#she’s so gangly I hate her (affectionate)

[mercuryspit]

Book accurate Bella Swan because I have an embarrassing special interest and I must inflict it on the public

[rootsofdread]

I’m not sure how to start this off but do you mind writing some general fluff relationship images with as many women killers as you can? (Many some smut of you are cool with that)

-Anony🍄

sure thing! <3 i was really stoked about this request tbh, i wasn't expecting to get much for the fem killers so it was nice!! hope you don't mind i did the "weirder" ones cause they're personally some of my faves and i think they need love :-) <3

this does include the nsfw, they're the last two bullet points on every character in case anyone wants to skip reading them!

Sally Smithson / The Nurse:

Sally is super sweet and caring with you. She has some leftover nurse tendencies and is always trying to make sure you're taken care of. She may baby you occasionally, but she tries not to if it's not something you're comfortable with. Your comfort is her top priority.

She loves being close to you and touching you; holding your hand, having an arm around your waist or shoulders. She's very physically affectionate, and it helps her be able to protect you. She feels more comfortable with you as close to her as possible. (But if you're not comfortable with this, she'll settle for having you nearby.)

She also loves just spending quiet moments with you, where the two of you aren't worrying about anything and are just enjoying each others' presence. Doing your own separate things or just sitting quietly together, she doesn't mind either way. She's just happy to be with you.

You always calm her down when she gets worked up due to a trial, and she is endlessly thankful for that. It's been so long since she's had someone who helps her so much. When she's stressed out, she just thinks of you, and those thoughts take her to a much happier place.

-

Sally is very old-fashioned and vanilla. If you have any sort of kinks, chances are she won’t even have heard about it, but she’d be willing, if a little nervous (even if it’s something tame), to try it. Her main concern in the bedroom is making sure you’re pleased, and she’s willing to go way out of her comfort zone.

She’s also very susceptible to touches and dirty talk. You could turn her on just like a switch if you wanted to and have her borderline begging for it, depending on how far you want to take it. She prefers you don’t torment her…But she knows it’s all for fun.

Lisa Sherwood / The Hag:

Lisa is extremely protective of you, and can get a little hostile towards other killers and survivors when it comes to you. She's like an angry chihuahua. She just wants to keep you safe but doesn't know any other way, she hopes it shows you how dedicated she is to you.

If the two of you have to separate for a trial or something, she'll give you a bunch of her good luck and protection charms so you can stay safe even without her. She hates leaving you, but knows her charms will do her work for her if she must.

She's very clingy and loves to cuddle, it makes her feel safe. She especially loves resting her head on your chest or your lap, but most of the time she'll just trap you by wrapping all of her gangly limbs around you. Hopefully you don't have anything to do, because you might have to drag her with you.

She loves going on long walks with you, especially at night, or during rainfall. She'll always either walk ahead of you or will hold your hand while you walk, to be on lookout for you. She loves stopping by flowers and picking them for you, or wandering off a path to see wildlife.

-

Lisa is very bitey during sex. She won't hurt you badly — not on purpose, anyways — but she gets a little aggressive. She will scratch you, too. She hopes you don't mind having a few marks afterwards.

She gets very clingy afterwards, too, though. She may even get fussy if you don’t hold her in some way after. So if you have something you need to do when you’re done, it’s going to have to wait for a few minutes.

High Priestess Adiris / The Plague:

Adiris is always there to comfort you when you're upset about anything. She always mumbles about how the Gods have a plan (even if you don't believe — it's something she always says, in the hopes it helps any little bit), will cradle you in her arms, sing to you, make you a hot drink. Anything you need to feel better, she'll fetch it or do it.

She's always taking care of you in any little way she can. She may be a little overbearing, but she means well. She's always making sure you're feeling well and have everything you need. She checks in constantly, and she hopes she doesn't frustrate you. She just gets worried, is all.

She burns calming incense for you all the time, and for herself. But mostly for you. She knows how stressful being in the realm can be and she does what she can to make it better for you.

She's very shy, and is very prone to blushing. If you say any sweet little thing to her, she'll turn completely red, and may even find something to busy herself. She's not used to such sweetness, you'll have to forgive her.

-

Adiris prefers giving more than receiving, in all honesty. Performing oral, manual, being a service top. It's what she's more used to. That's not to say she won't accept you taking the lead…She just gets more flustered when it's you. She finds it difficult to keep her composure.

She's very insecure about her body, so she loves body worship. Even in just the slightest way — just a kiss, a word and she's crumbling. Melting into a puddle under your touch.

Charlotte Deshayes / The Twins:

Charlotte sees you as more of her protector than she as yours. You're so kind to her, she knows you'll stand up for her when she can't. She may be a killer now, but she still gets picked on, she's sensitive and appreciates having someone on her side. 

You're the only person she trusts to look after Victor when she has something she needs to do. She knows Victor is a handful, but she can always trust you with him. She loves seeing you running around with him, playing and having fun.

She can be a bit childish sometimes, having a sort of wonderment about things she never got to experience as a child. Cartoons, stuffed animals, coloring and painting. She feels insecure about this — but when you let her know it's okay and it's not weird, she's more comfortable. She loves it when you join her, she loves sitting down and doing silly things like that.

She loves reading to you or having you read to her, it's one of her most favorite things. When you're reading to her, she gets all cozied up to your side with Victor, and may just fall asleep. If she's reading to you, she has the book between both of you in case she needs help with some English. She also likes letting Victor look at the illustrations, if there are any.

-

Charlotte has a massive praise kink. She loves to be praised, especially by you. You can really turn her on just by telling her that she's a good girl, she's doing a good job. It makes her putty in your hands.

She absolutely loves it when you leave kisses all over her body. Her chest, back, shoulders, stomach, thighs. It makes her feel so…Fuzzy inside. She wishes you'd never, ever stop.

Carmina Mora / The Artist:

Carmina loves having a shoulder to cry on when she needs it. She's still so grief-stricken all the time, so sad. It overwhelms her sometimes, and she needs someone to hold her and tell her everything's alright. She is endlessly thankful for you and all that you do for her. You make life more bearable for her. She's so much happier.

She loves to sketch and paint you any free moment she gets, she has so many art pieces focused on you she could probably fill a whole gallery with them. She thinks you're so amazing, so stunning, she always feels the need to capture you.

She's so happy having another person to tend to her crows with her. It was the one thing that gave her solace before she met you, and now she gets to share it with you. She puts some bird seed in your hand and promises they won't hurt you, watching with a genuine smile on her face as they land on your wrist and eat from your hand.

She's always coaxing you to be creative, no matter your medium or skill level. She loves you, and wants you to express yourself. She would never stifle you. She absolutely loves seeing what you create, she's always full of compliments for you. She proudly displays your creations next to hers.

-

Carmina is very noisy in bed. A screamer. She hardly even realizes how loud she can be, she just gets lost in you, how much you're pleasing her, how right it feels. People can probably hear her all across the realm.

She can get a bit aggressive in bed. Not with the intention of hurting you, but she can just get so overwhelmed…She loses her control, thrusts herself against you like a wild animal. Clawing at you, biting you, leaving puddles of ink in your skin.

Adriana Imai / The Skull Merchant:

Adriana is very into PDA and loves showing you off to everyone else. You're her trophy partner, and she will parade you around and make sure both you and everyone else know just how much she loves you. It's rare to earn her affection, and you're very special.

She loves to have you on her lap or just sitting with her while she plans out her next trial, or works on her drones. She just enjoys having you close. And if you want to help her, she's happy to let you; listening to your input, or guiding your hands to fasten together her drones.

She's always fussing over your appearance, making sure your hair looks nice and straightening up your clothes, brushing you off. Even if you don't find yourself particularly good-looking, she thinks you're stunning and wants to make sure the outside reflects the inside.

You're the only person she cares to listen to. She knows her ideas are great and she doesn't need input from anyone else, except you. She's always willing to listen to you about anything, everything. You're the only person with valuable input.

-

Adriana is a verse, believe it or not. She prefers topping, but if her partner is strong enough to knock her down and wrench control from her, she'll accept it and she'll love every minute of it. Fighting for dominance in the bedroom is one of her favorite things.

She's into some hardcore stuff, and she's very dutiful with aftercare. If the two of you have done something harsh and straining especially, she'll pull you to her chest and ask if you need anything at all. She can't break her favorite toy, after all.

[hughiecampbelle]

hello! i would like to request a ship, if that’s okay! my name is caitlin , and i am biromantic + asexual. pronouns are she/her. i am 5’9, brown hair and brown eyes. i think the people i usually go for are the ones who can make me smile and sort of get me out of my own head- I’m a very inner-focused sort of person, so when someone actually makes me want to engage with them and can make me smile and laugh, it’s something that i really value. one of my biggest insecurities is probably my weight, im a little on the heavier side and that is something that has really hindered me mentally in the past, though i have been becoming more accepting of myself and my body recently. i love painting and reading and writing, like i would definitely say im a quality time kind of gal and would love to do these things with my partner. i also love graphic design. favorite book is this is how you lose the time war and favorite movie is howl’s moving castle. i absolutely love dogs (specifically bichons), hate spiders (and just bugs in general). i hope this is enough, thank you so much in advance!!

Hi my love! I ship you with: Greg Hirsch!!!

He loves your body. He knows that you can be insecure about your body, your weight especially, but he doesn't see a single flaw. You're perfect just the way you are, and he needs you to know that. He's very touchy, very affectionate, wanting you to know that he loves every part of you, even the ones you don't particularly love or even like. He hates when you get down on yourself, when your thoughts stop you from doing something or wearing something because you don't think you should. He also loves your laugh. Greg is a pretty awkward guy, so whether or not he's trying to joke around, people genuinely laugh at him. He doesn't really mind, as long as they're happy. But you? Greg would slip on a banana peel and fall on his ass if it meant he got to hear your laugh again. It's music to his ears. The sound of your laugh, especially when it's with him or after he's made a joke, makes the blood rush to his face. He's always trying to bring you out of your shell like that.

You love his height. Greg is so tall so it makes him a bit awkward, a bit gangly. He doesn't mean to show it off so much, but he can't help it when you need a book off the highest shelf. He's more than happy to get it for you. His hugs are the best, he's all arms. You feel small and protected walking with him, enjoying the height difference. He looks great once he finds a suit that actually fits. Before, without your help, the seams ended at his ankles and wrists. With your help though, he finally has a closet full of clothes that fit.

Your relationship is funny. Greg brings you out of your shell so easily, effortlessly. In doing so, you share all your greatest loves with him. You watch your favorite movie under a blanket with a bucket of popcorn. It takes him forever, but he does read your favorite book so you can talk about it. He sends you lots of bichon puppy videos throughout the day, even when he's supposed to be hard at work. You spend a lot of time together just doing simple thing: reading, cooking, doing separate things on your phones in the same room. There's no need to fill the silence, it's a comfortable kind of quiet.

Your first date isn't actually a date. You started talking at a work event, neither of you too thrilled about the amount of people stuffed into Logan's home. You get talking about work, co-workers, the boss and his crazy family. It's there that he falls in love with your laugh, that he falls for you. You both know that it wasn't really a first date, but by the end you were both so nervous it basically felt like it.

Relationship Headcanon: Greg absolutely takes care of the spiders for you. He's not afraid of them at all. He thinks they're kinda cute, even. He usually just cups them in his hands and lets them go outside, waving goodbye to his new friend. He thinks it's cute that you're scared of them, funny, though he knows better than to hold them up to you and show them. He names them all too, assuring you that Frank and Dan and Steve would never, ever hurt you.

Hope you like it! 💜💜💜

[pan-flute-skeleton]

A, C, D, and S for Vivi!

Because why not, how about Serfvetta?

Now we're talkin! I'm gonna split these into two posts because it's gonna be huge with both fluff and smut for these two. I will start with Vivi

Fluff

Affection: She's quite affectionate when she develops her feelings. Upon first meet, Vivi has been considered stand-offish. She's a mixed bag at expressing it because it depends on her mood and situation. Sometimes she's touchy feely, sometimes she's doing acts of service, sometimes she's comforting people with her words.

Cuddles: Looooves to cuddle Skwisgaar. She has mastered the art of cuddling his gangly body. Whether it be against his chest or being his big spoon, so long as their bodies are touching. One night, she noticed that they were sleeping butt to butt which she found really funny and endearing.

Domestic: Vivi is definitely wifey material. Not the greatest at cleaning, but you don't see any dust on the counters and that's good enough for her. She cooks, not the most adventurous, certainly more than Skiwsgaar ever does. Before dethklok, she was prepared to live the traditional life while working her ass off. Kids perhaps, but she's still working on that trauma. After dethklok, she's more open to the winds of change. She knows the life of a rockstar is wild and unpredictable and if she truly wants her relationship to last, she's willing to move with them.

Security: This chick almost beat Toki with a bat because he was a stranger in her bar before hours! She's got a fighting spirit and will defend herself and others who need. Vivi never had been saved or protected before, always relying on herself, so she wouldn't know how to react if someone, especially Skwisgaar, defended her.

Smut

Aftercare: Depends on the type of play. More intimate and romantic, she's gonna wanna cuddle her man and kiss to taste the sweat off his skin. More aggressive, toy based play, she's proactive with cleaning them. She hates the idea of lust soaked toy rolling around on the floor or her bed, so she will give a cursory cuddle but then it's right to the bathroom to scrub.

Cum: She's got an IUD so often times he will cum inside her. She loves the idea of carrying a small piece of Skiwsgaar around after the deed. In the heat of the moment, she will beg him to cum on her whether it be her ass or her stomach, not her face or hair. Vivi benefits from some clitoral stimulation and she prefers his mouth over his hands.

Dirty: One time, she hooked up with a guy B.S. (before Skwisgaar) and they were 69ing. Long story short, the guy leaned to the side and bit her on the asscheek. A total surprise and she liked it. And she will crave it on occasion.

Stamina: Vivi can go a few rounds. The most she ever came in one session was four times. As she's gotten older and busier, she delegates a minimum of one orgasm, maximum two, and then she's like "alright, let's start the day"

[pharry]

WHAT YOUR FAVORITE ARCANA CHARACTER SAYS ABOUT YOU

you guys seemed to like the ship one so here’s a sequel. Once again these are all (affectionate)

Asra: as a child you had plenty of Lisa Frank merchandise, and as an adult you really value afternoon naps.

Nadia: a strong and powerful woman makes you blush and weak. You like someone who can do it all, and I mean literally it all.

Julian: Came for the mysterious and edgy fugitive you saw in the ads, stayed for the gangly dramatic dork.

Portia: You aren’t a fan of conflict, but you are a fan of drama! It’s quite a thin line you walk…. Or you’ve gotten into this cottage core trend. You have plenty of houseplants.

Muriel: you have often considered what it would be like to live off the grid. Fuck society. Let’s live off the land and avoid people and taxes!

Lucio: You’ve ascended into a higher being, one who knows no shame. You’re the kind of person who would make a hate account for your own favorite character.

Valerius: You love a bitchy snob, and want him to either belittle you or be belittled. Or both. You can appreciate a sour personality behind a pretty face.

Valdemar: Prime monster fucker. More than monster fucker. Eldritch being fucker. The more incomprehensible the better.

Volta: you think she’s pure cinnamon roll uwu… her hoarding food from the city and cannibalism are minor character flaws.

Vlastomil: Vlastomil stans bring out such a morbid curiosity in me. I want to know what makes you tick. Please tell me, I am so curious. I love and support you.

Vulgora: Youre not even trying to pretend to see the best in evil characters. You’re unapologetically a villan simp. If every character died by Volguras hand, you’d see it as an absolute win!

Nasrin: Nadia wasn’t enough to satiate your powerful woman thirst. You’d gladly take Namar’s place any day.

Namar: We can appreciated good doting father in this fanbase.

Any of Nadia’s siblings: You wanted more female LI’s to choose from. I get it. The tale with Nahara gave you hope for more content. You’re still waiting.

Mazelinka: you can’t get enough of the badass old woman trope. You can also appreciate how well she raised Julian and Portia. The kids are alright.

Morga: you’re a strong MILF fan. You can’t see the abusive parenting over the dummy thiccness of her thighs. Thighs that would crush you like a grape.

Tasya: You also are a MILF fan, but for one who has power with words over strength. You’d love to be her sugar baby.

Aisha: Nix Hydra is your number one enemy

Salim: “Are you winning, son?”

Khamgalai: Youre still upset she was taken out of the story so quickly. Another instance of wasted potential.

Faust: yeah! YEAHHHHH!! FAUST!!!

Any of the other familiars: You like the familiar of your favorite LI, because they’re their precious animal companion. We can all appreciate pets.

Any of the major arcana: You’re a furry

The devil specifically: you’re a kinky furry

[juniorgman187]

Spoiled Rotten (Reid Fic)

Summary: After Spencer went radio silent on Reader while he was in prison, their pride and stubbornness threatens to tear them apart forever. Reader’s forced to mourn the death of who they were and experience the inner turmoil of navigating who they are.

A/N: Y’all are gonna kill me for the ending, but it’s one hell of a way to go.  Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst Content Warning: Imprisonment, humiliation, abandonment, anger, frustration, angst, yelling, fighting Word Count: 5.3k Playlist: Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo

Time jumps are indicated by “. . .” or “_ _ _”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

A rather unfortunate predicament we’ve found ourselves in tonight. I can’t say I’ve ever been quite this uncomfortable in my life, yet I’m careful not to speak too soon. Because I know the second Spencer opens his mouth to break the silence we’re currently sitting in, I’ll stand corrected. 

“You’re breathing really hard,” He tells me out of nowhere. 

See, I stand corrected. 

Now that I’ve become hyper aware of my own inhale and exhale, my respiration is just that much more restricted. I’m practically holding my breath at this moment - both from the anticipation of catching this unsub in the act and giving Spencer one less thing to scrutinize about me. 

“I didn’t say you had to stop breathing,” He tacks on as if it would put me any more at ease. Not that if he had explicitly said such a thing, I would’ve. 

Unlike other people, I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to throw myself at his feet so he’d like me. But to use that as grounds for his disdain would be foolish. Our rancor went deeper than the basic lack of synergy between us. 

And in the spirit of getting to the bottom of that abyssal pit, I finally asked the question with words that always seemed to hang above but never would form. 

“Why was I the only one denied visitation while you were in prison?” 

It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t always like this between us; we were actually close once, although it is hard to imagine that version of us ever really existing. However, if I think about it hard enough, I can remember with perfect clarity who we used to be. 

. . .

“Jeez, you really don’t like these things do you?” I nudged him playfully before feeling instantly guilty once I witnessed the result of my shove that must’ve been a little too much for all 120 (at most) pounds of him. I’d neglected to remember the strength I held over the lanky Doctor as well as neglected to notice where the trajectory of my push would land him - in the direct line of a circus clown walking the opposite direction as us. This, of course, brought him face to face with the character. Unfortunately, I managed to catch a glimpse of the lens of Spencer’s glasses grazing the white face paint of the caricature. 

After a shudder of mortification and a very brave shriek, Spencer ran to my other side to be as far away from the clown as possible and apparently, as close to me as possible. From a distance, you’d think we were conjoined simply by the way he was glued to me - shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. 

While removing his glasses to clean them off with the hem of his blazer, he answered, “Carnivals? I mean, what’s not to like? What with the loud noises, the heart-attack-inducing food that’s more grease than actual food, or the sheer amount of bacteria harboring on each and every handle, hoop, ball, or button of these ridiculous game booths.” 

“Wow, you really don’t like carnivals.” I should’ve figured. 

“Nope. Never have and probably never will.” 

As someone who looked forward to the fair every summer of her childhood, any aversion to carnivals broke my heart. I had a fondness for them borne in adolescence that I couldn’t quite justify now in my adulthood. 

“But they’re fun!” was the best argument I could muster. The whine in my voice being provoked by the possibility that the higher the shrill of my pitch, the easier he’d be to sway. Turns out, Dr. Reid was not nearly as susceptible to my auditory persuasion as I might’ve thought he was. Just a stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. 

“I’m sorry. I know you brought me here because you love these things, but I just can’t get past the ...” He surveyed the fair, ostensibly against his will, in search of the perfect word to describe our surroundings. “Filth.”

I would’ve argued in the defense of the carnival, mentioning how it’s endearing that the only bathrooms for miles were porta potties, and that the screaming, crying, sticky children galore just added to the attraction, and that there was a hidden charm to the way the roller coasters creaked beyond their means with every ride. 

But to an extent, I agreed. It was rather filthy, and I wasn’t much of a germaphobe myself so to someone like him, this would be hell on earth. 

“Well, you get what you put into it. If you’re willing to overlook some minor imperfections, I really think you’d enjoy this place.” 

Spencer by now had his hands in his pockets and his walking pace had slowed to a complete halt. There was a moment of skepticism, followed by a partially open smile to make way for the laughter that escaped from the disbelief that he felt for letting me break his resolve so easily. 

“Alright then. What do you want to do first, Brat?” 

The nickname I’d earned could be seen as meanspirited, but truly, it was affectionately diminutive. Like all good nicknames are. And like the proclaimed Brat I was, I’d taken him to all my favorite parts of the fair. 

First came the bumper cars to ease him into the experience - as ironic as that sounds. He was reluctant to submerge his gangly body into a mini vehicle, much less one that’d been inhabited by God knows how many people before us, but he pushed his reservations aside when he realized he’d get to slam into my car (safely, of course). 

Secondly, we went on the Carousel, but this was only in preparation for the real ride that I wanted to take him on next - the Swinging Chairs. He’d gotten a little nauseous, from both the repetitive circling and the galvanized chains he had to hold that were definitely held by several others. 

He had no interest in going on the Gravitron - super lame, I know - so we opted for the Ferris Wheel instead. I didn’t mind making this compromise so much after recognizing all that he’d done for my benefit that night. And for his generosity and selflessness, I thought it only fitting to end the night going somewhere so tame he couldn’t possibly have any opposition to it.

The photo booth.

The booth in particular we’d gone to was smaller than an airplane bathroom, if you can imagine that. The bench seat was barely wide enough to fit Spencer, let alone seat the both of us. While he didn’t explicitly make the offer to let me sit on his lap, it was kind of a give in that I’d have some part of my body intertwined around him like stubborn ivy. 

. . .

I still laugh thinking about the tangled mess of limbs we were below what the camera couldn’t capture. It was arguably the furthest extent of contortionist work I wanted to do in my lifetime, and henceforth exceedingly uncomfortable, and yet, I’d never felt more at home than when I was in his arms. 

That night he would tear off the top three photos to keep for himself while I kept the bottom three photos. 

To this day, I have never seen the pictures that he kept, and I’m left to wonder if he had them at all.

Because I still have mine. And they were virtually the only thing keeping me sane throughout his trial and subsequent imprisonment. 

Six Months Ago ...

My eyes were locked on the loose thread of my cardigan that I was rolling between my fingers anxiously. 

“Would you stop that?” Penelope swatted my hand away from my sweater. “You’re making me nervous just looking at you.” She grumbled. 

“Sorry,” I apologized bleakly.

A few seconds later she groaned again, making me think I was still doing something bothersome, but it turned out to be just the opposite. “Ugh, I know that sounded mean, and I hate when I sound mean, but I can feel my forehead creasing from the stress, and watching you fidget is going to give me an ulcer.”

“I wish I could help it. I’m just really worried about him.”

“Well I am, too, but that’s not gonna do us any good right now. All we can do is hope for the best.”

Sometimes Penelope’s overly optimistic view on life was futile and unwelcome, and truthfully, this was one of those times. 

“Penny?” 

As she turned her head, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the lenses of her dark green glasses. I could see my own mournful expression as I asked, “What if he’s found guilty?” 

She started to say something but stopped herself. “Right now, all we need to focus on is his bail. We can worry about a verdict later.” She put her hand on top of mine and shook it briefly to remind me that we were in this together. 

Moments later recess was over and the team came trudging back into the courtroom. 

The sound of the judge clearing her throat and our footsteps on the floor made this feel all too normal. 

How could Spencer’s life be hanging in the balance in such a place as non-intimate as this? 

It frustrated me how casual things felt today and how everyone was acting normally. Prentiss had yet to bat an eye, Rossi’s stoic expression never changed, and Penelope was telling me not to worry. Everyone was acting so aloof. 

My eyes darted to Spencer, who was looking back at us woefully. I couldn’t bear to see him like that any longer, so I kept my head down and stared at my feet after I took my seat. 

Even when I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the vision of him in a suit, just like one he’d wear to work. But instead, he was wearing it for this - this vastly different situation. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him the same in one anymore. I’ll probably just remember this particular look on his face, in this god awful courtroom, during this horribly nauseating circumstance. 

If one thing was for certain, it was that this would all come back to me if I ever laid eyes on him in a suit, and that thought fucking terrified me. 

Because that one thought spiraled into the next: Everything was bound to change after this. Every little thing would change in every little way. 

Spencer’s lawyer, the judge, and the prosecutor were going back and forth for a while, but I tuned it all out because I knew if I had tuned in, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back my arguments. Eventually, though, I heard something I could no longer ignore. 

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk.”

I stood up immediately, getting a head rush from the speed. I knew what was to follow, so I needed to be on my feet the second I heard it. Maybe so I could run and escape before I had to.

“Bail is denied. The defendant will remain in federal custody pending trial.” 

“Spencer!” I shouted, losing all the composure I’d been trying to maintain. I reached for him as if he was at any capacity to reach back and hold me. God, I needed him to hold me. Hold me like how he did at the carnival. 

Hold me.

Luke held me back as I fought to be near him.

“Let me go!” I screamed, trying to break free of his tight grip. Spencer could only stand and stare, mirroring my own wistful glance. He mouthed something to me that I couldn’t quite make out, but if I knew him at all, he probably said something about not wanting me to worry about him. 

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s gonna be alright.” JJ reasoned, pulling me into a hug. 

“How long before this case goes to trial?” I heard Prentiss whisper to Spencer’s lawyer. 

“It’s a complicated case. I’d say three months maybe?” 

Immediately, I worked myself out of JJ’s arms and pushed my way through the team, running up to the barrier between us.

“Spence!” I cried out in anguish. 

To the sound of my voice, he glanced over his shoulder sadly. He wasn’t even shocked I’d been able to get so close to him - he seemed to expect it, and for that, he was sad. Because he knew if I was going to be as stubborn as to fight to get to him at this hearing, then I was going to be stubborn enough to reach him in prison, too. And should he find himself behind bars, he knew that I’d get to him one way or another. 

That is if he’d let me. 

“Be strong,” He weakly smiled. ‘For me’ his sad eyes begged in addition. He held my gaze for as long as he possibly could before disappearing into another room. 

As I watched him walk away, I could feel my heart shattering and crumbling into the pit of my stomach. Perhaps that was a premonition, a true gut feeling, telling me something I at the time couldn’t have known and wouldn’t have accepted. 

That was the last time I would see Spencer. 

People always say when something unbelievable happens, it doesn’t feel real, but this? Nothing felt more real and more intense than this. 

There was no other way for me to see this situation but as the first defeat in an endless line of them.

If Spencer was denied bail, what else could happen to him? Could he be found guilty too? Because prior to this, the denial of his bail seemed impossible. He posed no flight risk, but according to the judge, he did. So if what I once thought to be impossible happened, then it could and would happen again.

I knew Spencer was going to be found guilty.

What I didn’t know, though, was how I was going to live with myself from then on.

I didn’t go that day. 

I knew myself too well. So did the others, which is why they didn’t object to my decision not to come to Spencer’s trial. They knew I was better off staying home. Especially, if there was the chance that I might react hysterically again.

I didn’t stay home, though. That part the team never found out about. 

I went to visit Diana instead. A much wiser choice, in my opinion. 

“You know, we’ve been talking so much about Spencer today, but we haven’t talked about you yet,” said Diana. 

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I feigned a polite smile. 

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” She tilted her chin downward and gave me that sly grin of hers. 

“No, no, of course not. I know better than to underestimate the Diana Reid.” I quipped, making her smile widen. “I just figured you’d wanna spend your time talking about someone much more interesting.” 

“Oh please, Spencer and I talk about you all the time.”

I perked up from the checker piece I was fiddling with. “You do?”

“Mhm,” She nodded over and over again. “I always knew there was something between you two because you could always talk about each other to me, but for some reason, you could never actually talk to each other.”

For the first time in months, I genuinely laughed and I couldn’t help it. “He makes me nervous! I always feel like he might correct something I say, or tell me that there’s food in my teeth.” 

“You know, now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about seeing a really big piece of lettuce in your teeth one time.” 

“Diana!” I squealed, pushing the checkerboard at her, pretending to take offense. 

“I really don’t know what you’re so nervous about! I think it would be good if you just talked to him.” 

“It’s, um, it’s not that simple. Not right now, at least.” 

My energy quickly nose-dived and I tried to do my best to hide it from Diana, but it permeated through the rest of the visit. I couldn’t fully enjoy myself after it. 

The team and I all agreed not to let Diana know, especially not with the uncertainty of the case. There was no point riling her up if there was nothing to be worried about. And I could only imagine how I reacted - Diana would be reacting 10 times more hysterically. 

But as much as I hated to say it, I almost would’ve rather been in her position. 

I would give anything to un-know Spencer’s circumstance.

Present Time ...

In this car, there was nowhere for him to run or hide, not like before.

Anytime I so much as entered his gravity by being in the same room, he’d flee the space in the next breath. Granted, he couldn’t really avoid me entirely. We did have to be on the same flight for an extended period of time, but he made that work by letting me choose my spot first, then choosing a spot directly on the opposite side of the jet. 

What a gentleman, huh?

“Kudos to you, by the way. For managing to avoid me for this long. I imagine it’s been as not-easy as it has been incredibly-cowardly.” My words stung as they flowed from my lips as badly as I imagine they seared his already cracked skin. I couldn’t believe that now that I finally had the opportunity to talk to him, I was using it to be petty and passively aggressive. But then again, I could. 

Because after what he put me through, he deserved to feel the full severity of my indignation.

My only wish was that he knew exactly how I had felt when I found out. 

. . .

Icarus. 

He died tragically while using artificial wings, invented by his father, to escape from the Labyrinth. When Icarus flew too close to the sun, it melted the wax that held the wings together, and he fell into the sea.

‘Don’t fly too close to the sun.’ That’s the moral of the story. That’s what Reid was trying to tell me. But I didn’t listen. 

I flew too close. 

I had approached the window with more zeal than this predicament warranted. 

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here to see Spencer Reid, R-E-I-D,” I eagerly spelt his last name with ease as though it were my own last name. 

She’d flipped back and forth between pages, running her index finger up and down the sheet for far too long that it made me worry. Turns out, I had every right to be worried. 

“I don’t see you on the list, ma’am.” 

I was so mindnumbingly dumb that I couldn’t even see how dumb I was being. “Oh no no no, I’m with the FBI. I called earlier and left a message, remember?” 

“Yeah, I remember you,” She smiled politely, giving me the tiniest fragment of hope. “But you’re not on his list.” Only for it to be shattered in an instant. 

I had yet to process or accept this information. “So what does that mean?”

“It means he doesn't wanna see you right now. And frankly, neither do I. Next!” 

“Wait, could you just please check with him? My name is (y/n) -” 

“Ma’am, you are holding up a whole line of people that wanna see their loved ones too, so I suggest you see yourself out before I call security to help see you out.” 

I knew by her tone of the word ‘help’ that meant a prison guard would most likely forcibly remove me from the premises, and the last thing I needed was to feel even more humiliated. 

I got plenty of that when I had to come back to the BAU. 

“You’re not on the list?” Luke seemed genuinely shocked. More so than I was. Above all, I just felt really stupid. 

“I’m sure it was just a mistake.” Stephen reasoned. He was so good at being level-headed. Which normally, I would’ve loved. But right now, it only fueled the fire burning in my chest.

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But later on, she asked him herself, and he said - and I quote, ‘I don’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever.’”

. . .

Those were the words that seared my skin, and he hadn’t even spoken them directly to me to do it. 

The words that did just enough to heal me back to health were, of course, Penelope’s.

“Since you haven’t seen him yet, the rest of us will just wait until you have. It’s only fair that you have your first turn before the rest of us go back for a second time.” 

Back then, it was easy to hold out hope, but the more and more time passed, the more he kept denying my visits. Therefore, the more my hope began to fade. 

It had been weeks since anyone else had seen him before I finally surrendered. Although I had newly-brewing sourness towards Reid, it didn’t feel fair to deny him everyone else’s presence until mine was permitted. 

Luke was the one who volunteered to visit first. And to my dismay, Spencer didn’t fight against it. 

The proof was finally there. Now I could say with absolute certainty: Spencer just didn’t want to see me. 

It was both ironic and utterly frustrating to think about how I’d never gone more than two weeks without seeing him. Even when the BAU got time off after big cases, we’d always spend that time together. The longest we’d spent apart was 12 days. And right when he came back to D.C, we were attached at the hip for the next week, trying to compensate for all that time we were apart. 

Now, look at us. I haven’t said one word to him in half a year. 

If tragedy and comedy could coexist, this would be it. 

“How is he?” I asked Luke as soon as he got back. 

“He’s holding on,” Luke affirmed with confidence. What he said next lacked any of that. “He told me to tell you not to worry about him.” 

Something in me knew it was a lie. “Did he actually say that?”

His lack of an answer was one itself. 

“Did he say anything at all about me?”

“I tried telling him how much you wanted to see him, but he just brushed it off. I’m sorry, (y/n).” 

This became my routine for the months to follow. Every time someone would come back from the prison, I’d ask them if they talked about me, but the answer was always no. After a while, it had gotten to the point where I purposefully started leaving myself out of the loop. At least in that case, it was by my own volition that I was being excluded, not by a predicament being forced on me. 

Not by Spencer. 

“We’re not doing this right now,” Spencer declaration brought me back to the present, where I found him removing himself from both the conversation and the vehicle. When I heard the latch click to open, my hand reflexively flew to my auto-lock to prevent him from leaving. Naturally, he still managed to escape using his door’s button.

If I couldn’t stop him, then I could follow him. 

“Then when will we do this? Huh, Spencer? When? Because anytime I try to talk to you, you run away.” The mere fact that I was speed-walking after him was proof. While he casually strolled down the sidewalk paying me no mind, I tried to be clever and walk down the street so we’d be somewhat side to side. I was tired of staring at his back every time he walked away. I needed to see his face.

For his every stride, I had to take at least three steps. He was gliding through the world so effortlessly as I was trekking my uphill battle. It was quite fitting, though. Further exemplification that, between us, I was fighting harder to preserve the people we used to be, the relationship we used to have. Meanwhile, he couldn’t care less. A stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. Just like he always was. 

As I began to speak, I had to also be conscious of the parked cars along the curb, being careful to weave in and out. 

“For months, you have blatantly ignored me. The entire time you were in prison, you denied my visits. And it’s not like it was a one time thing. I tried to visit you over 100 times while you were in jail! 100 times I got rejected. 100 times I got turned away. 100 times my heart shattered.” 

By now, I was speaking so loudly that I could see household lights within neighboring homes turning on. I hadn’t even realized how far we’d walked down the street and away from our car, but it was the last thing on my mind. 

“Then after you were released, it’s like I never even existed. I had to find out that you were out of there a week later than everyone else because they all assumed you came to me yourself to tell me the good news,” I laughed wryly at my own stupidity. “Do you know how hard it was for me?” 

“Do you know how hard it was for me?” 

It took me a second to register that he was actually engaging with me in this conversation now. But when I looked at his expression, I could see that something within him had snapped. A little piece of me was glad, though. Now I knew for sure that there was some effect I had on him. 

“Hard for you?”

“I know you came to visit me 100 times! Want to know how I know? Because I was there, too! I was there every time a guard came to ask if I wanted to see you. I was there every time I turned you away. And while you got to walk out of those doors every time I did, I was stuck in there, rotting in that cell, thinking about how badly I wanted to see you. How badly I wanted to touch ...” His voice faltered. “To touch you. But I had to protect you!” 

“You do realize in protecting me, you were hurting me in the process.” 

“Because you just don’t know when to leave well enough alone!” His hands tugged at the root of his unruly hair like evidence of the frustration that my stubbornness caused. “You’re such a pain in the ass because you can never cooperate! It’s gotta be your way or no one else’s! ‘Spencer, it has to be this way because I said so. Spencer, you have to let me see you because I said so. Spencer, you have to talk to me because I said so. Spencer, you have to ride this stupid roller coaster because I said so,’” His imitation of my nagging voice would’ve made me laugh before. Now, it was bringing me onto the verge of tears. “Since clearly no one’s told you this before - not everything is about you! You just want it to be because you’re a whiny, little brat! You’re so spoiled rotten that you can’t even see how far down it goes. If you did, you’d know that you’re rotten to the core and that nothing will ever satisfy you. Especially me.”

His words had done more than sear me. They pierced me. They ripped me. They destroyed me. When he called me Brat, I thought it was endearing. Now, looking back, I realize - no, that’s just how little he thought of me. 

As I came to the conclusion, I stopped dead in my tracks on the pavement. 

I was done chasing Spencer.

His face had fallen from its anger, indicating he was apologetic, but I was beyond accepting his sorry excuses anymore. I couldn’t stand to look at him so I looked behind me to find our car at least a football field away. I guess in many ways, I’d gone the whole nine yards. 

“This is what you wanted right?” I turned back to him momentarily. My voice scared me how calm it was because, inside, I was boiling with rage. “Well, here you go, Spence. Have all the fucking space you want.” 

It was usually me watching his back while he walked away, and now, he was watching mine. 

“(Y/n), wait!” 

And for the briefest second, it actually felt good to be the first one to leave. 

I was free. 

_ _ _

To my dismay and relief, when I walked into work the next morning, he wasn’t there. I would’ve looked for him with more than a cursory glance except I was stuck on looking at something strange in the bullpen that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But as I walked further in, a blaring siren went off in my head. 

Spencer’s desk is completely empty. 

I instantly sorted through my purse for my phone to reach Prentiss when I noticed something more. 

I had been desperate to cling onto any notion that he still loved me, and there it was, just sitting on his desk. Proof that the man I loved was still in there somewhere.

The top three pictures from the carnival photo booth.

I laughed, as I always did, thinking about how much we had to exert ourselves to be positioned in a semi-adequate way. In the next wave, I felt profoundly empty. He had kept the pictures all these years, and now that I finally get to see them, he’s left me.

As I brought my hand to my face to clear the tears pooling at my lower lashes, I saw that my finger had an ink smear on the pad of it. There was nowhere else I could’ve obtained it except for if there was writing on the back of the photos. 

What I read when I turned it over was as follows. 

I want to be this guy for you again, (y/n). I just don’t know how. 

I just don’t know if I can.

No matter how much I’ve changed, one thing’s still the same.

I love you. 

I should’ve focused on the message, but all that I could focus on was that if I managed to smear the ink, that meant it was fresh, written just now. 

He was still here. 

I pocketed the photos and abandoned my purse, only carrying with me the phone that I forgot to use to dial Prentiss. After a moment’s indecision, I figured that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator, and I bounded down the steps without hesitation. 

“Spencer!” I yelled into the parking structure when I reached the ground floor. The sound of me bursting through the door caught the attention of Anderson, who was getting out of his car. 

“I just saw him leave.” Anderson threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the exit. I knew, even in my state of mind, there was no feasible reality where I could reach him on foot. I had to call him. 

I pleaded to myself for him to pick up with every ring of my phone. 

“(Y/n),” He said like a statement instead of a question. Again, he’d anticipated I’d do this. He probably picked it up not even having to look at the caller ID but knowing it was me and no one else. 

“I don’t need you to be the guy you were before, Spencer. I just need you to bend a little bit. I know we’re both stubborn people, but if we can just find a halfway point-”

“(Y/n), (y/n),” He was settling me and the sentences that were coming out of my mouth at 100 mph. 

“I’ll bend if you bend.” I promised. 

The static of the call filled my ears until his voice finally did.

“For everyone else, I bend ... for you, I break.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

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[cats-coffee-castiel]

Day 7 - Thunderstorm

For the @deancaskiss Summer Drabble Challenge!

7 - Thunderstorm

Dark clouds cluster on the horizon and the air thickens halfway through Sam’s run. He watches the threatening beast of the storm coagulate out of the corner of his eye. It’s impossible to ignore, even when he tries to focus on his breathing, the soothing burn in his muscles, the steady voice of the podcast in his ears. He wars with himself over whether to cut his workout short to avoid the storm. Then a spidery bolt of lightning threads itself from the sky. A peal of thunder follows not long after and jitters his heart in his chest.

Sam cuts across three yards and a cornfield and doesn’t stop until he goes to ground in the bunker like a frightened animal. The door slams behind him, silencing the roadside hum of the outdoors but leaving his breath rushing to fill the vacuum in his lungs.

“Back already?” comes the singsong call of Eileen’s voice. He startles as she walks into the foyer. A wide-brush stain of worry spreads across her pretty face.

“Yeah,” he says, voice cracking. He swallows and repeats: “Yeah. Looks like a storm’s on the way.”

Her frown doesn’t soften. “I know. Are you okay, Sam?”

This time when she speaks her hands flash in delicate signs and he warms at the affectionate emphasis she always puts on his name.

“Love moose.”

It loosens the knot in his gut and steadies his warlike heartbeat.

“Uh. It’s, uh. It’s kinda dumb. I’m just – “

Eileen’s gaze is steady, unmoving, unjudging. She’s five two and always makes him feel like a small, soft thing instead of a gangly warrior. He keeps on, trying to remember the signs for a few of the words so he doesn’t get stuck on the confession.

“I used to be really afraid of thunderstorms as a kid. When I was little, you know? Especially when Dean and Dad were gone. I don’t – I don’t really remember why. I just hated the noise and the darkness, I guess. Sometimes they still bother me.”

Sam’s voice grows weak in the face of Eileen’s smile and gentle eyes.

“Yeah. They feel weird. Especially in the summer,” she admits. “What did you do when Dean wasn’t there?”

It’s funny that she doesn’t ask about John, Sam thinks. She’s too smart and already knows that John didn’t do fuck all when he was scared except tell him to man up about it. Oh, and once when he was eight, tried to get him to drink some whiskey to ease the fear.

He’d refused and Dean drank it instead to shut their dad up. And then John had the nerve to laugh like a hyena when thirteen year old underweight Dean had stumbled around like a stroke victim from the strength of that bottom shelf liquor.

“I…I hid in the bathtub of whatever crappy hotel room we were staying in until the storm was over,” he says, scratching at his neck.

Eileen huffs the cutest laugh in the universe.

“Storm’s getting closer,” she signs. “I can feel it. And I think we got a bathtub big enough for both of us back there somewhere.”

“Eileen, it’s okay. We don’t have to – “

A strange expression passes over her face, contemplative. An instant later the walls of the bunker and the concrete beneath their feet shake and rumble as a deafening crack of thunder lands somewhere above them. Sam spooks like a deer. Eileen doesn’t move at all.

“Yeah, I think we do. C’mon, Sam. We can even keep our clothes on,” and she flashes him a toothy cocksure grin that he would follow to the ends of the earth.

Or follow to her bathroom, whichever the case may be. The bunker bathtubs are at least cleaner than the ones Sam remembers of his youth. He climbs into the tub and sits down, fully clothed and ridiculous, right up until Eileen clambers in after him. She settles in his lap, the crown of her head butted up against his chin. They tangle their limbs together until they are braided in a tight embrace and cocooned in the shelter of the shower curtains.

It is still and warm and soft and peaceful as though they are being coddled in the womb of the earth itself.

“Another one’s coming,” Eileen says against his chest. He pulls her tighter, instinctive, and a few seconds later everything trembles and the far-off roar of thunder reverberates in his ribcage.

“How can you tell?” he asks, but she can’t see his face and his hands are busy holding her and he remembers too late and starts to sign an apology.

She shakes her head.

“I can feel your voice in your chest,” she says, tapping a slender finger at the spot above his heart. “Mostly, anyway. Can feel the thunder too. It’s in the ground before it’s in the air.”

“That’s remarkable,” he signs.

“Yeah. I’m pretty amazing,” Eileen agrees, and she presses closer to him, soft yet steady as a stone.

They stay in the bathtub until long after the storm has passed.

[tiffdawg]

Curriculum Vitae: Chapter Seventeen

Gif: @javier-pena​

curriculum vitae noun cur·ric·u·la vi·tae Latin. the course of one’s life.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 3.4k

Rated: E  | Warnings: NSFW – semi-explicit sexual content, l*ve m*king. Feelings. Domesticity. 18+ only.

Chapter Summary: In this chapter, Javier returns to Los Angeles to spend New Year's Eve with you. 

A/N: My plan to have this chapter our at the start of the month didn't pan out, but here is the NYE chapter. Finally! I hope that you all enjoy it and are having a wonderful start to 2021. Thank you, as always, for reading and supporting this story. Sending lots of love!

Read on AO3

CV Masterlist | My Masterlist

… . …

Chapter Seventeen

As you stood outside gate C14, you tightened your grip on Sunny’s leash. With a wagging tail and shining eyes, she pulled in every direction, determined to greet every passing traveler.

“Hey,” you whispered, “I know you’re excited but be good before they kick us both out.” You weren’t exactly sure if she was supposed to be there but sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. She made a displeased whining noise as she sat down next to you. “Don’t you want to see Javi?” Her ears perked up at the familiar name. “I thought so.”

You glanced back at the gate through the crowd of people. There was still no sign of any disembarking passengers. You took a deep breath and tamped down your own excitement, deciding to crouch down next to Sunny and pet her rather than stare at the empty gate. Your affectionate touch calmed the both of you.

So when she yipped again, you knew exactly why.

Glancing up, you found Javier scanning the crowd and his eyes were drawn to Sunny’s bark. A grin broke out on his face that certainly matched yours.

The two of you met somewhere in the middle. You don’t even remember making the conscious decision to move toward him. It was just instinctual. Like the way you threw your arms around Javier’s neck and his wound around your waist as your lips met in one long deep kiss that left you weak in the knees. You leaned into him, knowing he’d keep you steady, and savored the way he hummed in pleasure against your lips.

“Hi,” Javier breathed as he rested his forehead against yours. You traced the curve of his smile with the pad of your thumb as you cupped his cheek. It was one of those perfect ones that crinkled the corners of his eyes and left him looking years younger. And so damn happy.

“Hi,” you echoed, unsure if you could find another word in that moment. But maybe you didn’t need to say anything else. It was enough just to feel his arms around you again.

“I missed this,” he murmured. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Javi.” Your eyes fell as you took him in. Long-sleeved plaid shirt tucked into his well-fitting dark wash jeans and paired with his signature boots. You ran your hands over the soft material covering his chest. “You didn’t have to come back,” you whispered.

“I wanted to.”

“What about your dad?”

“He has plenty of family to spend the night with. He was fine with me leaving early.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “When he found out you were spending New Year’s Eve alone, he smacked me upside the head and told me to get on the next plane to LA.” You made a surprised noise that quickly turned into giggles. “Don’t laugh at that. That’s not funny,” he said with a smile of his own.

You laced your fingers with his and kissed the back of his hand, trying to hide your grin. “It is, actually.” Your smile fell. “Still, you didn’t have to come back just for me.”

“Yes, I did. I wouldn’t have been happy knowing you were alone. I’m right where I want to be.” His grin widened and you felt a quiet laugh in his chest. “I don’t think you were the only one who missed me.” You followed his eyes to find Sunny, tongue out and tail wagging, with two paws on Javier’s hip as she vied for his attention. He let go of you only to kneel down to greet her. “Si, si, te extrañé,” he shushed as he tried to calm the excited dog. Your heart soared as he planted a kiss on the top of her head.

“Should we stop by baggage claim?” you asked.

“Nope.” He stood and swung a worn leather duffle over his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

You tried not to read much into his turn of phrase as he slung an arm around your shoulders and guided you out of the busy terminal. “So,” you decided to prod as you waited at the crosswalk leading to the parking garage, “you told your dad about me?”

“Well, he figured it out.” He continued only at your confused expression. “He said I was happy.”

You kissed him. “I’m happy too,” you said, slipping a hand in his back pocket and squeezing his ass through his denim jeans. That earned you a wolfish grin that brought out that lone dimple just for you.

… . …

“It looks like 1985 in here,” you commented as soon as Javier could even set his duffle and your overpacked tote on the kitchen counter and flick on the lights. “Well, at least the parts you’ve unboxed.”

“Didn’t want to get too settled.” You peered over your shoulder at him with a bit of a scowl. All he could offer in response was a shrug as he slid your coat off your shoulders and hung it next to his. “I didn’t know if I would last the first week of classes let alone the first month.”

“You absolutely did. You survived the whole fall quarter.”

“Only because of you.”

Two fingers gripped his chin and turned his face toward yours. Your eyes locked onto his. “You’ve got to start giving yourself some credit, Javier. You’re a damn good professor. Whether you like it or not.”

“Wouldn’t you rather inspect what I have decorated?” he asked, placing two hands on your hips and spinning you around. “I know you’re dying to.”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted with a light laugh. With a firm hand on the small of your back as he pushed you further into the apartment. “Bedroom and bathroom are that way,” he said, pointing down the dark hall.

You gestured to the closed door on the opposite side of the living room. “What’s that room?”

“Empty spare bedroom.”

“God, I hate you. You have a gorgeous two-bedroom apartment in Brentwood, and you don’t even appreciate it. An empty room, boxes still unopened. Why don’t we ever come here? Your place is so much better than mine.”

“It’s fucking depressing,” he scoffed.

“I could help you make it feel like home.” You meant that innocently. He could hear it in your tone. You were probably only referring to adding a few throw pillows or candles or something like that, but already just having you there felt different. He’d thought he was going back home to Texas, but the truth was he felt more at home now just by being with you. “Yeah, I think you could.” You might’ve responded, but something caught your attention.

Almost reverently, you picked up a framed photograph off the lone bookshelf in his living room. “Your mother?” you asked quietly. He didn’t have to look at the photo to know which one you were drawn to.

“Yes,” he answered as he moved to stand behind you. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he pulled you back against his chest so he could peer down at the black and white photo in your hands. He was maybe five. Just a gangly boy with limbs too long for his own good and a cast on one arm from when he’d fallen off his new bike. That younger version of him sat his mother’s lap in front of a birthday cake lit with thirty-some odd candles. Much like the way he held you in that moment, his father stood behind the pair with his arms around his wife. She wore a dazzling smile that his aunts swore he inherited from her. If he remembered correctly, his father was behind the camera, muttering something that made them all laugh at the time.

“She was beautiful,” you commented. Lost for words, Javier pressed a kiss to your temple. But the mood clearly shifted. “And you were adorable.” Your eyes narrowed as you looked back at him. “What do you think happened?”

Javier grinned at your dig. “She would’ve liked you.”

You reached for the only other framed photograph. A more recent shot of Javier and an equally mustachioed blond man sitting together at an open-air bar, both looking unusually relaxed and happy with a beer in one and their arms around each other’s shoulders. One of the rare moments like that in Colombia. “This must be Steve,” you observed.

“His wife sent me that as a housewarming gift.”

“That’s so nice of her. You need something to cheer this place up.” Still clutching the photo, you turned in his arms. “Do you– I don’t know if I’ll ever get to meet them, but do you think they would like me?”

He almost laughed at your question. It was genuine on your part but so absurdly unnecessary. “Mi compañera,” he murmured as he pressed his lips to yours, “they already do. They were surprised though.”

“Do I want to know why?” you smirked. He had a feeling you already had some inclination as to why that might’ve surprised his closest friends.

“No,” Javier laughed. He watched you as you smiled at the photo, tracing a fingertip along the image of him. A strange feeling gripped his chest. It was as if you were trying to know that version of him. “You never talk about it. I know you don’t like when others ask you about your time in Colombia, but you never even mention anything that happened down there to me.”

“You don’t want to know about any of that.”

“Why not?”

Because you won’t like me, his traitorous brain supplied. He let you go and joined Sunny on the couch. “Want me to put on the Times Square thing?” he asked instead.

“Yeah sure. I don’t mind either way,” you responded lightly. He cringed inwardly at how habituated you were to him deflecting your questions. Shaking his head at himself, he dug the remote out from between two of the leather couch cushions and switched on the television despite having no intention to watch.

A moment later you joined him on the couch, dropping down next to him unceremoniously as you draped an arm around him. “Don’t mope,” you compelled with a kiss on his cheek. He turned to you with a raised brow. “And don’t look at me like that.”

Javier held your gaze for a long time, entranced by the soft look in your eyes and the way your fingers played with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. That seemed to bring him back to the present moment. “How does pizza sound?” he asked instead of a reply.

As expected, you smiled and nodded happily.

… . …

Much like your own at home, Javier’s kitchen table was covered with stacks of books, papers, and folders. Rather than clearing it off, the two of you sat on the floor around his coffee table eating pizza slices straight from the box. With the television muted in the background, you talked quietly, mostly recounting the little things that had happened while you were apart. You asked him more questions about his family, and he seemed keen to answer. You’d learned to savor every bit of himself that he elected to share with you.

After dinner, you wandered over to the unsurprisingly well-stocked bar cart, fingers dancing over the crystal glasses and bottles of whiskey and tequila as you contemplated pouring a couple of drinks. Until you noticed something amongst the mess on his kitchen table.

You picked up a book with dozens of sticky notes peeking out of it and flipped through the pages.

Talk about this in lecture.

Assign this chapter next quarter.

Fuck. She’s brilliant.

The notes went on for pages and pages. When you finally lifted your head, finding him across the room through watery eyes, Javier looked like a boy caught red handed. His wide brown eyes locked on to you as he gauged your reaction. “You’re reading my book?” you asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

He nodded quietly. “I finished it. It’s amazing.”

“Ja– Javi.” You attempted to speak but his name was just a broken sob.

He was on his feet in an instant. With a hand on either arm, he attempted to soothe you. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” you insisted as you roughly wiped at your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Honey,” he chided as he pulled your hand away and replaced it with his own, cupping your cheek and wiping your errant tears with his thumb. “Why does that upset you?”

“I’m not upset.”

“You’re crying.” He would think that. He’d never seen you cry before. You’d cried from laughing at something he’d said on more than one occasion. There were a few tears once when you were frustrated. But nothing like this.

“That– that doesn’t mean I’m upset. It’s just– That’s–” you tried to collect yourself as you fisted the front of his shirt with one hand and pulled him closer. You took a deep breath and met his gaze. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

The scrunched up look on his face was almost comical, and you would’ve laughed any other time. “That is?” he asked, dumbfounded. Before he could say anything else, you slotted your mouth with his, kissing him with everything you had. “Of course I read your book,” he assured you, kissing you over and over again. Your body practically melted against his. “You’re fucking amazing, mi compañera” His hands moved to your face, wiping away the tears. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re... you’re crying again. What’s wrong?”

“I think I–” You stopped yourself. Or rather the words threatened to choke you, so you swallowed them down and hid them away. Instead, you caressed his face as you looked at him through half-lidded eyes. “I need you.”

Javier hesitated, watching you for a moment longer, eyes smoldering as they bored into your soul, before his mouth met yours with renewed determination.

You didn’t even bother looking around Javier’s bedroom as the two of you burst through the door. The two of you were a mess of limbs desperately trying to strip the other of their clothes. He walked you back toward the bed until your calves hit the frame.

“Why are you still holding this?” he asked, prying the book out of your hand and tossing it on his nightstand. He lifted your thick knit sweater off your body and over your head with ease and his hands quickly found the button of your black denim jeans while you worked on his shirt buttons.

As soon as your clothes had fallen aside, he laid you back in his bed, letting you rest against the pillows as he eagerly kissed a frenzied path down your body.

“Javi, wait.” He froze above you with concern in his eyes “Please be gentle with me,” you asked softly.

The implication was clear. And it weighed heavily between you.

Javier nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and you relinquished yourself to him. He changed course, and his lips found yours once more. While he kissed you, his fingers gently prodded you, stretching you out and readying your body for him. You whimpered against hip lips, wanting more than anything to feel him inside you.

“Shh, baby,” he shushed you huskily, intertwining your fingers in a tender gesture, “I’ve got you now.” You spread your legs wider, aching for him. Only him. And mercifully, he lined himself at your entrance, dripping with your desire, and slowly thrust forward, filling you to the hilt and stealing the air from your lungs.

As he moved inside you, every kiss, every touch seared your skin with invisible brands that would mark you forever as belonging to Javier. And you let him.

Neither of you said much of anything, preferring to simply breath each other in. You let the moans and mewls falling from your lips fill the room as your bodies rejoined and relearned each other. Hand in hand and warm skin on warm skin.

Until a wave of euphoria pulled you asunder and you came hard and shaking beneath him.

“You’re so beautiful. So fucking beautiful.” You only heard his murmurs of praise as you broke the surface and came up for air. He kissed away the teardrops streaking your cheeks. You tried weakly to apologize for crying again. “It’s okay,” he assured you, “I feel it too.”

You gaped at him as you watched him move above you, still buried deep inside you, chest heaving and some unspoken emotion drowning his eyes. You wanted him to feel everything that you did in that moment. Wanted to make him to feel the same sticky sweet pleasure

With little resistance, you pushed Javier onto his back and straddled his hips. He looked divine beneath you. His hands reverently caressed your back as you settled on top of him before snaking around your body to hold you tightly against him. You pressed your forehead to his as you rolled your hips, sliding up and down his cock and coating him with your creamy pussy.

Only when his chest hallowed with a broken, desperate groan did you finally take pity and sink down on him. You caught his sharp exhale with your lips. You focused on kissing him, pouring all your affection into him, and he slowly rocked up into you. It was unrushed and unhurried, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. Maybe you did.

“I need you to cum with me. Right now.” His fingers found your clit, coaxing a second climax from you.

“Let go for me,” you whispered against his ear.

Javier shattered beautifully under your touch.

… . …

Javier pulled back the bedsheets for you as you slipped back into bed next to him after spending way too long in a steaming hot shower together. “Did you bring these for me?” he asked, fingering the fabric of your satin sleep shorts with a lopsided grin. Dozens of little embroidered dogs dotted the fabric.

“Yes,” you chirped. “They always seem to make you smile.”

He shook his head at you. “No, honey, you make me smile.”

When he said things like that, he took the breath right out of your lungs. The rest of the world faded away and nothing else mattered. It was only the two. It was then that you noticed the time on the clock behind him. Time hadn’t stopped after all. In fact, it was 12:01 on the dot.

“Happy New Year, Javi,” you said with a smile. “I think this is going to be a really good year.”

“I do too,” he agreed. He cupped your cheek and guided your lips to his for a midnight kiss. “Happy New Year, baby. Now c’mere.”

You laughed as Sunny responded to his command. She seemed to appear from nowhere only to hop up on the bed and lay half on top of him with her head on his chest. “Yeah, you too,” he smiled, scratching behind her ears. You indulged for a moment, hoping you could commit the scene to memory. But Javier looked like he was on the verge of sleep, so you switched off the small lamp and happily curled up next to him. He draped an arm across your waist as you looked up at him. “I fucking missed my girls,” he mumbled before drifting off into a dream. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you watched him in the faint moonlight.

You weren’t sure if it was the holiday season or that magical stroke of midnight, but as you gazed up at him, you realized you didn’t just want Javier to be your yesterday, today or tomorrow. You wanted him to be your whole future. You wanted to spend your whole life with him because…

Your heart belonged to Javier Peña. You loved him. Truly, deeply loved him.

That thought didn’t scare you as much as you thought it would.

... . ...

Thank you for reading!

... . ...

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[snowbellewells]

Captain Swan Movie Marathon: “Carolina Moon”

Here is my second submission to the @captainswanmoviemarathon event!! This one is a modern au of the Nora Roberts tv movie (adapted from one of her novels) Carolina Moon. The main female character in the movie is psychic/clairvoyant (I’ll admit, I’m not too sure on the distinction between the two) and I thought her visions and what she goes through in connection to them made a nice real world parallel to Emma’s magic. (There’s also a scene in here where the male lead says something that I could so perfectly see Killian saying to Emma… I just cannot wait to get to that point!)

Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this romantic thriller with some murder mystery elements.  There are some instances of abuse and violence in here though - which I feel like I should mention, since that’s a little darker than my typical style. Most of them are in flashbacks of Emma’s past, or in visions she has of victims, more than in the actual present day plot, still I wanted to make people aware before we got too far.

Please enjoy! (I’d love to hear what you think.)

Chapter One

July 1993

The water at their hideaway always feels so good. She could sink into it until her head slips below the surface and never, ever want to come up for air. It’s cooler, more luxurious than even the rich, satiny sheets on the trundle bed those rare nights she gets to sleep over at Rose’s. Emma Swan’s gangly, 13-year-old limbs slice through the murky water as if the constant humidity and sultry air of Storybrooke, South Carolina can’t penetrate here in their little haven. She knows, of course, logically, that the real world isn’t all that far away. The shaded pond she and Rose discovered two summers ago is just a short trek into the woods at the furthest edge of Rose’s family’s boundless acres. Still, it feels removed enough to bring Emma a sense of peace and contentment she gains nowhere else.

Looking over her shoulder to the large, smooth boulder jutting up out of the pond at the bank where they left their flip flops and cutoff denim shorts, she can see her best friend stretched out with her new book where they had spread their towels on the rock’s surface, just in the wash of warming sunlight that streams through the tree branches overhead. Her friend’s flawlessly creamy pale skin is prone to burning, but at the moment Rose seems willing to take the risk for the benefit of lazing cozily to read as she dries in the sun after taking a quick dip. Shaking her head, Emma plunges back under, happy to stay in the chilly water a bit longer herself. She knew as soon as they’d met outside Rose’s house that afternoon and Rose had held the newest entry in her favorite mystery series in her hand that she wouldn’t be able to resist burrowing into those pages for long.

It’s funny, Emma supposes, but that’s exactly what bonded she and Rose in the first place. They might seem different on the surface, but in the end, neither of them quite fit with everyone else, and so they gravitate to each other, and have ever since Emma first arrived in Storybrooke as an eight-year-old orphan. They’re willing to give each other at least one other person who takes them as they are and with whom they won’t have to pretend. Emma doesn’t care if Rose wants to read quietly and tell her about the stories she’s already finished instead of picking out dresses for the next cotillion class or preening in front of the mirror to practice batting her eyelashes to charm boys or bragging to Emma about which ones she intends to kiss. Her sister Ruby, who shares the same thickly shining, burnished mahogany hair and pretty pink lips but little of her fraternal twin’s calming, gentle personality, does enough of that for the both of them. Their mother, a former debutante and southern belle, delights in the one daughter’s traditional coquettishness, and despairs of the other’s shyness, a true throwback to another time who wants nothing more than to see both daughters marry well and retain their places atop the social ladder. In turn, Rose doesn’t mock Emma for her thick, dark-framed glasses or secondhand clothes, nor does she cringe away from the “fits” that sometimes take hold of her friend, making strange, disturbing scenes Emma can’t understand flash across her mind with such intensity they sometimes knock her off her feet. Emma knows Rose’s mother and sister find her an unsuitable and embarrassing companion for Rose, but she is eternally grateful her friend seems able to see the best in anyone - even a lost girl nobody else wants - and so blithely acts as though she has no idea of the rest of her family’s opinions.

Cringing even while still submerged in the pond’s depths and practically invisible, Emma tries not to think of her unwanted visions. Her strict, hypocritical, and more than a bit deranged foster father claims she’s possessed - and more than once has taken her episodes out on her hide. The man swears he’s beating the devil out of her and putting the fear of God in Satan’s place when he takes the thick leather strap to her shoulders, back and legs until she bleeds, but Emma has already lived long enough in a cruel and unfair world to know that his violence and “discipline” have less to do with parenting and concern for her soul, and more to show for his own twisted mind and overindulgence in the bottle. She wants to hide her spells from him, but when they come on her so abruptly and with such power, they are impossible to miss. She can’t fathom how a person like him was deemed fit to take in and care for a child, but it seems to be her lot, and so she simply grits her teeth and survives.

It’s different when the spells happen around Rose; the slight brunette merely rests a cool, steadying hand on Emma’s forehead or her arm until it passes, helps Emma stand until she feels in control again, listens as she attempts to make sense of whatever she’s seen, and most importantly… believes her. If only she could stay in the huge house Rose’s family calls home. She’d cook, clean, do chores, and stay in the servant’s quarters, Emma isn’t picky. It would still be a far sight safer than the situation she had in the rundown shack with the monster who’d been deemed her caretaker. Barring that, she would honestly rather live wild in these woods and survive off the land. She knew which plants and berries were safe to eat, Graham, her friend and a fellow orphan now happily adopted, had taught her how to fish; it wouldn’t be easy, but she’d get by, and at least no one would lay a hand on her again.

This afternoon, those eerie images she sometimes had seem far away as she splashes up out of the water, trying to arc playfully like a mermaid as she breaks the surface. Drawing in a big gulp of air after staying underwater so long, Emma startles at the sound of teasing laughter, and whirls to see three figures on the bank where she and Rose left their shoes and shorts. 

“Well, look here,” calls out a taunting voice that never fails to set Emma’s nerves on edge. “It’s the baby beached librarian and her drowned rat friend!” none other than Emma’s nemesis Killian Jones crows from his vantage point on dry land.

Rose sits up ramrod straight, book still in hand and annoyed scowl on her face at the quiet of their sanctuary being interrupted. She isn’t genuinely angry, though; for all that she and her sister shared little in common, she and her two years older brother are affectionately close. “Shut up, Killy!” she shoots back, throwing in the childhood nickname they all know he hates. “Who asked you to come looking anyway?”

The boy standing next to Killian speaks up next, making Emma scowl just as playfully as Rose had moments before. Graham Hunter might as well be her big brother; he’s the closest thing she’d had to family since her parents were lost in a car crash and she was thrown into the foster care system. Be that as it may, he and Killian Jones are thick as thieves, and he’ll give her a hard time for all he’s worth in while in the presence of his buddy. “We just wanted to swim,” he calls across the water to the two girls, smirking at Emma, now standing in the water with one hip jutting out and hands planted on her waist. “How were we supposed to know you two were infesting it?”

“Ha!” Emma jeers back, the affront plain in her voice; despite the fact that the entire routine is like a practiced girls-versus-boys exchange they’ve all engaged in countless times. There isn’t much else to do for entertainment in their sleepy little one-horse town. “You idiots know this is Rose and I’s hideaway, fair and square!”

“Well, Rose’s anyway,” a third voice cuts in snidely.

The cruel jab reminds Emma once more that she is just a charity case, quite possibly only included in anything at all because of her friend’s kind heart, and causes her gaze to cut sharply to the third member of the boys’ little crew, hanging back slightly in the shadows behind Killian and Graham as he always does. Her green eyes narrow to slits in genuine dislike and suspicion. Where before her animosity was largely for show, when they land on Walsh Ozman it is all too real.

She has never understood why the other two boys - jokers and annoyances though they may be, but good guys when it comes right down to it - hang out with Walsh at all.  Where Graham and Killian are much more cut from the same cloth - athletic, outgoing, well-liked and pleasant - Walsh is a splindy, sniveling character, complaining and whining whatever their little trio gets up to. He lives not far from Emma’s foster father’s cabin with his single mother - a bushy-haired redhead who seems strangely overprotective and attached to her only child. Most people give the property a wide berth, except when high schoolers teepee it the whole month of October, and the general town consensus is that Zelena Ozman might be a witch and to steer clear. Still, beyond all of that, Emma might have been able to look past the boy’s circumstances and see him for himself - she of all people knew the gift it was not to be judged by where a person came from - if Walsh hadn’t simply given her “the willies”. Even standing too close to him made the fine hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end - and not in the way that nearness to Killian sometimes did; an altogether much more pleasant tingle, even if she was just as unable to explain one as the other.

“We could just take their things,” Walsh suggests, holding up the threadbare, faded jeans Emma had left on the bank. “Make them walk back in their skivvies.” The wicked smile on his face makes Emma’s stomach turn over sickly.

Something sharp flashes in Jones’ eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly and his head giving a subtle shake of dissent that Emma can see even at the distance she stands away from him. Protectiveness, chivalry, or maybe the honor of a southern gentleman passed down to him through generations of his impressive family line, whatever it is, it sparks to life in his eyes at that moment as he quashes Walsh’s mean-spirited suggestion in no uncertain terms. “That’s my little sister you’re talking about Oz,” he growls, smacking the worn material from the smaller’s boy’s hands, even if the article of clothing isn’t Rose’s at all.

Emma feels her breath rush back into her lungs, though she continues to watch the guys warily for whatever they might do or say next. Before long, they grow bored of standing around and move on, hollering out age old taunts of “Bye, losers” and “Hey, smell ya later” to Emma’s derisive snort and Rose completely ignoring them to flip open her book again.

However, even with the intruders gone, it seems as if the perfect comfort of their retreat has been shattered by the unsettling interruption.  Soon, Emma wades to the shore and Rose clambers down from her perch, to dress once more and return to the world outside. For a moment, as she refastens her jeans around her skinny waist, Emma feels a strange prickling along the fine hairs on her arms… like they’re being watched. She jerks around, searching the surrounding trees and brush, but can’t see or hear a thing.

Rose’s small hand takes hers, snapping Emma out of the moment. “What is it?” she whispers, only true caring in her voice. “Did you sense something?”

Emma nods, but can’t give her suspicions voice. Usually her vision are clearer than that - this had just been heavy breathing and like looking at herself and Rose through another person’s eyes, outside her own body.

Rose stooped to grab the little canvas bag she’d bought along with water bottles, towels, and a second book in it. “Hey, don’t worry, okay?” she offers, hopeful and kind as always. “You’ll figure it out. Wanna meet back out here tonight? Secret Sister bonfire?” she winks mischeivously. “I have to get to dinner now. You know how Mama hates it if I’m not washed up and properly attired for the evening meal - or a second late. But we can talk some more then, maybe you’ll remember more and it will be clearer.”

Emma nods gamely. “The stars’ll be beautiful by midnight,” she suggests. “And we’ll definitely have the place all to ourselves.”

“Since we were so rudely interrupted,” Rose chimes in with a giggle and roll of her eyes.

“Shake on it, pinkie swear,” they say together in practiced unison, executing a complex handshake that ends with their pinkies hooked together and wide, matching grins on both their faces.

“Thanks Rose,” Emma whispers sincerely, trying to speak around the lump in her throat as if it’s no big deal. “I’ll be out here as soon as I can sneak away.”

Rose, for her part, wraps her taller, golden-haired friend into a tight, momentary hug. “Hey, we’re Secret Sisters! You can count on me.  I’ll see you then!”

They part ways at the edge of the forest, Emma heading to the rundown cabin that serves as her nightmarish version of a home and Rose to the pristine, Jones mansion standing tall over all the surrounding land. Rose looks back over her shoulder with a smile and wave that bolsters Emma, and the memory fades back into the haze of the past…

Eighteen years later….

September 2011

The blaring of the horn as a sports car whizzed by, barely missing the nose of Emma’s beat-up yellow VW where it had begun to edge out into the country intersection jarred her back to the present with a gasp and painful jolt to her chest. Panting for a moment as she gripped the steering wheel, Emma tried to clear her head and calm the pounding of her heart at the near-miss.

‘Get it together,’ she berated herself. It might have seemed like only yesterday as she remembered that sunny afternoon at the swimming hole, but that day had been nearly two decades ago. She was a grown woman, had made a way for herself, fighting tooth and nail for every step forward, and she answered to no one. She had learned to stand up for herself, to control her visions and use them for good, and was a special consultant for the NYPD. But, more than all of that, she had come back to this place to find peace, to lay to rest the ghosts that followed her everywhere else she’d gone in the years between, once and for all. If she expected other to leave the past in the past, she’d first have to manage it herself.

She’d had no way to know as she and Rose parted that afternoon with promises and plans for later that it would be the last time she would ever see her friend. Emma had harbored the pain and the guilt and the unanswered questions ever since. Finally, it was time to meet the gazes of all of those who’d stared at her in suspicion before she’d been packed up and moved away once more, and it was time she found answers. She wasn’t the scared, whipped, mistreated adolescent she had been at 13. What she had lived through then wasn’t her fault, nor was what had happened to Rose that muggy July midnight. 

And if she had to return to Storybrooke, South Carolina to lay that burden down… well, it was long past time she did.

Tagging: @captainswanmoviemarathon​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @lassluna @kmomof4​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jennjenn615​ @hollyethecurious​ @stahlop​ @winterbaby89​ @lfh1226-linda​ @therooksshiningknight​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @artistic-writer​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @tiganasummertree​ @xsajax​ @spartanguard​ @laschatzi​

[raleighcarrera]

29. Best Drunken Night vs Worst Drunken Night for Raleigh x MC perhaps? 🥺

best vs. worst prompts / 29. best drunken night vs. worst drunken night

the worst time 

“oh my god.” her voice is hushed -- awed, really, as she glances around the space they’ve closed themselves in with eyes so wide they feel likely to bug out of her head at any moment. “this is -- we’re in -- is this ariana spielman’s closet?”

cadence’s head whips around just in time to catch the disinterested, almost bored shrug of raleigh’s shoulders. “guess so.”

the door he’s leaning against is vibrating with the bass from the music blasting from downstairs. one of the silver buttons on raleigh’s jacket clanks against the wood loudly. 

“she has, like -- seventy birkin bags,” she breathes, slowly shaking her head as she takes in the expansive wall of purses to her right. “i can’t believe i’m in here. i can’t believe we’re even in her house.”

“i hate los angeles,” raleigh mumbles, pushing off from the wall and strolling over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “this party sucks.”

admittedly, the party did sort of suck, but they’d had enough free drinks and free food to make the evening tolerable, even if the crowd at ariana’s house was mostly made up of the sort of c-list celebrities who were desperate to document everything on social media and tried to shove their cellphones in raleigh’s face every time he started mixing a drink.

it was never like this, at home in new york. most of their friends were cool and normal and while their parties were always the sort of events that kept them up until dawn they’d tended to be more low-key, lately, minimizing the amount of attention they got during what was supposed to be their down time.

out in LA everyone was looking for their fifteen minutes. so drinking downstairs with the rest of the crowd wasn’t just hanging out like it was in new york; it was a performance in and of itself. people were watching them, their thumbs already poised over a blank tweet.

she didn’t blame raleigh for disliking it. she disliked it, too. that was why she’d suggested finding some place they could be alone and let him drag her up here -- into ariana spielman’s beautiful, enormous closet.

cadence squeezes her hands affectionately on raleigh’s arms where they’re looped around her. “we can’t hook up in here.”

the sigh he expels into her ear is loud and exasperated. “why not?”

cadence lifts a hand to point up at the ceiling. “she has cameras.”

the pointed silence from behind her leads her to believe that raleigh doesn’t take issue with that as much as she does. “raleigh.”

“okay, okay. i’ll save it for the hotel. just -- i need a few minutes before we go back down there.”

she spins in his arms to look at his face. raleigh looks tired, in the awful in-between of drunk but not drunk enough. her expression softens.

ever-so-delicately, she leans in and presses her lips to the tip of his nose. raleigh sighs, tightening his grip on her. 

“you know,” cadence murmurs, “there was probably once a time where i wouldn’t have been able to drag you out of there even if i did want to have sex in ariana spielman’s closet.”

raleigh rolls his eyes. “untrue,” he argues, “i’d leave any party, anywhere, any time... for even five minutes alone with you.” there’s a beat where she tries to stifle her smile and he rolls his shoulders, pursing his lips before continuing, “but i know what you mean. i guess i just -- don’t see the appeal in playing along with all this fake shit.” his eyes focus on her face slowly, some of the cloud brought on by all the tequila they’d had downstairs lifting. “not anymore.”

she bounces up onto her tip-toes to kiss him, swallowing the drunk giggles that are threatening. if they weren’t going to commit, they probably should have drank a little bit less -- she’s wobbly and unsteady on her feet in a way that’s going to make their flight home tomorrow miserable, but not drunk enough to actually be having any fun at this party that is, admittedly, incredibly fucking lame.

raleigh’s hands squeeze her hips one last time before he pulls away. “we should probably go be seen for a little while longer, huh?”

her mouth twists sympathetically. “yeah. but we can leave in an hour.”

“here’s hoping.”

they shuffle back to the closed door together, though when raleigh reaches out for the handle it doesn’t budge, holding firmly in place. he frowns, jiggling the knob.

“what’s wrong?” she asks, blinking slowly, her brain struggling to process what’s happening.

raleigh’s frown deepens into a scowl. “i think it’s locked.”

“from the outside? no.” pushing his hand away, she tries the door, too, eyes widening when it holds resolutely still. “oh my god.”

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says, stepping away with a groan. “can we call someone?”

“i don’t have her number. do you?”

she squeezes his shoulder as he pulls out his phone, mumbling to himself. her head is still swimming, but even she can understand that lately it feels like neither of them can quite catch a break -- there’s always something.

and she definitely had higher hopes for their weekend in LA, and even tonight. she’d expected this party to be a chance to get away from it all and let loose, not be some place where they had to constantly keep looking over their shoulders for cameras.

“maybe it’s a sign we should just stay up here,” she suggests, nuzzling her face into raleigh’s jacket. 

the hum he gives in response is equal parts interested and annoyed. “don’t tempt me.”

the best time

they’re definitely past capacity on their penthouse.

everywhere she looks there’s wall-to-wall people dancing and drinking, laughing and shouting. the floor beneath her feet feels like it’s shaking from how loud the music is.

raleigh’s standing on the countertop in their kitchen. his eyes light up when he sees her.

raising his voice to be heard above all the excitement, he screams, “cadence! come up here!”

the crowd parts to clear a path for her, cheering as she makes her way over. climbing up onto the counter in her miniskirt is far from the most graceful thing she’s ever done, especially after the bottle of wine she’d had at dinner and the four or five or forty-five martinis raleigh had poured her, but she manages, and soon she’s squeezed into the space beside their cabinets with her boyfriend and he’s got one strong arm slung warmly across her shoulders while the other lifts the bottle of dom in his left hand high enough that the top smacks into their kitchen ceiling.

“a toast!” raleigh declares, to the delight of the crowd below them. she tilts her head to grin at him and laughs loudly when raleigh glances at her out of the corners of his eyes and then grins back, wide and goofy like the both of them are in on the same private joke. “to the beautiful, phenomenal, exceptional, fantastic, talented --”

“jesus christ, raleigh.”

“ -- brilliant,” he continues, even more loudly, “can i get a drum roll please? thank you, visionary, otherworldly, and of course, devastatingly sexy vinyl award winning cadence dorian!”

he doesn’t give her a chance to bury her face in her hands like she so badly wants to. as soon as people start to cheer, he leans down and presses his lips forcefully against hers, smacking a loud, almost aggressive kiss onto her lips. 

then he shoves the bottle of champagne in her face and forces her to tilt her head back to accept the drink he’s quite literally pouring down her throat, her laughter giving way to coughs that make him laugh, too, the broad palm he’d had settled on her shoulder slowly making its way down her back to rest on the curve of her ass.

“to cadence!” roars someone again from the floor, and as everyone pounds their feet harder, she looks back to raleigh, flushed and grinning while he drains what’s left in the bottle and immediately switches it out for another. 

“speech!” raleigh crows into her ear, “speech, speech, speech --”

“oh my god, thank you everyone!” her palm claps over his mouth and doesn’t move even when his tongue licks across her hand slowly, back and forth and back again. “it means so much to celebrate with all of you tonight. thanks so much for coming and for all your support and -- remember that anything that happens here tonight was all raleigh’s fault, okay?”

the volume on the music increases as the crowd turns their attention back to dancing. raleigh slips both his arms around her waist from behind and presses up against her, somehow managing to stay on-beat with the swing of his hips despite the fact that he’s so drunk he can barely stand. she laughs as she rocks back against him, then laughs louder when he groans lowly into her ear.

“don’t think that you can get away with murder just ‘cause this party is for you, okay?” 

the words are said so quietly she almost misses them, each consonant soft and slurred. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“yeah, right,” raleigh counters, the sharp bark of his laugh punctuated by the way he presses forward firmly, the hard line of his body shiver-inducing even through the layers of fabric between them. “you think i’m just gonna let you get away with that? i’m --”

“you should at least get down, if you’re going to do that.” cadence blinks, glancing down to see zadie screaming up at the both of them. “we don’t all need to see you dry hump each other.”

raleigh’s arms tighten around her before she can even think about moving, though her face feels hot beyond just what the alcohol should’ve done to her. “hey,” he calls back, “it’s her party.”

she wiggles down to her knees, plucking the mostly full bottle of dom from raleigh’s hand and holding it out to zadie with her eyebrows arched. “call it even?”

“totally,” she agrees, taking the bottle from cadence and departing back into the living room with barely a wave over her shoulder. 

cadence moves the rest of the way down and slides to the edge, letting her legs dangle off the counter. within moments raleigh is beside her, gangly limbs tangled around her again near-immediately. “are you having fun?”

“best time of my life,” she answers honestly, though that was how parties with raleigh always felt -- like he was in constant competition with himself to outdo their last evening out together. “thanks for making this so special for me.”

“i’d do anything for you.” his voice is suddenly oddly serious, out of sorts with the playful mood he’s been in. she blinks at him, then laughs when he shatters the stillness as quickly as it’d come by ducking back in to steal another kiss. 

raleigh jumps off the counter abruptly, before she can deepen the kiss to something more extreme, and hooks her legs around his waist from behind. “c’mon, popstar,” he directs, before she can question what he’s doing, and as if on autopilot, her body swings onto his back so he can carry her, her hands finding his hair and her lips spreading into a delighted smile. “let’s go get you the kudos you deserve, eh?”

[whumpyourenemy]

Spy Fic (Imagine 1) - “the ache in her chest could turn out to be a bullet hole soon enough”

FLUFF/FLUFF/FLUFF/FLUFF/FLUFF/FLUFF/FLUFF/FLUFF/TENSION

Agent B had worked worked her way up in Orange enterprises - or so it was affectionately called by its employees. In reality, the criminals-for-hire agency had no name and no office. It only consisted of random rendezvous points in pockets of the city and the only way you, a layperson, would ever know about them was if you were hanging off the end of an Orange issued dagger. 

After being plucked off the streets at ten, Agent B had stolen, spied and killed even - she’d been immoral and had succeeded every mission for ten years and yet.. she was still fucking second. Second to Agent A. Mention of his name riled her. The top tier assassin who had been gangly and awkward ten years ago, had now become Orange’s prized possession. It made her sick. The way his dark curls fell into his eyes when his fringe started to fall out of his ponytail made her sick. The way he bit the inside of his lip when scheming an escape plan made her sick. The way way she could see the curve of his biceps through his matching red plaid pyjamas made her sick. And yet she could only hate him to protect herself - the ache in her chest could turn out to be a bullet hole soon enough.

‘Then you’ll go behind the orchestra.. Agent B!’

She snapped back to reality and found his chestnut eyes on her - albeit annoyed. Fuck, did he say something?

‘As I was saying, I’ll guide the princess here while you block the prince’s view from here’, he tapped on the map laid out on the hotel room desk.

‘No fool it would be way more effective if we did the swap just before the balcony, see if the moonlight falls from the eastern window, the eastern window is going to be the darkest place..’

Dressed in a faded oversized tee and crumpled linen pants, Agent B had felt like she missed some sort of dress code when she entered the living room of the shared hotel room. Don’t get it twisted - there were two rooms separated by a luxurious living room.

They rarely worked as allies and the idea of it excited and terrified her. She needed this promotion, this livelihood, this life of shadows and steel was all she had. Agent B had to become A. She had to become number one. The cool steel dagger tied to her back longed to bathe in blood.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Peter: All I Had (Post-Freedom)

CW: Referenced pet whump, VERY briefly referenced vaguely implied noncon, referenced dehumanization

Timeline: Takes place post-freedom for Karen Renford’s Box Boys, about six months after her Very Timely Death. Henry belongs to @spiffythespook and is used with permission.

Peter saw him and the world came, briefly, to a stop.

He didn’t realize he’d stumbled to a halt until Henry’s hand tugged at his, the younger man looking back at him, confused. “Peter? What’s up?”

Peter’s eyes weren’t on Henry at all, though, and he didn’t even really hear him - he was looking across the street at a man and his daughter staring into a shop window.

Henry’s eyes followed his line of sight, and the redhead came to stand beside him again, head tilted to the side, trying to understand the sudden lack of color in Peter’s face.

But Peter’s concentration was entirely on the man. He was older now, had some gray in his temples and a few new wrinkles on his face, but Peter knew him, he knew him, one of the few clear spots in a memory shrouded with fog and pain.

Next to him, a gangly, long-limbed girl with blonde hair in a high ponytail, wearing an oversized T-shirt and denim shorts that just barely poked out from under the shirt’s hem, was pointing at something through the window. The man spoke, and the girl laughed, and Peter’s stomach twisted in a sudden knot of pain, like eating one of Madam’s-

she’s Ms. Renford now, not your Madam, and she’s dead so she’s nothing actually

-bloody steaks, where she would sit and watch him eat just to see how long he lasted before he had to go throw it all back up again.

“Hey,” Henry said softly, as Peter’s jaw locked and his face tightened, the last hint of color draining out. “Hey, what’s wrong, Peter?”

He wasn’t Peter at all, though.

Not when he looked at the man and his daughter.

“I… I, um…” Peter’s voice trailed off, and he suddenly wanted to press against Henry for safety, because he wasn’t safe without his collar on and he’d stopped wearing it at all a month ago. He didn’t even know where it was, he’d given it to Henry to take care of if he needed it again. He wasn’t safe here.

The spot inside his left wrist, where the WRU people had lasered off his barcode and pet number, began to itch, and he scratched at it compulsively, pushing up the long sleeves he always wore and digging nails into the thin scarred plain skin underneath.

“I… I’m okay, I just-”

What was he just? He didn’t have a way to finish the sentence.

The girl laughed, loud enough to carry across the street, putting a hand on her father’s arm, his ponytail bouncing a little. He could faintly hear, oh my god, Dad, did you just tell a fucking dad joke? from here.

Peter looked at her and he hated her. She had to be sixteen years old, maybe a little more, maybe a little less. She had to be. She was a teenager, pointing at something she wanted in a store window, and she was standing next to her father doing normal teenage things. She was safe.

Peter was 24 years old and felt scared without a pet collar. 

He’d never driven a car and he was too afraid to learn how. He still had nightmares every fucking night about a woman who had been dead for more than half a year. He couldn’t-… he had never gotten to do any of the things that girl would get to do, to take for granted, like college, and maybe drinking too much or something, and not having to eat things that made her sick and be half-deaf in one ear and learn how to sign because her older brother was too traumatized to speak and-

“Peter.” Henry’s voice cut in again, harsher this time, a little louder. Peter jumped, and Henry put a light hand on his upper arm, not exactly hesitant but Henry was never great at being affectionate in public, this was more than he usually did.

“I-I’m sorry, I… I know him,” Peter said, not quite a whisper. “I know… I know him.”

The man turned from the shop window, pointing at a restaurant, speaking to his daughter again. His eyes flicked upwards and even from across the street Peter could have sworn he looked right at him, but then the eyes skimmed away from his face and they were gone.

Wait, come back.

“What do you mean? Was he-…” Henry’s voice caught and he went tense beside Peter, hand gripping onto his arm a little tighter. “… one of… one of her guests?”

Peter swallowed against the residual guilt and shame that went along with the memory of Karen’s smaller parties, the ones where sometimes he was sent upstairs to the guest room, and shook his head. “N-No, he’s just… I just-… wait, I have to go-” 

Peter’s feet were moving before he finished the sentence and he jogged across the street heedless of traffic, with Henry right on his heels, confused and asking him to stop and explain.

A car had to slam on its brakes, honking on the horn, but while Henry put both hands up in a sorry, we’re sorry gesture, Peter didn’t even notice. HIs heart was pounding with excitement, a nervous half-smile already on his face.

He’d thought he’d never see him again. The last time had been when they gave him the sedative to load him into his box, and the man had given him a big hug first, and put his hands on his face, and said, softly, You’ll be okay, even though they both knew where the box was going and they both knew he wouldn’t be.

Take care of you, kiddo, the best you can.

Then the pain of the needle in his arm, and the sudden need to sleep that superseded anything else. He could remember putting his wrists up for the man to tie together, and being laid down into the soft packing material, the man’s hand pushing some hair back, tenderly, from his forehead. It had reminded him of someone… someone warm and who had held him when he was sick, before… but Peter had been too sleepy to think of who before his eyes had closed, the last thing he knew the gentle press of a palm to the side of his face.

There you go. When you wake up, kiddo, you’ll be home.

Peter had slipped under the surface thinking, but this is home, but you are home. Then he’d woken up to Karen Renford’s surprise and the look of sympathetic concern on Seb and Dex as they greeted him.

Six years later, and the man was different but he was also still exactly the same.

“Peter, stop!” Henry yelled, but he’d fallen behind and Peter’s eyes were focused on the man.

The man looked up at the sound of Henry yelling, eyes widening at Peter stumbled to a stop right in front of him. He stopped and put a protective arm around his daughter’s shoulder, pulling her closer to him.

“… hi,” Peter said, half-panting, breathless, aware of the ridiculous dopey smile on his face. “H-Hi, hi, it’s me, hi!”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, and Peter felt a sudden dip of feeling, a knot of worry that settled into the center of his stomach. “… do I know you?”

“I, yeah, remember… remember me? Handler?” Peter’s whole body felt lit up with the knowledge that he had seen him again, the only nice person in the whole Facility. The only person who tried, who took care of him, who cared about him. “You… you were my Handler.”

“Dad?” The teenage girl asked, her voice holding a note of doubt and worry. “Dad, is this someone from your old work?”

“… Peter? He was your handler?” Henry said softly behind him. While his voice still held worry, where the girl sounded doubtful, Henry had an edge of anger in his voice as he raised his eyes to look over at the man.

The man looked at him blankly, staring at Peter’s short dark hair - cut shorter than ever during freedom and he liked it that way, so it didn’t look like Dex’s hair any longer - and also because he kind of liked how it felt when Henry ran his palm across it, nearly grazing his scalp. Deep brown eyes, darker than Dex’s but nobody’s perfect, Karen had said dragging the cane for the first time along his collarbone. Skin as pale as his, anyway, in that way at least Peter had been good enough.

The man’s eyes dropped to Peter’s left wrist, where he’d pushed his sleeve back down, and the telltale scarring wasn’t visible any longer. They drifted over Peter’s bare neck, and the weight of his gaze there made Peter shiver a little, a spike of deep shame that he had gone out without his collar taking over before his conscious brain could remind him that he didn’t have to wear one anymore. Finally, the man’s eyes went back to his face, and the early curiosity had flattened into something like hostility. “I’m sorry,” The man said, in a voice that suggested he wasn’t. “I don’t recognize you.”

Peter froze. “What?”

But you’re the only person I remember before I woke up in the box.

“I don’t know who you are,” The man said, a little more firmly.

Peter took a step back and bumped into Henry, who put a hand against his lower back and left it there, more than he usually did in public. “No, you-… you do, you were my-… my primary, in training-”

“I was the primary for a lot of pets,” The man said, and Peter flinched at the word. “But, I’m sorry. I quit WRU a few years ago, I don’t… there were a lot of pets, I don’t remember them all.” His eyes went to Henry, who was staring back with barely-veiled hostility. “Is this your owner?”

“Yes,” Peter said, almost eagerly.

At the same time, Henry said firmly, “He doesn’t have one anymore.”

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence. Henry removed the hand from Peter’s back.

“He doesn’t have an owner,” Henry repeated. “He’s free now. I freed him.”

The girl stood next to her father, looking around the three of them with immense discomfort. She was only a few years younger than Henry, still deep in the all-elbows-and-knees part of her teenage years. “Um, Dad?” She said, in a soft voice.

He glanced down at her and nodded. “No, you’re right, Cassie. Look, it was nice seeing you again - I’m sorry I don’t remember you. I had about fifteen trainees at any given time, switched out every couple of months… I worked there for about four years… you understand.”

But you said you wouldn’t forget about me. You promised.

Peter’s attempt to answer was caught in his throat, as it closed up around the air and simply held the sound trapped somewhere near his lungs. His chest felt suddenly tight and heavy, like a weight was crushing it down, and hot tears sprung to his eyes.

He kept his eyes on the man’s face, searching it for some sense that maybe he would remember again, if Peter just kept looking hard enough. “W-wait,” He said. “Wait, what if I… would you know my, my number?”

“Peter,” Henry said. “Peter, don’t.”

“No, but I-… if I knew my number, still, would you remember me? My number? From training? I, I still know my number, Handler Todd, I still know it.” Peter pulled away from Henry entirely and stepped up, putting his hands up to try and stop them from leaving. “Pl, please, you were, you were nice to me, nobody was nice to me but you-”

“Dad, I don’t want to listen to stuff from your old work,” The girl - Cassie - said, an edge of a whine in her voice. “You know I always, I never wanted to know about it.”

“No, I know, honey.” The man sighed, giving her a quick squeeze. “I know. Look, let me just talk to him for a sec and we’ll go for lunch. You just go look in that boutique, okay? You have a fifty-dollar budget. Go on, kiddo.”

Hey, kiddo, I brought your shake. Don’t make that face, I made sure this one isn’t drugged.

Shit, kiddo, what’d you do to get so beat up this time?

Come on, kiddo, you can’t take another pet’s place for that, you’re not even designated for that function.

Cassie brightened, smiling, leaning up to give her father a peck on the cheek before she moved away. “Okay, but like ten minutes or less, Dad, I’m already starving.”

Bet you’re starving, huh, bud? No problem, I snuck you in… ta-da! Protein bar! Hey, no need to hug me, just say ‘thanks, Handler Todd’. That’s a good boy.

What a good boy.

You being a good boy these days?

Did you behave while I was on vacation? Were you a good boy? Look, I want to show you-… I took the girls to Disneyland! Come here, look at the pictures before we do training today.

Once she had pushed open the door with the faint jingling of the bells tied to it announcing her presence, the man turned back to Peter, his face set in disappointed annoyance. Peter cringed back from the expression, feeling sixteen years old all over again, an awkward trainee who couldn’t stop fucking up trying to save the others from getting hurt. “Look, I am really sorry and I do mean that, but I have no idea who you are. I’m glad you remember me, I guess that means I did something right, but I had so many trainees-”

“A man bought me for Karen Renford!” Peter all but shouted, desperately forcing the words out as they tried to slither back down. He grabbed onto the man’s shirt, not really meaning to, just needing to keep him here, to hold him still.

Henry was staring wide-eyed, now, and more than a couple of other people on the street turned to look, too.

“Director Renford…?” The man’s voice trailed off, and he looked down at Peter - who had never grown as tall as he should have, according to the real doctor he’d gone to see with Henry after freedom - with a whole new expression on his face. “You’re Director Renford’s pet?”

“Not anymore, he’s not,” Henry said darkly.

“Yes!” Peter said, feeling a smile start back up. Now he could see it, now he could see the recognition in his eyes, what he’d been hoping for. “Yes, that’s me! I was, um, you used to, to say that it was illegal that they took me and it was! Henry proved it!”

“Dex had the proof,” Henry corrected, moving a little closer, still looking at the man with the same vague dislike he’d had before. “We just got lucky that he kept it like he did.”

“Shit,” The man said, softly. “I heard she died, from the news, I figured you all just went to her next of kin.”

“We did! We did, that’s him, that’s Henry-” Peter reached out and grabbed Henry’s hand, pulling him closer. “He, he freed us, though. I mean, I was going to be freed anyway, because-… because I was so young. You remember me now? You do?”

“… you know what, I do. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before… You were… shit, hold on, I’ll remember this in a second. I feel like your number ended in… ‘689?”

“Yes!” Peter grinned, and the man reached out to ruffle his hair in an easy, affectionate way. Peter ducked his head to push into the touch, from pure instinct.

Henry’s hand snapped up to grab the man’s wrist. “No. He doesn’t do that anymore.”

“Oh, right.” The man cleared his throat, lowering his hand, and Peter felt a little sad that Henry had interrupted the moment. “So… you’re going by Peter now?” The man looked him over with a whole new expression on his face, a brighter one. Not how he’d looked at his daughter, but at least kinder, happier. Peter felt like bouncing on the balls of his feet, but he managed to hold back, because Henry was still tense and uncomfortable beside him.

“Yeah, Madam-… Ms. Renford named me Peter. I like it, it’s still a good person name. You… your name is Todd. You were Handler Todd.”

“Yeah… Todd Urie. You can know my whole name now, I guess. Not a handler anymore, just Todd Urie. I always wondered what happened to you… good to see you’re being taken care of.” The man smiled, then glanced over his shoulder. “I should go pick Cassie up for lunch. It’s her sweet sixteen, you know.”

“I was sixteen,” Peter said, softly.

Something darkened in Henry’s face, and went still in the man’s.

“You knew I was sixteen, right?” Peter asked, reluctantly. “You said you knew.”

I knew some of you guys couldn’t be old enough… are you even sixteen?

“… yeah, I knew,” Todd said, uncomfortable again. “I knew you were guys were underage, some of you. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, I’m sorry. I tried to be nice, I thought that was at least something? But I couldn’t really stop it.”

“Bullshit,” Henry snapped. “Call the fucking cops, should have been your first step.”

Todd looked over at Henry, frowning. “Look, kid. I had a contract, there was a lot more to it than that-”

“No, there wasn’t! There was never anything more to it than, than us-… than Peter needing help, and everyone knew it, and nobody did anything until Mr.-… until one person did!”

“Henry, it’s okay,” Peter said, but Henry wasn’t listening to him now.

“Everywhere we go, people say oh, we’re sorry, we didn’t know or they did know, but then they say oh, there was nothing we could have done. There was so much that everyone could have done to help us!”

“Us?” Todd said, confused, his eyes flickering between the two of them. “Are you a pet, too? Or, uh, ex-pet-”

“That doesn’t matter,” Henry snapped. Some of his red hair flopped over his forehead, eyes blazing as he stared Todd down. “What matters is that you-… you could have done something to help him. Called the cops or figured out who he was before and called his family or, or something. And you didn’t, so don’t act like it’s not your fault.”

Todd’s expression darkened again, and he sighed, heavily. “Look, I get from your perspective how bad it looks, but you have to understand-”

“I don’t have to understand shit. What I understand is that he should never have been there, and he was, because people like you knew and you did nothing. What I understand is having to teach somebody all the stuff they were supposed to learn years ago. What I understand is that you-”

“I’m going to grab my daughter for lunch,” Todd interrupted. “You’ve every right to your anger, whoever you are, but it’s not my fault, and you can go yell at Ms. Renford’s grave, not me.”

“She doesn’t have one. I made fucking sure of it.”

“Henry, stop!” Peter tried to grab onto Todd’s shirt again, only to have the older man pull away, leaving him with his hands out and nothing to hold onto. “W-Wait, Handler Todd, if, if I could just talk to you a second longer-”

“Yeah, no, I’m gonna go get Cassie something to eat. Good to see you again, ‘689.” This time, his eyes on Henry, Todd deliberately reached out and ruffled Peter’s hair. “You were always a good boy. I hope things are better for you now.”

He turned abruptly and walked away, ducking into the same little boutique his daughter had gone into.

Peter watched him go, hands dropping limply to his sides.

There was a long silence.

“Peter?”

Peter turned on his heel. “Why couldn’t you just let me talk to him, Henry? He was nice to me! He was the only one who was nice to me! The others, the others hit me, and they drugged me, and they r-… they hurt me, but he never did! He never did!”

“He did hurt you! He hurt you by not trying to help you, Peter!” Henry groaned, throwing his hands up in the air, digging fingers into his own hair. “I don’t understand why you don’t get that. Everyone who knew what happened to us and didn’t do anything, they hurt us, too.”

“No, they didn’t! He, he had to take care of his kids, his daughters-… he said, he said if they got sick then working at WRU meant he could afford the doctor-… he used to come visit me, and hug me, and he, he said he was sorry…”

“His daughters? The doctor?” Henry swore under his breath, closing his eyes, trying to calm himself. “Peter, I just-… I don’t even know where to start. Those are just excuses for leaving you there to suffer.”

“His excuses were all I had! I’m sorry if we can’t all be mad all the time, but, but you… you had us! You had me and Seb and Dex, when you-… when she made you-… you had us. When it was hard, when it was bad, when she hurt you.”

“When she hurt you,” Henry corrected, icily. “To hurt me.”

“You had us,” Peter repeated. “All I had was him.”

Henry was silent. Then, finally, he said softly, “… Peter-”

“Look, I just. I’m gonna go buy a, a coffee, or something, just give me a second, I-” His eyes caught sight of a small pet store down the block, and he put one hand up to rub at the empty space that circled his neck. “I’ll be right back.”

“Peter… Peter, wait, I think I messed up, I-”

“Just go in the bookstore, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t come with me. I’ll be right back. Don’t follow me.”

Peter started walking, leaving Henry staring after him. He ignored the people on the street. Peter’s eyes were focused on the sign above the pet store’s front door, the little puppies with their tails wagging in the front window.

Peter was focused on the fact that he had money in a wallet in his back pocket now, and inside the store he would find what he needed to calm down and feel safe again.

[imalwaysaslutfordrag]

“I love you, but stop talking.” for Nicky/Gigi maybe? 👀

Thank you, my love.

“I love you, but stop talking.”

Gigi had been carrying/dragging a very drugged up and surprisingly gangly French man through New York for the better part of an hour now. They had run into too many people to count, each giving the pair of them a detestable look at the contact.

Gigi decided that she hated New York after finding herself and Nicky were stuck having to take the stairs to Nicky’s tenth-floor apartment. They began the journey gaining some major traction at first, with Nicky going pliantly where Gigi lead, and staying blissfully quiet. Until she stopped suddenly and gasped so loud it startled them both. She looked seriously at Gigi as she spoke, “Did you feed Wooly Allen?”

Gigi rolled her eyes and continued to drag Nicky up the stairs. “He’s a stuffed sheep, Nicky.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t get hungry.” She mumbled.

Gigi held back a laugh. Whatever they used to knock Nicky out for her wisdom teeth removal was making her much more affectionate and whiny. Gigi would be lying if she said she didn’t like it.

“Then, yes. I fed him.”

Nicky’s face lit up, and the older queen threw her arms around Gigi, nearly knocking the both of them off-kilter and down the stairs. “You’re so great, Gigi. Such a good friend.”

“Thanks.” Gigi deadpanned.

The two clambered their way up another two agonizing floors, Nicky refusing to let up her death grip around Gigi’s shoulders until the reached Nicky’s apartment. Gigi let them in without a second thought.

Nicky’s mumbled tirade continued on as they entered the apartment. “You’re such a good friend, Gigi. You’re so cute too. I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.” Nicky spoke into Gigi’s shirt.

“Thanks, I have a mirror.”

Nicky pulled herself away from Gigi’s side just enough to show Gigi that she was pouting. 

Gigi bit the inside of her cheek to keep from melting at how adorable she looked.

“What?” Gigi tried to keep her composure.

“You were supposed to say I was the prettiest person you’d ever seen.”

Gigi rolled her eyes again but the dopey grin on her face could no longer be contained.

“You’re cute when you roll your eyes up like that.”

“Nicky.” Gigi said as a warning.

“I love when you try to be mad at me but you can’t.”

Gigi shook her head. This girl was going to be the death of her. “I love you, but stop talking.”

Nicky suddenly went stock still.

Gigi looked over at her to see the older girl’s eyes were wide open in... shock... awe... fear.

Gigi didn't have time to analyze it, she used Nicky’s weird silence as the perfect time to get her in bed. 

Gigi took her time, pulling pillows from the living room, and blankets from random closets and arranging everything nice and neat for Nicky to relax in.

Nicky, for her part, just sat there and stared on as Gigi made herself at home.

When Gigi was satisfied with her work, she started softly urging Nicky to get under the covers, to which the older queen did, less reluctantly than before.

Gigi pulled the blankets up to Nicky’s neck and gave her one last look before heading to the door.

Nicky called out just as her hand was on the knob, “Gigi!” 

The younger girl turned around slowly, something in the pit of her stomach making it turn, “Yeah?”

Nicky sat up in bed so she could look at her. All traces of the laughing gas were gone, but Nicky still looked... smaller somehow.

“You love me.” 

It was a statement, posed as a question.

Gigi’s mind was racing. Of course, I do. How could anyone not? When you look like that and you smile the way you do. And you love me too don’t you? 

“Well, I-uh.”

“I love you too.”Nicky said, matter of factly.

Gigi’s heart was suddenly beating against her ribcage so strongly she felt her whole body pulsing.

“You’re my best friend.”

Gigi’s stomach sank.

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

unconventional

Rocket Raccoon x Reader

Summary: requested by anonymous. groot accidentally calls you and rocket ‘mum and dad’.

Characters/Pairings: rocket x reader, peter quill, gamora, teenage groot.

Warnings: adult language

Word Count: 3,745

MARVEL MASTERLIST

Your life travelling with the Guardians of the Galaxy consisted of three major kinds of moments.

The first kind, and the one that took up most of your time, was the long hours that stretched between planets wherein you were stuck in the tight quarters of the Milano. These hours meant experiencing a strange kind of domesticity and testing the patience of those around you. Whether the latter was done on purpose or by accident was completely dependent on which Guardian you were discussing.

You very rarely ever had issue with Gamora or Mantis, and anything with Drax was usually a quite literal misunderstanding. Groot was prone to mood swings now that he was going through whatever his equivalent of puberty was, but that usually meant he’d just ignore you or roll his eyes if you bugged him.

Peter or Rocket on the other hand… yeah, that was usually one hundred per cent on purpose. The more restless the three of you got from being stuck on the Milano, the more the three of you irritated each other.

The second kind were second kind were considerably fewer and further between, but one you awaited eagerly. The gunfights, the adrenaline-fueled combat and the running for your damn lives. While you all hoped for each job to go easily, each of you always held a grain of self-destructive hope that one of the others would somehow make a mess of it and you’d get to exercise itchy trigger fingers.

The third kind of moment was one you’d been eagerly awaiting the last few days stuck on the Milano: a trip planet-side to blow off steam. The chance to spend your hard-earned cash, get some fresh air or just get plain hammered was something you all jumped at. Any issue you had with the others almost always immediately once Quill announced that you were touching down.

You were returning from that exact kind of moment now, and after almost two weeks on the Milano without a stop, you had been relieved to get some time off-ship. Quill had set up a meeting for tomorrow about a potential job with an old contact, but tonight you were all free to do what you liked. And that had meant drinking, and a lot of it.

The streets were surprisingly crowded as you left the bar – apparently, you’d arrived on Xandar during some holiday or another—and while you’d enjoyed maybe one too many drinks to be navigating a group this large, you were too busy enjoying the cool night air to worry about it. You wove your way through alien bodies, your gaze slipping over to Groot every couple of minutes watchfully. The gangly Flora Colossus was cutting his own path through the bodies, his attention buried, as usual, in some gaming device.

The rest of the crew traipsed along about ten feet ahead of you, a drunken Drax easily leading the way through the throng. A relaxed smile played on your lips as you stepped past a gaggle of drunks being shepherded by a weary-looking friend.

“Damn it, move your ass, would ya?”

You stopped, hiding a laugh behind your hand as Rocket’s voice sounded irritably behind you. He shoved past someone’s leg impatiently, ignoring the way they stumbled as a result, only to be cut off by someone else. He was the other reason you were moving slower than the others; with Rocket’s much shorter stature, he was having a harder time navigating the crowd than the rest of you. You could leave him to make his own way back to the ship, sure, but in this crowd, he was likely to start a fight. Besides, you’d had fun with him tonight, so you weren’t in any hurry to be away from him.

Hell, the two of you hadn’t fought at all this last trip through space, which was a rarity for pretty much anybody when it came to Rocket. He’d spent a lot of time with you the last two weeks – sitting with you during meals, and you’d kept him company during his last few turns at piloting during the night. Still, you could tell the others were impatient, and you turned back towards them as you heard Quill shout from up ahead, a slight slur to his words.

“Y/N! Rocket! You guys coming or what?”

“We’ll meet you back on-ship!” you called back, feeling the brush of Rocket’s trail against your ankle as he finally reached your side. You glanced down at him, rolling your eyes good-naturedly at his glower. “Groot! Get your head out of that thing and either join the others or walk with us. C’mon, man.”

Groot grumbled something sourly under his breath, but he stopped all the same. Satisfied that he was going to wait, you turned on your heel to the raccoon next to you. You wavered slightly as you lost your balance, holding out your arms to steady yourself. Quill ushered the others onwards.

“You alright there, humie?” Rocket said in amusement, and you smiled.

“Having fun?”

“I get stepped on one more time and I swear, I’m gonna start blowin’ holes in these assholes.”

You snickered, shaking your head. Your voice rose to a teasing, lilting tone. “Y’know, you wouldn’t be getting stepped on if you had just accepted my offer before…”

“And I already told ya where you could stick that offer,” Rock shot back, his typical irritability undermined by what was maybe a thread of nervousness.

“Yup, you did. And your suggestion was both extremely graphic and totally imaginative, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Look,” you sighed. “D’you wanna get back home in one piece or do you wanna shoot someone and get yourself – and me – arrested?”

Rocket’s ear twitched. “Can I do both?”

“If you accept my offer, you can.” you laughed. He raised an exasperated eyebrow at you, and you shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

He sighed dramatically after a moment. “Fine. But don’t go gettin’ smug.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Rock,” you assured him with an easy grin, holding your hands up in surrender. “Now, hurry up. I should’ve been halfway through another bottle back on board by now.”

The raccoon grumbled under his breath but nodded all the same. You bent at the knees, holding out your hand. He took hold of it after a few seconds pause and you guided him as he clambered up your side. You rocked slightly as Rocket settled his weight on one side, and you shifted awkwardly to adjust to it, like you’d slung a backpack over one shoulder. You were a little surprised when he didn’t release your hand right away, but hell, you were still surprised he was accepting your offer in the first place.

When he did finally let go of your hand, one paw settled on your shoulder and the other on the nape of your neck, curling under your hair. You smiled as you felt his tail slip around your hip.

“Comfy?”

“I hate you,” he muttered petulantly.

“No, you don’t, you love me.” you teased light-heartedly, patting the paw on his shoulder. His paw slipped out to cover your hand, holding it in place, and you glanced back at him in disbelief. He shrugged, and you started forward, waving your free hand at Groot. “C’mon, sprout. And no wandering off like you did in the bar.”

Groot rolled his eyes but followed you, eyes focused back on his game. You shook your head in exasperation but continued all the same. Even with the added weight and the alcohol in your system, you managed to navigate the crowd pretty easily, Rocket’s paw still covering your hand. He didn’t speak again until you were almost back at the Milano.

“Why would you get arrested, too?”

“Huh?”

“If I shot someone back there.”

“Oh. Guilt by association. And I got your back.” you said with a shrug, stopping to let him jump down from your back. You almost missed the smile Rocket gave you in response before he turned away, heading into the ship. You were about to speak again when you felt yourself jostled by Groot bumping into you, not looking where he was going. “Ow. Groot! Eyes up, kid.”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket turned back to face you with a smirk as you joined him aboard the Milano, clapping his paws together. “Right, I owe you a drink.”

“Since when do you share?”

“Since I’m buying your silence, humie.” he shrugged, before clearing his throat, a little awkward. He rubbed the back of his head with a paw, turning to head further into the ship. “And since you’ve got my back.”

Your smile widened, and on a whim, you reached out to briefly stroke your fingers through the fur behind his ear as you passed him. It twitched at your touch, but he didn’t flinch or shy away. Instead, the slightly drunken edge to his expression softened into a small smile. “Well, I appreciate it. I’m gonna go make sure the others made it back onboard.”

Rocket nodded, raising his voice to call out to his ward. “Groot! Don’t wander off! Get your ass on the ship!”

***

“Y/N! Groot!” Quill called out to you, and you were surprised to find him lounging on your bunk. Gamora was sitting on her own, glass of water in hand. Quill on the other hand had a bottle of some dark-hued liquor clutched in his fist, one foot kicked up comfortably on the edge of your mattress, the other dangling off the edge. “Bout time you got here!”

“Yeah, looks like you missed us both a whole lot.” you said sarcastically as Groot passed you to sit on his own bed in the corner. It was kind of makeshift, but half the bunk was overrun by his vines, so clearly he didn’t seem to mind. “What are you doing on my bed?”

“Gamora wouldn’t share.”

You turned to her, speaking in a stage whisper. “He knows he has his own room, right?”

“Apparently he’s lonely in there,” she said, the dryness of her tone touched with a sort of affectionate amusement.

Quill spared her a wide, boyish grin before patting the space beside him eagerly. His expression turned to a conspiratorial smirk as you sat down, leaning into your side to speak slightly too-loud in your ear. “Were you carrying Rocket before?”

“No,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Do you see me rockin’ a Baby-Bjorn?”

“I… don’t know what that is.” Quill replied. “Who’s Bjorn?”

“Never mind.”

“I saw you,” he continued, his voice turning sing-song. “You were carrying him…”

“No, I… all I did was… give him a lift,” you said with a shrug. Quill giggled, and you rolled your eyes. “And if you say anything more about it in front of Rocket and I’m gonna carve you a new…” you shot a look at Groot, who was smirking to himself. “…navel.”

“I am Groot.”

“I was not going to say something else,” you lied.

“I am Groot.”

“Damn straight she did, kid.” Quill snorted, raising his drink to Groot with a grin. He moved to drop his head into your lap, boots kicked up against the wall. “So, how come you and Rocket are being so friendly?”

“I am Groot.”

“Sprout!” you reprimanded in surprise, and Quill burst into a roar of laughter. Gamora hid a smile of her own behind the lip of her glass. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? And who keeps teaching you this shit?”

“It seems to be inevitable on the Milano,” Gamora said wryly, smiling innocently at Quill as he turned an offended look on her. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, Peter, before I forget…” you poked him in the cheek and he turned his head to look up at you. “If I find on speck of dirt from those stupid boots on my bed and I will kill you.”

“That I’ll pay to watch.”

You started slightly at Rocket’s voice, turning to smile at him as he entered. He cast a glance towards Quill, who was still lounging over your lap, but he returned you smile with a small one of his own. You accepted a glass from him, and he leaned against the edge of the bed next to your thigh. “Thanks.”

“Aww, where’s mine?” Quill joked, and Rocket shot back a reply without hesitation.

“About three inches up your ass.”

You snorted. “Watch your language in front of Groot.”

“It’s not like he hasn’t heard worse.”

“Totally not the point, Peter,” you pointed out, smacking him lightly on the forehead. In glancing down at him, you noticed Rocket shaking his head. “What?”

He shrugged, smirking. “I just think it’s funny that you can laugh and still try to play all responsible-like.”

“I am responsible,” you retorted, affronted. You threw back a mouthful of your drink, coughing slightly as it burned your throat. “Jesus.”

“Rocket laughed. “Sure, you are, doll.”

“’Doll’? Ow!” Quill flinched as you flicked him in the temple.

“I am Groot.” The plant made move to stand, but Rocket pointed a finger at him.

“No, you ain’t going off ship again. Last time you wandered off you almost got in a brawl. And I ain’t cleanin’ up that mess again.”

“I am Groot,” he huffed back, slouching back on his bunk. He folded his arms over his slim, wooden chest petulantly.

“I don’t care if you didn’t start it,” Rocket retorted. “I had to finish it!”

“I had to, you mean,” you muttered.

“I am Groot!”

“Hey!”

“Woah!” Quill said, straightening from your lap. You felt Rocket’s shoulder brush against your knee as he did. “C’mon man!”

“What kind of language is that?”

“I am Groot.”

“I don’t care if you learnt it from Rocket, I’ll kick his ass later,” you replied, ignoring Rocket’s answering scoff. “What’re you thinking, talking like that?”

Groot answered, and Rocket straightened slightly, affronted. “Hey, don’t you talk to her like that, you little—”

“Rocket, it’s—���

“I am Groot!”

You stopped mid-sentence, words dying on your lips. Groot’s eyes widened in embarrassment, and you glanced at Rocket as you felt him stiffen beside you. He was pointedly focused on the drink in his hand.

Quill almost choked on his laughter, and Gamora rolled her eyes as he spluttered. “Groot? Did you just—did you just call them ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’?”

Groot shook his head quickly, and if he could blush you could have sworn he would have been. When Quill laughed again, Groot stood and hurried from the room.

“Sprout, wait—”

“He did!” Quill exclaimed, and Gamora shook her head, standing. She took hold of his forearm and hauled him to his feet, holding him at arm’s length.

“It’s time for you to go to bed, Peter.”

She dodged his wandering hand easily, taking hold of it instead to lead him out of the room. He let her, an almost besotted expression flashing over his face for a moment, but that didn’t stop him from pointing a finger excitedly at you as he was dragged out the door. “You’re a mom!”

“Goodnight, Peter,” you deadpanned, pulling your feet up onto your bunk. You hugged your knees self-consciously, very aware of the fact that you’d been left alone with Rocket. And he hadn’t moved at all since Groot’s accidental outburst. You glanced down at him quickly; his ear twitched slightly, and your eyes flicked quickly back to the opposite wall as if he was about to catch you in your stare. You’d almost asked Gamora to stay… hell, you might have even considered asking Quill if it meant avoiding this seriously awkward moment. Clearing your throat, you moved to stand. “I—I should go check on Groot, he—”

“Uh, Y/N, wait, I—” Rocket’s arm jerked forward slightly, as if he was going to touch your knee, but he withdrew. Still, you didn’t rise out of your seat, confused. He shook his head, sighing. “Ah, shit.”

You could still feel a blush coloring your cheeks, and your brow rose. “Rocket?”

“Nothin’. Forget it.”

“…Okay?” you said after a moment, finally coming to a stand. “Then I’m gonna go check on Groot.”

***

“Rocket?” you announced yourself quietly as you entered the cockpit. It was well after what could be considered midnight by your internal clock – you never really understood how to keep time right in outer space – and the others were all in bed, as far as you knew. All expect Rocket, who’d been stuck with the graveyard shift on the way to Knowhere.

The two of you had found yourselves with an awkwardness between you the last few days, and you still weren’t entirely certain as to why. Groot had since recovered from his own embarrassment at his Freudian slip – he’d even given you a brief, begrudging hug after you’d assured him you had no problem being considered his Mom – but Rocket was still acting… off.

“You busy.”

“You know I ain’t.” he sighed, leaning back in his seat as he returned his eyes to the stars. He’d glanced briefly at you as you’d called out, but he seemed just as determined as ever to avoid eye contact. “What are you doin’ up?”

“Trying to figure out exactly when things are going to go back to normal.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“The weirdness.” you said with a shrug. “Between us. Or, at least, the weirdness you have towards me.”

Rocket cleared his throat and forced a shrug. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, c’mon, Rocket. You’ve been dodging me for like three days now.” you said. “Unless its completely normal for you to avoid eye contact and get all uncomfortable with everyone now.”

“I—”

“Is this about the whole Groot calling us ‘Mom and Dad’-thing?” you continued. “Because I don’t get what the big deal is. I mean, you have to have known that he thought of you like a father, you raised the little guy. And yeah, I was a little surprised that he thinks of me as his mom, but I don’t get why this has made you act all different all of a sudden…”

You were well into a ramble now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to a stop. Rocket was your friend; you easily spent most of your time with him both on- and off-ship. Having him not talking to you was beginning to eat away at that wall you had inside that kept your anxiety at bay.

“…I mean, is it because he probably thinks of us as—” you stopped. “Oh. Right.”

Groot thinking of you two as his parents meant he probably thought of you two as… a couple. No wonder Rocket was being so weird.

“Y/N—”

“No, it’s okay. I get it.” you said hurriedly, waving a hand. “I mean, him thinking of us as, like, together, and you not liking me like that – how could you – I can see why you’d feel awk…”

Your voice died in your throat as you noticed the look Rocket was giving you. It was almost pained, and there was something in his eyes, an earnestness. Maybe even a longing. All mixed in with dejection.

And it hit you.

“Oh.”

Rocket’s gaze dropped, and he turned away from you again.

“Rocket—”

“Look, Y/N, just forget it, alright?” he said, a kind of defeated bitterness marring his tone. It almost came out as a sigh, like he was finally being met with the inevitable. “It’s nothin’.”

“You… you like me?” you asked, fingers curling in the hem of your shirt by your hip. “You have feelings for me?”

Rocket jumped down from his seat, shrugging a shoulder as he turned his back on you and busied himself with the ship’s controls.

“Rocket.”

“I said leave it, humie,” he repeated, his voice tired. Like he’d worked himself to the same conclusion over and over; he didn’t have the energy for however he thought this conversation would go. Did you? How was it going to go? “I don’t need your sympathy. Or your charity. We can just keep on going.” His voice dropped, and you could barely hear his sigh. “Just keep going.”

“Why?”

Rocket didn’t respond. So, after a moment, you stepped forward and removed a few of the feet between you. You swallowed, speaking more firmly.

“Why, Rocket?”

“Why, what?”

“Why do we have to pretend like this isn’t happening?” you asked. “It is. Shouldn’t we talk about this?”

“I told you,” Rocket replied, turning around finally. He looked a little taken aback seeing you standing so much closer than before, but he continued. The bitterness in his voice increased. “I don’t need your charity. I ain’t a moron, doll. And I blind.”

“No, you’re not a moron.” You swallowed, and after a moment you knelt down, bringing yourself down to his eye level. He froze for a moment at the new, more intimate space between the two of you, and you felt a blush begin to color your cheeks as his gaze met yours. “But what is it exactly that you think you’re seeing here?”

He hesitated for a long moment before he sighed, rubbing at the back of his head. “You know what. You’re a Terran, and I’m… I’m a…”

“How about we just go with: I’m Y/N, and you’re Rocket. It really doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.” you suggested softly. “Rocket. Can you just be honest with me? Please?”

“I—” he swallowed as his voice caught in his throat, and he nodded.

“Good. Then can I be honest with you?”

Rocket couldn’t seem to find words; there was a mix of suspicion and maybe what could be hope on his face, and somehow it made sense that he could somehow conjure up both those emotions at once in those big, brown eyes. He nodded again.

“Thank you.” you smiled.

You leaned forward slowly, mindful of his wariness and general mistrust, and while his ears straightened, alert, he didn’t otherwise move. You ran your fingers carefully through the fur on either side of his face, finding yourself a little surprised at how soft it was under your hands. He relaxed slightly under your touch, his gaze only breaking from yours as he closed his eyes. You could see a smile of his own curving at his mouth. Closing your eyes, you pressed a kiss to the top of his brow.

.

.

.

(edit to add the tags because i was so excited to post last night and watch iron man with my roommate that i forgot to do it)

tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @spacesuitsforemergency @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @dragon-chica

don’t forget to message me if you would like to be tagged in future fics!

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke: Mark of the Assassin

So I had to write the MotA DLC from Fenris’s POV for two reasons: 1) Fenris and Anders running around together trying to find Hawke = OPPORTUNITY FOR MUCH AMUSING ARGUMENTS; and 2) The banter where Tallis asks Hawke if she is married and Fenris is like [voice heavy with implication] “a fine question.” YAS FENRIS YAS YAS YAS

It’s a long one (~10k words), so this is the first bit. Read the rest on AO3. 

***************************

Fenris glowered at Anders’s back as they made their way along the cultivated path to Chateau Haine.

Hawke elbowed him. “Listen,” she murmured, “I know it’s a fond wish of yours, but I don’t think he’ll burst into flame just because you stare at him. You can keep trying, but…”

“I don’t like it,” Fenris muttered. “You shouldn’t have brought him. He’s a liability.”

“I wasn’t very well going to leave him alone in Kirkwall, now was I?” she retorted. “Besides, the fresh air might be good for him. A little space from the city, some nature…”

Fenris gave her an irritated look. “He’s not a cooped-up mabari. He is an abomination. This is a mistake.”

“You know I can still hear you,” Anders called over his shoulder.

“Good,” Fenris said loudly. “You are an abomination, and I wish Hawke hadn’t brought you.”

Hawke tutted and pinched his underarm, and he scowled at her. Then Tallis spoke up. “We’re almost there,” she said. “Should we maybe, um, pretend to be civil?”

“Of course,” Hawke said. “Pretending to be civil is our specialty. Right, boys?” She slung her arm around Fenris’s waist, then slipped her hand through the crook of Anders’s elbow and smiled winningly at him.

Fenris clicked his tongue in disgust, and Anders rolled his eyes, and Tallis gave them all a funny look before continuing along the path, her jaunty ponytail swinging in the breeze.

Fenris frowned at her for a moment before turning to Hawke. “I still don’t quite understand why we are doing this,” he said quietly. “This is a risky venture with little apparent payoff. It is a fool’s errand, even for you.”

“I hate to agree with Fenris, but… I agree,” Anders said. “What is it with you and helping cute elves with no self-preservation instinct?”

“Ah, so you admit you think Fenris is cute?” Hawke said shrewdly to Anders. Then she laughed as the two men glared at each other. “Come on, you two, it’s an outing. It’s an escape! If I’d known you would both be such sticklers, I’d have brought Bels and Aveline instead.”

“And you think Aveline would be less of a stickler than us?” Anders said in mock offense.

She chuckled and continued to tease Anders as she dragged them up the path in Tallis’s wake, but Fenris studied her shrewdly from the corner of his eye. An escape, she’d said. And that explained everything.

The tension between Kirkwall’s mages and Templars was growing worse with every passing day. Hawke received daily pleas for help from both pro-Templar and pro-mage correspondents, and their crew had been tasked with taking down at least one abomination a day for the past week or so. But Fenris knew Hawke was worried that Terrie’s apostate escape routes had dried up completely. Meanwhile, Anders claimed that half the mages in the Circle had been made Tranquil, and Fenris wasn’t certain anymore that he was exaggerating.

Kirkwall was an utter mess. It was a powder keg set to explode at the slightest spark. So naturally, Hawke wanted to escape. Fenris’s dark-haired lover was skilled at many things, but choosing sides wasn’t one of them.

Moments later, Chateau Haine came into view. Hawke straightened up and released both Anders and Fenris. “All right, you fine specimens. Party faces on, all right?” She pinched Fenris’s chin affectionately, then hurried ahead to join Tallis in introducing herself to the Duke.  

A few minutes later, during which Fenris was - as usual - assumed to be Hawke’s manservant, they set off down another path in search of some blasted creature called a wyvern.

Manservant, Fenris thought resentfully. It might only be a cover, but it was still galling. “Is it wrong of me to cheer for the wyverns?” he groused.

“Just ignore the nobles,” Tallis advised. “Keep an eye out for signs. The sooner we kill a wyvern, the sooner we get into the keep.”

“And what are we supposed to do? Beat the bushes with sticks?” Anders said archly.

Tallis shot him an amused look as they made their way toward a thick copse of pine trees. “Never been hunting before, I see. You’re a real city boy, aren’t you?”

Anders lifted an eyebrow at her. “Sweetheart, I’ve hunted a lot of things. Just not a bloody wyvern.”

Hawke chuckled and playfully smacked Anders’s ass. “Darkspawn and demons aren’t quite the same as wild animals, my friend. Lead the way, Tallis. Just tell us what to do.”

They loped along as Tallis described the clues to keep an eye out for. As they searched for signs of wyvern occupation, Fenris had to admit that the grounds were quite lovely: trees and grass and rocks and such. It was an interesting change from the Wounded Coast’s barren beaches and from Kirkwall’s general… smell.

As always when she met someone new, Hawke aggressively flirted with Tallis as they wandered the hunting grounds, and Fenris listened with a mixture of resignation and annoyance as Tallis flirted back. Then, as Tallis collected some blood from a dragonling they’d just killed, she asked Hawke an interesting question.

“Are you married?” she said as she capped the bottle of dragonling blood.

Fenris looked up from the dragonling corpse in time to see Hawke grinning saucily at the redheaded elf. “Is that a proposal?” she teased.

Tallis smiled and shrugged. “It’s just… you’re the champion of Kirkwall. Big. Important. I don’t know. Just wondering if there’s a spouse behind the throne.”

All right, that’s enough, Fenris thought. He’d sat back and watched this idle flirtation for long enough. He strolled over to Hawke’s side. “A fine question,” he drawled, then slid an unmistakably possessive hand down Hawke’s back. Tallis could try her best, but she’d have to go through him.

To his surprise, Hawke’s cheeks instantly went red. She grinned up at him, then ducked her head coyly and gave a nervous little giggle. “Let’s, er, let’s keep moving, shall we?” She shot Fenris another unusually shy smile, then continued along the path.

“Oh,” Tallis said. She looked at Fenris with wide eyes, then at Hawke. “Are you two together?”

“Of course,” Hawke said. A flush of pink still painted her cheeks. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Not really,” Tallis said. “Not with the, um.” She pointed vaguely between herself and Hawke. “And then there was the, err…” She pointed at Anders, then mimed a butt-smacking gesture.

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Tallis. I’m just an incorrigible flirt, that’s all.”

“She really is,” Anders called out from the dragon bones he was inspecting. “It never stops.”

Hawke chuckled. “No one is safe from my irresistible charms. But I assure you, Fenris is the only one for me.” She blew him a kiss, and he smirked at her in return. He knew Hawke was just having her fun with Tallis, but the reassurance was still… nice to hear.

Tallis, meanwhile, continued to study them curiously. “You’re not married, though?” she asked.

Hawke laughed again, and Fenris watched with growing interest as her cheeks reddened even further. “Andraste’s tits, you’re a tenacious little thing, aren’t you?” she purred. “No, we’re not married. Not that that matters.” She shot Fenris another oddly bashful look, then strolled away to join Anders.

Hmm. Bashful was not one of Hawke’s usual modes. He pondered her odd reaction as they wandered the grounds, killing piles of those obnoxious ghasts and fooling around with some cursed chest while collecting items for baiting the blasted wyvern. But the bright morning sun continued to make its steady way across the sky, and by midday, Fenris had had quite enough of this aimless wandering through the woods.

His irritation must have been showing, because Hawke sidled up to him and took his hand. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

He shrugged bad-temperedly. “This had better be worth it. That is all I have to say,” he muttered.

She squeezed his hand again. “I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.”

He raised one eyebrow at her sly and pretty face. “How do you plan to do that?” he murmured.

She grinned slowly at him. “We’re going to a chateau. A big, fancy chateau with lots of rooms.” She rose onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his ear. “Use your imagination,” she breathed.

He smirked, his ears going warm as she released him and pranced away.

And then they came across a large and steaming pile of shit.

Fenris balked, and Anders grimaced. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “It smells worse than Darktown.”

“Oh come on, you wimps,” Hawke said. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” To Fenris’s complete shock, she knelt and shoved her gloved hands into the pile of shit.

He gaped at her for a moment, then barked out a sudden laugh. “Aw. Hawke stepped in the poopy,” he taunted.

She shot him an annoyed look. “I’m searching for clues. Do you want to move on with this so-called ‘fool’s errand’ or not?” She squelched her fingers around in the pile of feces, her face twisting with distaste despite her bold words.

His boredom entirely forgotten in the face of this enormously entertaining development, Fenris folded his arms and watched until Hawke pulled something from the pile.

Tallis traipsed over and inspected the contents of Hawke’s hand. “Ah, nug bones! I wonder if a nug call would help.”

Hawke threw her an odd look. “You know a nug call?”

Tallis planted her hand on her hip and tilted her head. “You go elbow-deep in nug shit, and I’m the weird one?” She smiled, then made a very strange noise.

And then she went galloping off into a nearby clearing while making that very strange noise.

Fenris, Anders, and Hawke all simply stared as their new companion waved her arms and kicked her gangly legs. “This is by far the stupidest thing I have ever seen,” Anders said in wonder.

“I know,” Hawke said. She grinned at the two men. “Isn’t it great?”

At that moment, a huge, scaly beast came surging out of the woods, and Fenris hauled his greatsword from his back. “The wyvern, I presume?” he yelled over the beast’s ear-splitting roar.

Hawke didn’t bother to reply. Her face was a perfect picture of focus as she cast a barrier over him, then jerked her chin at the beast. “Go ahead!” she called.

Fenris needed no further prompting. He ran full-tilt at the wyvern, then had to hastily roll aside as the creature charged at him. “Kaffas,” he muttered, then ran at the beast’s rear and swung at the back of its leg, intending to hamstring it.

The fight wasn’t long, but it was tough. Fenris succeeded in crippling the wyvern within a minute, and Hawke swiftly discovered that it was particularly susceptible to lightning attacks, so she and Anders rained bolts down on the beast while Fenris and Tallis slashed at the beast.

Soon the wyvern was wheezing, laboured breaths through its dragonlike snout as its head hung low in exhaustion, and Fenris darted toward the head, intending to sever its neck.

It turned its head and sprayed a jet of poison at his chest.

He stumbled back in disgust, and Hawke screamed his name. “Fenris!”

He shook his head to try and reassure her; the poison was only on his armour, not on his skin, and he could hold his breath until the worst of the vapours dissipated. He lifted his sword again, ready to swing at their bestial foe.

The wyvern’s head was suddenly encased in a creeping coating of ice. White-blue ice grew over its eyes, into its nostrils, stifling its snuffling breaths -

“Kill it,” Hawke shouted, and Fenris slammed the pommel of his greatsword against the wyvern’s head.

The head shattered with a great crack, falling apart in reddish chunks of flesh and ice, and then Hawke was at his side. “Fenris,” she breathed, her eyes wild with panic as they darted across his body. “Oh fuck. Here, take this antidote, drink the whole thing, we can make more or buy more or bully the next person we see-”

“Hawke,” he interrupted. He grasped her shaking hand. “I’m fine. The poison is only on my armour. It’s all right.”

Her gaze flicked over him for a moment longer, then her shoulders relaxed. “Maker’s sagging balls,” she sighed, then kissed him quickly on the lips. “Fuck this hunting-for-sport bullshit. Remind me of this next time someone suggests this kind of sortie.”

“Consider it done,” he said, and she smiled tremulously at him as she took a step away.

A moment later, a strange man burst into the clearing with a handful of Orlesian guards and a mouthful of complaints about having bribed someone-or-other to win the hunting contest. Blasted humans, Fenris thought in annoyance as Duke Prosper himself appeared to witness the exchange, and Hawke - as was her way - mercifully allowed the petulant Orlesian complainer to walk away unscathed.

They stopped by a small lake to wash up before continuing back to Chateau Haine. Fenris gave Hawke a fond but chiding look as she chivvied him into a sitting position. “I can clean my armour myself,” he told her for the third time.

“I’ll take care of it,” Hawke said. “My gloves are already as good as garbage. Might as well add some wyvern venom to the wyvern shit before, you know, burning them. It’ll be like a beautiful piece of performance art.” She pulled a cloth from her back pocket, then soaked it in the lake and squeezed it out before adding a dab of wyvern venom antidote. “Besides, you know I’ll take any excuse to get my hands all over you.” She smiled at him and gingerly wiped his chestplate.

Fenris studied her brittle smile. “Unfortunate, then, that your hands are covered in shit,” he murmured. He tenderly brushed her spiky bangs from her eyes.

Her tight smile warmed and broadened. Then Tallis came and crouched beside them. “Things are going perfectly to plan,” she chirped. “Thanks, Hawke.” She looked at Fenris and Anders. “And you two as well. Really. I appreciate it.”

“Oh, no problem at all,” Hawke said breezily. She carefully rinsed out the cloth, then wiped Fenris’s chestplate again. “Nothing like a brisk hunt and a brisk verbal ass-kicking to a puffed-up noble to start the day.” She winked at Tallis.

Tallis beamed at her, then rose and wandered away, and Hawke’s smile finally slipped a bit as she turned back to Fenris. “And here I was, thinking this would be a nice little vacation,” she muttered. “What’s the world coming to when even my fun distractions become fraught with danger?”

“Everything you do has always been fraught with danger,” Anders pointed out as he polished his staff. “You love danger. It’s practically your middle name.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s not the point,” she said.

Anders frowned. “What do you mean?”

She looked at him for a moment, then returned her attention to Fenris’s nearly-clean chestplate. “All I’m saying is that there had better be some stellar food at this party,” she said. “And drinks. Anyone else for drinks?” She raised her eyebrows at Fenris, then pointed at Anders. “You. You’re having a drink with me. You never drink anymore. I still don’t understand why Venjustice going a little crazy means you’ve become a teetotaller.”

“Hawke,” Fenris said. He gently squeezed her arm. “We can go back to Kirkwall at any time. Nothing is stopping you from saying ‘no’. We don’t have to do this.” Anders didn’t understand her, but Fenris saw past her mask.

She put on a good face, and she’d always been extremely effective at deflecting their group’s concerns. She was still as impulsive as ever, wont to jumping headfirst into things without thinking twice. But when unplanned dangers cropped up, especially dangers to anyone who wasn’t herself…

The events of the past few years had taken their toll. Despite her signature jocular manner, Hawke wasn’t the same carefree woman they’d all met so many years ago.

She darted a furtive look at Tallis, and Fenris sighed quietly as she shook her head. “It’s fine,” she said airily. “The worst part is done. The rest is going to be sneaking and stealing, and we’re good at that.”

“Are we, though?” Anders said. “Especially the ‘sneaking’ bit.”

She gasped in pretend offense. “You wound me, Anders. I can be quiet as a cat when I want to be.” She inspected Fenris’s chestplate, then nodded her head in satisfaction before removing her disgusting gloves and lifting her eyes to his.

Fenris sympathetically studied her face. It was worried and hopeful and lovely. “It can’t get any worse, can it?” she said.

Read the rest on AO3. 

[bpd-seishi]

Oh worm? Neko au? Tea?

FDSJFJFLJSDFJLK THE WAY THIS QUESTION IS WORDED GOODNESS I’M NOT SURE WHETHER TO LAUGH OR CRY– 

djsfklasdfn anyway, um. i probably should’ve answered this closer to when i posted that thing that mentioned the neko au but afdlkjsadfkl better late than never, right? :’) 

okay so. this’ll probably be disappointing to a lot of u but not everyone in this au is a kitty, some of them are just normal people who have to take care of these neko losers sahflasjdk RIP. i should mention that my versions of nekos have kitty claws (but not paws), cat ears and tails (as is the standard), and a lot of catlike behaviors. so they’re still mostly human, but sometimes i talk about them acting super catlike and i don’t wanna confuse anyone adsfkl ;w; 

so! without further ado! the kitties are: seishi, akira, nico, saiji, narumi, marin, kasumi, and i’m thinking i’m gonna have neko kazuomi too :0 just for fun, i’m gonna throw some stuff about their personalities here: 

seishi white ears and tail. i kinda made fun of him in my tags but he actually is a sweet lil kitty,, he just had bad caretakers before landing in ayumu’s care :’) he used to be terrified of baths because they consisted of just a hose and really cold water, but now he’s more tolerant of them because ayumu actually sets it up nice and puts him in warm water, go figure. he still doesn’t like them cuz he hates getting wet, though. he also doesn’t like getting his claws clipped and cries every time it happens lsdjflk ;w; it’s like this every goddamn time RIP he tends to chew/lick things when he’s nervous (which is often. poor little ptsd kitty :’0). his favorite target is ayumu’s hair. he likes to crawl into his lap, wrapping his skinny, gangly arms around him, and just. really go to town on his hair aljdfjlkasd he has kind of a lisp that he’s embarrassed of and i love him honestly he’s just an oversized lap cat. all he wants to do is be in ayumu’s lap and vibrate purr really loudly, disrupting whatever ayumu was doing :’3 he also likes to bring him dead animals as presents, which disturb the hell out of ayumu asdlkjflaksd RIP ;w; 

akira grey ears and tail. the kinda kitty who rubs against people who are allergic to him, and yes i know that’s just a body language thing but akira does it on purpose alkjdsflskdf. 100% knocks glasses off tables just for fun. really wants mikoto to be his caretaker cuz he thinks she’ll be mean to him because she’s fun to harass, and he constantly jumps on her stuff/lap to get her attention. gets a thrill out of being yelled at/told no really he just wants some attention his old caretakers never played with him and kinda neglected him :’(he also scratches at her door at 4:30 in the morning (because let’s be honest he just didn’t sleep asjlkfdsf) for her to make him breakfast,, even though he’s damn well capable of making it himself. mikoto buys ear plugs to tune him out but she still has the scratches on the door to prove that akira was there, being a little monster the kind of cat who thinks every goddamn can u open is for him. it is not. he also eats plants and then demands mikoto rubs his tummy because now it hurts and it’s definitely not a trap nope he’s never had a bath in his life. he smells terrible and i hate him asjflksadjf ;w; 

nico white ears and tail. a sweet, if somewhat fussy kitty (like seishi tbh. that’s what they both are. sweet but a lil fussy :’3). one of those weird cats that actually likes water. she would stick her head under the faucet if it fit ;w; she even likes swimming, which is weird for cats/nekos in general. she likes maiko a lot (of course) and brings her animals to express her affection. the catch is that unlike most cats, she brings living animals to her jladhflksadjf. she doesn’t like killing them but maiko isn’t,, really sure what to do with them oh geez– she usually just sets them free but don’t tell nico okaytends to be a bit fickle about touch. she doesn’t like strangers petting her but with certain people (mostly maiko lksfdjlkdsf) she’ll silently demand affection via glaring at them across the room alfklsdj ;w; likes those cutesy collars tbh but gets mad when people treat it in a gross way (and rightfully so too!! leave her alone weirdos!! >:T). also definitely appreciates grooming more than the boys above, but she has trouble with nail clipping cuz it makes her nervous. what if the person doing it clips them too much? :’0 A) that would hurt and B) she needs them for territory battles with saiji lkasdjfklasdf okay that last one’s a joke but still

saiji white ears and tail. in speak of the devil! actually saiji’s a pretty calm kitty, not particularly putting up a fuss…..unless kasumi’s around. those two can (and will!) battle it out jlasdflkdsjaf RIP. mostly though he’s pretty chill, even with nico (they’re really just mutually amicable rivals tbh). doesn’t like water but puts up with baths cuz he hates smelling bad unlike certain other kittens i could namealso likes maiko, and also brings her animals as a gesture of Love and Appreciation asjdfhlkasdf. his, however, are in fact dead, and he even goes to the trouble of putting them in nice, neat coffin-like boxes. boy really goes all out dfkjlsadjf. unfortunately, maiko also doesn’t know what to do with these, lmao she usually throws the dead bodies out but she’ll keep the box if it’s really nice looking. once again, don’t tell saiji :’)LOVES being groomed. being brushed, having his nails clipped, all that jazz. like i said before, the one thing he’s not super crazy about are baths but eh, he’ll get over it, he doesn’t like being Stinky (unlike akira alsdflks poor mikoto) doesn’t like it when people give him catnip, because he’s not a fan of embarrassing himself. which inevitably happens when a kitty is on catnip :’3 

narumi brown ears and tail. energetic kitten who loves being played with! seriously. she has way too much energy. help. most likely to jump on the table while ur doing homework and sending ur papers scattering (unless ur names mikoto, in which case akira’s more likely to harass u). neutral on baths, but has a general distaste for getting wet. like akira, is also the kind of cat who assumes every time u open the fridge ur getting them a treat whICH NO IT’S NOT FOR U DAMMIT. smarter than him in that she will not eat leaves, but she does chew on plants for fun sometimes. she loves making mischief (though not as much as kasumi does. but, we’ll get to her later :’3) has no interest in having a caretaker outside of her family but could probably use someone setting rules for her while she’s at school. and trust me, people try to, and usually she’ll listen if she’s told “hey, don’t do that”. more than anything though she needs a goddamn playmate aksdflajsdfkl :’) loves the laser pointer more than anything. all nekos have enough human brain to understand that u can’t actually catch the dot, but still feel compelled to anyway. narumi doesn’t care that she can’t ever get it, she just loves the thrill of the chase >:3c 

marin goldish white ears and tail. sleepy kitty. kinda kitty who finds a sun patch, lays down immediately, and passes the heck out. also very affectionate: will rub up against u and “groom” ur hair (read: lick and preen, like i mentioned seishi doing earlier) even if she doesn’t know u all that well. another weird kitty that doesn’t mind getting wet all that much, she even likes it. she actually does stick her head under the faucet on occasion just cuz it just be like that sometimes, y’know? gets even sleepier on catnip, somehow. no one thought it was possible. most cats get more energetic/stimulated on it, not her. she just gets cuddly and more tired aldsfjlkasd this actually happens to my cat on the nip sometimes slkdfsd trust me i know what i’m talking aboutpretty independent kitty, but not opposed to cuddles or a lap to sleep on. she’s all about that nap life, son her favorite toy is a mouse given to her by a coworker at the station. it has a nice little bell that jingles and she likes to hold it when she sleeps. when she’s feeling playful though she’ll bat it around a bit owo 

kasumi black ears and tail. ratty ol’ alley cat who hisses at everyone who so much looks at her funny. infamous for nyooming through the dorm halls at three in the morning and for staring at empty spaces and telling everyone that she sees a ghost there (to be fair, half the time, she isn’t actually lying). bites people because she likes it. knocks things off tables and gets into spats with saiji just cuz ljasdfjlkasd. pretty much any terrible cat behavior u can think of, she does. she only really cares about misuzu, and often tries to get her attention by scratching up her skirt or door…..which often get her in trouble. absolutely hates baths. she’s no longer allowed to have catnip. no one can control her when she’s on it. they can barely control her when she’s not on it lajdsflkdsa :’) uses her claws more than any of the other kitties, and thus absolutely despises having her nails cut. we’re talking full on tantrum here, folks. the only person she lets do it is misuzu, and she still whines the whole time RIP ;w; also drops off dead animals for the one she loves (misuzu of course). it’s extra significant for cuz she has to deal with the ghosts of the animals she kills :’0 

kazuomi orangey brown ears and tail. most brash of all the kitties, naturally. not particularly energetic, though, at least not as much narumi. however, when he does feel playful, he jump high as hell, which is both impressive and terrifying. he loves toys he can pounce on. however, he hates the red dot, because he knows he can’t get it, yet he’s still compelled to after it anyway. it always wins and it makes him >:( hates baths, but he’ll put up with them because he gets so sweaty sometimes and he doesn’t like feeling gross. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t whine and complain the whole time, though laksfdjklsadf he doesn’t need or want a caretaker. however,, he’s not opposed to someone who’ll scratch behind his ears from time to time when he has that Itch :’) don’t touch his belly. more than any of the other cats he hates it when people poke/tickle/rub there jalksdfjklsd. he doesn’t understand why people feel compelled to, anyway. after all, his belly isn’t the part of him that is Kitty anyway, so stop trying to get access!! while we’re on the subject, though, don’t touch his ears and tail without permission either >:/ (though that goes for all kitties, really)