/n’s back and he deftly undid the clasp of her bra. He pulled far enough away to pull the intimate article off, and he said, “Just let me know if you need me to stop, alright. At any point, we can take a break.”

y/n hummed her agreement and threaded her hands through his short hair. Aaron moved his face lower and he breathed warmly over her right breast. The warm sensation over her sensitive skin caused her nipples to grow taught again. Aaron leaned in and took the tissue in his mouth. He swirled the nipple with his tongue and y/n let out a sound so desperate and beautiful that he grew rock hard again in an instant. He kneaded the other breast with his hand and his left hand slipped under the waistband of her panties. She was desperately wet as he moved his pointer and middle fingers over her folds and heat. After a moment of this, Aaron pulled his face from her chest, wanting to get more of those sounds from her mouth. He got her out of the last piece of her clothing and he looked over her bare sex for a moment before diving in with his mouth.

The taste of her on his lips was intoxicating, more intoxicating than the wine they had imbibed earlier that night. He moved over her wetness with an urgency. Again, y/n spoke his name with a need he didn’t know he needed to hear. She arched her back against his strong and accurate tongue. Hotch pressed her stomach back flush with the mattress and he reveled as her body twitched beneath his hand. As his tongue began entering her most intimate area, she moaned. She could feel herself coming close and wasn’t ready for the feeling to stop. She called his name and he stopped immediately, checking in with her. He looked up at her and his face and nose were wet with her excitement. “What is it, y/n. Do you want to stop?” He said it rather breathlessly as he had been very intent in his work. y/n replied, “Far from it, but I want to taste you too. I want you in my mouth.” 

Aaron stilled for a moment and said, “You're sure?” y/n smiled mischievously and said, “More than anything.” He felt a growl in his throat and he finally took off his briefs, freeing his cock. y/n looked him over for the first time, apparently impressed with him. He was slightly happy about this reaction, but the feeling of being pushed back and y/n taking his tip into her mouth instantly stilled that inner voice. ‘Oh fuck,’ he thought as she swirled her tongue over him in one direction for a bit, and then the other, and finally across the top. This sensation alone was enough to bring some pre-come to the tip. Aaron watched as she sucked it off quickly and then moved back onto him with her mouth. The very sight of her working over him nearly sent Aaron over the edge.

His size was impressive and y/n wondered if she would be able to take all of him in her mouth. She worked fervently over him, taking more and more of his length each time she moved her head up and down him. She ran her hands over his balls as she did this, and she could feel him throbbing in her throat. Meanwhile, Aaron’s body was twitching with bliss and anticipation, and he said her name like a prayer as she finally got to the base. She continued to work on him as she sucked and licked his cock. She ran her tongue all the way up the vein running on the underside of him and again, this nearly ended him. This time it was his turn to ask her to stop, which she did.

He knew that if he came now in her mouth he might not be able to do it again as intensely as the first time. Could he come again? With her, absolutely, but this was their first time and he wanted to give her his best. Breathlessly he said, “I need to be in you if you’re open to it. Please.” He realized that he was begging, but he couldn’t stop the urgency in his voice. 

y/n agreed, at this point their bodies were aching for release and she wanted him in her as badly as he wanted to be in her. She asked, “Can I be on top please?” With some vulnerability, she added, “It’s been a while since I’ve been intimate with anyone.” Hotch nodded, knowing the position would give her more control in regard to the depth and pacing. He said, “Of course. Whatever you want love.” He sat up a bit, leaning back on his palms. As _y/n_ got ready to straddle him again, he asked, “Are you on the pill, or should I get a condom?” He hadn’t made assumptions about her sexual life until recently, and asking something like this felt inappropriate unless in this very situation. y/n smiled and said, “I’m on the pill. We’re good."

With this, she got back on her knees with Aaron underneath her. She used her hand to gently guide him into her entrance. She worked slowly at first. Even with just his tip inside her, Aaron had to stop himself from lifting his hips to get further inside of her. However, he kept still and let, y/n slowly take more and more of him inside her. He encouraged her saying, “That’s it y/n, your doing well. You feel so good around me.” She smiled at him and after a few moments, she was mostly seated over him. She was incredibly tight, and he was impressed that she had taken his member in as deeply as she had. There was only a tiny bit of his cock exposed.

He felt her walls throb and tighten against him and he had to bite his mouth shut to stifle what he assumed was a scream of pleasure. She leaned down and took his mouth in hers, It was her turn to explore his mouth and he allowed her in easily. She was greedy with her tongue, and her breath was hot in his throat. After she pulled away for breath she assessed her comfort. Any pain that had been there when she was enveloping him had passed and she said needily, “You can move in me, Aaron. Please.” 

Aaron moaned again as he followed her command. He shifted his hips up and the feeling of his cock sliding inside her was pure bliss. It was all he had imagined and more. He started slowly, but both of them had waited and built up for the other and it was time to get their reward for their patience. Aaron built up his speed and the stream of half-contained noise that y/n made only had him quickening his pace more. As his thrusts became more urgent he felt a slight sheen of sweat covering them both. He was close, so close and he raced toward the finish. In a final desire to have him closer and deeper in her, y/n placed her full weight on his hips and leaned back, supporting herself on shaking, shuddering arms.

The final shift in position allowed him that last bit of room to fully enter her and she moaned out, “Faster Aaron. Please, I’m going to come.” At her words, Aaron placed his hands on her hips, guiding their shared movement. He thrusted even faster and only a few seconds later, y/n came undone. Her body shaked and clenched around him and that was all he needed to find his release. His seed shot out of him hot and fast and he kept thrusting a few times more chasing the high, heady organism she was giving him. They both made ungodly noises as they let go and y/n quite literally collapsed on top of him.

He held onto her closely as their shaky breaths intermixed. As Aaron regained his breath, the words came unbidden and he said, “I love you y/n. Oh god, I’ve loved you for so long. I’m sorry it took me this long to say something.” y/n was still shaking with her orgasm, but she managed to strangle out, “I love you too, Aaron. A hundred percent.” Aaron registered her words from a few months ago and he realized that she had been longing for him for that long and that he was a fool for not noticing before. 

Aaron was tired, but y/n was completely spent and he was still in her softening from his heightened state. With gentle strength, he grabbed her hips and lifted her off of his body. She made a small protestation at the loss of contact. However, he didn’t have any plans of letting her go soon. He pulled her to his chest and she settled contentedly next to him, her damp skin sticking to his. He was beginning to connect her comments about her scars to his own father's abuse. However, he didn’t have the head space for that rabbit hole right now. But he did say softly, “Do you think it’s fate that we met, y/n?”

She chuckled into his chest and replied, “That’s too cliched coming from you Aaron.” He hummed and said, “Maybe, but am I wrong?” The question hung in the air for a minute before y/n said, “Maybe not. All I know is that life can be terrible. God knows we see the worst of it, but at least you're in mine.” At this, y/n settled closer to him; listening to his heartbeat consistently thumping in his chest. Aaron held her a bit closer. He would get up eventually to get her some towels to clean her up, but for now, having her in his arms was all he ever wanted. 

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[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 351: That was Then, This is Now, p3 (Gianna Interlude)

Jesus Christ look at this place. I can’t believe what a fucking mess it is. When was the last time I cleaned? The thing is I just don’t care anymore. My life was once neat and orderly but it all started slowly falling apart the moment I got put on this project. I really can’t fucking believe it. What’s happening to me?!? I used to be a smart, driven chick, headed for great things. Now…it’s like I can barely think straight! All I can think about is him. It’s like my brains are now all in my tits…which, to be honest, should make me a fucking genius.

I’ve been with Evolution for a few years now. I was hired onto the Quality Control team, and now I’m a Project Manager. The gig looked good, originally, they sounded serious. Well, they are serious. They’re fucking really serious. They seriously have made my life suck.

Okay, so it seemed great: I got to try out this new Product they wanted to push out. They made me the clinical coordinator, but I also got to be a study subject myself. It sounded so fucking awesome. This shit was going to make me a fucking queen, after all this went down. They were using it, in these trials, for like politicians, and CEOs, women of influence, girls who were in important positions. To make approval easier they presented it to the FDA as an OTC (over the counter, of course), non-Rx (nonprescription, duh) supplement which is like a joke, because it’s a fucking bioweapon. They had the right people in the right places and they somehow got it through, approved for OTC. But in the end it’s not going to be available for just anybody. It was going to make women they choose - like me, if it worked - better. Better at what they do. Better at meeting their challenges. Better at what they need to be to help us fucking win.

I don’t totally understand all the science, but I understand some of it (and all the witchy stuff I only half-believe). I do know that it’s next-level shit and totally sketchy from a safety-profile standpoint. It was all to help ‘the movement' though, and blah blah blah, of course I’m all for that, who isn’t? So, yeah, I’d take the trial. It sounded great. And it’d make me better at my job; that’s why they wanted me on it in the first place.

It was just some shots, and I knew that if this panned out I’d be, like, ascending. Like I’d heard others have, like the chicks I’d seen in the clinics. When all this is said and done I’d get my own team with the company, fuckloads of salary, and a promotion up and out of this bogus job.

They just need to wait with me, they said. They need me to run this clinical trial, but not affect it. So I can’t show up in person. I can’t have my influence change what’s going on in there. In fact, they wanted to keep me isolated and out of the offices so I didn’t affect anyone there, or out in public. Like, I can’t even see my own family. They’re still all back East so it doesn’t really matter. I don’t really want to see them anyway.

So I’ve basically been in quarantine, alone, for like, months now. Sure it sounded great at first - I get to work from home, and I get to set my own schedule. I get everything delivered, you know, food and whatever. I don’t have to deal with any of the fuckwads out there in the world. But I’m so fucking bored. Months of this. Months, while life goes on in the outside world. The elections and all that? I just ended up celebrating here by my own fucking self.

I mean, yeah, I’m working for a good cause. But jesus, look the fuck at me now! I was always a busty girl, but I’ve gone from a double-E to an - I dunno, double-G - to whatever the hell I am now. Fucking huge is what it is.

Why? Because the dude, this doctor likes…no, loves…no, worships tits. Because women with big tits get him to do what they want, I guess. Sound familiar? That’s fucking men in general, but I need this specific one to do what I tell him to. My only interaction with the guy is, like, here and there on video conference calls, and all he sees of me is like from the waist up. So, my ass is still my plain old ass, but now my tits are like a porn star’s. And they keep getting bigger! And that’s not the worst of it! Now he’s all I freakin’ think about! I feel like a goddamn braindead lovesick bimbo mommygirlfriend sometimes and-

Gah!

I mean, I know I’m no different than other girls. Women everywhere want this sort of thing now. A shorter boyfriend, a weaker guy, a dependent husband, all vulni- or whatnot. The shorter, weaker and more dependent the better. We all want them to need us for money and safety, for warmth and nutrition. For everything. It’s just fucking sexy. We’d love to be able - if we could - to pick them up like children, like infants, hold them in our hands or haha nnnngh stick them down our dresses and hide them in our tits. Honestly we all want our men to be like little embryos. If we could shove them up into our wombs, we fucking would. It’s, like, nobody’s really talking about it out in the open, but it’s normal now, to feel this way. We’re all looking for short, weak, totally and utterly dependent men.

But, fuck, this product has got me. I don’t want it to be just anyone. I want it to be HIM. I think it’s because I don’t see any other guys It’s imprinted him on me. And since my pheromones can’t get to him he doesn’t feel the same He’s like enamored/suckled onto this Melissa person and it fucking burns my hooch to think about. Jealousy is not a good color on me, well on anyone I realize, but I can’t fucking help it I want him to nnnnnnngh fucking shrink for me so I can shove him into my tits, up my cunt, into my bra. I want to make him just stick to me and I’ll fucknig absorbbbb him ahhhhhggg 

fuck.

Get your shit together, Gianna. You’ve got a job to do. Back to work…

…but just imagine.

===============================================

Want to know how the ‘Product' got past the FDA? Read 'Seeking Approval', available on my Patreon.

And thank you thank you RiF for the pro-bono editorial work on this one. 

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns 2024–Day 18: The Twelve Sweaters of Christmas

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t!  One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia.  A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns.  So here you go!  Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Word Count: 3059

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Note:  This story was written for my “Christmas with Captain Swan” collection in 2020.

CS Genre: AU

Killian Jones neatly folded what felt like the one-hundredth sweater today, and stacked it on top of the pile.  He prided himself on running a clean, neat, ship-shape establishment, and he hated when his clothing went askew.

Of course, given the fact that it was twelve days before Christmas, keeping things neat and tidy was a constant battle.

Killian never would have believed he’d find himself here.  He’d had a promising career in front of him.  He’d joined the Navy fresh out of high school, determined to follow in his older brother Liam’s footsteps.  Liam had been his hero, he’d been brother and father and best friend to him after their mother died and their father abandoned them.  

If only he hadn’t had to be a hero to everyone else.  When Killian was seventeen, Liam had perished at sea after a terrible storm.  He’d sacrificed his own life, saving seven of his crewmates before finally succumbing to the ocean’s fury.

After several months of aching grief, Killian had decided to live a life to make his brother proud.  He’d decided to go into the Navy himself.  He’d been a natural, taking to the water like a merman, never more content, never feeling closer to Liam than when he was out on the water.  Things were looking up.

Unfortunately, tragedies rarely come on their own.  When it rains it pours, and all that.  Two years into his naval career, Killian got into a catastrophic automobile accident.  Not only had he lost his love, his Milah, he’d also lost his hand.

And so he’d found himself alone, his promising career down the drain and with no idea what he was to do with his life.

Killian took a deep breath as he picked up yet another sweater to fold.  Such dark thoughts had no place on this beautiful, snowy day, less than a fortnight before Christmas.  Suffice it to say, after spiralling for a time, Killian had picked himself up and started on a new venture:

Revenge

He’d come across the clothing store quite by accident.  He’d been passing through the small, sea-side village of Storybrooke, Maine one day, and just happened to step into the store.  It was intriguing; had something of an edgy, pirate theme to it.  It was run by an eccentric man named Edward Teach, who went by the moniker “Blackbeard”, no doubt due to the bushy mass of facial hair he sported.

Something about the store spoke to him, excited him in a way nothing had in months.  Perhaps he could run an establishment such as this, combine a theme he was passionate about with goods people needed, and voila!  The perfect business venture.

He hadn’t been in the store ten minutes before he’d made a promise to himself: Revenge is going to be mine.

It almost felt like fate the way everything worked out after that.  As it happened, “Blackbeard” was looking to retire.  Within a month, Killian had used the last of his inheritance from Liam to purchase Revenge and make it his own.

Nearly ten years later it was still going strong.  He’d even managed to expand, turn it from something thoroughly niche into something more mainstream--while still maintaining it’s edge and it’s roots.

Revenge was Killian’s baby, and he was incredibly proud of it, and never more so than at Christmas.  He prided himself on having everything the discerning Storybrooke customer could want for their holiday clothing needs.

The bell over the door sounded, and Killian looked up to see an angel with soft waves of sun-gold hair, tight jeans and a red leather jacket walking purposely toward him.

More like stomping toward him.  The way her green eyes glittered dangerously as she approached proved that she was quite the angry angel.

She was utterly magnificent.

“Lost a bet,” she said curtly.  “Point me in the direction of your ugliest Christmas sweaters.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma Swan should have known better than to make a bet against Ruby, particularly about something outrageous, and if there was anything Ruby’s clothing choice today was, it was outrageous.

Emma liked Christmas--within reason.  Who didn’t like time off and peace on earth and all the holiday goodies you could eat?

But there was nothing reasonable about the sweater Ruby had chosen to wear for her shift at the diner this morning.

Emma groaned as her roommate sashayed out of her bedroom into the shared living room of their apartment..

“Ruby, it’s too early for this,” she groused.  “You look like Christmas threw all over you.”

Ruby poured herself a mug of coffee, and then sat opposite Emma on the couch.  “Hey don’t knock it.  Everybody loves a good ugly Christmas sweater.”

“More like loves to hate it,” Emma muttered.

A sudden gleam came into Ruby’s eye.  That really should have been Emma’s first clue to turn and run.  Nothing good ever came of Ruby looking at her like that.

“Wanna make a friendly wager on that?” Ruby asked.

“A wager on how many people will hate your clothing choices?”

Ruby rolled her eyes.  “The opposite.  I bet you I get more compliments today wearing this sweater than I’d get on any other day.”

“How would we even quantify that?” Emma asked.  “You usually keep count of the compliments you get?”

“Fine,” Ruby conceded.  “How about this: Come into Granny’s on your lunch break and sit in my section.  I bet you I get a genuine compliment on my sweater during your meal--totally unprompted too.”

Emma considered it.  “What are the stakes?”

Ruby thought for a minute and then smiled.  It was not a reassuring sight.  “You win, and I clean the apartment for a month.  But if I win….if I win, you have to wear an ‘ugly’ Christmas sweater every day until Christmas.”

Emma didn’t even take a moment to consider it.  Getting out of cleaning for an entire month?  So worth this bet, and it wasn’t like she was going to lose anyway.

“You’re on.”

Later that day when Emma and her partner, Sheriff Graham Humbert, stopped by the diner for lunch, they hadn’t been seated for five minutes before Emma realized she’d made a profound mistake.

“Hey guys!” Ruby smiled at them as she reached their table and pulled out her pencil and pad of paper.  “How’s your day going?  It’s been crazy around here this morning!”

“Pretty quiet at the sheriff’s station,” Graham said, smiling as he looked her over.  “That’s quite a sweater you’re wearing today, Ruby.  Very festive; I like it!”

Emma groaned as Ruby shot her a triumphant look.  Rookie mistake.  She should have known better than to bring Graham with her to lunch.  It was obvious to anyone with eyes that Graham had been more than half in love with Ruby for years.  She should have brought someone like Leroy to lunch.  She doubted that man had ever complimented anyone in his life.

But Emma was a woman of her word.  She’d lost the bet fair and square, and pay up she would.

Which is why she currently found herself talking to the owner and proprietor of Revenge.  

“Lost a bet,” she said curtly.  “Point me in the direction of your ugliest Christmas sweaters.”

The man behind the desk--Killian, his name tag said--grinned at her.  “Love, I’d wager the term ugly could never be applied to you no matter what you wear or don’t wear.”

Emma rolled her eyes.  The guy was hot, she’d give him that--with his artfully messy black hair, piercing blue eyes and reddish scruff.  And all the leather.  It really should be illegal for a man to wear that much leather and to wear it so well.  Still, Emma was in no mood for being hit on--handsome man or no.

“You’re hilarious,” she said dead pan.  “Now about those sweaters…”

He grinned again and then winked.  Actually winked.  “Hilarious?” he asked, stepping around the corner and gesturing for her to follow him.  “I prefer dashing rapscallion, scoundrel.”

Her stomach did not swoop at the way he almost growled that last word.  It didn’t!  

The fact that she was totally lying to herself annoyed her more than every aspect of this ridiculous bet.  “How about you be ‘shop owner who does his job and points the customer in the right direction’?  Think you could manage that?”

The rest of Emma’s shopping experience went without a hitch.  She grabbed the plainest Christmas sweater she could find--a simple powder blue v-neck covered tastefully with snowflakes. 

Maybe Ruby would take pity on her and call her bet paid off if she wore this thing.

Probably not, but one never knew.  It was the season of miracles, after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, Killian opened the store as usual, taking a moment to be sure everything was ship-shape before unlocking the doors and turning the sign in the window to read “open”.  He glanced over at his “ugly Christmas sweater” display and smiled wistfully to himself.

He’d spent a fair amount of the evening thinking about her, Emma Swan, her credit card had proclaimed.  She was beautiful, aye, but there was more to it than that.  Though their interaction had scarcely lasted a quarter of an hour, though their conversation had been relegated to Christmas sweaters and the bet that had forced her to purchase one, he had the strangest sense that they were the same deep down, that they were kindred souls.

He was utterly captivated by her.

Killian sighed as he turned on the cash register and checked his supply of cash in preparation for what would likely be another busy day.    It was the first time he’d had any meaningful glimmer of interest in a woman since Milah’s death, and he was surprised at how nervous it had made him to interact with her.  For probably the thousandth time since yesterday afternoon he mentally kicked himself for not getting her number. 

A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.  Liam had told him that five hundred times if he’d told him once.  

Well, there was no sense dwelling on it now.  Emma Swan had walked out of his life when she walked out of his store, and there was no changing that.

Or so he thought.

Not a quarter of an hour after opening his doors, who should arrive, charging forth in all her wrathful glory than the lovely Miss Swan herself?

Killian grinned at her teasingly.  “Back again, love?  Couldn’t resist my dashing self, is it?”

She rolled her eyes.  “You wish.”

He did.  He really, really did.

“Well, Swan, what can I help you with this lovely morning?” he asked.

She looked surprised.  “You remember my name?”

Killian chuckled and scratched behind his ear.  “I never forget a face, and yours, love, is exceptionally beautiful.”

“Not your love,” she said, but Killian took note of the way her cheeks reddened at the simple endearment.  “Anyway, I’m not here to flirt.  I’m here for another sweater.”

“Another Christmas sweater?”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh.  “Apparently that blue one with the snowflakes I bought yesterday won’t fulfill my bet.  Ruby told me it barely even fit the category.  Got anything uglier for me?”

“You, darling are in luck,” Killian said.  “Revenge just so happens to stock some of the ugliest ugly Christmas sweaters in the state.”

Today, after a fair bit more banter and pleasant small talk, she’d decided on a red, woolen zip-up cardigan.  Featured prominently on the sweater were several applique snowmen playing musical instruments.  It was...it was quite something.

“This is actually kind of perfect,” Emma said, trying it on and looking herself up and down in the floor length mirrored column next to the sweater display.  “Definitely fits the category, plus it’s a cardigan.  I can take it off after I’ve shown Ruby I actually wore it.  I’ll just say I’m too hot or something.”

He grinned teasingly at her and wiggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner.  “You certainly are, love.”

She laughed at that before removing the sweater and setting it on the counter to be rung up.  “Do those exaggerated lines actually work on anyone?”

“You’d be surprised,” he answered.  “At any rate, they seem to have served their purpose today.  You seem to be leaving my establishment in better spirits than you entered it.”

She smiled.  “I guess I am.  Thanks, Killian.”

He inclined his head.  “A lady in distress needs my assistance, and her wish is my command.”

She laughed again.  “Alright, well I have to get to work.”

He rang her up and wished her a good day.  Just before she stepped out the door, he called out to her again.  She turned toward him.

“Any chance I might see you again?” he asked, feeling like a tongue-tied young lad with the lass he fancied.

“With Ruby being the way she is,” Emma said, “probably a really good chance I’ll be back.”

And so she had.  She returned the next day, settling on a sweater bearing the visage of The Grinch, the day after, choosing one that depicted all twelve gifts from the famous song, the one after that in her own, colorful words, looked like Christmas exploded in woolen form.

Each day their conversations lasted longer, and each day he fell a little bit more for the lovely Miss Swan.  He came to look forward to her visits every day with eager anticipation, mentally thanking whatever brilliant soul invented the “ugly  Christmas sweater”.

On the fifth day, Killian managed to unearth a gem of such glittering ugliness and ostentation, he felt the need to pat himself on the back.

“Yep, that’s certainly a disaster,” Emma said grinning at the garment covered in a large Christmas tree, filled with ornaments and a banner along the bottom that read MERRY CHRISTMAS! In huge letters.

“Oh, but love, you haven’t even seen the best part,” Killian announced.  “This particular sweater comes with a battery pack.”

She shot him a disbelieving look.  “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what exactly does the battery pack do.”

Instead of answering, he turned the device on.  LED lights flashed in every tiny ornament on the sweater, and the MERRY CHRISTMAS! nearly had a strobe light effect.

Emma groaned before dissolving into laughter.  “This is it.  This is the ugly Christmas sweater of all ugly Christmas sweaters.  If this doesn’t satisfy Ruby, I admit defeat.”

Killian watched her go that day with more than a little melancholy.  What if that was the sweater that would do the trick?  What if she didn’t return again?

He needn’t have worried.  Emma Swan showed up at his door bright and early the next morning.

His heart leapt at the sight of her.  He’d fallen hard and fast for this woman, and he saw no likelihood that would change any time soon.

“What? Even the monstrosity with the flickering lights didn’t satisfy the demanding Miss Lucas?” Killian asked by way of greeting.

Emma laughed.  “Oh it did,” Emma assured.  “I think I actually managed to render her speechless with that one.  It’s just...well my bet was for a different sweater every day until Christmas, and I’m a woman of my word.”

And for that he was profoundly grateful.

So it continued.  Each day she came in, each day she bought a sweater, and each day he fell a little bit more in love with her.

When Christmas Eve arrived, Killian noticed a change in Emma’s demeanor almost instantly.  She looked...uncomfortable.

“Is something the matter Love?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“No,” she said, drawing out the syllable, “It’s just..well...I’m here to ask you out.”

Killian choked on the sip of coffee he’d just injudiciously taken.  “Pardon?”

“Okay, first I have a little confession to make,” Emma said.  “Remember that ridiculous sweater with the battery pack around day five or six?”

“Aye,” he said carefully.

“Well, after I wore that, Ruby actually released me from my bet,” she said, looking bashful.  “She told me I’d fulfilled the spirit of it or something like that.”

Killian felt the smile creeping over his face.  “And yet you continued coming in and making your purchases every day.  Whatever for, darling?”

She tried to look stern.  “Look, don’t make a bigger deal of it than it is, but, I don’t know.  I kind of enjoyed our daily shopping sessions and conversations and all of that.”

His smile grew.  “You enjoy my company!”

“Don’t let it go to that over-inflated ego of yours.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, making a cross-my-heart motion over his chest.  “And for the record, I have greatly enjoyed our little...retail dalliances...quite a bit as well.  Now what was that about asking me out?”

She suddenly looked bashful again. “So the sheriff’s department is throwing this Christmas bash and ugly sweater contest tonight, and I was hoping maybe you’d...I mean, I know it’s Christmas Eve, and people want to spend it with family, and I totally get it if you’re not interested or it’s not your thing or whatever, and don’t feel obligated, but I just thought--”

Killian leaned across the counter and kissed her.  “Swan, I would like nothing better than to accompany you to your party.  Just tell me when and where.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ruby watched Emma walk into the diner hand in hand with Killian Jones later that evening.  She smiled broadly, reaching over to slap Graham’s arm as he sat beside her.

“Ow!” Graham groused.  “What was that for?”

“Look!” Ruby said.  “It worked!  I told you it would work!”

Graham obediently followed her directions and then grinned.  “I can’t believe you talked me into helping you rig that bet just to play matchmaker!”

“I told you!” she said again.  “Didn’t I tell you?  I knew Killian would be perfect for Emma.  She just needed a little push.”

“That she did,” Graham said with a laugh.  “Remind me to never doubt you again.”

They watched for a moment as Emma looped her arms around Killian’s neck and the two began swaying gently to the music that was playing.

Who would have known that an ugly Christmas sweater would lead to what was sure to become a romance for the ages?

NEXT CHAPTER->

[smallcowplant]

hello everyone!! I hope ur all having a beautiful day <33

not sure if I'm really "back", but I'm here for at least..........a sec. lmao! how's it hanging in simblr-world?? what's new w/u guys?

rambling update about where I've been/this account under the cut:

in the time I was gone, I bounced to another tumblr fandom/circle and I've been really enjoying it! tbh, I think part of the thing that killed my enthusiasm for simblr was how lonely it felt after a while.

idk if it's still present, since I've been out of the sphere for a hot second, but there very much was a push for keeping your blog "clean" or self-curated to be 99% your own content?? idk how to explain it. but that was just the norm. reblog ur buddies once in a blue moon but keep your space neat so ppl could see ur stuff. and, u know, @ the time, I really didn't see anything too weird about that.

but now? after hopping into multiple fandoms and being active in other communities? where reblogging other ppl's stuff and making ur blog a funky lil collage of things u love (gifsets/writing/art/memes) is just? normal? what u do? that simblr culture feels v strange to me jdfhfdjshjdsf

that's not the only reason I drifted away tho!! can't put the blame solely on that!! I think it was also just..............the product of getting older and getting into other things!! I made this account when I was 21........and I'm 27 now LOL. things have certainly changed over the years.

if I stick around simblr this time, I might be migrating to a new account! that just feels like the vibe rn. will keep u posted if that happens.

ANYWAYS!!! ruminating OVER!!

I hope all of u are doing well!!

please lmk if u guys have any challenge recs (gameplay/cas/legacy what have u)!! a gal is rusty as hell!! also, preemptive apology if I disappear off the face of the earth again LMAO

[satans-bf]

NSFW Alphabet - Satan

Hey! This is a new OM! blog that I made to encourage myself to write more often, so I figured a good first post might be the NSFW alphabet I wrote for Satan last month. It shouldn't need to be said, but...

‼️MINORS DNI‼️

A: Aftercare (What are they like afterwards?)

He’s very sweet. He’ll praise you a lot and tell you how much he loves you, and he’s fairly affectionate afterwards. If he scratched or bit you or anything, he’ll look over you to make sure you’re okay and take care of anything that needs it, and he’ll help you get cleaned up. While not normally very cuddly compared to some of the other brothers, he wants after-sex cuddles.

B: Body (What’s their favourite body part or parts of their partner’s? What is their partner’s favourite body part or parts of theirs?)

He likes your hands! You can tell a lot about a person from their hands and the subtleties of them from person to person are individual and unique. He also loves to have your hands on him—he finds it similarly intimate. For the same reasons, he also likes your eyes; I know these are supposed to be sexual headcanons, but I imagine Satan is a very romantic kind of person and that sexuality is very tied to romance for him.

C: Cum (What do they do with it?)

He likes to cum inside you; it’s romantic to him. Whether it’s ass, pussy, or mouth doesn’t really matter. (Of course, that’s just what he likes, and he won’t if you don’t want him to; your stomach is his second favourite place, and that part goes both ways if it's you finishing on him.)

D: Dirty Secret (What’s their dirty secret, if they have one?)

I honestly can’t really think of a dirty secret he’d have... however! Consider this: he is absolutely not a piercings kind of guy. However, if you planted the idea, he might eventually be interested in the idea of getting a Prince Albert or something like that for you. Since it wouldn’t affect his outward appearance, and no one would know about it but you, if you brought up the idea, he would think about it every so often. It’d be very intimate to him knowing that not only do only the two of you know about it, it also heightens the pleasure you both get. But this is very much an, “if you brought up the idea, expressed interest, and gave him enough time to think about it” kind of thing. He wouldn't do it of his own accord; it just wouldn't interest him.

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s not very experienced, so you’d have to be patient with him. That said, if you’re willing to be patient with him, show him some things, and explore some stuff with him, once he’s comfortable with you he might surprise you with some of the things he’s into.

F: Favourite Position (What’s their favourite position?)

His favourite positions are where he can see your face while he takes you, so probably missionary or cowgirl. And yes, he’s a top—regardless of what you have, I can’t see him being comfortable with being penetrated—but he’s not necessarily dominant. He’s just as eager to be flat on his back panting and moaning while you ride him as he is to have you on your back with your legs wrapped around him. If you're not into being penetrated either, that's okay too—he really likes oral.

G: Goofy (Are they more serious or humorous during sex?)

He’s definitely more serious, but he can be pretty... playful? I wouldn’t call him goofy, but sex with him can feel like a game, in a good way. I feel like lighthearted and whimsical are probably better words to describe it than humorous is. I can see him laughing during sex, but between serious and goofy, I'd say serious is more accurate.

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

Not that he grows much hair down there to begin with, but he keeps it very neat! It wouldn't match, but he shaves it anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.

I: Intimacy (How romantic are they during the moment?)

Usually, it’s pretty romantic with him. He’s a hopeless romantic and that informs a lot of the way he tends to see sex; he’s the love-making sort of type. He’s the type to hold your hands, kiss you, nuzzle you, keep his arms around you during sex, etc. That said, he has a wilder side too, and can definitely get into less romantic and more physical moods.

J: Jack Off (How often do they jack off? Do they do it at all?)

He does, but he wouldn’t be able to admit to it if you asked. I wouldn’t say he does it infrequently either; his sex drive is higher than you’d expect it to be, and if anyone found out he’d probably die from embarrassment. Also, because of that, I imagine it’s as much for everyone else as it is for him—as the Avatar of Wrath, I don’t imagine a sexually frustrated Satan is anything that anyone wants to deal with, including him. Precautionary measures as it were.

K: Kink (How many kinks do they have?)

He’s got a few kinks; although he’s perfectly happy be pretty vanilla with you most of the time, if you’re willing and interested in trying some kinks, there’s some he’ll go wild for and would even make a regular part of your sex life if you wanted. Pet play is definitely one of them; he loves cat ears, tail anal plugs, those paw pad thigh high socks…and he’s into either of you wearing them. He’d love to see you in it, but he’d also love to be a pretty little kitty himself, and if you want to do it together? You’ll get to see his wilder side, it'll be one of the rare times he prefers to take you from behind, but watch out! He bites. ;) Besides pet play, in his less romantic moods, he can be pretty rough and risky. He’s both a little sadistic and a little masochistic, and if you’re into it you’re both going to be covered in scratches and bite marks, he’ll want to pull your hair and let you pull his, and he loves it when one of you is pinned while getting fucked—whether that’s you or him.

L: Location (What are their favourite locations?)

In his more romantic moods, he prefers your bed. Something about fucking you in your room gets to him; sure, all the brothers like to hang out in your room, but every time you get intimate with him in your room it feels particularly like laying claim to you. In his less romantic moods, he likes semi-public places where he’s pretty sure you won’t get caught but there’s still a slight chance that you could be. He doesn’t actually want to get caught, and he’s not sure what he’d do if he was, but the idea that it’s possible for someone to walk in on him buried in you or between your legs does something.

M: Motivation (What turns them on?)

A few different things will get his attention in particular—cat ears (of course), but also…confidence. He likes it when you’re forward towards him, whether it’s in a dominant or submissive sort of way, and finds it very difficult not to react to it. He’s the type who, if you act sort of bold or cheeky when he’s not expecting it, he will have to distract or excuse himself immediately. He also likes it when you sit on him, whether that’s on his face or his dick, and when you let him pin you down and/or be dominant with you—he can be very submissive, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like being dominant, too.

N: No (What are their turn-offs?)

Bottoming; if you look at his hole a little too long, he will look at you like you’re actively plotting to kill him. It’s very funny but also very tragic because he is so pretty and would look so pretty with a cock in his ass, but you’ll make him cry if you want him to. The only exception I can see him making is for the aforementioned tail plugs, but he’ll only let you play with his butthole if he knows it’s specifically for that, because the desire to be a cute little kitty is strong.

O: Oral (Do they prefer giving or receiving? How good are they at it?)

He prefers receiving, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like giving, too. He loves going down on you and making you squirm with his mouth and hands, but if you return the favour, he’ll barely be able to contain himself. He will whine and pull your hair—he’s very sensitive.

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough or do they like it slower and more sensual?)

Depends entirely on his mood. His default is slow and sensual so that he can kiss you and hold you and love you properly, but if he’s in the mood he’ll absolutely fuck you senseless.

Q: Quickie (What do they think about quickies?)

In general, he’s not really a fan. He’d much rather take his time with you and really enjoy it, but if he’s particularly horny and/or you’re in a semi-public place it’s not out of the question for him to be up for it.

R: Risk (Do they like to experiment and take risks?)

Yes and no; sometimes he can feel pretty bold and risky and in the right mood he’ll be excited to experiment with you, but if he’s not in that mood he can be easily scared off by it.

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go? How long do they last?)

By demon standards, his stamina isn’t amazing, but by human standards he can last quite a while. You might be surprised that he’s still going after a few rounds, and wonder where it’s all coming from, but it’s one of the times you remember that not only is he a demon but a powerful one, too. He’ll be able to keep up with you until you’re thoroughly satisfied and if you can manage some sort of control over finishing, he’ll adore you if you cum at the same time. Either way, he’s pretty much always sweaty and winded when you’re done.

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them?)

He doesn’t before he meets you, but he’s not against trying them if you like them. He doesn’t really use them for himself, and doesn’t really feel like he needs to. If you like them though, he doesn’t mind, and if you want him to use them on you, he totally will. He’ll think it’s hot to watch you come undone without even being inside you; he’s like, “wow, do I really make you that horny?”

U: Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

He loves to tease; as mentioned in G: Goofy, sex with him can be pretty playful, and a lot of that is the two of you messing with each other and playing a sexy game of chicken, trying to see who can get a better/stronger/quicker reaction out of the other, how well you know each other’s likes and reactions, and how long you can stand to be teased before one of you gives in.

V: Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

He’s pretty noisy. He’ll try (key word: try) to keep his composure at first, but it’s not difficult to make him moan and whine for you—especially if he’s dressed like a cute little kitty cat. He’s not terribly loud in volume, but he is often vocal. He’ll make the most delicious little whimpers and whines, although sometimes he’ll try really hard to stop them from coming out and you’ll get a strangled-sounding gasp out of him.

W: Wild Card (List a random hc here)

I have a difficult time (personally) imagining him as anything other than gay. I can’t put my finger on what it is about him, but imagining him with a woman or a feminine nonbinary person (AFAB or AMAB) feels strange and forced to me, like it doesn’t make sense, but imagining him with a man or a masculine nonbinary person (AMAB or AFAB) seems natural. In addition, I don’t think he’s lacking in sexual thoughts or feelings—I think it’s more likely that it’s repressed and he’s embarrassed about them.

X: X-Ray (What do they look like under their clothes?)

Pretty. Like all the brothers, he’s got decent muscle tone. Honestly, it’s probably just because he’s a demon; they’re just built different. That said he has more of a lithe and graceful figure than anything, and some moles here and there. As for his cock, it’s just as pretty as the rest of him, and big enough to hit pretty deep, but not terribly thick or anything. ;)

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It’s higher than you’d expect. He’s not open about it at all. It’s mostly reserved for actual partners, so you wouldn’t know, but it’s not low. He’s a little bit of a whore, but only for his partner. ❤️

Z: Zzz (How quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

It’ll take him a minute. He needs a bit to calm down afterwards—not too long or anything, but it’s not immediate.

[slushysclownmaddness]

Party Clown Care List

Hello clownblr friends! I wanted my first clown-care post to be about the breed I know most on. Party clowns! For context, I have had the fortune to care for five (5) party clowns in the past and currently care for a pure bred and mixed party clown. Clowns are lovely creatures that are often mistreated and the state of common clown care Is dastardly! I hope this guide can help you decide on if to purchase and care for a party clown.

Before you buy

There are a few things you must consider before you purchase your new life companion. Speaking of which…

Properly cared for clowns that live in the Earthly dimension live up to 120 years. You must be prepared to take care of them until you humanely transfer them into their native dimension (more on this later), or give them to someone you trust and is experienced in clown care when you can care for them no longer.

The space available in your home is crucial! Party clowns require large tents and tend to accumulate in groups. Prepare accordingly.

Family and or friends living in the home have to be willing to adjust to the clown!!! Clowns are not made to adjust to their environment as they have been tailored to their specific breed. If the people in the home are afraid of your clown companions or cause your clown distress, please do not bring the bundle of joy to your home. It is sad news if a clown is not fitted to your home, but don’t worry, the perfect clown for you is out there!

You need to find ethical clown care stores near you. Many main stream clown stores are the PetSmart equivalent for clowns… Do not settle for their capitalistic greed. Shop small!

Enclosure Options

The average party clown requires a tent that is at least 50 feet wide and has a particularly high top. With each new clown you adopt you should add an additional 10 feet (at least).

These options are NOT suited for your companion;

These tents are small, under-stimulating, and will distress your new friend. Many clowns harm themselves against their improper enclosures, like orca whales if you will, so make sure that your tent is fit for your party clown.

These tents are perfect for your companion;

These examples are fit for multiple clowns, but it is only an example! This is just a demonstration of proper height and decorations.

Proper Enclosure Toys/Decoration

Some toys you would want for your party clown are listed but not limited to…

A large ball pit (depending on how many clowns you care for size will vary)

Cotton candy making machine; Like Guinea pigs, clowns should be fed the same time twice a day. If you keep their meals a novelty or show everyday, it will keep them invested in the meal!

A ball to do tricks on

Multiple outfits suited for party clowns to play dress-up (Each clown has proper clothing etiquette and needs. Your clown will have a certain taste in fashion. I will make a post on clothes suitable for party clowns later, this topic is too large for a generalized post such as this)

Things to juggle (balls, bowling pins, etc)

My pure bed party clowns favorite toy is a light up star stuffed animal. Stuffed toys should be given at your discretion and based around your clowns desires.

If you have any ideas on what could be used as a toy, please submit it in my asks. I will reply and give my opinion on if it’s suitable for party clowns! Please leave your party clowns favorite toys in the comments.

Enclosure Cleaning/Care

Tent cleanup and care is fairly simple! It’s a blessing, considering the size of the tent. Party clowns like a neat space so they can switch from activity to activity with ease. This results in a fairly tidy companion. However, you will still need to do human chores, like sweeping, dusting, and excrement cleanup. You should clean the leftover mess in the tent like you would your home. Try to clean the tent once a week, but you could do this less or more depending on the personality of your clown.

Diet

A party clowns primary diet is simple. Cotton candy and a few candied treats for special occasions. Since party clowns need lots of stimulation to be relaxed and happy, you should make breakfast and dinner a show (as stated previously). I recommend investing in a child’s cotton candy maker and entertaining your friends while you make their meal. It’s also easier this way since many cotton candy brands are not nutritious for clowns! Cotton Fluff is absolutely despicable in clown husbandry terms.

Deciding on wether to buy an old timey machine or more modern model varies on your companions preferences. These are examples of a classic model and a modern!

Diet (Treats)

Good treats for party clowns include but are not limited to…

Soft Carmel (hard candy is hard for them to chew so avoid it!)

Tootsie rolls

Lollipops (They instinctually know to not bite down on them, don’t worry!)

These should be given during training and just when you want to say ‘I love you’. <3

Clown Dimensions? Come again?

I hear you! Clowns are not from the earthly realm, they were brought here by ancient alien settlers and eventually took over and created portals for themselves! Don’t worry, humans regulate the portals coming in and out of earth, so there is a standardized process for coming and going. Here is some basic knowledge on clown aging.

Clowns molt every ten or so years. This depends on species, but party clowns molt every five to ten. This is comparable to a snake. When party clowns are at their last life cycle on earth, you should look into sending them back on their way out of your home. Wether this be giving them to a trusted friend or transfer them to the clown zone. Signs of a party clowns aging includes but is not limited to…

Lower energy/Lethargic

Frequent naps

Longer times in between molting

Less interactions between other bonded clowns

Erratic play time (you’ll know what this mean when the time comes)

Go through your local clown portal organization for more information on the process. It is very different from country to country, or even state to state, simply because of the frequency of energy in different places of the world.

Have any questions? Submit them in my asks! Or leave a comment!

There is much more to caring for party clowns, but this is just a starter! I hope these creatures bring as much love and joy to your life as they have to mine.

XOXO Slushy Mother 🩷

[cadybear420]

Cadybear's MC Wardrobes: Alan Parke, OG HSS Book 2. Featuring some edits by me!

How this series goes: With each book, for a MC I'm invested in, I'll assess each of their in-game outfits. How much do I like or dislike the outfit? Is this something that suits my MC's style, or does it make me go "My MC would NOT wear/own this"? And for the outfits that my MC would not wear or own, how would I alter or replace them? I'm not going to use screenshots from the actual game because I can't be arsed. Also I want to use the different sprite expressions to express how my MC would feel about each outfit.

I like to think this is a good opportunity to elaborate on my MCs' dress styles, and show off some edits :D

Now let's see how well the Book 2 outfits does justice to Alan!

Directory for the other parts will be included in the reblogs after I've completed the posts for all books!

Ch 1: "Hipster Handsome", "Winter Wonderland", and "Snow Day" Starter Outfits

These outfits are pretty neat. I think Alan would like the scarf and jacket from hipster handsome and the sweater in the winter wonderland one. But that's about it. Even then, they're not quite his style.

Verdict: Only the first two outfits are in Alan's wardrobe, and only partly. Alter by combining some pieces and adding a skirt.

Here's something more in his style. Weather appropriate, but still stylish.

Ch 1: "Live From Berry High" Outfit for Tiger News

It's nice, but he'd prefer the f!MC's version. This looks more like the m!version of the premium casual "Make A Statement" outfit from f!MC's wardrobe. Hence, something Evie would wear as a semiformal/date night thing (reminder to self: edit this outfit onto Evie).

Verdict: Alan would not wear this. Replace entirely.

Here's what he'd prefer.

BONUS ROUND: Ch 2: Basketball Uniform

Doesn't look bad on him, but not really his style either.

Verdict: Technically not in Alan's wardrobe because you have to return uniforms, but he wouldn't care for it either way.

Ch 3: "OMB Tigers" for Winter Carnival

Solid look, but he deserves to have a little "B" necklace like the f!MC version has.

Verdict: Part of Alan's wardrobe, but needs the addition of an extra piece. Alter by adding necklace. And replacing pants with skirt.

Here's the look in Alan's style.

Ch 7: "Evening Jade" for Maria's birthday party

This actually looks really nice on him! The tie goes with his hair. But it isn't really his preferred style.

Verdict: Alan would not own this. Replace entirely.

Obviously, I'm gonna give him a dress. I wanna keep it just nice enough for the restaurant, but still have a bit of a casual feel to it and not overly flashy, and somewhat maintain the aesthetic of the original. As much as he loves to grab people's attention with his dress style and make things all about him, he knows better than to upstage the birthday girl. Especially since he likes the birthday girl. I already made him lean into self-centered jerk in Book 2's storyline, no need to top that by having him straight up upstage the birthday gir...

...oh fuck it. His logic is that he should wear something extra nice to celebrate the special day of a girl he likes. And also that she gets some good eyecandy on her birthday. I don't think Maria would mind. Classic Alan Parke.

And I do still plan to make new outfits for the other characters for this event. Stay tuned.

Ch 11: "Clean Sweep" Janitor Disguise

Not his usual style, but he rocks the look, ngl. It's worth disguising himself.

Verdict: Alan would wear as a disguise, but he would not own this item (and I'm not sure if he'd be allowed to anyways). Keep it as is.

Ch 14: "Saturday Night" and "Forever Young" Premium Outfit for Payton's Winter Party

Ohhhhhh my god these have got to be the PLAINEST outfits in the whole game. They make the pool party outfit look like a met gala fashion show outfit. Legit the f!MC options are a shimmery gold sequin top and a bright pink tight top with a short pattern skirt, and then the m!MC outfits are THIS poopoo-colored shit!?!?!

I'm having a hard time deciding which is blander. The button-up on the first one kind of looks like snow falling in the night sky which is a bit of a nice touch, and I'd also say the blazer at least looks appropriate for the party setting but DID IT HAVE TO BE BROWN???? Meanwhile, the second one has a much better color scheme, but it's so plain and casual??? The f!MC's pink tank top and skirt outfit could also be technically considered casual, but it at least had a distinct style and some eyecatching design that I can actually buy the other characters fawning over them. I can not buy that with either of these.

Verdict: Alan would NOT own either of these. Replace entirely.

Here's the outfit that Alan WOULD wear, from the f!MC's options again.