#there are a lot here i can't tag them all

[ghost-in-the-stalls]

I was going to put this in the tags but it's long enough and a direct response that I think I should just add it here.

Yes, to all of this, unironically and unhesitatingly.

For what it's worth for everything I'm about to say, I am a licensed social worker and am currently employed as a mental health clinician. But I have not done any research on this personally and don't have sources at the moment to back this theory up (im going to look into that today actually. I'm curious to see what I find.) This is just all speculation from a professional, so take that for what it's worth. I'll try to add some sources later when I'm not on mobile.

See I agree with what was stated up above about anxiety and depression. I also think its possible it could apply to diagnoses considered less "general," like adhd.

Example. I was recently diagnosed with adhd. The only reason I bothered to pursue the diagnosis was because it was impacting my ability to function throughout my day, and I wanted to try medication. (Personally, I think those are the only times you really should pursue a professional diagnosis, but that's a separate conversation...)

The most notable complaints I had about what I was experiencing were:

- struggling to focus on one task instead of bouncing around between everything on my to do list

- getting overwhelmed and paralyzed from the amount of thoughts and tasks that were in front of me

- struggling to stay on a task that requires my full focus (like reading) because I simply can't give that task my full attention

- conversely, going too long engaging in one task (usually a preferred relaxation task) and neglecting other parts of my life. This typically happens for me on weekends, when I'm trying to play video games instead of think about work.

There are other symptoms that I qualify with, like interrupting people (or struggling not to), being physically jittery and fidgety, being easily angered when certain things happen, etc.

For me, a lot of this ties back to - and was made most clear by - the amount of tasks I have to regularly engage in in my life, and my difficulty keeping up with it all and functioning effectively through it.

Now on one hand, the DSM V is written with a focus on symptoms that interfere with life functioning. And things that stop necessary tasks from being completed tend to fuck our lives up more than something that makes us a little too talkative or fidgety.

But also. And I will say this again and again and again.

A diagnosis is a tool and label. Not a law of the universe. Not a cause. It is a human attempt at categorization of known symptoms, with the intention of relating to effective treatments.

(And that^^^ is something you'll learn from any decent psych 101 class. Mine wasn't decent and I had to go a few classes beyond before we actually started framing it that way.)

With that in mind. Here's a question.

Is my adhd just innate within me, and something that would have been there, regardless of what my life looked like? Is it a specific way my brain deviates from the "norm," and something that, with the right technology and testing, could have been detected and diagnosed without my even noticing any symptoms? Something that exists in a vaccuum without touching my other diagnoses of anxiety and depression?

Or. Is it maybe just a quick and easy way of saying "this person cannot keep up with the stimuli in their life without becoming overwhelmed. And it is effecting their functioning to a notable degree"

That second option is a gross oversimplification, but I hope you take a second to sit with how much the first option sounds like eugenics. If the problem is innate within you, then if we just improve our technology enough to detect it in everyone who has it and separate them from the "norm," then we can weed out the problem, right? Okay, Elon.

How much of my adhd could be a culmination of the fact that I'm overwhelmed with stimuli 24/7 and have lost my ability to focus effectively because of it? How much of my clients' adhd could be a result of the same, possibly combined with the fact that many of them have experienced or are currently experiencing trauma? Which is known to impact ability to focus on tasks, as well as create a hyperactive body system?

This isn't to say adhd is a bogus diagnosis. The same way that the anxiety and depression we experience within our current world state is also not a bogus diagnosis. We're still experiencing it. We still fit the diagnostic criteria. And treatment still helps.

My point of all this is, yes to what's above. And also, maybe it would be good to reframe the ways we view diagnosis in general, to take it a step further, and to recognize the very clear and present causes of what a lot of people are experiencing nowadays. In my opinion, it goes beyond anxiety and depression.

(Also. For the people saying you'll go nuts if you aren't busy. Take a look at why that is. Is that a sustainable way of living? Are you comfortable just existing as yourself? Are you trying to distract yourself from something, or avoiding something uncomfortable? Have you possibly adapted well to the pressure of being constantly busy? Think about it from a different angle)

[kiwriteswords]

I was listening to Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae (it gives me so much Hotch vibes for some reason??? I love it) and I thought it would be the perfect occasion to make a request for your Thirsty Thursday 👀 I don't have much idea but I guess something in the car, maybe a younger reader so we have a lovely age gap and maybe something that goes with the lyrics "I write my name with lipstick on your chest I leave a mark so you know I'm the best" (don't need to be the name writing of course ahah but I love the idea of lipstick stains on his chest)

You're the absolute best and congrats on your 2k btw!! you deserve thousand more 🫶

Fog up the windows in the parking lot [Aaron Hotchner x Age-Gap!Reader] **

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: Hii! Thank you so much for this request--I still can't believe I was listening to this song when you sent this, haha. Great minds think alike!! I hope you like this (I can't write smut to save my life, but here i am doing a smut day.)

Tags/Warnings: female reader, porn without plot honestly, smut, mdni, unprotected sex, car sex, I am bad at writing smut sorry, horny hotch, sorta brat tamer hotch, age gap, you're hotch's controversially young gf, not specified if reader is BAU (so up to your imagination).

Summary: The one where Aaron Hotchner realizes he goes weak in the knees when he sees how tight his much younger girlfriend's jeans are.

Hotch couldn't help himself today, and it was all because of those jeans you decided to wear. Each time you bent over to grab something off the lower shelves at the grocery store, his heart skipped a beat, his mind filled with thoughts that had no place in the brightly lit aisles of their local market. You were oblivious to the effect you were having on him, focused on checking items off the grocery list, your hips swaying naturally as you moved down the aisles.

It wasn’t just the bending or the swaying; it was every little thing you did. Each time you reached up to grab something from a higher shelf, the way your back arched slightly, Hotch felt a pull deep inside him, a stirring of feelings he hadn't expected to be so strong.

When you both loaded the groceries into the car and then reached into the backseat to grab your purse, your jeans hugging you perfectly, Hotch found his eyes lingering. He was usually more composed than this, more in control, but today, those jeans had him teetering on the edge.

Driving home, he kept stealing glances your way, each look like adding fuel to a fire he was struggling to contain. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with a hint of warning and desire mingled together. "You have no idea what those jeans are doing to me," he confessed, trying to keep his focus on the road but failing miserably.

You turned to look at him, a mischievous sparkle in your eye, fully aware now of the turmoil you were causing. His words, so out of character for the usually stoic and controlled man, only brought a playful smile to your lips.

Hotch knew he was treading uncharted waters, not just with his emotions but with how openly he was expressing them. Despite the teasing from the team, who noticed how much younger you were, and their offhand jokes about him being like a lovestruck teenager, it didn't matter. You brought out a side of him he never knew existed. A side that felt alive, vibrant, and yes, even a bit reckless.

You sighed, looking in your purse for something beside Hotch in the passenger seat. He then all about lost it when you unbuckled your seat belt in the passenger seat and twisted to the back. Your ass was now level with his head, practically drawing him in. He had to keep his eyes on the road--but god dammit. 

The car shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening from the tension. "You're doing this on purpose now," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and barely contained desire.

Playing coy, you didn't respond immediately. Instead, you found your lipstick and settled back into your seat, taking your time to apply it carefully, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes flicked, catching yours, and you saw a flash of something intense in his gaze.

Hotch stepped on the gas a bit harder than necessary, the slight surge forward a clear indication of his growing impatience and agitation. You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, teasing him further. "You know, you're really sexy when you're all hot and bothered," you pointed out, your tone playful yet sincere.

The remark seemed to hit a nerve, and Hotch took a deep breath, trying to refocus his attention on the road. But it was clear you had effectively distracted him, his mind racing with thoughts he usually kept well under wraps. This side of Hotch, the one that struggled between his composed exterior and the mounting desire you elicited, intrigued you. It was a side of him that came out rarely, and you relished the moments when you could draw it out, loving the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You leaned back in your seat, a mischievous glint in your eye, and teased him, "I have a good idea."

Hotch's response was immediate and a little strained, his voice tight as he focused on the road. "The only idea I have right now is getting home and taking a cold shower." He was half-joking, but the undertone of his voice betrayed his growing frustration and need.

You laughed lightly, enjoying the effect you had on him, but decided to push the envelope a little further. "You know," you started casually as if the thought had just occurred to you, "I've always wanted to have sex in the car."

Hotch paused at that, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced at you briefly, his expression a mix of surprise and contemplation. The rational side of him kicked in almost immediately, listing several reasons why that was not a good idea—safety, legality, the potential for discomfort. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, he felt your hand on his thigh.

Your fingers started caressing him, inching dangerously close to his groin. Each touch sent a jolt through him, scattering his thoughts and straining his control. His grip on the steering wheel tightened again, and he drew in a sharp breath, trying to concentrate on the road while battling the surge of desire your bold move had ignited.

He half sighed, half groaned your name, his voice strained as he tried to concentrate on the road. "That's not—"

But he didn't finish his sentence. The sensation of your fingers, the way you leaned closer to him, your breath on his neck as you whispered just how much you wanted this—all of it was overwhelming. Hotch gripped the steering wheel even tighter, the car speeding along as he battled the surge of desire that you sparked with your daring touch.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the more he thought about your suggestion, the more appealing it seemed. Here he was, a man always in control, always calculated, yet at this moment, driven to the edge by the simple act of your hand on his leg.

"We should... we should at least pull over," he finally conceded, his voice a mix of reluctance and desire, realizing that resisting you completely was a battle he might not want to win today. As he scanned for a secluded spot to park, the thrill of the impending escapade with you sent a jolt of anticipation through him. 

Hotch pulled the car over, the tires crunching softly on the gravel as he turned off into a secluded spot shielded by trees. Without a word, he reached over the console, his movements deliberate, and captured your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your lipstick leaving a taste of cherries against his lips, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

His hands roamed over your body with a sense of urgency and ownership, finally reaching across the console to trace down your legs to those tight jeans that had been torturing him all day. His touch sent shivers up your spine, and you pulled back breathless, meeting his gaze which had darkened with raw desire.

"You’re gonna need to help me peel these off," you suggested with a playful yet sultry tone, motioning towards the backseat, "Maybe back there would be better?"

The idea sent a thrill through Hotch, the tightness in his own jeans growing at the thought. His brain buzzed with a cascade of 'what ifs' — what if we get caught? What if someone sees? Yet, the logical side of him was quickly overridden by the sheer desire to be closer to you, to explore this daring side of your relationship.

Hotch's decision was made the moment you suggested moving to the backseat, but as he surveyed the space, he realized there was enough room if he pushed the driver's seat all the way back. The SUV, similar to the one he drove for the FBI, was spacious, but even then, the two of you fit just barely.

You began to wiggle out of your jeans in the passenger seat, and Hotch reached for his belt with urgency. Typically, your intimate moments were full of foreplay, and you both took your time, savoring each other. But today was different—there was a sense of rush, an urgency in the air as he pulled himself from his jeans, his eyes never leaving you.

"Come here," he said in a low, commanding tone that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a direct, uncharacteristically blunt invitation, but it carried all the intensity of your mutual desire. He adjusted himself, making space for you, anticipation etching every line of his face as he awaited you to straddle his lap.

Your eyes went from his to his hand as he began stroking himself with a semi-achingly slow pace that made your eyes widen. He watched you slide your panties down your legs, kicking them to the floor of the car with your jeans and shoes.

The rush, the spontaneity—it all contributed to a thrilling urgency neither of you could deny. As you moved towards him, leaving the constraints of your jeans behind, the tight confines of the SUV seemed to close in, enveloping you both in a private world where only your intertwined desires mattered.

You slid from the passenger seat, the fabric of the car seats whispering beneath you as you maneuvered yourself toward Hotch. The confined space of the SUV made every movement more deliberate, more charged with an electrifying tension. Your heart raced as you reached him; his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the pounding of your pulse.

Carefully, you straddled him, positioning yourself over his lap. Hotch's hands immediately found your hips, his grip firm and sure, anchoring you securely against him. The close quarters of the SUV enveloped you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that amplified each breath, each subtle shift in movement.

His hand moved from your hip to between your legs, spreading you and finding the wetness that waited for him there. He groaned, feeling it; he threw his head back, opening his neck for you to nip at and kiss. You began unbuttoning his button-up, glad he went without the tie today and just the button-up and jeans--a casual look you loved. 

You reached between the two of you and positioned him before swiftly sinking down with a shared groan filling the walls between the two of you. You felt the pads of his fingertips grip your hips again as you began to rock into him, subconsciously clenching around him. 

His hands caressed the curve of your ass, guiding your hips to rock against him. The way he pressed you so firmly down against his hips had the right amount of pressure on your clit, causing you to roll your eyes in pleasure. 

His hands spread up your sides on your still-clothed top. Through your shirt, he grabbed at your breasts roughly before returning to your ass. 

Hotch got a little rougher, meeting your hips rand ocking against his with a thrust beneath you. You could feel him deep within you. Caught in your throat was a moan, but the pleasure was too immense--too good. 

“You have no idea what you were doing to me today in those jeans,” Hotch panted, his lips finding the crook between your shoulder and your neck as he began to meet you thrust for thrust--so deep, so good--so much. 

“Oh,” You squeaked, “I have an idea.” You laughed, breathlessly. 

“Fucking,” Thrust, “Brat.” The sound of your hips smacking. Your thighs sweaty now against him, and your wetness now audible. 

“You love it,” You breathed, your lips going down to his chest now, kissing him and leaving marks of your lips from your lipstick, stained across his chest. 

“Yes,” He thrusted again, sharper now, but the rhythm beginning to falter. “You better hurry up and come,” he said breathlessly. You clenched around him with a glint in your eyes, “I’m serious.” 

Reaching between the two of you, you began working your clit with a circular rhythm that was old faithful in any situation. Hotch’s eyes squeezed shut then open, continuing to meet you. There was a found tempo from the way your fingers circled your clit and the way his hips met yours.

You felt the coil begin to tighten as your orgasm approached. Your thighs began to shake and you threw your head back. Hotch’s fingers bruising your hips continued with each deep thrust. Over and over and over. Just right. 

You came with a gasp, which was then covered by Hotch’s lips kissing you. His hips beginning to lose control as his own orgasm left him. You felt him empty within you, only adding to the sensitivity you felt deep within you. His hips stuttered against you, resting, but your thighs still shaking against him. As if to hold you into place, his hand rested at the small of your back, settleing you. 

A groan left his lips into your mouth, and the two of you slowed with lethargy. As the intensity of the moment ebbed, Hotch's hands gently caressed your skin, soothing and tender in their touch. The two of you were left sweaty and breathless, the aftermath of your passion palpable in the close, humid air of the SUV. His hands moved slowly, tracing patterns across your back and shoulders, each stroke helping to ground you both as you came down from your highs.

The small space of the car, which just moments ago had felt electrifying and exhilarating, now seemed overly warm and confining. As you both caught your breath, the reality of the situation gently settled in—a mixture of amusement and affection hanging between you.

"We definitely need a shower," Hotch murmured, a slight grin playing on his lips as he acknowledged the state both of you were in. The thought of continuing this intimacy in the shower brought a soft smile to your face.

"And maybe a detail for the car," you added, laughing softly, the sound mixing with the faint hum of the idling engine. The humor of the situation wasn't lost on you, and Hotch's responding chuckle told you he felt the same.

"So, I take it you liked the jeans?" you asked, a playful note in your voice.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes held a glint of mischief mixed with undeniable affection. "I loved them," he admitted, his voice low and enticing. "But for the sake of productivity, maybe never wear them again around me if we actually want to get anything done."

His witty response made you laugh, the sound light and carefree. It was moments like these that deepened your connection, mixing playful banter with the intense chemistry you shared. 

Your fingers trace the outline of your lips marked all along his neck and chest from the now-smeared lipstick you had applied moments before. A mischievous smile spread across your face as you pointed them out. "You know, this might be my favorite look on you now," you said, the playful tone in your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

Hotch raised his eyebrows, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he reached up to feel the marks, his fingers brushing over the spots you indicated. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, appreciative of your boldness and the memory of the moments that led to such disarray.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice laced with humor and a warmth that reached his eyes. "I suppose it's a good thing we're heading home then. I might need to wear it more often if it gets that kind of approval."

As you watched the fading lipstick marks on his skin, you leaned closer, a teasing gleam in your eyes. "I like marking what's mine," you murmured, tracing a finger lightly over one of the marks, emphasizing your words.

Hotch looked at you, his expression softening into one of deep affection, the playful retort ready on his lips turning into something far more tender. "Sweetheart, you don't need marks to know I am," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm, filled with a sincerity that warmed you through.

You kissed him tenderly there before he patted your bare hip. You smiled against his lips, knowing the two of you had to leave this little intimate cocoon now. “I know, I know,” you sighed against his lips before whimpering, slowly moving off of him, trying not to make an entire mess of his already dirtied car. Hotch groaned, feeling you leave his lap. 

Despite the age gap between you, something about being with you made Hotch feel as though he was losing his innocence all over again; each moment tinged with a freshness and excitement that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It was a rediscovery, a rejuvenation of spirit in the best way possible, with every laugh, touch, and shared secret making him feel both wonderfully vulnerable and profoundly alive.

He sure hoped you wore those jeans again. 

[heavensoutofsight]

indulgence | b.e.

synopsis: you meet up with a woman at a dingy night club in attempts to forget about your horrible break-up with your ex; she's incredibly charming and easily the most attractive woman you've ever met. you're lonely and touch-starved, and this mysterious yet alluring woman makes you an offer you just can't deny. but -- you eventually come to the realization that there is more than what meets the eye with her.

tags/warnings: voyeurism, discussion of casual hook-ups/fwb relations, blood drinking, sexual content (oral sex, fingering, dom!billie), lots of swearing, angst if you squint really hard, fluffiness at the end

word count: 8.7k

author's note: okay there are a few things i want to clarify first. number one: billie's fangs are retractable. two: she can be out in the sun. just for the sake of the narrative 😭😭 sorry to any hardcore vampire lore fans. that's about it, just wanted to get that out of the way. DINNER IS SERVED ENJOYYY.

also here is a link to what i imagine billie wears during a certain scene... you'll know when you get there ;)

taglist: @brat-at-the-disco, @hannahluvsbillie, @karaeilishh, @rhearipley-69, @bilssturns, @bla1rxoxo, @billiesrighthand, @weluvwbb, @belleishot, @floweiralie, @natbelovasblog (forgot to add again omg)

You weren't much of a party person; you could really only enjoy small social gatherings with close friends at most, as anything bigger than that almost always had you mentally exhausted by the end of it; and yet, despite your distaste for big parties, you currently found yourself in a bustling club, filled to the brim with sweaty, gyrating strangers and music so loud you were certain you'd lose a little bit of your hearing later. 

You were seated at the bar, watching the people on the dance floor move their bodies carelessly, drunken smiles plastered on everybody's faces. The multi-colored strobe lights vibrantly flashed, some of them flickering to the beat of the music. 

The only reason you were here was because your friends insisted that you tag along; and while you would typically be against going to these kinds of places, you decided to entertain them just for one night—besides, they were just trying to be helpful. You were still trying to get over an ex-girlfriend of yours, and while the heartbreak was less painful now, given that it had been a few weeks, you were still clearly in the mourning process. You friends went on and on about how the club would be the perfect place to forget everything, and for a second, you foolishly thought that maybe they would be right, and you entertained their idea.

But, in reality, your ex was still on your mind, and going clubbing didn't seem to be much of a remedy at all. Neither the loud music, the crowded room, or even the alcohol could fully distract you from the heartache that you were still experiencing from the messiness that was your last relationship. If anything, sitting at the bar completely alone only made you feel a bit worse. You saw so many couples out on the dance floor, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of envy.

Eventually, your eyes found your friends; they were also on the dance floor, uncoordinated limbs flying all over the place as they moved to the beat. Just a few minutes ago they tried to get you to come with them, but you declined the offer, to which they all just smiled apologetically at you before leaving you at the bar. You were thankful that they respected your decision, although you did feel a bit bad for essentially rejecting them. But with the mood you were in right now, dancing just didn't sound very appealing. 

At some point, the club was beginning to feel a bit stuffy; you could feel a thin coat of sweat forming on your skin and you weren't even moving. The peaceful quietness and cool weather of the outside sounded more than lovely at the moment, so after you quickly downed your beverage and tipped the bartender, you grabbed your things and headed for the exit, not even sparing your friends a glance. 

Once you stepped out, you decided to sneak around to the back of the building, away from any watchful eyes. You leaned against the building's hard exterior, closing your eyes, taking in deep breaths. The clean air was refreshing compared to the nauseating stench of weed with a tinge of vomit from inside the club. 

You were so focused on just escaping and getting some alone time that you failed to realize there were already a couple of people out here. You did realize they were there when you heard the unmistakable sound of a moan. It definitely wasn't a moan of pain, either.

Your eyes shot open, and you turned your head to where you heard the sound. Your eyes ever so slightly widened as you took in the sight before you.

It was two women; one of them, a blonde dressed in a black mini skirt with a matching sheer black top, both of which left absolutely nothing to the imagination, was being pinned to the wall by another, more masculine appearing, dark-haired woman who was clad in baggy, dark jeans, an equally baggy matching denim jacket, and a white tee, one that she was drowning in. The dark-haired woman had her mouth on her neck (probably giving her a hickey, you assumed) and her hand was clearly under her skirt. The blonde was enjoying every second, her perfectly manicured hands gripping the other woman's denim jacket and her eyes screwed shut in unadulterated passion. 

You felt like a total creep, watching this unfold, but once again, you felt that familiar feeling of jealousy blossom within you as you watched this random woman ascend to cloud nine. You hadn't been touched like that in what felt like an eternity. Your last relationship went through a bit of a dry spell, especially toward the end of it. Sure, masturbation helped; but more than anything you craved the touch of another woman.

Your eyes stayed glued onto them. Even though there was a voice in the back of your head screaming at you to look away, you shamefully ignored it. 

You watched as the dark-haired woman moved her hand faster, eventually pulling away from her neck, leaning in close to the woman she was pleasuring. She had begun whispering something to the blonde, something that made the blonde nod fervently. With the distance in between the two of you, you couldn't make out what was being said; but it was clear it had an effect on the woman.

At this point, the blonde woman wasn't exactly very quiet, her moans growing in volume, transitioning from light and breathy to loud and brash. The dark-haired woman simply put a hand over her mouth, continuing her ministrations down below, her hand moving at a crazy, relentless pace. You couldn't help but feel a wave of heat wash over you, pooling within your belly and traveling to your own nether regions. It was a bit embarrassing and it would definitely haunt you later, but you couldn't fight the natural reaction your body was having at that moment.

Eventually, the blonde woman very clearly reached her peak, her legs shaking like leaves and her cries of pleasure reaching a new pitch. Her eyes were open now and she was looking directly at the woman in front of her. She was still wailing profusely, even as she was coming down from her high, and the dark-haired girl didn't let up until the blonde tapped her shoulder a few times. 

The dark-haired woman then removed her fingers from under the blonde's skirt. She slowly brought her two fingers to her mouth, sucking them clean right in front of her, never once breaking eye contact. You couldn't stop the way your jaw dropped slightly at the sight, feeling a faint but unmistakable throbbing sensation within your core now.

The blonde just laughed, leaning her head against the wall, wearing a fucked-out expression. “Holy shit, Billie,” you heard her say. “You're so fucking hot.” 

The dark-haired woman, you presumed was named Billie, just smirked. “Mmm, right back at you, mama.” 

The blonde just giggled some more, now leaning her head on Billie's shoulder. At the movement, you just barely heard her do a sharp, pained inhale, her hand clasping the side of her neck that Billie was showing a lot of love to earlier. 

“This hurts,” the blonde woman whined. “It'll go away, right?” 

Billie absentmindedly began fiddling with the woman's sheer top as she answered. “Yes, just give it a couple days, okay? Since the weather's getting cooler you can just cover it up with a scarf or something, no problem.” 

“Good idea. If my boyfriend found out, I'd be fucking dead.” 

“You still haven't dumped his ass yet?” 

The blonde sighed. “I'm just… still figuring out how to break the news to him.” 

“You told me that last time, Ashley.” 

“I know, I know. Just give me, like, a week. Okay?” The blonde—named Ashley—said, twirling a strand of dark hair around her finger, biting her lip. Billie just leaned in, giving her one last messy kiss.

Billie pulled away first, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, sure, a week,” she stepped away, shoving her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket. 

“I'll see you later, babygirl.” Billie said. Ashley just beamed at her, re-adjusting her skirt and heading back into the club, but not before finally meeting eyes with you on her way back in. Her smile dropped, and she looked at you with disgust. 

“Perv.” Was all she said to you before leaving. You couldn't even feel completely offended, because you kinda were being a perv. The shame was really starting to kick in now. You dropped your eyes to the ground, hoping that the other woman wouldn't confront you either. 

Unfortunately for you, she did exactly that. And the words that came out of her mouth were completely unexpected.

“Did you enjoy the show?” She asked. You foolishly looked around to see if there was possibly anybody else she could be talking to; of course, it was most definitely just you. You tensed, reluctantly meeting the woman's eyes. She was already staring at you, dark eyes still slightly hooded, a lazy grin resting on her face. 

You nearly blurted out something about how fucking hot she was. Maybe you would have if not for the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment you were feeling right now.

“I'm- I'm really sorry, I– I don't know why I– I'm sorry. God, I'm a fucking creep– look, I can just leave, okay?” You uttered, your cheeks burning under Billie's heavy gaze. She only chuckled at your floundering (and it was by far the sexiest sound you've ever heard).

“Don't be sorry. Answer me.” she spoke, voice gentle but undeniably firm. She stepped a bit closer to you, repeating her words: “Did you enjoy the show?” 

There was no denying how dominating her presence was. You didn't know this woman at all and yet you felt so compelled to do whatever she asked of you. It only made you even more embarrassed– you were so desperate for intimacy and attention that you were just about close to begging at the feet of the first attractive woman you ran into. You were a total mess.

“Um,” you started, your voice meek. “Yeah. I… I did.” You said, wanting nothing more than for the ground to swallow you up.

She chuckled once more. “Don't feel bad about it, it's okay. I'm kinda into that shit, to be honest.” 

Her response just made your cheeks burn hotter. You weren't sure if she was joking or not, but either way, her words were certainly making an impact on you.

“Oh,” was the only word that left your mouth, your brain effectively shutting down in this woman's presence. 

“Hm,” Billie began, looking at you inquisitively. “You're cute.” 

“I– um– thank you.” You stammered out, internally cringing at your own awkwardness. Your panic in front of her was also going to haunt you later – probably for the rest of your life. 

Billie just seemed highly amused at your predicament. “I love making pretty girls flustered,” She said. You didn't miss the way her eyes gave you a quick look up and down; she wasn't particularly subtle about it. “Could I fluster you some more over lunch? Or coffee, if that's more your thing.” 

You were taken aback by her rather direct offer. Crossing your arms, you scoffed. 

“Would your girlfriend be okay with that?” 

Billie laughed. “Oh, Ashley? She's not my girlfriend. She just… comes to me when she needs to relieve some stress. It's nothing serious.” 

“I see.” You said, nodding. “Stress relief, huh?”

“Yup. She's got an insensitive asshole for a boyfriend who has absolutely no idea how to even pleasure a woman."

"That's… tragic." You commented.

"Very," Billie replied. "So, when she needs to take her mind off of him for a bit… I'm there for her. Like a distraction of sorts."

She licked her lips, and you found yourself entranced by the simple action. She gazed at you curiously, a dangerous smirk resting on her face. She said her next words quietly as if anyone else was around to hear them. "We could all use a distraction sometimes, right?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You look like you could use one." Billie said suddenly, a teasing edge to her voice; there was no missing the underlying implication in that sentence, and you couldn't help the smirk that grew on your face.

"You think I need a distraction?"

"Yeah. I can kinda sense these things."

A light chuckle escaped you at that. "Really now? Well… I guess you wouldn't be wrong." You replied, briefly thinking back to the reason you were here in the first place. Obviously, clubbing was not helping you in forgetting about your ex like you hoped it would. Maybe what you truly needed was a fun little hook-up with no strings attached.

Billie could tell that you were deeply pondering your response, and she spoke up again. "You know, I can give you a really good time..." She insisted, her voice lowering in a way that made you feel cartwheels in your stomach.

You still hesitated a bit; although Billie was the hottest woman you've ever laid eyes on, you didn't really have experience with causal relationships. You had heard some horror stories from your friends about their own causal hook-ups about how messy and damaging they could be. But at the same time, walking away from a woman whose looks could rival Aphrodite felt like a crime.

"Well… I-"

"How about this," Billie interrupted. "Give me your hand."

You just stared at her, confused, eyebrows furrowed.

"O… kay?" You said, eventually doing as she asked. When you stuck out your hand, Billie was quick to dive her own into the large pocket of her denim jacket, pulling out a pen. She took your palm into a surprinsingly cold hand and began hastily writing something on it--you very quickly realized that they were numbers.

"That's my number," Billie said, putting the lid to her pen back on and returning it to its place in her pocket. "When you've made up your mind, just call me, and we can go out and get to know each other a bit, yeah?" She said with a grin that made your heart flutter.

You looked down at the number sprawled messily across your palm, and then back at her. You gave her a shy smile.

"Alright. Sure." You replied.

"Great." Billie said, grin widening into a smile of her own. "You have a good rest of your night—"

"Wait." You said, stopping her from walking off. She was silent as she waited for you to continue, staring at you with expectancy.

"Do you… do you just carry around a pen with you all the time, or…?"

Billie laughed at that, and you immediately found yourself replaying the sound in your head.

"Of course I do. I need to have it on me just in case I run into any pretty girls like you." She spoke, the flirtatious words easily and smoothly pouring out of her like butter. You let out a giggle, biting your lip to stop your smile from growing any bigger. You were feeling like a hormonal teenager all over again because of this mysterious woman's charm. You had a feeling that she probably used that line on a ton of women, but it didn't make you feel any less like a flustered mess.

Billie seemed to thoroughly enjoy your reaction to her shameless flirting, her own smile never once leaving her lips.

At that moment, the heated tension between the two of you was intercepted as a familiar face rounded the corner.

"Oh my god, there you are—" your friend, Carly, exclaimed. Surprisingly, she didn't seem super drunk, only mildly buzzed, her face flushed, hairs sticking to her forehead due to a light coating of sweat.

"I was looking everywhere for you—oh. Hello." Carly suddenly noticed Billie's presence.

Billie's smile faltered a bit at the sudden appearance of another person. "Uh… hey." She said.

"Um… was I interrupting something?" Carly spoke. You saw her wiggling her eyebrows, which immediately caused you to roll your eyes.

"You ready to go?" You asked, ignoring her question.

"Are you?" She retaliated with a knowing smirk. You glanced at Billie, who wore an unreadable expression.

"Don't let me keep you." Billie uttered, and the slight hint of disappointment in her voice was just barely noticeable. "You seemed kinda tired anyway."

"Yeah," you replied quietly, feeling awkwardness creep into the atmosphere. You looked back at Carly. "We can go." You said. Carly nodded, grabbing your hand. As the two of you began walking toward the front of the building, you stole one last glance at Billie.

Her smirk had returned, and while making a phone gesture with her hand, she mouthed the words: "Call me?"

You just shrugged, a smirk of your own tugging at the corners of your lips as you disappeared around the corner.

Eventually, you and Carly made it back to the car, where your other friends were in the backseat, completely knocked out. Since you had barely anything to drink, you decided to be the one to drive.

The ride back to your place was quiet for a while, the car radio softly playing some songs from Carly's playlist. Soon enough, though, your slightly tipsy friend in the front seat next to you piped up.

"So… you gonna tell me all about that fucking hottie back there?" She asked. Your eyes were locked on the road, not even looking at her, but you could hear the teasing smile in her voice.

"She just… walked up to me. She was already out there."

"Was she hitting on you?"

You felt your cheeks heat up thinking back to your brief conversation with her. "Yeah… I think she was."

"Oh my god. Please tell me you got her number. If I find out you walked away from her without getting those fucking digits I swear to god—"

"Yes, she gave me her number." You said, chewing on your bottom lip, once again trying to stop a smile from growing— you couldn't have your friend seeing just how smitten you were already for a girl you knew for all of twenty minutes.

You heard Carly gasp excitedly. "Holy shit. Girl, you better fucking pounce on that. Before I do."

"You literally have a girlfriend."

"Yeah, well, we've been talking about having an open relationship lately, so… she wouldn't mind."

You couldn't hold back your surprised laughter. "Oh my god." You said through a fit of chuckles.

The rest of the car ride home, you couldn't stop thinking about thr mysterious, dark-haired woman. You couldn't stop thinking about that devilish smirk she wore. You couldn't stop thinking about her intoxicating scent.

Yeah. You were definitely calling that number.

_____

"Okay, so… how do I look?" You asked your friend Carly via video call, standing in front of the mirror while you filmed yourself adjusting your flowy, white blouse. You hadn't gone out on a date in ages—to say that you were quite nervous was putting it lightly.

"You look gorgeous. You're totally getting some tonight." Carly said. You chuckled at that, rolling your eyes and feeling warmth rush to your face.

"Oh, shut up," you said playfully. Looking at the screen, you saw Carly shrug, sporting a teasing smile.

"What? Isn't that the end goal?" She questioned.

"I mean… I would say the end goal is not making a fool out of myself." You replied earnestly, your stomach feeling as if it was in knots currently; Bilie had already texted you a few minutes ago saying she was on her way, and any second now she'd appear right outside your house. You really hoped you wouldn't turn into babbling idiot upon seeing her face.

"That's not gonna happen," Carly reassured. "You've gone on plenty of dates before, what's different this time?"

"It's been a million years, Carly." You stated.

"So what? Just… keep doing what you've always done, y'know? Be yourself."

You let the truth of your friend's words really set in, and you began to feel yourself relax ever so slightly. You breathed in and out, now looking at yourself in the mirror with a newfound confidence. You hoped that confidence would be here to stay.

"You always know just what to say." You spoke, your tone a mix of playful and sincere.

"Of course. I'm a genius." Carly jokingly replied. You smiled, opening your mouth to respond, when you suddenly heard your doorbell ring.

You froze, and you couldn't ignore the way your heart rate increased in mere seconds.

"Oh shit, she's here." You said with barely contained enthusiasm. "I gotta go. Thanks for the fashion advice."

Carly grinned, giving you a wink. "Any time. Hope you have the best sex of your li-"

You hung up on her in the middle of your sentence, once again rolling your eyes at your friend's bluntness, wearing an amused smile.

You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, quickly straightening out your shirt and pants and doing last minute readjustments to your hair. You did all of this in the span of a few seconds, not wanting to keep Billie waiting for too long. Soon enough, you were exiting your bathroom and heading toward your front door, grabbing your purse on the way.

You were not at all prepared for what you'd be greeted with upon opening it.

There Billie stood, her long, shiny dark hair down and framing her face beautifully. She was wearing a standard black suit, one that was stylishly oversized, with a matching black tie and simple, thin glasses that rested perfectly on her nose. In the daylight, she appeared paler than you initially thought, but no less gorgeous. When her eyes locked onto your face, she gave you a grin that caused a million and one butterflies to viciously attack your stomach. You also didn't miss the way her eyes quickly gave you a once over, her bottom lip being pulled between her teeth briefly as she took you in.

"Hey, pretty girl. You look absolutely stunning."

Immediately, you found yourself looking down at the ground shyly, a wide smile overtaking your features. "Thank you, Billie." You replied. Your eyes met her again, and you gazed appreciatively at her own outfit once more.

"You look… wonderful as well." You said. She also looked like the sexiest woman alive but you didn't want to lay it on too thick too soon.

"Thanks," Billie replied, still sporting that lazy grin. "You got everything?"

"Um… yeah. Yes." You spoke nervously. Billie just chuckled endearingly at your slightly anxious disposition.

"Okay, then. Let's go." She said, offering you her arm to hold onto. It was such a simple action, and yet you already felt yourself swooning.

She politely walked you to the car (which was just as sexy as the person driving it, you noted), and when you both got there, Billie was quick to open the door to passenger's seat for you. The chivalrous, gentlemanly action made your heart warm, and you were sure to mutter a shy "thank you" in response.

The car ride to the restaurant (a sandwhich place specifically, one that was your favorite—Billie let you choose), was pleasant and comfortable, the sound of Billie's playlist softly playing from her car's speakers. You couldn't help but shamelessly stare at Billie as she drove, her gaze locked on the road ahead of her. Sometimes, she drove with one hand for a bit, and whenever she did you were thankful that you were already seated because otherwise your knees would have buckled at the sight.

You were only pulled out of your ogling when you noticed Billie had turned the music down.

"So," she began, smiling cutely. "How was your day?"

"Boring, for the most part. I was at work just feeling… antsy. I've been really looking forward to this." You replied honestly.

"Me too. I was… really hoping you'd call." Billie said, her voice getting a tad smaller in volume toward the end of the sentence, seemingly a little shy about her confession, which you found positively endearing since she was normally so flirtatious and bold (from what you've seen of her so far, anyway).

"Is that so?" You replied with a grin. "Well, I would have been the world's biggest idiot to not call you. It only took me a while because I was, uh…" you trailed off, suddenly feeling embarrasment wash over you.

At a red light, Billie glanced at you quizzically, wondering why you had cut yourself off. "You were…?"

You chuckled, absentmindedly playing with the fabric of your blouse. "I was, um… nervous."

"Nervous?" Billie repeated, and even though you were no longer looking at her, you could hear the teasing lilt to her voice.

"Yeah," you confirmed in a meek voice, chuckling some more—it was something you often did automatically when anxious, like a reflex.

"So you're saying… I make you nervous."

You felt your face heat up even more, so much so that sticking your head in a bucket of cold ice water felt highly appealing at the moment. "Well—I mean, it's been a while since my last date, so that's definitely why, but… I guess it is also because of you." You said.

You heard Billie let out an adorable giggle of her own. "God, you're so fucking cute." You heard her say quietly, under her breath almost, like she didn't want you to hear—but of course, you caught onto to every word, and the compliment only unleased the butterflies within your stomach yet again.

"Well, pretty girl, you don't have to be nervous around me. You don't find me intimidating, do you?" Billie asked playfully.

"Well, not neccessarily intimidating, just… really funny. And beautiful. I wanna make a good impression."

Billie smirked. "You already made a good first impression at that club the other night."

"Really?" You said with a groan as you recalled the events of that night and your embarrassing actions. "Even though I was… kinda being a weirdo?"

"I told you, I found it hot."

"You were being serious about that?" You said through breathy laughter.

"Of course I was."

"You are… something else." You said, to which Billie just smiled.

_____

Several minutes of playful banter later, you and Billie had finally made it to the quaint little sandwich shop. It was a small place, and the atmosphere was quiet and tranquil as there were only a few other customers spread out in the building. The both of you chose to sit in a cozy booth, in front of a large window that looked out to various people going about their day, the sunlight providing natural lightning that filled the entire area. Upon sitting down, a waitress was already coming to serve the both of you, taking both of your orders for drinks and handing you the menu before shuffling away. You got the same thing every time you came here, so you really didn't look at the menu much at all. You glanced at Billie, who only browsed through the menu for a couple of minutes before setting it down and placing it aside. She seemed to have decided what she wanted fairly quickly.

"So," Billie began with a grin. "Do you come to this place a lot?"

"Yeah. It's great. Have you been here before?"

Billie shook her head. "Nope, first time. Honestly, I don't really… eat out much."

"I see. You more of a delivery person? Or, do you prefer cooking?"

"Uh… sure. Yeah." Billie replied a little awkwardly, shifting in her seat. You weren't sure what she was saying "yeah" to, the delivery part or the cooking part, but you didn't think anything of it, finding her more endearing than anything.

She cleared her throat. "You already know what you're getting?"

"Yup. I get the same thing every time. This place makes a killer BLT," You replied. "What about you? I noticed you didn't look at the menu for very long. Something caught your eye already?"

"The roasted cauliflower sandwich sounds good."

"Ooh, it does," You said, picking up the menu to find the sandwich in question to briefly read the ingredients. You noticed that it was under the vegan section.

"You're vegan?" You asked, not in a accusatory way but simply out of pure curiosity.

Billie cleared her throat before replying. "Uh—yeah. Have been my whole life." she spoke, absentmindedly fiddling with the several rings on her fingers.

"I've tried going vegan, but there's just so many foods I can't pass up."

Billie chuckled. "Yeah, well, it's certaintly not the kind of diet that suits everyone."

"That's true." You agreed.

Shortly after your brief conversation, you both ordered your food, and much to your surprise (and delight) the food arrived fairly quickly, and you and Billie didn't have to wait for very long.

While you felt a little awkward initially, as time went on, you found yourself relaxing more and more in Billie's presence. The two of you meshed well together; you both had similar senses of humor and equally found each other hilarious, and you even had a lot of things in common in terms of hobbies. During your date with Billie you also discovered that she had two adorable pitbulls, an older brother, a job as a music producer and songwriter, and that she used to be in a choir growing up. Every little thing that you learned about her only made you love her more, and frankly you didn't want the date to end. Billie never at any point slowed down the conversation, and she was so attentive when you were speaking, her eyes fixed on you the entire time as she asked several follow-up questions, hanging onto your every word. You didn't expect to mesh so well with her, and for a second, you almost forgot that the whole reason this started was because you both wanted a casual hook-up and nothing serious. At the reminder, you felt a twinge in your heart; the last thing you wanted was to fall in love with someone who clearly wasn't looking for commitment, so you shoved those feelings away for now.

When there was finally a lull in conversation between the both of you, you felt like it was necessary to talk more in detail about your particular… arrangement.

"So, uh…" You began, shifting a bit in your seat. "We should probably talk about our… y'know. Situation."

Leaning back in her seat, Billie seemed to immediately catch what you were throwing at her. "Right," she said with a smirk. "What about it?"

"Well… how exactly does a casual relationship even work? To be honest, I've never really—I mean, I just don't have much experience with—"

"We can just hang out. Y'know, like friends. Friends who fuck occasionally." Billie said, and her bluntness had your eyebrows raising slightly.

"Oh. Okay." You said, and at your expression of surprise, contagious laughter arose from Billie's throat.

"Cute," she muttered to herself before leaning in a bit closer to you, pushing her now clean plate aside and placing her arms on the table. "Anyway, that's what you want, right? I don't want you to agree to anything that you're iffy about it. You're free to change your mind about this whole thing."

Your heart warmed at Billie's consideration. You took a moment to actually think about it; even though casual was never really your thing, your friends all insisted that you might enjoy the freedom that comes with a no-strings attached relationship, and you felt like you might as well give it go since you only live once, after all. You hoped it wouldn't end in a total heartbreak—although, if it did, you'd probably get good sex out of it, which was kind of a silver lining.

You met Billie's eyes with a serious gaze. "Yes. I do want this."

"Okay… and you're cool with this relationship being open? As in, we can both see other people while also seeing each other?"

Honestly, with how attractive Billie was physically and personality wise, you didn't see yourself spending time with another woman, but you agreed anyway, nodding your head. "Yeah. That's fine."

At that, a smile grew on Billie's lips. "Okay. Great."

Having eaten a good meal and talked about all the important stuff, you and Billie finally left the sandwich shop, right as the sun was dipping past the horizon. The sky was a beautiful mix of oranges and pinks, and it had cooled down a bit, a slight breeze in the air. You and Billie both agreed that you didn't want the date to stop there, so the two of you rather impulsively decided to take a walk in the park, admiring the sunset side by side. Even then, it was like you could never run out of things to talk about with Billie. Your first date with your ex wasn't even this long, surprisingly.

Unfornately, it was getting late, and Billie had to drive you back home. But even when she walked you all the way to your door, you still didn't feel like the day was over.

You had your key in the door, but before turning it, you looked at Billie with a contemplative gaze.

"Y'know… the night's still young," you began, wearing a crooked grin. "Do you want to come in, Billie?"

Billie bit her lip as she smiled knowingly.

"I'd love to." She replied, and your grin turned into a wide smile of your own as you finally opened the door, inviting her inside.

It was totally innocent at first. Billie had made herself comfortable, taking off her shoes and her blazer. The two of you decided to put on a movie, and at first, you both were sitting with a respectable amount of distance between the two of you; but at some point during the movie, you both grew closer to each other, unknowingly. There was also a moment where Billie wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and you instantly felt yourself melting into her side. The two of you fit together so naturally, like you were both missing pieces to a puzzle. Her vanilla-scented perfume was intoxicating, and so was the warmth of her touch.

At some point, you weren't really focusing on the movie anymore. You placed a sly hand on Billie's thigh, not moving it; just keeping it there, but when Billie didn't respond, keeping her eyes on the film, you squeezed ever so gently.

That's when Billie looked at you then, raising an eyebrow.

"To be honest, Billie…" you said, meeting her eyes. "This movie is kinda boring."

Billie grinned. "I thought so too," she replied, her eyes briefly flickering down to your lips.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked her, but you definitely already knew the answer and just wanted to tease.

"I'm thinking about… kissing the shit out of you."

You leaned in impossibly closer to her, your voice barely above a whisper as you responded with, "What's stopping you?"

At that, Billie didn't hesitate, immediately closing the small distance between the both of you. One of your hands went up to cup her face as you passionately moved your lips against hers. Billie tilted her head, deepening the kiss, and after only a couple of minutes you felt her tongue swipe at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission. You didn't waste a second in giving her what she so politely was asking for, opening your mouth slightly and feeling the tip of your tongue meet hers.

At some point, without even fully realizing it, you had climbed into Billie's lap; her hands were gripping your waist tightly, as if you'd disappear into thin air if she let go for so much as a second. The glasses that rested atop her nose were shifting a bit, and she pulled away for a split second to hastily remove them and throw them elsewhere on the couch before immediately going back to kissing you.

As time went on, things only got more intense; in your growing neediness, you found yourself slowly grinding into her lap, and Billie's hands slowly moved from your waist to your ass, guiding your movements. You needed her like you needed oxygen, and with every passing second your clothes were feeling more and more like annoying barriers.

You pulled away reluctantly, looking at Billie with eyes blown wide and lips shiny with spit. You tugged on the black tie that she was still wearing.

"You are sexy as hell in this suit, but I need you out of it."

Billie let out a laugh, one that sounded a bit breathless. "That can be arranged, baby." She said, and the pet name that rolled off her tongue made you swoon.

You both stood up, going back to kissing each other, trying to walk to your bedroom at the same time. You stumbled into walls and corners here and there, giggling the entire way.

When you both made it to your bedroom, Billie had kept walking you toward your bed until your knees hit the edge of it; you instinctively laid down, and Billie quickly crawled on top of you, keeping some of her weight off of you as she continued attacking your lips.

Eventually, she began kissing down to your neck, biting and sucking, and you even heard her inhale, feeling her nose pressed into your skin.

"Fuck," Billie groaned. "You—you smell so good. Holy shit."

You grinned at that. "You can still smell the perfume I chose for you?"

"Yeah, I can but—I meant you. Your skin."

"Oh," you said, letting out some surprised chuckles. "So it's my body wash you like?"

"Yeah… yeah, that…" Billie trailed off, continuing to pepper your neck in kisses and small bites. You were letting out pleased sighs the entire time, your eyes fluttering shut. You felt Billie's fingers toying with the hem of your shirt.

"Can I take this off?" She asked you, tugging at it impatiently. You immediately nodded with zero hesitation, and Billie made quick work of removing the article of clothing, throwing it haphazardly to the floor. You sat up a bit to remove your bra, lazily throwing it elsewhere as well. You watched Billie's hooded eyes take in your shirtless form, her eyes widening ever so slightly as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Oh my god." She muttered under her breath. "I want to devour you." She just barely whispered.

Your felt heat rush to your face at her words. "Please do. But take off your shirt, first." You said with a playful smirk.

Billie chuckled, following your command. She removed the tie, and with a painful slowness unbuttoned her clean, white shirt. Even just seeing her in her pretty lace bra was enough to leave you breathless.

Soon enough, the bra was off too, and your mouth watered at the sight of her breasts looking so soft and perfect—but before you could even suggest playing with them for a bit, Billie returned to kissing down your body, and immediately, all thoughts left your mind.

Her mouth latched onto a nipple, and you gasped, squirming underneath her as her tongue swirled around the hardening bud. Her other hand played with the other one, tugging gently. Your eyes were shut again, focusing closely on the pleasurable sensations you were experiencing.

Billie gave the same treatment to your other breast, this time switching it up a bit by quickly flicking her tongue up and down, and you already felt your back arching a bit, your gasps turning into drawn out whines.

"Billie," you moaned. "Fuck, please—"

Billie released your breast from her mouth with an audible pop. "What do you want, baby?" She teased.

You tried pushing her further down, attempting to silently communicate to her where you really needed her mouth. But Billie wasn't taking your whiny pleas as an answer.

"You're a big girl, mama. Use your words." Billie said, her attractive voice low and stern. The way the new pet name sounded in her voice nearly made you lightheaded and you desperately needed to hear it again. You let out an impatient groan, but you were no doubt enjoying every minute of this.

"Please, Billie—I want your mouth," You pleaded. "Please. Please give it to me."

"Where do you want my mouth, baby? Gotta be more specific." She said with an evil smirk on her face. With every passing minute, you felt the throbbing sensation in your cunt become more and more unbearable, and that damn look on Billie's face only made it worse.

"Fuck—need your tongue on my pussy, Billie, please."

At that, Billie gave you a pleased smile. "Atta girl." She said, already moving her hands to the buttons of your jeans. You raised your hips, helping Billie in removing them from your lower body, along with your socks. You instictively spread your bare legs, suddenly feeling a little bit embarrased at the wet spot that you no doubt knew was prominent on your cotton underwear. You watched as Billie licked her lips, staring at your cunt as if she was in a trance.

She hadn't even done anything yet but you were already gripping the bedsheets in anticipation.

At that moment, she took two fingers, hooking them around the waistband of your underwear and pulling them, before suddenly releasing and letting the waistband snap back against your skin. You let out a surprised yelp, which Billie chuckled at, before moving those fingers directly against your fabric-covered cunt.

"Can fucking feel how wet you are—can see it, too," Billie said, expertly finding your clit even through your underwear and rubbing it in slow circles that made you squirm. "I want you to cum in my mouth, mama. How does that sound?"

You nearly moaned at her words alone. "Yes—yes, fuck, please." Was all you could muster, your body and mind completely overcome with unadultered desire. You don't remember the last time you felt so turned on, so needy.

When Billie was done teasing you through fabric, she slowly began to remove your underwater, tossing them aside once they were fully off. Your pussy lay bare in front of her, glistening and clenching around nothing, and Billie gasped.

"Look at this pretty fucking cunt, all for me," she said, her breathe hitting your folds. "Goddamn."

"Billie, I swear to god—"

You were about to complain about how slow she was being until you suddenly felt her mouth on your soft thighs. She peppered small kisses there, purposefully avoiding the place you needed her the most. She did this for a minute or two, leaving your whole body on edge.

But finally—finally, you felt her two fingers spread you open a bit more, messily spitting directly onto your center, before she gave your needy pussy one long and slow stripe of her tongue, her lips gently closing around your clit when she reached the top. Immediately, your head was thrown back into the pillows and your hands flew into Billie's hair, gripping tightly. 

"Yes—fuck yes, Billie," you cried out, pure bliss washing over you as Billie moved her tongue against your heat with so much skill and practiced ease. She went into a steady pattern, licking around your clit in circles before gently sucking it, while also not forgetting to give you broad, long strokes every now and then. You were writhing around a lot more now, and Billie had to hold you down, keeping your legs forced open so you couldn't close them around your head. She held onto you, tightly, not letting you escape her tongue for so much as a second. You felt like you were in heaven.

You tried not to pull her hair too hard, but Billie didn't even seem to care, too busy devouring you like you were her last meal on earth. She played your body like an instrument, knowing exactly which buttons to press that made you lose all sense of reality.

“Oh my god, Billie– fuck.” You cursed, feeling completely overwhelmed by the immense amount of pleasure you were receiving. With your eyes closed, it allowed you to really hone in on every precise swipe of Billie's tongue– and eventually, her fingers. 

You felt two of Billie's slender digits push into you, while her tongue started focusing directly on your bundle of nerves. That was enough to make you squeal, your legs attempting to close around Billie's head, but failing due to her keeping them pried open. 

She was thrusting her fingers in and out of you at a fairly quick pace, and her lips never stopped their gentle suction around your clit. The combination of her fingers against your walls and the direct clit stimulation very quickly brought you close to your peak, your eyes squeezed shut and your chest moving up and down rapidly. You felt a tightening sensation within your stomach, and it was getting tighter every passing second. When you felt your orgasm on the rise, you decided to open your eyes, wanting to look at Billie's face while you climaxed. It was no surprise when they fluttered open that you were met with Billie's eyes already on you, staring at you hungrily.

“Billie– fuck, don't you dare fucking stop,” you squeezed out in between loud moans. Billie obliged, not stopping or slowing down for so much as a second, well aware of how close you were—even though she hadn't known you for long, she could easily tell when a woman was at the edge, the subtle changes in body language extremely noticeable to her keen eyes.

You felt it—as Billie kept up with her ministrations, looking at you with her intense gaze, it quickly became too much for you. The tightening sensation in your gut finally reached its peak, and you felt yourself tumbling into an orgasm, fast.

"Oh my god—fuck yes, Billie—fuck—!"

Your orgasm washed over you in waves; the feeling was pure euphoria, your toes curling and your hands flying out of Billie's hair to clutch the sheets with a death grip instead. Your back arched beautifully, and while you were still feeling every little shock, Billie didn't let up, allowing you to ride out the sensation of your orgasm until it gradually faded away. It wasn't until your legs were twitching and you were gently pushing her away that she slowed down, and eventually removed her mouth from your center.

When you were able to open your eyes, you looked down at Billie, noticing how the lower half of her face glistened with your juices and how her eyes glazed over. You were suddenly feeling shy again at the mess you made.

Your head went back into the pillow as you let out an airy laugh, still trying to catch your breath.

"Fuck, Billie… I want you all to myself." You said in a daze, not even fully aware of the sentence that left your mouth.

"Me too," you heard Billie reply. "God, I want more."

Billie sounded starved, as if eating you out wasn't enough for her. You chuckled.

"Just—just give me a minute, and then maybe we can—"

Suddenly, you felt a sharp, prickly sensation. Billie was biting you—but it didn't feel like the gentle, playful bites that Billie was giving you earlier. This bite was painful.

You gasped.

"Billie—ow! Fuck, that hurts—"

But then, the pain slowly morphed into something more pleasurable. Your brain was completely confused at the dual sensations.

You let out a moan as you felt Billie's mouth remain in place. You looked down, still too fucked out to fully process what was happening, but you saw Billie's mouth latched onto your thigh, her eyes closed in bliss. Your eyebrows furrowed.

It wasn't until Billie pulled away that your eyes completely widened—in fear.

There were two puncture wounds in your thigh, and you saw two very sharp teeth in Billie's mouth that strangely were not there just a few minutes ago. There was a red substance pouring from your puncture wounds and dripping from Billie's mouth—obviously blood.

"Billie? What—what the fuck?" You said, suddenly feeling lightheaded.

Billie stared back at you, a sudden expression of shock taking over her face like she only just now realized what she had done.

"I'm so sorry—shit," She exclaimed, panic in her voice. "Something came over me—I was just so hungry, fuck."

That was the last thing you heard before your head hit the pillow again and everything went black.

_____

When you awoke, you were greeted with your bedroom ceiling. The room was dim, and you could tell that the sole light source was coming from the lamp on your bedside table.

You felt dizzy, so you didn't make any sudden moves just yet. You laid there, trying to piece together everything that happened the past few hours. It didn't take you long for your memories to come rushing back in. You looked down and noticed that you were atop the covers; your puncture wound was no longer bleeding.

Fangs. A bite mark. Blood. Billie.

You turned your head, and there Billie was, also staring up at the ceiling, her shirt that was previously discarded covering her frame again. She saw you move out of the corner of her eye, and immediately, she was facing you, rolling over onto her side. You could feel her breathe fan across your face.

"Hey, baby," She said softly. "Are you okay?"

You slowly sat up, wincing at the pain you felt in your thigh. Billie looked at you apologetically, also sitting up alongside you.

"Billie… you have some explaining to do."

She sighed. "I know… I'm so sorry—"

"And— I have a lot of fucking questions."

"I totally understand. I'll tell you everything you wanna know. I'll explain everything. I swear. I'm sorry, baby."

"It's…" you trailed off, releasing a sigh of your own. Your eyelids were still heavy with fatigue. "It's okay, Billie."

She looked at you with her eyebrows raised in surprise. "You're not… afraid of me? You're not gonna kick me out?"

"No. I'm not." You told her sincerely. "I just—it feels like I'm dreaming. I can't believe you're… you're a…"

"I know it's a lot to take in." Billie interjected. You scoffed.

"That's putting it lightly."

"Look," Billie began, gently holding one of your hands. You tensed a bit when she touched you, but eventually relaxed.

"I shouldn't have bitten you. Without your consent. But I just—I can't control my actions when I go too long without feeding. It's… a whole thing that I can explain later, but—"

"Billie." You interrupted, squeezing her hand.

She looked at you with eyes full of guilt; it was clear she felt terrible about what she had done, and it warmed your heart to see how sorry she felt.

"Can you… stay the night? I just want you to hold me. I'm tired." You said.

Billie seemed taken aback at your request, clearly not expecting such a response. She was frozen for a while, processing your words, before eventually nodding.

"Yeah. I can do that." She replied. You gave her a tired, barely there smile, one that she returned.

The two of you laid back down together, getting under the covers, Billie wrapping an arm around you as you nestled into her chest. You could feel her bare legs underneath the blankets; she had discarded her pants at some point.

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd ever come into close contact with a vampire—those were creatures that, for a long time, you thought only existed in fiction. But now one was holding you and kissing your head and laying with you, and even though you had a million questions plaguing your mind, all you wanted to focus on was the pretty girl you were cuddling with.

You quietly laughed to yourself at the absurdity of it all.

"What?" Billie said, ears catching the sound of your chuckles.

"Nothing," you said. "Thanks, Billie. For the date."

"Of course." She replied, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

The both of you would definitely talk later, but for now, you only cared about the lovely vampire woman keeping you company.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

no cause sorry for the rant but you're right it's such a pervasive sentiment not just with music but anything involving Black people and other poc that even around the time Batman: Unburied first came out when I looked at the tag one time I saw some apparently popular riddlebat fanartist's reply to an anon asking them if they'd draw fan art of the podcast's versions of Bruce and Ed and they seriously said they wouldn't ever do that because they never drew poc before and won't ever start to because they "wouldn't want to draw something racist". and it's baffling to me because they literally could just have googled photos of the VAs as reference for this. that's literally not even hard. but instead they just proudly declared they'd never draw poc ever and got support for this from multiple people in their notes...

they did say they'd use Hasan Minhaj's voice clips from the podcast for their own (white, ginger) version of the character though which congrats on making that even worse

no lichrally I've had it up to HERE with my fellow whites using their fear of being perceived as racist as a justification to??? just actually BE racist??? by refusing to engage meaningfully with the writing or art or critical thought of people of color, or even just doing something as harmless as drawing a Black Batman or Indian Riddler. like these clowns would really rather put their entire asses out there and admit they can't learn how to draw a person of color and don't want to and then pretend that's an act of allyship? shut your hell mouth. how the fuck is it that hard for you to draw a Black person without it being racist.

and it all like fundamentally boils down to this deeply held white refusal to engage even a little bit with our own discomfort; this avoidance was identified as a crucial tenant of white supremacy in a very cool workshop I participated in last year. we don't like having to think about things that make us uncomfortable! the idea of, say, having to potentially learn a few new skills to draw a wider variety of people or of potentially receiving negative feedback, maybe even being accused of being unintentionally racist—that makes a lot of us curl up in a miserable little ball and preemptively disengage, which is why you have people coming up with these elaborate hoops justify their choices. a lot of us might believe racism is wrong but still be too afraid of confronting or being confronted with their own biases to actually push our boundaries re: engaging with things outside our white experiences, so then because we're Definitely Not Racist we have to come up with justifications for why our refusal to engage is actually woke rather than just prioritizing our own white fragility.

anyway @ all my fellow white people get a grip and learn to be okay with the possibility of being told you fucked up.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don't know what to think of this house's updates. The 1882 Colonial Revival in Brookline, MA has 7bds, 5ba, 5,244 sq ft, and they're asking $4m. Take a look. What do you think?

The front porch is interesting, isn't it?

Okay, enter the magnificent entrance hall with bench seating, and a beautiful fireplace. All is intact. But, they painted everything white, only leaving a little trim for contrast.

What in the world possessed them to do this? I'm sure that it's perfectly preserved under the paint. This home was well-maintained.

Look at the details on the stairs. Covered in white paint.

Large sitting room with a big fireplace, long built-in shelves, and dental molding on the ceiling.

Look at this. Each sitting room has the most magnificent woodwork. Look at this fireplace and shelves. Not to mention the molding. The white actually cuts down the contrast and details of the carvings. If they were natural wood the details would stand out.

It isn't any wonder that the dining room would be spacious and have its own wonderful fireplace and wainscoting.

The kitchen is huge and it's not a bad renovation, although I don't know if I like that thing above the island.

At least they chose Shaker cabinetry and didn't go fancy.

The stairs are an example of superb craftsmanship. I can't believe they left the railings natural.

The primary is large and could be much more beautiful with brighter decor.

I don't mind bathroom remodels as long as they use some nice reproduction fixtures, combining new with old.

Lovely colonial bedroom with wide plank flooring.

Adorable vintage looking bath.

Here's a large 2nd level sitting room or family room.

Just beautiful. What a great family room it would make.

The attic level is finished, but there is also a trap door, probably for storage under the eaves.

There are several extra bedrooms up here.

This one is lovely.

This is a pretty room, too.

And, look at this finished workroom in the basement. Wow, this is some craft lover's dream.

This home is beautiful. Not sure it's $4m beautiful, though. Seems like a very steep price tag.

Cozy patio behind the bushes, but there's not much property, otherwise.

Nice 2 car garage, but the driveway needs work.

On the other side of the bushes, there's a nice lawn. .28 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/27-Irving-St-Brookline-MA-02445/56571842_zpid/

[messrsrarchives]

mini yap but i think the big thing about the censorship discussions is that to a lot of people, they seem really hypothetical and conceptual. like some distant far aware threat but really you can't open a comment section about snape/regulus/barty/DE characters on tiktok without seeing at least three comments calling the creator a facist or a nazi sympathiser. no grey space, no understanding, no critical thought just "snape post? you're a massive racist facist"

and of course, there's personal preference! you can say you don't want to engage with these characters,,, but censorship isn't some far away monster - it's already here.

it isn't just incest or teacher/student or any of the other things people complain about, it's all these smaller examples of you not being able to separate fiction from reality and immediately assuming that those engaging with this content are idiots who also can't do this separation.

we also have this same movement against period-typical attitudes. where a marauders fic writer will include misogyny in their fic set in the 70s, and their ask box/comments will be flooded with people saying they hate women and that the text was so misogynistic. "this line was so misogynisti-" it was meant to be. that's why the period-typical attitudes tag is there.

i beggeth you to understand how important these talks are??? like yes, we're writing about wizards but if you ignore that and break it down to the crux of the issue: you are saying that we are awful people for writing and engaging with these things, whilst books like the handmaid's tale and 1984 are pulled off of shelves. you are saying that these things shouldn't be in literature. something that has always been and will always be political, and you don't think the political things should be in it? in a time where these are on the rise and our education of them is being restricted?

we Need to be able to write about these things. politically and historically, we NEED to be able to write about these things, we need to be able to write about discrimination. about hierarchies, about awful morals and hideous acts. that's irrefutable - we need that evidence and that exploration and that critical analysis of society.

and you need to be able to separate fiction from reality. because censorship isn't some metaphorical threat, it's here and you can get on your moral high horse and say it's just the "really bad things" you want gone, but (1) no one is every going to agree because there's no universal morality or legality and (2) it's not just that. and it never will be.

you are in a queer space, i beggeth you to understand censorship will find its way back to your ships, no matter how "morally right" you feel for starting these talks.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

The Opening Act

Pop-Up Prompt: Valentine's Day/Love | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Over the Clothes Sexual Acts | Tags: Valentine's Day, Roommates, First Kiss, Confessions, Getting Together, Resolved Mutual Pining, Steve Harrington Will Jump in With Both Feet

The grocery store selection is lacking, at best. Steve waited too long. Dragging his feet on what he should, or shouldn't, do. If anything at all. It's Eddie. Eddie, his roommate.

Eddie, who probably doesn't feel the same way Steve's been feeling. But Steve has to find out. The not knowing, the possibility, is eating him alive. Nobody's ever accused Steve of not jumping in with both feet when he feels things. He wears his heart on his sleeve, according to Robin, anyway. 

He doesn't mind. He'll wear it there, and someday someone will be happy to see it. At least he hopes so. Sometimes he feels like Eddie might be the one who finally would.

"She must be pretty special if you're taking this long to choose."

Steve turns towards the old woman standing behind him.

"Girlfriend? Or someone you hope will be?"

Steve grins, just a little quirk of his lip, "That last one."

He's not gonna make corrections, Mother Goose here can think what she wants. He likes girls. But he loves Eddie. A lot.

So much so he's not sure where to put it all. 

"If you pick something out with love, she'll know," she says, smiling.

Steve nods. 

"Thanks," he says, and she rolls away, leaving him standing there, still unsure of what would best express his love. 

"Hey! I got pizza," Eddie says from the kitchen, shirtless, but when he looks up at Steve, his expression closes off, just a little. "Oh. Right. It's Valentine's Day. I'll save you some."

Steve's confused, then realizes he's standing there with flowers. Eddie doesn't want flowers. Eddie doesn't even have an inkling that they could be for him. This was a dumb idea. Steve tosses them on the counter.

"They're for Robin. Pizza's great," Steve says, and Eddie grins, flipping the lid of the pizza box open. 

"Look at this thing. It's a heart. Like, surprise! Everybody gets bludgeoned with Valentine's Day, like it or not."

The pizza is heart-shaped. Even the pepperoni slices are cut into hearts, and he wonders who on earth the pizza place has hired with that kind of get up and go. Not him and Robin, that's for damn sure. 

Sure, they'd solve a Russian mystery on company time, but go out of their way to make things special for the customers? No fucking way.

Maybe kids are more motivated these days. 

Eddie pulls two pepperoni hearts off of it, shoving one in his own mouth, and one in Steve's. Pepperoni stolen off slices is the best tasting pepperoni, or so Eddie has loudly declared, over and over.

Steve chews his contraband pepperoni, and puts the brown paper grocery bag on the counter. Eddie immediately starts digging through it, "Oooh! Honeycombs and Miller, you do love me, Harrington."

Shit. 

He does love him. Like, obviously. 

"And a heart-shaped box of candy? You shouldn't have, Harrington," he says sarcastically, tossing it next to the abandoned flowers.

He'd like to be locked into Eddie's heart-shaped box for weeks. 

Steve blushes at the thought. He doesn't even know what that'd entail with Eddie.

But he wants it. Wants anything Eddie would be down for, honestly.

Just wants Eddie.

Steve's having a minor crisis. He can't look away from Eddie's remaining nipple like a weirdo, like he hasn't seen him shirtless nine-thousand times. And now his dick's suddenly being insistent. Eddie's paying no attention, rooting around through the groceries like a raccoon, and Steve realizes nearly every item he pulls from the bag was specifically bought for Eddie.

And it was bought with love. Mother Goose was right. Hopefully Eddie is feeling it, even if he doesn't know what he's feeling. 

That's okay. Steve can love him, can buy what he likes, just to see him happy. It should be enough. 

It's not enough.

Steve grabs Eddie by the back of the neck, and Eddie squawks. Steve presses his mouth to Eddie's, and when he slides his tongue inside, he tastes pepperoni. It's not the best first kiss. 

But the fact that Eddie's gripping his sides, pulling him closer, makes up ground.

When they break apart, Eddie's breathing heavy, eyes a little wild, but he's still looking right at Steve, like he's unwilling to let Steve back away from this.

"The flowers. They were for you. I lied."

"Sucks for Robin, then," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"You on board with this?" 

"Are you fucking kidding me? I've been dropping hints for two years, Harrington. It's about fucking time."

Steve laughs, leaning forward, resting his forehead against Eddie's.

"Your breath stinks," Eddie says.

"Whose fault is that? I was minty fresh when I walked in here, Pepperoni Poacher."

Eddie laughs, and Steve pulls him closer, until they're kissing again. Eddie's breath is no better, but he doesn't give a shit. He's here, they're here, and he's gonna make the goddamn best of it. 

He slides his hand down Eddie's chest, quickly moving south, and Eddie just kicks his legs further apart, an invitation if Steve's ever seen one.

Eddie's in sweatpants, Steve's sweatpants, and they aren't hiding shit.

Steve presses the heel of his hand to Eddie's dick through the fabric.

"You could buy me dinner first," Eddie teases, but contradicts his own words, by grinding up into Steve's large palm.

"I think you bought me dinner," Steve says, nodding towards the pizza, still working his hand, getting a good feel. Letting the anticipation, the desire, build. 

Determined to make Eddie come undone, right here.

Eddie's head is tilted back, panting, exposing his throat, and his hands have a death grip on the edge of the kitchen counter. It makes Steve feel wanted. 

Maybe even loved.

And this hasn't even started yet. Not really. This is just the opening act.

"I, I," Eddie starts, choking on the words, "I ordered the pizza like that! Paid an extra fiver!" Eddie blurts, and Steve laughs, leaning into him, rewarding him with a firm stroke. 

"Of course you did."

If you want to write your own, or go see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! ❤️

[forsaken-headcanons]

Hey hey hey! Pizza anon here!

have some c00lkidd hcs since i made a 007n7 one

if c00lkidd were to ever realize he was killing people, he'd isolate himself for weeks on end- crying and starving himself until he can't bare his thirst/hunger.

at times when "playing tag" with a survivor, he gets a feeling that he isn't really playing tag, yet tends to shake that feeling off quickly.

when hit/shot/stabbed by the sentinels, he calls out for his dad (007n7) and would tear up before going back to chase the survivors down.

hes quick to bottle/ignore any feelings of doubt, distracting himself with anything else

happy hcs <:)

c00lkidd absolutely LOVES running, and watches animal documentaries which makes him run on all fours at times.

he constantly asks 007n7 about facts of drakobloxxers

he loves animals, yet he does have a tendency to pick up and hug any animal in his way

he can and WILL ramble about lizards, since thats his favorite type of animals (or anything with scales for that matter)

he likes pillow fights! often having them with 007n7 (though 007 lets him win a lot of the times)

he looks up to his dad, even if 007 wasnt there sometimes in his life

thats all! might do an elliot one soon... :-)

thank you for listening! - pizza anon

Oh C00lkidd my baby. The Spectre did not have the right to mutilate you like this.

[ladyhoneydarlinglove]

{one piece, zosan, ficlet} chocolate

so uh. the ficlet i posted yesterday got WAY more engagement than i was expecting and i can't thank everyone enough for the likes, reblogs, and tag comments!! they definitely made my day, so have this little ditty that i threw together last night in honor of valentine's day! ~~~~~ Rating: G Notes: pre-relationship “Oi, mosshead,” Sanji said to Zoro as the swordsman entered the Merry’s galley, no doubt on the prowl for some post-nap booze. “Come here, I want you to try something.”

Zoro paused, eyes narrowing as he turned to look at Sanji. “Why me?”

“Because it’s for you, dipshit,” Sanji snapped. “And stop giving me that look. I’m not going to poison you.”

Zoro’s eyes remained narrowed as he approached the kitchen counter, clearly suspicious of Sanji’s invitation. Sanji bit back the urge to say anything, reminding himself that he needed Zoro to be complacent if this little scheme of his was going to work. So instead of spitting out some choice insults like he wanted to, Sanji slid a small plate with a few dark brown squares on it towards Zoro and said, “Here.”

As predicted, Zoro scowled deeply, first at the plate and then at Sanji. “Why are you trying to feed me this shit, cook?” he demanded. “I already told you that I don’t like chocolate.”

Actually, what Zoro had specifically said was that he didn’t like chocolate because it was ‘too sweet’, a statement which had thoroughly baffled Sanji because sure, some chocolate was sweet, but plenty of it wasn’t. Sanji himself vastly preferred dark chocolate over milk due to the complexity of flavor, but when he’d asked Zoro about dark chocolate, all Sanji had gotten was an eye roll and a scoffed, “Chocolate is chocolate, stupid cook. Doesn’t matter what color it is, it’s all too sweet.”

Which had led Sanji to the hypothesis he was currently testing.

“It’s not chocolate,” he lied smoothly. “It’s cacao.”

Zoro blinked. “Hah?” he said, head tilting in confusion.

“Cacao,” Sanji repeated. “It’s actually a bean that’s been fermented, roasted, and then processed into something called cacao liquor—“ (He had the suppress a snort at the way Zoro’s ears perked up at the word ‘liquor’) “—that’s then combined with a few other ingredients and left to solidify into bars for easy consumption.”

He gestured at the squares on the plate, which Zoro looked down at with a more thoughtful expression than before. 

“Beans that get roasted?” he said. “Isn’t that how you said coffee is made?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sanji replied, surprised that Zoro had remembered that. “That’s why I thought you might like this, actually. You like black coffee, and cacao has a similar flavor profile—slightly bitter, but complex. And the notes change depending on how it’s processed.”

“Huh.” Zoro picked up one of the squares, squinting at it curiously. “So are you supposed to drink it?”

“No, although there is a powdered form that you can add to liquids,” Sanji said. “But this one you just eat as is. It’s good for you, too, in small quantities. Lots of antioxidants.”

Zoro’s nose wrinkled. “The hell are antioxidants?”

Sanji waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry your mossy little head about it. Just think of them as another kind of nutrient.”

Zoro glared at the word ‘little’, but didn’t set down the square. He turned it over in his fingers a few times as if trying to gauge it for traps before he shrugged, apparently satisfied that he wasn’t about to consume anything nefarious. 

“Yeah alright. I’ll give it a shot.”

Sanji had to press his lips together to keep back a grin as Zoro took a bite from the square, growing ever more pleased with himself as the swordsman’s expression shifted from a curious frown to what on Zoro passed for wide-eyed wonder, which was a notable absence of his usual scowl and a slight raising of the eyebrows.

“So?” Sanji asked as Zoro swallowed, barely able to contain his glee.

Zoro shrugged. 

“Not bad,” he said, and Sanji bit his tongue to keep himself from laughing in Zoro’s face. On the sliding scale of Zoro-ism’s, ‘not bad’ was equivalent to a normal person’s ’oh my god, that’s soooooo good!’.

“See?” he said, unable to quite keep the smugness from his tone. “Told you it wasn’t poison.”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he muttered. Then his gaze dropped to the two squares still sitting on the plate. “So can I take these?”

Sanji had to turn towards the sink so that Zoro wouldn’t see the triumphant grin he couldn’t hold back. Because yeah, Sanji could have just explained to Zoro that dark chocolate referred not to the color but to the higher percentage of cocoa-to-sugar ratio instead of tricking him into eating ‘cacao’.

“Sure, marimo. They’re all yours.”

—but where was the fun in that?

[autisticalastor]

you make me smile (please stay for a while)

Pairing: Angel Dust/Alastor

Rating: T

Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Demiromantic Asexual Alastor, Genderfluid Alastor

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!! This fic is a gift for bluelilbug as part of the @hellbentcon Valentine's Day exchange! They gave me a lot to work with, so this piece is with their requests for Radiodust, Alastor in costume, and Angel just being happy! Title is from Bubbly by Colbie Callait!

Angel's been waiting all day for this. All activities for the day are done, Alastor should be finishing up his final meetings with Charlie, and then they'll be alone at last. As he waits for Alastor to join him, he busies himself with laying out a myriad of clothing options on the bed.

He's gotten really into fashion recently (the production process, that is), and as it turns out, it really isn't that difficult to get enough on Velvette's good side that she'll teach you a thing or two about sewing. It's been slow going, and the first time he got Alastor to try on anything he'd made, it was an absolute disaster. Nothing fit right, pieces seemed to fall apart if he so much as looked at them wrong, and to be honest… the outfits he'd been going for weren't that great either in hindsight.

But Angel's been practicing! He's quite certain at least one of today's pieces will be a winner. He's been working hard, and he's really proud of what he's made. He really hopes Alastor will be, too.

As if all this thinking were a summoning circle of its own, he hears a knock at the door. He practically flings it open, grinning from ear to ear just seeing Alastor waiting there. Alastor steps into Angel's room, lightly kicking the door shut as he wraps an arm around Angel's waist, pulling him in for a kiss.

Angel is never one to turn down affection from Alastor, hard as it can be to come by sometimes, but the way Alastor presses against him as they kiss reminds Angel that a) he didn't actually explain why he wanted to see Alastor in his room tonight, and b) he usually asks Alastor to come here for a very different reason.

Angel pulls away, resting a hand on Alastor's chest to keep him back. The poor thing, once he's actually in the mood for affection, he chases after it like a needy animal. Angel can't help but find it endearing.

“Slow down there, honeybuck. I got other plans for us tonight.”

Keep Reading

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 10: Prophet Girls

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 10: Prophet girls

Wordcount: 5,7k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for full series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, themes of indoctrination, themes of eating disorders

Description: You go hunting with Simon in the morning, and get invited to dinner in the evening.

A/N: Well….this chapter took a long time - Holidays took the life out of me, but I'm making my come back to my writing! - This one hasn't been read by my lovely beta reader as she's sick, I hope you get better soon love! :,( - I've proofread best I could so, I hope you have all enjoyed the chapter regardless, it's one I've been looking forward to write!

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

"Relax your arm, you're holding onto it too tight" Simon gently adjusts your hold on the hunting rifle by your shoulders.

You grumble quietly, following his directions and exhaling a cloud of frosted breath. "I know what I'm doing," you shake his guiding touch off leaning further down into the snow and relaxing. There's no animal in sight yet, thank God. It's not like you'd hit it like this, all jittery.

At least that's how the suddenly very invasive man next to you so delicately put it just mere minutes ago.

You don't remember him being this pushy, or this confident really. A trait you don't appreciate so much when it comes to the correction of your apparent flaws. They only became flaws today for some reason.

"Are you sure? You seem really tense," his voice has been a constant stream of chatter in your ears this morning. When in the world did he stop being quiet again. "I mean it, you need to relax or you're going to miss it."

"I am relaxing!" you hiss out looking to where he's laying by your side.

His eyes narrow but he lets out an exhausted huff. "At least relax your trigger finger, you're going to scare away any of the animals before we even see any." He shakes his head.

Despite your protest you do as he asks and relax your body even more into the snow. A bit of it has managed to find the little exposed places of your jacket and make its way under, but you can barely feel it now.

"If you're going to be so picky, why did you even drag me out here," you ask a tad calmer resting your cheek against the cold polished side of the rifle. When he had woken you up that morning, it came as a surprise that he was only doing it to drag you out hunting at the ass crack of dawn.

You hadn't been at the liberty to decline.

"You can't keep staying in that room forever..." Simon says adjusting his position in the snow and keeping an eye on the moving bushes at the far end of your viewpoint. "You aren't coming out anymore, it's getting Price worried. Johnny too even if he won't say it."

You let out an annoyed huff. They shouldn't waste their energy worrying over something so trivial. You knew how to take care of yourself, even if it didn't look like it to them. What you were doing was most strategic.

"Great so it's a pity hunt."

"Don't do that," Simon grumbles. "We take care of our own," he gives you a pointed look when you make a noise of disapproval. "You're part of the team whether you like it or not Spider."

"Temporarily."

He shakes his head but otherwise makes no comment.

"Are you really that eager to get away from us?" there's an underlying meaning in his words, it’s less about an us, and more about a me.

You hadn't given it much thought, what you'd do once all of this is over. A part of you doesn't know if this can be done. They have a determination you lack. To truly see this through, you're going to need something that you still lack, you're going to have to dig a lot deeper than before, to resist, to complete the objective set before you.

"Where are you going when all this is over?" you ask.

"Wherever they send me next," he answers.

That's the part of his job that made sure you never got there. Sure, there were other certain factors. However, that point, the going from place to place with reckless abandon and a trust in your superiors that you'll never build again is what keeps you.

You move on your own terms, not someone else's. Not anymore.

"That doesn't get tiring?"

He goes quiet for a moment, leaning over to adjust where your gun is looking. He guides it towards the rustling bushes where he seems to have spotted something.

"There...a rabbit...keep an eye and take your shot when it's in view."

You let out a quiet steady breath as the white fur and pink nose sniffs out of one of the nearby bushes. It's cautious of danger, sniffing at the snow before taking a few uncertain steps out.

It's like it can feel it. That some quiet predator has it in its sights. The tense air around the clearing is almost suffocating, the expectation of the shot making your senses jittery.

"You get used to it."

It's all jumping around too much, and you start to crave the stability of the drug induced illusions.

Your finger itches on the trigger, your breath hitches. You look right into the red eyes of the rabbit, you see its terror. It's enticing, a rush like nothing else, that makes sparks fly off the synapses in your brain.

You pull the trigger with as much uncertainty as the scared rabbit.

You could never get used to it.

When you get back to the cabin, you find Gaz hauling a pine tree inside the house, right along with a mountain of snow. You can't imagine Price will be happy about that, but all he gives is a disappointed glare.

He directs Gaz around, moving the table a bit to the side to make space for the massive thing. You had never truly understood why there was even a need for a tree, even more so here. You didn't even have any decorations for the thing, it would quite literally just be a tree in the living room.

"Oh, you're back," Gaz perks up from behind the tree when he finally manages to get it into position. "Did you catch anything?"

Your empty hands should speak for itself. Simon closes the door behind you, kicking off the snow from his boots before looking quizzically over at the tree. "No," you answer curtly. "Not this time."

"Well, at least you're not being forced to carry a tree all the way from town," Gaz huffed with a smile on his lip.

"Zip it Gaz, you volunteered," Price grumbles. "Now put it a little more left."

"Do we really need a tree Cap'?" Simon passes you to stand next to the captain, observing from his viewpoint.

"It's festive."

You slip past the three of them, quiet steps placed towards your room. Simon might have brought you, to get you out of the room but that didn't mean you couldn't retreat as soon as you got back.

Halfway down the hallway, a wall in the form of Soap stops you from entering the room once again. You stop abruptly, startling yourself and him at the same time. "Joh-" you don't get to cut yourself off because he does it for you.

"Spider!" a smile spreads across his lips, and it startles you worse than bumping into him. "I was wondering when ye were coming back," he sounds endearingly excited. "Are ye ready for tonight?"

"Tonight?"

You take a step back, swallowing the thick of your spit back down. He's holding a notebook in his hands, a pencil case behind it. He's been drawing again then. Your wrists itch, curiosity winning its primary space in your brain as to what he could possibly be drawing now.

"Got invited by Mrs. Evans and her husband to dinner at their house tonight, ye and me." He shifts the weight between his legs, his eyes darting away from you and to the art on the walls. "Price agreed it would be good idea, get more intel on 'em."

"Of course they did," you say exasperated. "He's not wrong, if they're apart of anything major there'll be signs. Subtle but they'll be there."

He nods, falling quiet as he stands there. You look at him for a hot minute, expecting him to move but he doesn't. Your lips move to form the words you want to ask but nothing comes out. Your eyes go back to the items he's holding, and you gesture to it, trying to get him to say something, anything.

"Oh! ach that's right, I got ye something." He smiles and holds out the notebook for you to take. Hesitantly you take hold of it, giving him a questioning look. Your hands ghost over the edges before you flip it open.

It's empty, but the paper has quality and it's not just any notebook. He had bought you a sketchbook, one that's matching his own. A warmth blooms in your heart as you realize he remembered. Of all things you hadn't expected him to go out of his way and use his own money on you.

"John you...didn't have to..." you cringe a little when you catch your own slip up. He gives you a curious look. A tiny nod is the only signal you get. He's fine with it. It manages to relieve a weight in your chest, the one that's been bothering you about the balance between the two of you. Of what is too far. What is too much.

You gently take the sketch book out of his hands, and he places the little pencil case on top of it. "Nah don't mention it, thought ye might enjoy having something to do that isn’t just working." You feel your cheeks warm up a bit at the call out.

Your teeth latches onto your lower lip, your eyebrows furrowing along with it to create the difficult expression. He looks so excited about this gift. It sometimes feels a little like having a dog standing in front of you, his tail wagging excitedly at the mere possibility of you showing even a hint of approval.

"Just think of it as an early Christmas gift."

You can see why Simon has taken a liking to him. When you first meet him, he's an imposing figure. Even if he puts his good side forward, there's an underlying darkness. A thing you haven't been able to dig out of him yet, but you can see it in the way he moves, in the way he carries himself through social situations.

It's no doubt to you that every single one of the men living under this roof have a deadly touch. They've killed, and they'd kill again if they were ordered to it. It makes you wonder what their moral compass is like. How far is too far. Would they have done what you did, if they were in your position?

Would they understand.

Whatever Simon was put through it had been rough on him, enough to confine himself to a mask. John seemed understanding of him. He always seemed understanding of the things around him. He cared for things. He took care of things, even if that is in his own ways. You watch him love Simon like it's the easiest thing in the world. It's a quiet love, barred behind closed doors for safety but it's there. You see it, in their actions.

You wish you could be like that. Take responsibility in the same way. You've never loved normally, and part of you is sure you never will. Your love is an obsession. It's an all-consuming sickness, burrowing itself in the cavity of your chest. You are an all-consuming idea. You lick your tongue over bloodied ribs, you sink teeth into the heart. Your touch leaves marks and scrapes, that will hurt and destroy.

There's no part of you that should be loved in the way John loves Simon. Yet you crave that attention so viscerally, you'd do anything for it, to be the object of someone's eye once again.

"Thank you..." the words are quiet but it still makes him smile.

"Do show me what ye come up with, ah have a feeling inspiration will strike when it's just right" he speaks like he knows. He's so sure of himself, that you almost believe him just from that. He's the smart type, he'll figure it out.

He'll figure it out.

You shake your head. He won't unless you give him or any of the rest any reason to suspect anything. So far, you're just a weirdo, right?

"Yeah, I will," you try to give him an easy-going smile. Your thoughts should stay on the goal ahead. Whatever this dinner will bring, you have an objective now.

"Do we have to?" you turn away from their front door to face John again. You had gone along this far without complaint. The event of the evening hadn't seemed so daunting before you were standing Infront of the Evans family's lusciously decorated front door.

The first sign of their religion already came at the first glance. The giant cross put in the middle, surrounded by decorated plants and Christmas reds and greens.

"Yes, we do, and ye know that" he says with a soft chuckle, yet he remains still with you in front of the door.

"We could turn around now, Price doesn't have to know, there's a market in town we're just as likely to get information there than here." You aren't sure why exactly you're trying to convince him, when you're well aware you aren't getting out of this without the use of force. Which is definitely not ideal either.

He shakes his head, an amused smile flashing your way. "Price'll know, trust me he always somehow knows," he speaks from experience.

"It'll be over before ye know it, and we can always go to the market afterwards if ye'd like that," he offers as a middle ground. As if it was about the market in the first place.

You lean forward to press their doorbell with a sigh. If you were quick enough you could find the signs and leave. The shallow hope resides in your chest like an anchor to reality. You knew it wouldn't happen, not the way you wanted it to.

You take a step back when Mrs. Evans opens the door with half a squeal to make you wince. Her smile is so bright it borders something disturbing. "Oh my goodness, it's so good to see you two! Come in, come in!" she exclaims.

You step inside, giving her a soft smile and the friendliest greeting you can think of. Anything to make you come across as normal and not an anxious lunatic. She's wearing a beautiful floral print dress reaching down to her ankles, her hair done up in braids tucked into a bun.

Your hands twitch, muscle memory settling into your reflexes as you remember. The younger ones had loved that type of hair. You had been the best at doing it.

The signs will be subtle but they will be there

The Father's voice echo within your head as you step into the foyer.

I never abandon my children to the dark

The inside of their home is almost as obnoxious as their loud front door. Everything is Christmas times a hundred, but only the right kind. The one that praises God, the holy, the pure.

"Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Evans" you give her your best crafted smile. She clasps her hands together and gives you one in return.

"Oh please, I always make it a point to acquaint myself with anyone new. So few come all the way out to our lovely little community, it's a blessing to see good new faces, and I told Frank you two make such a cute couple I couldn't resist inviting you over and getting to know you!"

You freeze at that. Couple? You hadn't said anything about that. Had John...you give him a look but he doesn't look back at you, his eyes focused on Mrs. Evans.

"And we're glad you did, we're both happy that the community is so welcoming, we were a bit worried at first," John doesn't correct her. Is he being serious right now. Did he really tell her that the two of you were together. What in the world was he thinking. What about Simon.

"Please, take off your shoes, settle in settle in! Make yourself at home," she encourages the both of you. There's little time to reflect on his choice, and even less to scold him about it. For now, you'll just have to play along, pretend as if you know what in the world she's talking about.

You discard your shoes and jacket in their rightful places, keep a respectful distance from most things in their foyer to avoid accidentally knocking over the copious number of trinkets they've got out on display.

"I hope you like roasted pork," she leads you into the living room where the warmth of the roaring fireplace encloses around you. "My husband made sure to get the best from the market this morning."

"It smells delicious, I'm sure you're a lovely cook" John stands closer to her. She giggles and waves him off with a bashful expression.

"Oh please, I'm just fine but you'll get a taste for yourself soon enough."

They've got a tree out, ornaments putting it in a white and golden light. Each one engraved with something. It's too small to read. Drawings around the room, done in crayon and childish paint, hung on the spaces on the walls.

John makes small talk with Mrs. Evans, some of relevance some not. It all becomes white noise as your eyes dart around the room. A pet bowl stands near the entrance to the kitchen, it's empty. Paintings of moments of importance from the scriptures are hung neatly on the walls. You recognize most of them, while a few are vaguer for your imagination.

"Excuse me," you try to be as polite as you can butting into their conversation. "Where's your bathroom?" you gesture awkwardly around the room with your hand.

"Oh! Just down the hall sweetie, the first door on your right" Mrs. Evans points back out towards the hallway you had gone through. You thank her, before retreating back out there. Away from the prying eyes of hers.

The hallway is almost worse than the living room. Decorations are splayed about, and it's probably the most visually interesting thing you've come across. Overstimulating almost. You come to a stop Infront the circular mirror, you ignore it in favour of directing your interest towards the display on the little table in front.

It's been decorated in many different colours, plants, pine, ornaments and Christmas cards. All of them coded in some way with the scriptures or religious practice that's been taught to them. Your hand traces over the little ornament, the words hollowing out inside your mind. Reactivating prayers that lay dormant.

'Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart - Proverbs 3:3'

You know words of prayer by heart. You've spent countless nights reciting them, practicing them, committing them to memory so you could receive a reward morning come.

And then you had spent countless nights crying them out in a prayer for help, for rescue. You had spent countless restless nights turning your throat raw, screaming to a god that never actually listened.

This home is oversaturated with them.

There's truth to be found in them, one you pretend to no longer care for. You walk further down the hallway, inspecting every ornament, every inscription. All the little signs that could distinguish this home from a loving religious household, to one that does the bidding of the collective.

There has to be signs. Tiny little things. Anything at all that can lead you towards the presence of The Father, of your home. He rarely goes anywhere without doing so, to lead his rightful children back to where they belong, no matter how far out they might have gone.

It was a lesson he taught you early on.

There'll always be a place for you in my arms.

The shadows still take his face, and use his voice. They still taunt you despite how much you try to fight it. You think they might not even stop if you were to finally give in to them.

You come to an open door. A child's bed room. It's clad in golds and pinks, blending together in the context of a princess design. The little kid is there too, her golden hair almost shining in the big lamp light above. A halo around her head. She's pure.

She would be so easily corruptible.

"Are you mommy's guest?" she doesn't seem nervous at all. "Oh! Do you wanna see my toys? Mommy says I can get more for Christmas!"

Let her be innocent. Please. Let her be free of it.

You walk closer wordlessly. An easy smile settles on your lips, exactly how you used to do with the young. "Yeah, those are some cool toys" you try to mimic her tone of excitement. "Are they new?"

You settle down onto your knees next to her. Her toys keep the same colours scheme as her room, except for a few baby blues and greens. She excitedly shows you her favourite.

You're careful not to touch her as she drags you through her collection of colourful ponies. She's too young. Let her be too young to know.

He starts young.

Let her be too young.

Your eyes search her body for scars, bruises, any mark at all but find nothing but the smooth skin you envied. "Do you go to church often little one?" you ask and settled down on the floor next to her in a more comfortable position.

"Mhm! It's a bit boring sometimes though, don't tell mommy I said that," she snickers and puts a finger over her mouth.

"Have you ever wanted more out of it?"

She shrugs barely interested in your words, clearly boring her about just as much as the lectures she would find within the church. You reach out, grab her arm with a force that gets her eyes to widen.

"Deus spes nostra," your eyes bore into hers searching for even the tiniest sign of recognition within her.

You spoke a tiny prayer within your mind, let her be innocent, let her be free.

"Deus lux mea est."

Your stomach sinks, your eyes searching for the source standing in the open doorway. She couldn't be much older than you had been. She had the same expression you would wear back then, masked by the anxiety swimming in your gut.

The family has two daughters.

The little one, uninterested in the religious practice being thrust upon her as she grows. She'll change her mind as she gets older, turn to the so-called light stained by the blood red sky above her.

And the older one.

He's raising a new angel.

It's the only thing that makes sense. A new angel to take the place you left hollow when you fled. He's starting from the bottom up, creating something better, something stronger. And by how she stares you down from across the table, it wouldn't be crazy to think she knows of you.

You can only pray she would keep her mouth shut. That she wouldn't alert your presence to anyone of importance. Or you could dispose of her. The plan formulates all too quickly in the back of your brain, how you'd do it, what you'd do with the corpse afterwards, the explanations of your absence to the team.

Depending on how deep in her training she is, you're unsure whether it's a fight you want to pick alone. She's so much younger than you, inexperienced but fresher without the pains of a weakened body.

"Love, could you pass me the salt?"

You freeze, your head whipping to John in surprise. Despite the agreed cover you hadn't expected him to pull out anything extra. Was that really needed? As if Mrs. Evans hadn't already fussed over the two of you enough.

"Yeah..." you pick up the salt and pass it to him. Your eyes leaving the new angel.

"Are the two of you settling in well?" Mrs. Evans speaks up clear startling her youngest. "I know the valley can be difficult to get accustomed to especially this time of year!"

She has a faux type of energy that rubs you the wrong way.

"We're settling in just fine, kind of you to worry" John responds with optimism. How does these people not rub him the wrong way, can't he see it? Or is he just that much better at masking it than you are. Likely it's the latter and it doesn't help your annoyance.

"Ah it's nothing, gotta look out for the young love in our community" her knife squeaks against her plate when she cuts a piece of meat. It hurts your ears. The table itself is clad in imperfect white frills, candles in the middle, surrounded by fruits, potatoes and meat galore.

"Isn't that right honey?" she elbows her husband in the arm. His eyes have been glued his plate since you took a seat. He's barely eaten a thing. When he doesn't answer her, she clears her throat and nudges him again.

"Mh..yeah."

She lets out an awkward little laugh, her uncomfortable stature satisfies something in you. John smiles unsure towards her as he takes another bite of his own food.

"Oh, darling you've barely eaten a thing? Do you feel ill?" Mrs. Evans directs her attention to you when she doesn't get the response she's looking for. You mentally curse out the man of the house for not taking up her conversation.

"No, I'm alright, just had a big lunch that's all" you give her your best attempt at a disarming smile. Let her buy it. Don't dig.

You pick up your fork and pick up the piece of meat you had cut for yourself. It doesn't go down easy. The heat burns your tongue, and the texture drags in your throat. It settles wrong in your stomach.

"It's such a good thing the two of you decided to come to church! The community is always so excited over newcomers, I'm sure you'll make lots of friends in due time." You have to give it to her, her excitement seems as genuine as it gets. Whatever lays beneath, she believes in it wholeheartedly.

"Yeah, we're happy to have found it so receptive. We have a lot to learn from a tight knit community like this, but I'm sure there's only good things to come. We've also been thinking about expanding our horizons, attend some things more than just the Sunday mass." John replies in an excited tone. He's good at mimicking the interest in their practice, but you suppose it's not entirely fabricated.

"Oh but of course! You absolutely need to come by Wednesday when the choir practices. My own two girls are apart of it, and they've got the most angelic little voices, do you not?" she glances towards them with hope in her eyes.

The little one smiles bright at you, nodding along rapidly to what her mother is telling. The elder remains quiet. "They both work so hard too! I mean you should have seen it when they first started, a bit uncoordinated but they sharpened up quickly. A few private lessons and it put them right on track with the others!"

She sounds proud.

Her happiness disgusts you.

The daughters are silent listening on to their mother singing their praises on a topic they'd clearly rather avoid. It's in their faces, even the younger one, the distaste, the compliance. The new angel still has her eyes on you, ever focused on your moves, your expressions, your reactions. She's too observant for your liking.

You make a mental note to ask Laswell for any and all information on this family, on her.

There'll be plenty of work to do once you go home from this. You doubt you'll get much sleep. You only hope your sleep deprived state won't cause you too much trouble, and that the 4 men living under the same room won't make too many comments. You got voices enough in your head to listen to.

The rest of the dinner is spent observing the family's dynamic, marking off mental notes of their reactions to one another. You've got down the mother’s devotion, the daughters forced contribution, the father’s detachment to the world around him as if nothing matters to him anymore.

He's been here

This place is filthy with his prints

He's planted the seeds and they've taken root deep within them

"Thank you for the dinner, Mrs. Evans. It was delicious."

"Oh, don't mention it Mr. Mctavish, it was my pleasure to host the two of you" she gushes as you move out the front door and back into the snowy town. John follows close behind, his hand holding tightly onto yours as if to keep you in check, so you don't go running off prematurely.

You guess he still doesn't fully trust you after your little stunt.

"We'll see you in church on Sunday! Stay safe now," Mrs. Evans waves you off and closes her front door with a prominent click.

You let out a deep sigh, finally being out of there. "You did good," John says and gives you a smile. His hand is still in yours, a warm weight you don't feel like letting go just yet. Luckily, he doesn't seem to want to either as he tugs on your arm to walk in tow.

You let him lead you, tugging your jacket further around yourself. "So are you not a fan of family dinners at all, or was that just as intense as it felt like back there," John says with a chuckle. You a crack a smile of your own. You could still feel your muscles tense state, at least you hadn't been completely alone in it.

"Would you believe me if I said both," there's amusement in your voice bordering a reciprocal chuckle. He looks to you with a fonder smile.

"Yeah."

His attention is taken off of you again when you hear the faint music down the street. Christmas carols, songs of joy. It seems to spark interest in him as he quickly changes course.

The closer you get the more extravagant the decorations around town seem to become. Fairy lights are hung from house to house, and across streets, becoming shimmering lights above you, like golden stars in the night sky to guide you to where you're meant to be.

"It's beautiful..." your voice is but a whisper, staring up at the marvel. A rough hand comes to graze against your jaw. The hand that isn't holding yours guide your eyes to the bigger display at the centre of the upcoming square, the giant tree in the middle, the band in front of it playing songs for a dancing crowd.

His hand squeezes yours, making you look down. His thumb rubs soothing motions over your skin, like it's meant to be there. Your eyes trail back up to his face, but he isn't watching you. No, that amused face is captivated by your surroundings. There's something unmistakably beautiful about him in this kind of lighting, and you count yourself blessed enough to be allowed to see it before your end.

Your teeth clench together as your mind drifts back to the dinner. The one question you want to ask lies on the tip of your tongue, and before you can stop yourself.

"John back there why did you make us a couple, we could've been anything to them you didn't have to-" you bite down on your tongue, looking away from him as his eyes come back to you.

"It was the first thing that came to mind, didn't think it would bother ye that much." John is quick to respond, his concern edging into his tone. You swallow uncomfortably, and the hand that lies in yours suddenly feels wrong, like rubbing your hand on a cheese grater.

"But you and Simon..."

"He doesn't mind."

Your brows furrow, because what does he mean he doesn't mind. He should mind. He should really, really mind.

"But-"

"Dance with me."

He comes to stand in front of you, blocking the view of the spectacle ahead and becoming the new one instead. Light shines around him like he was sent from the heavens, a beacon for you to follow. The workings within your mind are dangerous, the connections they start to make.

"What?"

"Dance with me." He's steadfast not taking no for an answer as he gently grabs your other hand and moulds you into the right position. He doesn't start right away, waits for your muscles to relax, for the surprise on your face to morph into something different.

Then he leads you, and you follow.

You haven't danced much in your life if at all, and it shows in your clumsy movements, in the way you look down at your feet as to not step on his. He doesn't say a word, not a single complaint is heard. He spins you around with a soft smile on his lip, hums along with the tune of the song in the back.

It takes you half the song but you start to grow more confident, your steps more bold, more assured. A smile cracks out on your own lips, and when he spins you around again you can't help the laughter that crackles from your throat, the tickling in your body.

"You don't have to worry so much you know," he whispers close to your ear, your back to his front.

"We've got you."

He spins you back around, guides your steps until you've successfully danced yourself over to the rest of the moving crowd. His hand finds a resting place on your waist, the other one aiding you to make sure you stay in place. Your steps become unsteady, trying to not bump into people but he doesn't let go. He doesn't let you fall.

You don't know what changed for you that day, but later on you've come to realize, the feelings within you have morphed into something else, and whether you liked it or not, they would continue down that path. It's too late to walk away.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @haipasa @woodlandgirl22-blog-blog @kaoyamamegami @ellabellabunny123 @chickennn-soupp @spicyspicyliving @lilynotdilly

[greenleaf4stuff]

Thank you for tagging me @gauntletgirlie, @iwanderbecauseimlost and @fantasyquests! <3

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Do reblog chains with the "charater: speech" format here on tumblr count as roleplaying? ^_^' I often publish my fics un-beta'd, since I do not show them to a lot of ppl before sharing them online. All my fics are self-indulgent to some degree I'd say. I mostly write m/m (the rest is gen fics). Usually there is an outline, except for spontaneous drabbles. Still can't believe someone was kind enough to make fanart of an OC from one of my stories! <3 (TY @themalhambird it's still an absolute honor! <3) Sooo many unfinished or unpublished stories and ideas! Editing hell is real, and it is terrifying. Getting ideas in the middle of the night or just before falling asleep - oh yeah (and oh no). X_X

Zero pressure tags: @plotdesigner @withallthatisleftofmyheart @themalhambird @thephoenixandthecrocodile @shestoodintears and whoever else wants to play! <3

Tagged by the wonderful @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

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No pressure tags: @perlen-gold, @greenleaf4stuff, @gingeragenda, @whenimaunicorn, @saffronstories, @plotdesigner, @wowstrawberrycow, @daughterofthesunlands, @iwanderbecauseimlost, @withallthatisleftofmyheart, and anyone else who would like to play.

[zeedikay]

There could be something else here, but who knows what the future brings?

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still obsessing over 7-12

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[brucie-baby]

Little bit less dead now and I wanted to word vomit a little more.

Like I said before, I would not definitively describe pre-crisis Jason as reckless because that sounds a little too negative for a boy who genuinely did have good intentions, but he was often a little reckless. From the beginning (and to fully make it clear: this is pre-crisis Jason with his circus origin, because pre-crisis is where that line comes from), Jason had one goal: Be good enough to be Robin. He was constantly trying to prove himself despite Bruce telling him that there was no need. This mostly stems from doing death-defying stunts at the circus and always being encouraged by his parents to take risks (his parents chased after Killer Croc, they were also insane [positive]), and Bruce telling him that being Robin was too dangerous made him feel like Bruce wasn't letting him be who he truly was. (He's literally just a ginger Dick Grayson here, guys.)

After one of these instances, Bruce says, "It was ill-advised, Jason, but you didn't do wrong. On the other hand... initiative is one thing, but I wish you'd stop taking on such grand schemes for yourself. You don't have to keep proving your worth to me, I'm sold." That pretty much sums up Bruce's whole view on it at this point - Jason isn't doing anything bad because it's with the intention of doing good and it does help people in the end, but he doesn't have to take on these big missions all by himself.

Now one thing that's important to note is that Bruce did not initially want Jason to be his partner, but Jason was absolutely not having it. Before he even knew of his parents' fate, Jason had already stolen a costume from the cave and jumped in the back of the batmobile. From the get-go, Jason wanted to be Batman's partner, and Bruce wanted Jason to be his son. (This gets a bit flipped post-crisis which is infinitely frustrating to me.) Obviously both feelings end up much more mutual, the father-son one very quickly, but this is how it starts.

So essentially you've got this kid who's used to taking a lot of big risks and parents that encouraged him to take those risks (I can't tell if it sounds like I'm bashing them here? I'm not meaning to if it does), and whilst he understands that this is also life-or-death, he doesn't seem to grasp that they're entirely different circumstances. Being a skilled aerialist is not the same as fighting bad guys who want you dead. He's also got the whole Dick Grayson thing of "I'm your partner, not your weakness. Treat me as such."

That's where we get back to "Robin gives me magic!"

With all this context of Jason's intense need to prove himself, both as Robin, son of the Bruce/Batman, and Jason, son of adventurous acrobats, Joseph and Trina Todd, Robin giving him magic takes on a whole new light. I've seen a few people say that the line is more about the anonymity, or finding courage in the mantle of a hero, and while both these interpretations are totally fair, I still mostly disagree. This is Jason refusing to be treated like the child he is (he was twelve years old when Bruce took him in). This is Jason becoming... I wouldn't necessarily say cocky, but something along those lines. Like I said in the tags of that last post, this is a warning sign.

And that's not even touching on the Collins of it all. I know these comics are unrelated so you don't really have to listen to me here, but having a man become so convinced that his costume gives him magic that he grows detrimentally reckless just links them so well.

This is why I think that this could've been the starting point of his post-crisis self if the crisis had not happened. If they'd have fleshed it out a little more, slowed it down a bit, Jason gradually becoming more and more explicitly reckless and eventually violent could've worked. They'd already laid the groundwork for the recklessness. The violence and bloodlust would've taken a little longer (one of Jason's last conversations pre-crisis has him saying that Bruce has not failed by only arresting criminals instead of successfully reforming them, as the world is still a better place with them behind bars), but it still very much could have worked (Jason was quick to act and, only a few times, quick to violence, but with reason).

I was going to dig a little further into my ideal Robin!Jason origin and progression but I fear this post may be growing a little too long so I'll leave that for another time possibly.

There isn't much point to this post other than literally just rambling about Robin!Jason. I just think he's a very complex character, and fandom tends to boil him down to being 'the real golden child who loved school and never caused trouble', and that simply isn't accurate.

He did care about his grades, both pre- and post-crisis, and though he never really enjoyed homework, he still did it (pre-crisis he very much did not want to do it but he wanted to keep his grades up, and his views on schoolwork aren't really touched on in post-crisis, though it is said he does extra credit to make sure his grades stay up as high as they are). And he was always stressing Bruce - letting a villain adopt him to solve a case, running away, patrolling alone with permission, dying his hair black and stealing cash from Bruce's drawer to go help him and so on. Post-crisis, he was obviously very violent and this jump was super sudden (one comic he's telling Bruce not to give up on his methods, and the next he's saying "okay but what if they just died", but Bruce's character was also very affected by the crisis), but it's canon now, so🤷.

Basically I think fanon Jason is boring and bland. Like yeah canon Jason pretty much went from Ginger Dick Grayson to Angry Murder Machine, but that's still a lot more personality than what fanon gives him. I just really love Robin!Jason and this, I think, is why I dislike current Jason so much.

I've got a lot of thoughts about "Robin gives me magic!" and absolutely none of them are coherent but I'm sharing them anyway.

So for context: this line comes from a story in which Calendar Man is planning to kill Jason, and Bruce tells him that he can work the case but not out in the field. There's a whole thing here where Jason gives Bruce the silent treatment until Bruce calls him immature and sends him to his room. That night, Bruce apologises and explains that he can't lose Jason, and that sometimes Batman has to go out alone. Jason says he understands but sneaks out anyway, planning to take Calendar Man on his own.

When he gets back to the cave (after Bruce has been searching for him despite bleeding out), Bruce tries to scold him. This is where he says that line, and that Robin lets him do things he'd never have dared before. Bruce says that it sounds like recklessness, and Jason says no, just maturity. There's a few more bits here that I have a lot of thoughts on but these are the most relevant parts of it.

The thing I find so interesting about this is actually from a different comic from a little while before. There's this guy, Collins, who wears Catman's costume and believes it has this magical ability to give him nine lives. Collins narrowly avoids death several times (e.g. nearly hit by a truck, almost crushed by rocks) and he thinks it's the suit's doing, but actually, it was Batman following and saving him every time. While they're fighting and Collins is insisting that the suit gives him magic, Bruce thinks, "I've created a monster - he's completely reckless - unwilling to concede there's any danger his costume can't handle!"

Now I also have a lot of thoughts on this that I might get into when it's not five in the morning but the main one is this: "Robin gives me magic" is not proof of Jason being the happy, chill Robin. This is him giving Bruce grey hairs in real time. This is him thinking that he's nearly invincible. To me, this would've been the perfect point to start shifting him into his post-crisis self. I think Jason's too complicated to label him as just reckless but also? I would not say it's wrong to. He is occasionally reckless and he does act without thinking sometimes. And just to clarify, this isn't criticism. I love pre-crisis Jason. He's my little guy. That's why I hate it when he's just boiled down to 'the happy Robin' (and the fact that it's a stupid label for any of the Robins, please let go of that), because he's been stressing Bruce out since day one. Like, this is the kid who said "if you don't make me Robin I'm doing to run away to the circus," and then did. And post-crisis he's very explicitly written as violent and reckless. He's always been a menace, don't take that away from him!!