#when you count the fact that the first bio I wrote out on him was pretty thin

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am i the A-hole for trying to protect a women focused space?

I'm the mod from the super one sided retelling of the "Refusing to change OC's sexuality to bi/pan" situation. Shin (the person who wrote that post) know i don't use tumblr so of course he bring the drama here so that people would judge "Laura" and me without knowing the full truth. Thankfully, a dear friend of mine who followed this blog told me about this and was kind enough to allowed me to send this ask using her account.

First of all, it's pretty clear that Shin is lying about his identity. Shin said he is a trans man but he admitted that he don't want to transition beside wanting flat chest. Shin also said that he is south east asian but his display name and his OC's name are all japanese, which is a huge sign of white weeb fetishizing japanese culture. The fact that his english and understanding of slangs is way too good to be south east asian.

Secondly, Shin joining this server knowing that 90% of the members are yumejoshi, he should be grateful of the fact that we even allowed those yaoi characters invading what basically a space for women. I know we advertised the RP as a non-shipping focus death game story but you should have read the room and know what type of people this space is catering to and not bring your gay character in if you didn't want him to be shipped with women.

Thirdly, if Shin was uncomfortable then he should have made it clear from the start instead of letting "Laura"s character flirting with his, like having him respond rudely or out right rejecting her or something. Shin said he is having undiagnosed autism in his bio then he should have understand how it feel when people don't state what they mean clearly. His OC still being nice to "Laura"'s OC even if he didn't like the flirting, of course she would misunderstand that his OC developed romantic feeling for her OC.

Fourthly, Shin said before that he didn't count alternate timeline versions of a character from a visual novel he likes the same as the original timeline version because of their different life experiences then why can't he do the same to his OC? Why can't he just agree to let "Laura" make an alternate version of his character if in his logic they are completely different people? Hypocrite much?

And finally, "Laura" was very upset about this and it took her a while to move on, she could have hurt herself back then because of you. Also, we had to revised our server's rules and banned all the non-yumejoshies, which cut several RPs short.

So who is really the A-hole here?

[godlygreta]

god is fair | j. t. kiszka

title | god is fair

word count | 7.7k

warnings | swearing, mentions of alcohol - nothing too terrible... yet ;)

author's note | i've had this in the chamber for some time now, i just lost the inspo to write, which is why i haven't in a long time. this isn't a promise that i'll post more fics as they come to me, seeing as i'm a senior in college who has a fuck ton of other things to do. there will be a part 2 to this fic, but i couldn't tell you when it's coming :)

also, very much so listening to god is fair, sexy nasty by mac miller while writing this & starting the next part, so take that as you will ;)

unedited as hell so pls excuse any mistakes !

You always had this rivalry since the beginning of freshman year. This guy, Jake, would never show up to any of the classes the two of you had together, but always got the highest grades on every single goddamn exam that your Intro to Bio professor gave out. It infuriated you.

You figured that in the spring semester, you would be freed from the disappearing boy, but you weren’t. While the teacher called roll, everyone shouted out here. She landed upon his name, calling out to the class and looking through the rows of students. He had been there for orientation, sitting in one of the middle rows, slouched in his seat.

You planned to confront him the next day you had class together, on Wednesday, but Jake was nowhere to be found. Your roommate and your friends had heard your exhaustive theories as to why he was never in class. “Babe, you sound insane. Just let it go.”

But you couldn’t.

Competition lived deep within your roots, having an entire competition with the second top student in your graduating class in high school. Though the rage held between each other was never taken far outside of the academic realm, the two of you never thought to be friends and encourage one another. Thankfully, the two of you resolved the competition when the two of you realized you would be going into two very separate fields of study in college. 

Camren, who knew she was going to be a chemist from the time she first learned about chemistry, had told you she loved the competition – made it fun and kept things interesting. And there you were, going to school for Pre-Med with the same feeling. The two of you kept in contact, updating each other on the strive for greatness in college as well.

You kept a close relationship with a lot of your teachers, making sure to get on their good side before classes had really begun. You emailed most of them, especially your Anatomy and Physiology professor, Dr. Sahnya Heinz.

She was incredibly skilled in her field, leaving the active medical field to teach the new and future minds of medicine. It was a cliche line she delivered on the first day, but it encouraged that familiar competitive fire that dwelled within you.

You don’t quite remember how you came to figure out that Jake was ahead of you, but you had found out somehow from your professor, although it was an accident.

It made everything in you burn with anger and frustration. Anytime someone mentioned him, or mentioned the fact that you were second, you clenched your jaw and your teeth gritted together. Your friends had an inside joke that you were only mad because you had a huge crush on him.

“I barely even know what he looks like, Mel! I fucking hate the guy. Don’t start shit.” You’d plead, beer can in your hand in the lounge of some fraternity floor.

Over the next few semesters, you kept trying your hardest, spending most of your free time in the library, reading everything that you could to prepare for every exam. You wrote papers early, having them done at least three weeks in advance. As soon as you would be told about a new one, you’d immediately start finding sources.

You sauntered around campus, thinking that you would be way ahead of him. He still never showed up to any classes, aside from orientation and exam periods. You’d stare at him for a few moments while the teacher passed out the exam, looking over his face as much as you could.

His long hair would obscure your vision on occasion, making it hard to catch any of his features at all. From what you could see though, he had nice, full lips. His nose was something you could have stared at the entire exam period.

You watched him as he licked his lips, whispering a thank you to Heinz before grabbing his pencil from his desk and getting to work. You looked away from him as soon as Heinz put your exam on your desk, offering her a small smile and a quick thank you before getting to work.

It was almost spring break, meaning some of your assignments had been slowing, some of them had been increasing. A group of your friends from different majors told you about one of the lounge parties a fraternity on campus was throwing. “Sigma Tau has the worst lounge parties, Tamia. You know this.”

“They’re joining forces with the Delta’s though, so it’ll be better than normal! You have to come, you’ve always got your nose in a book. You haven’t drank with us in so long, I forget what you’re like when you’re drunk.”

“I don’t know… I need to work on this Midterm paper I have in Kainz’s class, it’s due next week.”

“Babe, it’s been done for weeks! You just keep editing it trying to find mistakes and there are none! I’ve literally read it five times. Please, go out with us, just tonight?”

You looked between Tamia and Mel, knowing in the end you would give into them anyways. “Ugh, fine! Tonight, and tonight only, just this once. If I don’t like it, though, I’m leaving and going to bed early.”

“You’ll have so much fun, I swear!” Mel and Tamia looked between each other, sharing expressions of excitement and happiness on their faces. You rolled your eyes, standing up from your chair.

You let them raid your closet, trying to throw something together quickly. Most of the time, Tamia and Mel never obeyed the dress code for the lounge parties, hating the idea of giving into the male gaze of the fraternity brothers. Tonight, however, was a bit different. The theme was Western, meaning it was cowboy hats and very tiny shorts.

You looked over the outfit that laid out in front of you, straw cowboy hat that Tamia had bought from Amazon (one for each of you), a pair of short shorts that may or may not show your ass a bit, and a red bandana top that Mel let you borrow last semester that you forgot to return. “I don’t know about this. I don’t even have the right shoes.”

“You forget we wear the same size, bitch, you’re going. No backing out.” They joked, tossing you a pair of white boots. “Just put that shit on while we heat up the curling iron, okay?”

“Fine, fine, okay.” You peel off your shirt, throwing on the one they picked out. Next to go were your pajama pants, which were replaced by the shorts. You kept the same socks on, knowing that nobody would see them anyways with the boots going up to the middle of your calf muscle. “I look fucking ridiculous.”

“You look fucking hot, now sit down while we do your hair and makeup,” Mel spoke, pulling out your desk chair while Tamia smiled wickedly with the curling wand in hand. You were nervous, looking at the both of them, but the good kind that settled under your skin and was left hidden behind the smallest smile.

You talked about upcoming exams with them while they did your hair and makeup, much to their dismay. They attempted to fill you in on the various drama situations going on around campus while you had been heavily plugged into your textbooks. You gasped often, finding shock and awe in some of the things they had been telling you about classmates.

They spoke about Jake, letting it slip that he had been planning on attending the party, joined at the hip with one of the girls he had been rumored to have been dating. One of the many. “Ugh, he just sounds like a douche. Gives me even more reason to hate him.”

“We’re not feeding into your delusion that he’s some douchebag. Dropping it.” Tamia spoke, putting her hands up in a surrender. Mel laughed, pulling away from you with an eyeliner pen in hand. “Maybe we’ll get you drunk enough to admit you like him.”

“I don’t like him, and I thought we were dropping the topic.” You looked at Tamia in the mirror, watching her face deadpan as she looked back at you.

“I have something hot in my hands, don’t be rude to me.” The three of you laughed, getting back into the rhythm of getting ready. You let them do their thing to you, curling the last bit of your hair and putting the finishing touches of highlighter on your brow bone.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, marveling at the job they did. You thanked them for getting you all dolled up, watching them change into their outfits. It was mostly just them taking off the sweats they were wearing, throwing them over the back of your desk chair. You took a few pictures with them in your mirror before finally deciding to head out.

The party had started a half an hour ago, walking into the party late like most people did. The three of you got in easily with matching the dress code, immediately looking for the drinks table. The boys in charge handed the three of you a free shot of anything you wanted. Mel chose for you, starting the night out roughly with a shot of Svedka.

You grabbed a Sprite from one of the boys in one hand, the shot of Svedka in the other. The three of you tapped your glasses together before downing the shot. The alcohol burned as it slipped down your throat, trying to soothe it with the taste and coolness of the Sprite. You shook a bit, throwing the cup away in a nearby trash can.

“That was fucking gross, I hate you so much for choosing Svedka.”

“I could’ve chosen something even more nasty, like Jack.” Mel laughed, leading the three of you over to a section in the lounge where you could stand a decent enough distance away from one another, instead of being piled on top of one another.

“I would have rather taken a shot of Jack, Mel.” You spoke, sipping more of your Sprite. Tamia pointed out a few of the people they had talked about earlier, letting you put names to faces.

In the midst, two of the Sigma brothers decided to start a dance battle, capturing the attention of those around them. Everyone joined in, gathering around the two guys. Mel and Tamia joined too, but you had slipped out of their grasp by telling them you had to use the bathroom.

You were happy to escape the party, sneaking out with a bottle of Smirnoff the boys had left unattended. You walked outside, taking a deep breath in. You were thankful to be met with the smell of fresh air, not smelling sweat and booze everywhere. Your peace and tranquility was ruined by someone’s voice, “Well, don’t you look adorable.”

Your head snapped towards the voice, seeing Jake sitting up against the bike rack with a cigarette between his fingers. “Shut up.”

“What? I can’t compliment you?”

“No,” you started, crossing your arms with the bottle still in your hand. “No, you can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I hate you.” Jake looked at you, up and down, taking a drag of his cigarette. You screwed off the cap of the bottle, taking a pull. You tried your hardest to not make a face, looking away slightly when the familiar sting settled in your throat.

“Why do you hate me? I’ve never spoken to you before.”

“Do I have to have a reason?” You asked, walking closer to him.

“Suppose not. But if I knew why you hated me,” he tossed his cigarette butt on the ground, stomping on it with his boot. “Then maybe I could find a way to make you not hate me.”

“Unless you flunk your next exam, I guarantee that won’t happen.”

“Oh, I get it.” He chuckled, standing up from the bike rack he was leaning against. He grabbed his cigarette butt up from the ground, tossing it into the nearest garbage can. He turned towards you, staring at you with his brown eyes. “You’re just mad because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’re never in class. You shouldn’t be ahead of me.” You glared at him, lips moving into a frown.

“Just because I’m never there doesn’t mean I’m not getting the information. I work five, sometimes six days a week. We only have class three days a week. Typically, I gotta work those days. Heinz sends me the powerpoints and the assignment notes so I never miss anything.”

“Oh yeah? Where do you even work then?” You asked.

He chuckled, fingers brushing yours that were wrapped around the bottle. “Now if I told you that, it would ruin all the fun,” he looked you up and down once more, licking his lips slightly. “Well, maybe I’ll see you and your bottle inside.” 

You waited til the doors closed behind him to roll your eyes, and huff outwardly. You took the bottle of Smirnoff, turned on your heels and walked towards your dorm hall. You hated Jake. You really hated Jake.

—

Your midterms came and went. The stress decreased slightly, but only to be raised again as the end of the semester loomed around. Assignments started piling up, various papers and presentations due all around the same week. Since the end of Spring Break, you had been holed up in your room, left to your mountains of homework.

Your Microbio class had a presentation due that coincided with the research project you had been working on all semester long. Human Anatomy and Physiology (or affectionately known as BIO 312) had a major cumulative exam on the entire semester, which stressed you out more than any other homework assignment or exam you had.

Thankfully, your school held an all day event that attempted to boost the morale of the students on campus. Filled with a bunch of free things, you took advantage of everything offered.

Lined up on tables were various student organizations set up, with their own little games and prizes. A few of them had speakers that played the music they wanted to listen to, all speakers attempting to outman the other. However, the one that ended up winning was a tie dye station located in the lawn, handing out free t-shirts to dye.

One of the guys at the tie dye station had a wide smile on his face while his hands were dripping with dye. Setting your prizes down at a table where Tamia and Mel had put their things, you walked over to him. He welcomed you over with a smile, “Hey! Lookin’ to tie dye?”

“Yeah, I’m a medium.” You smiled at him, blocking the sun with your hand. He called over to Benny, asking him to pull a medium out for you. Benny handed you the shirt with a smile. “I’ve never dyed anything before.”

“Never?! That’s a crime against mankind, darlin’, let’s get this shirt dyed.” He spoke, talking you over the colors in each of the buckets. He explained to you some basic color theory, although you had remembered that from your high school painting class, you didn’t stop him; he was pretty when he spoke.

The curls on his head stuck out from the shaved sides, the gold of his earrings stood out underneath the blistering April sun. He licked his lips often, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his forehead. He helped you pick out the style you wanted, making sure the rubber bands were placed exactly where you wanted them. “I’ll dip them in the bucket for you so you don’t get your hands dirty.”

“Thank you. I could’ve managed on my own, but I definitely appreciate it.”

“Of course. What’s your name?” You offer up to him, before he lets out a chuckle. You question him with a pull of your eyebrows. “Jake talks about you.”

“You know Jake?”

“Yeah, he’s my twin.” As soon as the word left his mouth, you could see the resemblance; you almost scolded yourself for not realizing it sooner. They were similar, especially in their features and their eyes, although the two of them had very distinct color differences. Josh, as he told you after dropping the bomb on you, had warmer eyes, filled with caramel colored hues of brown in relation to Jake’s colder tones; his eyes were a darker shade of brown, with the occasional gleam of flirtation laced within the reflection.

He spoke quite differently from Jake, mostly just with the sound of his voice. It matched their eyes, their personalities. Josh’s bright, bubbly stature followed in his voice, almost theatrical as he spoke. “I guess that makes sense, you two do kind of look alike. Minus the hair, of course.”

“Well, of course. Mine’s better,” you liked that about him - how kind his tone was. You attempted to grill him about what Jake was saying about you, curiosity flowing violently through your bloodstream as if it lit your body on fire. “He just says that you’re second in the Bio class you have with him, and that it makes you mad.”

“It does, Jake’s never there. I’ve seen him three times, and two of those times were for exams.” Josh wrung out the part that had been soaking in the dye for a bit, watching the water fall back into the bucket.

“Yeah, it’s cause he’s working all the time, if I’m honest. Jake stays home during the week to work at the nursing home in our hometown. We don’t really have a large CNA population, most of the people who work there are highschool kids, so Jake’s really been their guy. Especially since high school, as soon as he graduated he moved to full time. All the old ladies love him.” He snorts, dipping your shirt into the blue dye.

“I didn’t know that.” You thought he was lying about where he was, which is why guilt started to eat away at you. You felt terrible for making assumptions, but you couldn’t take any of that back now.

“Jake doesn’t talk to a lot of people, but we love him anyway.” You chewed at your bottom lip, rethinking your opinion of Jake. “You goin’ to the concert later tonight?”

“Hadn’t decided. Mel and Tamia want to, so I’ll probably end up going. Are you?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll probably go.”

“Do you know who’s playing?”

“Some local band I think? I’ve heard a lot of the girls think the frontman’s pretty handsome.” He spoke with a smirk. You promised him you’d go, just to see if the girls had been right. He handed you your t-shirt to hold while he grabbed you a plastic bag. He also handed you a piece of paper with instructions on how to take care of your new tie dye.

“Make sure when you wash it, you wash it by itself. Otherwise, you’ll dye all of your other clothes and believe me, you don’t want that,” he chuckled, as if he was speaking from experience.

You thanked him with a warm smile, waving to him before returning to your room. As soon as you got back, you opened your window, allowing the air flow to travel inside. It kept you cool, allowing you to walk around comfortably with a t-shirt and shorts on. You put your plastic bag in the closet of your room, writing on your white board to remember to take it out and wash it tomorrow.

You texted Mel and Tamia, knowing that Mel would probably have some smart comeback about why you want to go to the concert. It wasn’t that you didn’t join them on nights out, you just had a lot riding on your academic success. Not only because you were the first one in your family to go to college, but also because of your mass of scholarships that only continued to flow if your GPA was at a suitable level. Anything below a 3.2, and you would lose almost all of them.

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

Are we going to the concert tonight?

From: The 3 Dumb Sluts - Mel

Are you offering to come with us without us needing to beg and plead for you to join?

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

Don’t make me take it back, Mel

From: The 3 Dumb Sluts - Tamia

We’re absolutely going. Come to mine whenever you want to get ready :)

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

The doors open at 8 right? I’ll be over about 5:30-6ish. Gotta finish up this paper for Heinz real quick

You locked your phone before they could scold you for doing homework on a day that was designated for relaxation and recuperation. You pulled out your Anat and Physio binder, pulling out the sources you printed off in the library. You ran through the last one with a blue highlighter between your teeth. 

You set an alarm on your phone for five o’clock, saving enough time for you to shower.  You were about halfway through the last page when your timer went off. You silenced it, attempting to hurriedly finish highlighting the page. The article was placed onto your desk, highlighter returned to the cup on your desk filled with various writing utensils.

You pulled out your shower caddy, putting it on top of your dresser before pulling out your robe. You laid it over the edge of your bed, removing all of your clothes. You threw them into your hamper and put on your robe. You slipped on your slides, grabbed your caddy and traveled to the bathroom.

Underneath the uneven streams from the showerhead, you thought about Jake.

Maybe your first impressions of him were wrong. When Josh told you about the nursing home back in their hometown, you felt instantaneously bad for assuming that he just never showed up. You knew from what Jake had told you, that he had work, but you figured that was just an excuse.

You bit at the skin of your lips, hands on your shoulders as you soaked the warmth of the water in. You were pulled out of your thoughts very quickly as someone flushed the toilet, making the water fade in from super hot to super fucking cold. You hated the school’s water system.

You finished your shower quickly, drying off with the towel slightly before putting your robe on and throwing your hair up into your towel. You walked back into your room, locking it behind you. You set your caddy back where it originally was.

You threw on a pair of jean shorts that hadn’t seen the light of day since early October, pairing it with a long sleeve shirt that you had gotten back in high school for Christmas. It was plain, brown, but hugged your body well. The sweatshirt debate lasted a few seconds before you remembered how hot it was going to be outside. A record temperature for mid-April, almost 80 degrees outside.

When you checked your phone getting back from the shower, it was just barely five thirty. You texted the groupchat again, asking if it would be cool to come over a half an hour earlier than you had originally said. You knew it was a dumb question, you would always be welcome in their room. You chuckled at Mel’s response of, “Are you fucking dumb? Of course you can come over. Bring wine if you have any left! No carry-in’s allowed at the concert.”

You put your phone down for a second and slipped on a pair of shoes that were comfortable enough for you to stand in for a long time. They used to be white, but had gotten progressively dirty from the years of use. You shoved your phone in your back pocket and slid a few different bottles of wine into your backpack, separated by extra clothing so the bottles didn’t clink together.

You walked down the stairs, out the door and over to the other dorm building across the walkway. You scanned your keycard to get into the building, walking through the hallways waving to the RA on duty, McKenna. She had been in a few of your classes and was always incredibly nice.

Her room this year was actually a few down from where you were living. McKenna was a great RA, knowing exactly how to handle the rowdiness of the floor while still keeping the resident’s respect. She didn’t bother them unless she needed to, and they didn’t bother her unless needed. She kept it underwraps about the underage drinking that would inevitably happen, mostly by telling the floor they could do what they want, as long as they were quiet by quiet hours (which was around ten thirty on the weekdays, and one in the morning on the weekends).

You took the elevator to the second floor of East Sunderland, getting off as soon as the doors opened. The booths that had previously been up had begun to dissipate, bringing the plastic tables back into the buildings they belonged in. You took a last glance at the people cleaning before heading into Mel and Tamia’s dorm building.

You knocked on the door, coming as soon as you announced yourself to Mel and Tamia. The girls laughed as you walked in, looking at a picture of Mel from when they were a kid. The two of them showed it to you as you settled your bag onto Mel’s chair in the corner of their room. “Your buck teeth! Oh my God, you were adorable, Mel.”

“Oh shut up, I bet you didn’t look any better.” Mel spoke to Tamia, making the three of you laugh. “Anyways, what wine did you bring?”

“The Barefoot we didn’t finish the other weekend, and then I still had some Rose, so I brought those over too. I wasn’t sure what we were feeling.” Tamia pulled some glasses from her shelves, passing them out to the two of you. You filled their glasses with the Rose you brought.

The three of you talked specifics on the plans for tonight, hitting up another fraternity party as soon as the concert ended. There were two separate ones going on at the same time, so the two of you weighed your options over which one to go to. “The Sigs are throwing one, but I’d rather die. Delta’s throwing one, too, we’ll go to theirs instead. And maybe see if anyone’s at the Sig party that we like and stop there before heading back to the dorms.”

You walked down with them to the Athletic Department, hoping to have gotten there early enough to get a good spot. As soon as the doors opened, you were filtered through the doors, making sure that you were students with the college. The three of you half ran to the barricade, settling yourselves against it on the right side, although still somewhat in the middle.

The show wouldn’t start for quite some time yet, the three of you talked amongst yourselves about upcoming finals, what you had to do for various classes. You also found a few people around you to chat to while you waited, hearing laughter roaring through various parts of the crowd.

A few students from the Admissions Office had taken the stage, playing a random playlist of music that matched what the band was going to be playing. Rock thundered through the speakers, filling audience members with anticipation. Rochel addressed the student body, “Hello everyone!” welcomed by the sounds of cheers and screaming.

“We’ve got about fifteen minutes before the band comes on stage, so help us warm them up to the stage!” Everyone clapped, although some of the girls around you looked unenthused as they stared down at their phones. You checked yours for any text messages from any family members. You had nothing, so you put it back in your pocket.

Around four songs played before Rochel turned the microphone on again. Everyone shouted before she talked. “Well, it’s that time! Please, give a warm welcome to Greta Van Fleet!”

Rochel and the two other students walked off the stage, passing by what you had assumed to be one of the band members. He sat behind the drums, smiling and waving off into the crowd. You cheered for him along with Tamia and Mel, cheering just as loud when their bassist walked onto the stage. Both of their hair was longer, goofy smiles on their faces as they got situated with their instruments.

Your mouth hung open as you watched the last two boys walk on stage, seeing the twins. Jake’s eyes scanned the crowd as he slung his guitar over his shoulder. He found you after a moment, sending a smirk your way. You closed your mouth, glaring at him. Mel laughed at you, noticing your demeanor shift. “How we doin’ tonight everyone?”

Everyone cheered. “A lot of you might know me and Jake, seen us on campus and stuff. It’s wonderful to see all of you here, coming to support us as we celebrate the onslaught of spring! It’s been a particularly warm one today, so make sure to drink water! There’s plenty to go around.”

Jake started them off, pick between his fingers as he strummed the beginning chords to one of their songs. Some of the girls had begun to scream, shouting at Jake’s response to Josh’s little speech before he began playing. His signature smirk formed, watching the girls go crazy, eyes scanning the crowd before he found you again.

As Jake continued to play, he looked over to you any time he could. It was hard to tear your eyes away from him, enthralled by the way he looked on stage. You tried your hardest, truly, to look at any of the other boys on the stage aside from Jake but you just couldn’t. He fit the stage just right, bringing the attention away from Josh and demanding to be seen by the entirety of the crowd. He belonged up there.

Jake went to the center of the stage during his solo. Josh lingered around the drummer, keeping to himself, drinking whatever was in his cup. They kept on playing as Jake took the spotlight, everyone cheering and screaming for him. You kept silent, wanting to hear him play. His fingers worked against the frets of the guitar, not before sliding down and up it quickly. 

You tried to hide the awe you were in, but your friends knew. They saw it written all over your face. The frustration and annoyance you felt when you first spotted Jake on stage dissipated the second his guitar solo began. You swallowed thickly, watching as his attention turned from his guitar to you, pointing it in your direction. Your cheeks flushed, and your thighs pressed together.

This was going to be a long night.

The second the concert was over, Josh thanked everyone for coming. His smile was wide as he waved goodbye to everyone, walking off next to Jake who had his guitar by the neck before he passed it off to one of the stage hands. Josh put his hands on his shoulders as they walked off stage.

You stuck around mostly waiting for the crowd to die down before trying to leave the building. Mel and Tamia talked about the show, saying that it was fucking dope, commenting on how excellent Jake’s playing was. You didn’t speak about Jake’s playing, mostly praising Josh for his spectacular performance. “I never expected that voice to come out of him, how heavenly.”

“Talking about me?” Jake cuts through your conversation, walking over to you with Josh not far behind. You roll your eyes. Tamia and Mel congratulate him on such an amazing performance, gushing about how sweet his guitar looks. “Why thank you, ladies.”

“Mel! I didn’t think you were going to be able to come.” He gushed, wiping his hands on the sides of his khaki shorts he had changed into.

“Yeah, well, Miss Quiet over here wanted to see her archnemesis, didn’t you?”

“I-I–” You turned your head slightly towards Jake, who had an amused smirk written all over his face. “I did not, Mellie, stop lying.”

“By the redness of your cheeks, sweetheart, I’d say she was telling the truth.” You had barely noticed that Mel, Tamia and Josh had slipped away from the two of you, leaving you alone.

“I didn’t even know you were playing.” You admitted shyly, hiding underneath a guise of innocence.

“Even if you did, you looked pretty hot and bothered by my playing.” You held the back of your arms, trying hard to maintain eye contact with him. You looked into his eyes, they were staring straight at you.

“Yeah, sure. I actually came because Josh said he was going. He neglected to mention that he was going to be singing,” you looked at Josh who wore a smile that read ‘guilty as charged’ before patting you on the shoulder.

“Hey, you didn’t ask. You just asked if I was going.” You rolled your eyes and chuckled slightly. “Anyways, Sam and Danny are gonna spend the night in my room, so I’ll have to find somewhere else to be tonight. Are you guys going to either of the frat parties tonight?”

“We’re going to the Delta party. The Sigs’ reputation is not the best, and I don’t feel like seeing whether or not it’s right.”

“That is completely understandable. I shall see you ladies there then. You coming, Jake? We still have a lot to put away.”

“Yeah, in a second,” he turned towards Josh who had begun to walk away, waving him off before turning back to the three of you. “I hope you guys enjoyed the show, maybe I’ll catch up with you at the party.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, actually, I would.” He smiled at you before joining the other boys cleaning up their amps and cords.

“Jesus Christ, the two of you just need to fuck or something. I don’t think I can handle another interaction like that,” Mel joked, making a gagging face when she finishes her sentence. You pushed at her arm, turning around and walking out of the gym.

Tamia and Mel giggled profusely about your and Jake’s rivalry. The two even started making bets on when the two of you would finally ‘get it on’, as Tamia put it. You just rolled your eyes at the conversation, changing the subject to something different.

—

The party, though filled with lots of fun and drinking, was a bust. While Josh had shown up with his younger brother and his brother’s friend, as you learned, in tow, Jake was nowhere to be found. You thought to ask Josh why he wasn’t there, but he was too busy dancing with Micah. Through the grapevine, you learned that Micah and Josh had been together since high school.

You stayed around the party for almost two hours before you wanted to go back. A small part of you had wished Jake had actually come. You wondered if maybe the two of you would get along if you put your competitive nature aside. You tried not to dwell on thoughts of Jake’s absence for too long, wanting to enjoy the rest of the night with your girls. But when you had enough of the party, you shouted in Mel’s ear to let her know you wanted to leave.

Mel and Tamia had made sure you got back alright about two hours into the party. Your legs were tired and your feet had begun to hurt. The two of them stumbled with you back to the door of your building, making sure you were inside before leaving to go back. They almost came in with you, until you insisted otherwise.

Laying on your bed with your head pointed towards the ceiling you started thinking about Jake again. What was his reason for not being at the party? Did he just make those comments beforehand just to rile you up? It seemed like the only valid reason your impaired mind could come up with.

You grabbed your phone, almost dropping it on the floor. You sluggishly opened Instagram, and searched for Jake’s profile. You scrolled through, looking at the few photos he did have on his page. Most of the pictures he had were of his guitar, or places he’s traveled. You were sent into a panic when you realized you had accidentally liked an older picture of Jake’s, one from freshman year of college. Hurriedly, you unliked it and immediately locked your phone.

That had been a few days ago.

Now it was Wednesday and your first final exam was here. It was for the class you shared with Jake, BIO 312.  It wasn’t exactly final exam time, but Professor Heinz was going to be away at a conference for a week starting Friday. You didn’t mind, though, since it spaced out your other finals enough to have a decent amount of time to study for them.

You sat at your desk, looking over your notecards one last time before the exam began. A frequent look around the room and you noticed Jake walking in, going to a random seat a couple rows in front of you. He set his bag down next to him, before bending down to grab his laptop. He noticed you watching him and sent a wink your way.

You looked away as you tried to hide the rush of rosy skin that fanned over your cheeks and heated up your ears. You tried to ignore him again until at least when the test started, embarrassed that you got caught looking at him. Your phone pinged and you pulled it out of your bag to look at it, as well as turn it on silent.

jacobtkiszka wants to send you a message.

You swallowed and hit the notification taking you straight to the message.

“Person who turns their test in last pays for coffee?”

Your lips curved into a small smile, feeling your fingers type the first thing that comes to your head.

“Hope you brought your wallet with you, Kiszka.”

You put your phone on Do Not Disturb and shoved it back into your bag. The professor walked through the door, setting her things down on the desk in the front of the room. Her coffee mug still had steam coming from it, freshly poured. A quick look of her watch after getting settled and it was time to start the exam. “Okay, everyone. It’s time for class. Take out your laptops and begin your exam. You may leave when you have finished. Thank you for a great semester, and good luck.”

The questions on the exam were all ones that you knew and had studied for for weeks. It was strenuous, trying to remember everything on the cumulative exam. You had hoped it would go quickly and you would answer them faster than Jake could. Occasionally, you turned to look at Jake, seeing if maybe he was trying to look at you too.

With one question left of your exam, you click the answer and press submit after a minute of debate. You had a bad habit of second guessing yourself occasionally; it was actually the bane of your testing experiences. You hated when you felt confident about an answer, until you really sat with the other possible answers it could be.

You put your laptop back into your bag, zipped it up and noticed that Jake had already left. You cursed to yourself, knowing that now you had to buy Jake a coffee. You waved goodbye to your professor with a smile and walked out the doors. Jake sat outside of the classroom at one of the tables they had throughout the building. “Whatcha reading?”

“Josh recommended it to me, but I’m going to be honest, I fucking hate this book.” He laughed, shoving it into his bag. “You know any good coffee shops around here? I’m kind of tired of Starbucks.”

“I just so happen to know the best coffee shop in town, but it is a bit of a walk, if you don’t mind that?” You asked, walking through the door that Jake was holding before muttering a thank you to him. 

“I could also drive, if you’re okay with that.”

“I’m more than okay with that,” you chuckle, letting him know that your dorm building had enough stairs; any chance you could get to use an elevator, or get driven somewhere, you would take that opportunity in a heartbeat.

The drive was short in comparison to the twenty minute walk it would have taken to get to the shop. Jake tried to offer the radio to you, but you let him play what he wanted to listen to. You didn’t know exactly who was playing, but the blues music that played through the speakers was a breath of fresh air.

Your typical shuffle had a plethora of music from differing genres, whether that be rap or old country. You hadn’t known much when it came to blues music, especially the difference between good blues music and bad. Eventually, you got the courage to ask who was playing and Jake answered, letting you know that the song was by Buddy Guy. “It’s called She Suits Me To A T. I tried for weeks to learn this song when I first started playing music more seriously.”

“This is the coffee shop, at the next corner.” You watched his hand as he made a right turn, noticing him steering with just the palm of his hand. Letting the leather steering wheel glide back to its original position in his hand, elbow propped on the door with the window rolled down.

It’s all you thought about on your way into the coffee shop, completely relying on autopilot. Your responses to Jake were almost textbook, one word sentences that could continue the conversation without much effort. “What’re you thinking of getting?”

“Oh, um, I’m not sure. I usually have them surprise me,” you admit, shoving your hands into your jacket. “Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s not. That’s the gamble you take.”

“I like that a lot, actually. I think I’ll have them surprise me too, if you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all.” You smiled at Jake before he went to order for the two of you. You found a place to sit in the meantime, offering a spot towards the windows so you could watch people come and go, each on their own paths of life.

By the time Jake sat down, both of the coffees were in his hand. After a few questions, Jake set the iced drink down in front of you, and the hot drink in front of himself. “Yours is an iced chai, with brown sugar syrup and vanilla. Mine is some sort of tea, I wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying. I just wanted to remember what she put in yours in case you liked it.”

“Oh,” you spoke, bringing the cup towards you. “Thank you, that’s really sweet. Do you like your drink?”

“You know, it’s really not bad. I wouldn’t have gotten it otherwise, but it’s really not bad.”

“You hate it.”

“I hate it. It’s not good.” The two of you chuckled before you offered him a sip of your drink. “Mhmm,” he moaned. “That’s good, oh my God.”

The two of you continued small talk, whether it was over the classes you had previously taken, memories of parties from past years – anything. You shared previous high school experiences, mostly about the ridiculous things that were considered parties in your teenage years.

Conversation with Jake was surprisingly a lot easier than you thought it would be. Especially since you’ve hated him pretty much your entire college career. You figured he’d be stuck up, aware of his academic achievements and ready to flaunt them in front of anyone who’d listen.

He was the opposite. His sentences were wrapped with kindness, and the reflection in his voice seemed nothing but positive. His voice was like silk, he could’ve talked you into damn near anything as long as his voice sounded like that. It hurt when the conversation slowed, spending a few moments to take in the scene around you two, as well as finally being able to drink more of your drink (which was very delicious, it was almost like crack).

“How long have you been playing guitar?” You asked after the silence became almost uncomfortable to sit with.

“Oh jeez. I’ve been playing since I was… like three? Yeah, three.” You stared at him with eyes slightly wide, mouth agape. “What?”

“N-Nothing, that’s just a really long time. You’re what, 21 now?” He clarified that he was only twenty, his birthday roughly a week away. You poked fun at him, mentioning how you were older, even if it was by less than a year.

“Josh is throwing us a birthday party, if you want to come. Since it’ll be our 21st, we’re having it at our parents cabin on Lake Michigan. You’re welcome to bring Mel and Tamia if you’d like. Sam and Danny are going to be there, even though they’re underage, but we’re gonna pretend like they’re older.” Jake spoke with one last sip of his drink, letting the empty cup echo on the table as he set it down.

“I will let Mel and Mia know. I can’t make any sure decisions without talking to them first, but I’m pretty damn sure that they’ll say they would love to go.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’ll say no either. They seem pretty adamant that you have a little crush on me or something,” he said, putting your cups inside of a bus tub to be picked up and washed.

“I don’t have a crush on you,” you laughed, walking out of the coffee shop with Jake. “I actually hate you, remember?”

“You may say that you hate me, but you’re not really good at showing it.”

[the-blind-geisha]

Questions about OCs and stuff

You can find the original file here! I reblogged it super late at night.

Gonna fill this one out myself, because it looked fun!

OC questions:

* Who was your first ever OC? Do you still “use” them? How have they evolved over time?

Oreana was my first ever OC, and yes I do! She evolved from me wanting to write myself in with my favorite fixations to becoming her own actual character.

I could tell as a character she wanted to have the princess title removed, but I refused since I wanted that to be another obstacle for her. XD

2. Who is your newest OC? Why did you make them?

Asther Thyme, my goat OC was one I bought on toyhouse, but newest one made by me is Demiurge turned into a jackal.

I bought the goat because I am trying to rethink about this old idea of mine I wrote years ago as a kid that had more furries in it than humans. Demiurge turning into a jackal was just originally for fun but he stayed after awhile.

3. Biggest self-insert OC?

Oreana. XD; While she's come a long ass way since then, I still feel the parts of me that are in her.

4.What kind of music do your OCs listen to?

There's too many to list. Oreana just likes anything with a good beat, and Ignatius and Demiurge prefer instrumental.

5. What are some of your OCs biggest fears?

Oreana: being used again Ignatius: enduring loss again Demiurge: the loss of himself

Demona: never returning home

Cheshire: Demiurge ever getting his Creator's love when he feels he doesn't deserve it.

6. Do you have any OCs without stories? Will you ever create one for them?

Yuna, Asther, Elasha, and Haruka. Their Toyhouse bios aren't even filled in yet, because I don't know what to do. XD;

And yes, they will! I just have to get my ideas all together first.

7. What are your favourite relationships between your OCs? (romantic or platonic!)

Romantic, mainly because of the lack of love in my life. XD;

8. Do you have any OC family trees?

Oreana does have parents and 2 brothers—as well as an ancestor I can't get into because that's spoilery, and Ignatius has a twin brother.

9. Favourite OC?

It bounces from Oreana, Ignatius, to Demiurge.

10. OC you most struggled to make?

Ignatius. In fact, he went through a redesign about a year—er two years—ago. He originally was just going to look very much like a guy from YYH I loved but a naga, till I decided to make him more like an amalgamation of characters and ideas I loved. Doing that was so much so for the better. As I don't have to feel fixated on the one canon character to be fixated on him.

Fanfic questions:

11. * Sum up one or more of your wips!

Werewolf professor in a fantasy styled Victorian London looks to try and quell the fear over the werewolf curse. It's a commission so I can't really plop too much of it down.

12. Which story took the most research?

Anything from Assassin's Creed. Especially the Victorian London ones regarding brothels, tuberculosis, opium dens, and factories.

Don't get me started on the sex stuff... since that was considered 'prudish', it feels nearly lost to time.

13. Which story has the most lore?

Uuuh... A Love Most Profound and or The Demon King of the Desert, depending what you mean. Both spoke of their beliefs and even had rough outlines of their worlds.

14. Current word count of all your main wips?

I don't think I have any active yet since I'm on vacation.

15. How many projects do you have going on right now? Are there any that you doubt you’ll ever finish?

I have my private journal

A private personal story

In Another Life, We Could Have Been Lovers

Amnesia: A Dreamer's Requiem

An Empty Heart Full of Memories

The Devil After Midnight

The Devil's Tome

Within the Dream Temptation

The Princess and the Dove

I am not sure. I would like to get through all of these, but it's doubtful.

16. What was you first major project? How far along is it?

I guess The Devil's Contract would be considered that. And it's done now at 50 chapters. I was quite happy to have it finished.

17. What are some tropes and character dynamics found in your wips?

Slow burn, soulmates, and just romantic stuff.

18. Describe the setting of one or more of your wips

Horror fantasy of who is doing what and what is happening under the OC's nose, Victorian werewolf fantasy, and murder fantasy with a bit of reincarnation? I guess we'll say.

19. What are some things that inspired your stories? Real events? Maybe a dream?

Dreams more than anything, and if not those, anything I play or watch. Even The Demon King had elements of LOZ in it.

20. What story are you the proudest of? Why?

The Demon King of the Desert. It helped me come to terms with a bit more online trauma, and it seemed to touch a few folks. So I'm happy with it.

About me questions:

21. * When did you start considering yourself a writer/artist?

Artist, I always felt I was one. In fact, I was quite upset when I got online and people preferred my writing over my art. XD But I came to terms with it after awhile. Heck, I realize when I blend the two, people enjoy both.

Writing started to happen the more I wrote stories on websites, and folks came to love them or use them as a means to shoulder through a tough time in their life.

22. What are all the “kinds” of writing/art you do? (short stories, poetry, screenplays, digital, painting, clay, etc.)

I do short stories, poetry, digital art, traditional art too at some points—and sing as well as (kind of) play the piano.

23. Are you in any writer/artist groups? (Ex: discord server!)

Sadly, not really. I get nervous to spread my works to places I'm not comfortable in. But I've heard joining discord servers is a good idea.

24. Do you have/want a career in your medium? If not, what do you do/want to do instead? I would love to publish a book or do a comic of some sort. How I'll go about that, I have zero clue.

25. What’s your favourite genre to write? Is it also your favourite genre to read?

Fantasy and or romance. I prefer to read fantasy over reading romance. I only write romance because of the trauma in my life.

26. What are your favourite books?

The Maze Runner and The Last Unicorn.

27. What are your favourite movies?

The Last Unicorn,Watership Down, and now The Super Mario Brothers Movie (I've watched it like 4 times since I bought it lol).

28. Favourite songs at the moment?

Moonlight Shadow (original artist Mike Oldfield but any artist will do), The Secret of Monkey Island intro melody, and Tombi from Trigun.

29. What was your first fandom you were in? Did you make any art/fanfic for it?

Ronin Warriors, and yes, I wrote and drew for it but ALL that stuff is now archived and lost to time. Lol Well, only gone from the net, really. I still have it offline.

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Leonard ‘Lenny’ Cullman *Supporting character

Voice Claim: (Nathan Fillion) https://youtu.be/XNnsKEyvZhE?t=11

Partner(s): Married to Katherine Cullman Parents: No longer living Siblings: None. Kids: Andy Cullman Age: 57 (2021) Height: 188cm (6.1ft) Body type: Medium. Eye color: Goldenbrown. Classification: Human. Immortal.

About: Intelligent, Balanced, Friendly, Social, Charismatic, Charming, Cheeky,  Caring, Open minded, Adaptable, Practical, Calm, Neat, Warm, Playful, Flirtatious, Resourceful, Confident, Logical, Helpful, Considerate, Cheerful, Reliable, Patient, Honest, Fair and Organized. ~ Sexuality straight. ~ Retired salesman. ~ Has brown hair with silver streaks. ~ Plays golf. ~ Very protective of Andy. ~ Likes a bit of luxury. ~ Is a pretty good dancer. ~ Gets along with pretty much anyone he comes across. ~ Very good cook. ~ Is very close to his older brother, George. ~ Very young for his age. ~ Is a bit of a clean freak, and often starts cleaning stuff when he’s bored. ~ Most people call him Lenny, he even introduce himself as Lenny 98% of the time. ~ Enjoys taking long walks in nature. ~ Drinks a lot of wine. ~ Dislikes Starbucks. ~ Dad jokes on max. ~ Likes longing around his living room or garden, reading News Paper or books. ~ Smells like: Sweet tobacco or warm earthy tones. ~ Died together with his wife years ago, under mysterious circumstances, was brought back to life in 2014, now lives as an immortal human. ~ Values family highly and loves inviting family and friends over for food. ~ Proud dad. ~ Smokes a cigar here and there. ~ 11/10 will flip the mattress if there’s crumbs in the bed! ~ Is overall a very warm person. ~ Always ready with a shoulder to lean on. ~ Great support if you want to get a little tipsy. ~ Almost always smiling. ~ Great listener. ~ As soon as the sun is out, you can find him grilling meat in the garden! ~ Loves: Andy, his wife, his family and friends, cooking, cherry wine, eggs - no matter how they are cooked, French toast, reading, home-baked bread, teasing his son, jacuzzi time, cleaning, bits of luxury, partying, Smokie (the band) Roy Orbison, Cognac, bonfires, going out for dinner and quiet mornings. ~ His style is on the casual formal side. ~ If you need a compliment, Katherine is your go-to person!

Biography: (Coming soon) Lenny’s tag Lenny’s house/home Lenny’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One gif to describe him:

One song to describe him: Smokie - Lay Back in the Arms of Someone Personal Playlist: 1. Smokie - If You Think You Know How to Love Me 2. Roy Orbison - You Got It 3. Marvin Gaye - Let's Get It On 4. The Temptations - My Girl 5. Smokie - Don't Play Your Rock 'n' Roll to Me 6. Bill Withers - Ain't No Sunshine 7. Roy Orbison - In The Real World 8. Gloria Estefan - Conga 9. Stevie Wonder - Superstition 10. Smokie - I'll Meet You at Midnight 11. Roy Orbison - Oh, Pretty Woman 12. Lionel Richie - All Night Long (All Night) 13. Abba - Knowing Me, Knowing You 14. Smokie - Needles And Pins 15. Roy Orbison - A Love so Beautiful 16. Eurythmics - There Must Be An Angel (Playing With My Heart) 17. The Beach Boys - Kokomo 18. Billy Paul - Me And Mrs. Jones 19. Roy Orbison - In Dreams 20. Smokie - Wild Wild Angels

[jeannereames]

What made you interested in the life of Alexander in the first place (before you became an expert)? Like, what about his life hooked you?

First, I had a similar question, albeit about Hephaistion, see link below. In some ways, my answer to Why Alexander? hinges on Why Hephaistion? I walked into Penn State already knowing what I wanted my dissertation to be on (Hephaistion), and it remained only to convince my committee that sufficient ancient evidence existed to write it. So, I link to that to read at the outset, then will address the rest below.

I’ve told the story before, here and elsewhere, of how I first discovered Alexander, and that may also explain a little of what hooked me. I was in grad school, taking early church history; this guy, “Alexander the Great” kept getting referred to on a par with Julius Caesar, in terms of importance. I knew who Caesar was, but not really Alexander. I’d heard the name, sure, but knew nada about him. That’s because I’d managed to get through both high school and my undergraduate degree (in English/Creative Writing) with virtually NO history classes. (Something that, now, I consider a bad thing, mind.) History had bored me because my junior high teachers had largely been inept.

In any case, realizing I should probably find out something about this guy, I trotted over to the Emory Uni library and checked out two biographies, randomly selected—one because it had pictures! This was the summer of 1988.

Fatefully, these turned out to be N.G.L. Hammond’s Alexander the Great: King, Commander, and Statesman (1980) and Peter Green’s Alexander of Macedon (1973). The first was Hammond’s older, more measured bio, and the latter Green’s original Thames & Hudson edition (with images) that the Univ. of California Berkeley later republished in 1991 (with some, but surprisingly few, updates).

Anyway, the portrait of Alexander in these two biographies is WILDLY different. While I knew historians didn’t always agree on things, this seemed…excessive? So I became very curious about this fellow for three chief reasons:

His unsurpassed success…that unsurpassed success at such a young age…and how he could be regarded so very differently now (and then). I was also intrigued by the fact he seemed to have had a real best friend, not a suck-up, in Hephaistion. I’d been interested in King Arthur years previous, and found the Arthur-Lancelot parallels of interest, minus Guinevere. I didn’t realize until much later those parallels were based on Alexander and Hephaistion.

The more I found out, the more he seemed suitable to me for a novel. (Remember, I was a writer before I was an historian.) So I set out to write an historical about him. In December of ’88, I wrote the first chapter of Dancing, with a runaway boy (Hephaistion) showing up in Pella, and accidentally befriending the prince.

As a long-time fan of SFF, especially historical and anthropological fantasy and science fiction, sliding into mainstream history didn’t seem too hard…except I have this little problem. I want to get it right. In SFF, worldbuilding is based on reality, and the better worldbuilding really does the homework. But things can (and should) be invented too. I wasn’t prepared for the rigor required—or at least, that I required of myself—for a mainstream historical.

So down the rabbit hole I went.

I became interested not just in Alexander, and Hephaistion, but in the country that produced them. I still count myself as much an Argead Macedoniast as a specialist on Philip and Alexander the Great—which was required to write Dancing with the Lion. Alexander has yet to earn his reputation there, so the world of the novel(s) is Argead Macedonia, not Alexander’s empire.

Historical novelists sometimes have a problem figuring out when to stop researching and start writing. That wasn’t actually my problem. I had the first (too short) version of the novel done before I arrived at Penn State for the PhD. I’d always intended to get a PhD. I’d just assumed it would be in English, or in Religious Studies. But I’d already discovered how much I enjoyed ancient Macedonia, so one of my applications went to Penn State, even though I had no (useful) language or background in history.

Ironically, Penn State offered me the graduate assistantship, so that’s where I wound up.

So that’s a little bit about how I ended up studying Alexander and Macedonia, not just writing fiction about him. I feel that the two have dovetailed well. I suppose you could say it was a collection of happy accidents…or fate, whichever you prefer.  

[babyboibucky]

The Match

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You come across your boss’ Tinder profile.

Word Count: 1,446

Warnings: HMMMM sexual tension 😏

A/N: I wrote this in a whirl and tried to format it through the app last night and it SUCKS so I’m posting this just now. Anyway, there will definitely be a smutty part two to this lmfao ya know it

Edit: PART 2 IS UP!!!

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

Saturday night and you’re on your bed, wine-drunk and all as you mindlessly swiped through Tinder. You start to frown when none of the guys impressed you enough to swipe right. Their bios were all the same, revolving around their egos only to end up with the good ol’ “DTF” line.

Bored and disappointed, you almost exited the app until a very, very familiar face appeared on your screen.

“Holy shitballs, it’s our boss.” You sat up immediately, bringing your phone to your face for a close inspection.

Indeed, it was your boss James Barnes but he was using “Bucky” as his profile name. You wondered whether it was his real account or a poser one. But then you remembered his closest colleagues calling him that.

You snorted as you checked out his profile. He didn’t have a bio but had a couple of photos uploaded. And oh wow, is that a shirtless mirror photo?

You rarely worked closely with your boss but goddamn, sometimes you wished you did because he was a hot piece of ass.

“Should I swipe right...” you mumbled to yourself.

Would it be unprofessional to do so? But then again, you never really interacted with him that much. Just a couple of polite nods and greetings whenever you passed by him at the office. You weren’t even directly reporting to him.

That being said, you were quite sure that he wouldn’t swipe right on you given that you’re his employee. Of course he wouldn’t want to be the unprofessional one so being tipsy and all, you decided to take one for the team.

“Tss, what the hell.” You huffed out and swiped right.

Not even a second later, the “It’s a match!” message popped up on the screen almost immediately. You choked on your wine and dropped your phone, eyes wide and heart racing because you just matched with your fucking boss.

“Shit!” You hissed, diving onto the floor the pick your phone up.

If the message popped out as soon as you swiped right on him, then that means...

“He swiped right on me first, what the fuck!”

-

Monday came quickly and you’ve never been this restless before. You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you matched with your boss on Tinder. Neither of you messaged the other over the weekend but now that you were headed to work, you honestly didn’t know what to expect.

You debated whether to call in sick or maybe, pretend that you died? Pack your bags and perhaps fly to a different country and start anew? You were overacting but matching with your boss on a dating app known for hook-ups should be a valid reason to justify your thoughts.

Maybe James didn’t recognize you that’s why he swiped right. That was possible since you and him didn’t really work together. It’d be better if he swiped right by accident, his phone probably slipped from his hands. He probably doesn’t even know he matched with you, yeah, you decided to settle on that conclusion.

Taking a deep breath in, you fixed your hair before stepping out of your car. Mondays were meant for meetings so he probably wouldn’t be around the office anyway. You rushed over to the elevator and let out a sigh of relief when you didn’t have to share it with anyone.

That was until someone managed to slip a foot in between the doors, catching up to you before the elevators slammed shut.

“Oh.”

Well, well, well if it isn’t James “Bucky” Barnes. Out of all the people you had to share an elevator with, it just had to be him! And judging by how his eyes widened at the sight of you, the Tinder incident wasn’t simply an accident.

“Good morning.” He greeted, clearing his throat as he stood beside you.

James’ scent wafted in the air as soon as the doors slid close and he smelled divine. He smelled like a man, a man man and it almost made your eyes roll. You greeted him back with a soft voice, fighting so hard not to look at him because as always, he looked pretty damn good.

He was restless beside you, adjusting his suit and then his tie. You could see him through your peripheral vision, he kept on fixing his hair as well. Did he get a haircut? It was shorter than before, not that you were paying way too much attention to him.

Meanwhile, you too were fidgeting with your shoulder bag, picking at the leather and praying for this torture to be over before you could even lose control and slam your lips against his.

“How was your weekend?” James asked, glancing at you.

This was probably the longest conversation you had with your boss. You weren’t even sure which was more awkward, striking a conversation after the match or simply remaining quiet for the entire ride up.

“Um, it was good. Yours?” You asked, stammering a little as you stole a quick glance at him.

James nodded, “Good too. Interesting actually.”

Fuck! He knows, he so knows about the match.

You would have preferred complete silence over the elevator music echoing in the air while the both of you were obviously feeling the tension. Was the elevator really this slow?! And when did it get this hot?!

You started fanning yourself when you started to sweat from the awkwardness of it all. Bucky too could obviously feel it, the tension and the elephant in the room waiting to be acknowledged. He loosened his tie all of a sudden, popping the top buttons of his dress shirt which quickly reminded you of the shirtless pic in his profile.

You could feel the heat creep up to your neck and ears. With how bright the lights were in the elevator, it’d be easy for James to notice how red you turned.

“Kinda hot today, don’t you think?” He asked.

You let out a mirthless chuckle, “Yeah, really hot. I think the maintenance should have the air conditioning unit checked.” You breathed out, clearing your throat again as you wiped the sweat forming on your forehead.

For a couple of seconds there was nothing but the collective sounds of you and your boss clearing your throats. The tension was so thick you can literally touch it if you tried. You wanted to address the unspoken issue but how the hell were you going to do that? Jump on his bones? It would seem like a good idea to do so except that he was your boss and that would result to you losing your job.

You wanted to ask James though, whether he was aware that you were his employee when he swiped right. Actually, you just wanted to bring up the topic just to get it over with. Acknowledge the match and then pretend it didn’t happen to save you both from the embarrassment. Yeah, you could do that.

Unable to hold back anymore, you broke the silence to ask James a question.

“Did you swipe right on accident?”

“So are you down to fuck?”

You and James asked at the same time, his straightforward question making you weak in the knees because what the hell...

James bit his lip, shaking his head in response. “I didn’t.”

“Oh.” You blinked, unable to stop yourself from staring at James’ mouth when he ran his tongue over his lower lip before taking it in between his teeth as he looked you over with glazed eyes.

Damn that tongue, though. And damn those blue eyes too.

“Are you...?” He repeated again, reminding you of his question.

Your boss, whom you rarely interacted with in the office, just asked you whether you were down to fuck. Truthfully, you were only on Tinder because of boredom and it wasn’t your goal to actually hook-up with someone. But now that your hot boss swiped right on you and seemed to be really interested in you...

“I...uhh...” you stammered, not really knowing how to tell him that yes, you would very much like to be fucked by him.

The elevator dinged, interrupting the tension between you and James. The doors slid open and James quickly straightened up before walking ahead.

But not without turning around to look at you expectantly, waiting for a response.

Due to the pressure and the elevator doors beginning to close, you blurted out the first thing that you could muster.

“Yes, sir!”

You blushed at your response but it seemed to have stirred something in James because his eyes darkened as he smirked at you.

“Good. Then I’ll see you in my office in fifteen.”

-

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[illfoandillfie]

Can you give us some spicy and sweet headcanons of Roger from your AKoE universe? 👀

here you go anon! a handful of sweet and spicy headcanons that i wrote instead of working on the actual chapter lmao

Sweet:

Roger met Margo when they were in uni but only after Queen broke up. She was not into the grunge scene and sometimes still teases him about trying to be Dave Grohl.

Roger was 34 when Sylvester was born. Most of his friends already had kids so he defs felt a bit weird about being an older first time dad, but he'd also wanted kids for ages. He and Margo agreed to start properly trying for them after they'd been married for about six months but it was a few years before they were successful. In fact, they'd started looking into fertility specialists and adoption agencies when they found out Margo was pregnant. Roger counts his kids births as the happiest days of his life.

Reader first came to Roger's attention when she bombed an assignment. He had a fairly large cohort of bio students to teach so while he was previously aware of her it was only as one name among many. Her work had been decent up to that point, though not the best in the class, and he mentally pegged her as one of the kids who'd struggle as the bio content got harder and end up dropping the subject. Instead she buckled down and improved her work which very much impressed Roger. He was pleased to say he was wrong and see her back in his class in second year.

on weekends that he has his kids he makes sure they do any homework and chores early so that the rest of the weekend can be more fun. They usually pop to the video store on their way home from school and each pick something to rent and some fun snacks so that they can have a movie night (which sometimes includes building a blanket fort). Once when both kids had chickenpox he moved the TV into his bedroom and they all curled up in his big beg with ice cream.

His kids have been on multiple playdates with the children of other kinksters he met at munches, mostly when they were younger. There was a boy around the same age as Sylvester who's mum was a widow just starting to try and meet guys again. She and Roger hooked up a couple of times but it wasn't a regular thing. But they did take their kids to the park together and babysit for each other sometimes. Roger used to joke about starting a babysitting roster with some of the other parents to determine who'd watch all the kids while they others were having an orgy.

Spicy

Roger has had 3 serious/regular play partners since his divorce. Two of them he dommed (although there was a little switching sometimes) and one that dommed him. Be he's also done one off scenes with a few others, mostly in private but one or two public demonstrations at play parties.

As hed got older he'd found himself drawn to submitting more. In his 20s he and Margo started experimenting with it a bit and once he got into the kink community he found he really really liked it. It's nice being told what to do. Different to being a dad or a teacher where he's the one giving instructions. Letting someone else call the shots and look after him feels really nice.

His weekly sessions with Reader is the most regular sex he's had in a good six or seven months. His previous regular partner moved away for work and he hadn't found anyone else yet when Readder approached him with her proposal. He sometimes thinks it was the semi-dry spell he was in that made him say yes.

His fave position changes depending on the situation. If it's a bondage scene he likes having her standing with her arms tied above her head and maybe a leg tied up so he can easily reach her cunt. If it's another kinky scene with impact play or denial or DP - he likes doggy. With Margo their preference was cowgirl because she came best on top of him (and he could pull her into a kiss when he wanted). But with Reader he's not sure yet. Because their whole thing is about exploring different things he hasn't really had a chance to find a favourite. But he is a little concerned by how often his dreams of her end in very intimate missionary or spooning.

Roger finds it hard to pick the best sex of his life but a contender was the day Queen's one and only album was released. Roger took the CD to the local pub and showed it to the very fit bird who worked the bar. He'd been trying to get off with her for months and finally she let him. She gave him a blowjob in the back alley and then, when he pouted and said he wanted to fuck her she rolled her eyes and let him take her home. They did it twice and she left her underwear behind.

The sex he thinks about most is his first time with Reader. Partly because he knew he shouldnt have done it, partly because it was hot knowing it wasn't really allowed, and partly because of how stupidly easy he'd found it to give in and how much he wanted to make her feel good. He can't decide if it was a mistake or one of the best things he's ever done.

[can-of-pringles]

Not To Be Forgotten

(gif by @phantom-evil​ because Tumblr couldn’t find it in the gif search)

Rating: Gen

Warnings: None except a bit of angst, other than that it's pretty much fluff

Word Count: 3k

Summary:

He didn’t know why he stayed or how Dr. Brenner had convinced him to follow. His burning curiosity grew too strong at that moment, he assumed. If he wasn’t careful, his emotions would get the better of him. 

Notes: (PLEASE NOTE) This is a prequel to my other Stranger Things fanfic, Similarities. It takes place in the same AU. An AU of mine where Peter Ballard/Henry Creel is Eleven's bio father. I wrote this after writing Similiarites because of finding one scene after that might be evidence of Henry Creel/001 being there when Eleven is born. Technically, it doesn't matter which one you read first, but I'd suggest reading Similarities first simply because you'd understand more why there are a few potential plot holes in it due to this fanfic. But like I said, this was written after, and I tried avoiding plot holes as much as I could. Though I think a little bit of error is fine if the Duffers are allowed to completely forget Will's birthday... anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Henry is 24 years old in this.

Forgive me if there’s any mistakes, I tried posting this to Tumblr like 3 times smh.

Also Read On AO3 

Tag list: @nebulousfishgills​ , @my-horror-slasher-ocs​ , @noahspector​ , @cuethemulti​ , @dark-dimare​

He didn’t know why he stayed or how Dr. Brenner had convinced him to follow. His burning curiosity grew too strong at that moment, he assumed. If he wasn’t careful, his emotions would get the better of him. Henry Creel, or Peter Ballard as he was called now, currently waited in some sort of medical facility. He knew it was connected to the lab, but it wasn’t the same as the standard buildings. He wasn’t sure how long he had been waiting by himself, but minutes seemed to drag on; causing his mind to wander. He started thinking about the conversation he’d had with Dr. Brenner earlier.

---

(Previously) “Peter,” Peter saw Brenner trying to get his attention. “Come with me, please.” He instructed. Peter let out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding. He forced a smile and nodded. His mind, always thinking the worst, ran through the several reasons why he could receive a punishment. But none of them made sense. He hadn’t done anything wrong that he could think of. Or at least, nothing that Brenner had noticed. Despite his bitterness, he mostly followed Brenner’s rules. Though that was for avoiding punishments and other consequences. He hated how much control the man had over him. He followed Brenner from the rainbow room into a hallway, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. “May I ask... what have I done wrong?” He asked hesitantly, as he and Brenner walked side by side. There was always a chance that punishment would worsen by asking the ‘wrong’ question, but it didn’t stop him this time. The older man gave him a puzzled look. “Nothing, nothing is wrong... in fact, it’s the opposite.” Peter remained silent in his confusion. “We’re expecting another addition to our family in the lab,” Brenner continued. Peter felt his stomach turn as he watched the man smile at the news. He despised it when Brenner referred to his experiments and subjects as a family. He hadn’t had a great perspective of what a family was supposed to be like, but he knew it wasn’t this. “You mean another subject?” Peter asked. He didn’t understand why Brenner was making a big deal out of this. Yes, Peter would be informed whenever there would be a new subject, but Brenner rarely pulled him aside to talk about it for this long. “In other words, yes,” he answered. “Today will be their birthday.” “A lab-born one...?” Peter thought. He secretly felt a bit of sympathy for the ones who didn’t know life beyond the lab. Peter continued walking, albeit slower. “Why did you ask me to walk with you?” He asked. Something in him felt more daring that day, hence the speaking up more and the questions. Daring? Or just foolishness... Henry could think about that later. “Because I figured you’d want to be involved,” Brenner said. “Be there for the moment,” Peter said nothing in response but noticed the knowing look Brenner was giving him. Hinting. “So, you mean...” Peter trailed off. For some reason, he couldn’t finish the sentence. Maybe because he was secretly scared to get an answer for the things he avoided thinking about. Brenner didn’t give him a verbal response but continued looking at him in a way that answered his suspicions. Peter swallowed nervously and glanced away as they continued walking. Deep down, he already knew what Brenner had meant by that, but assumed that he didn’t want to have it verbally considered ‘on the record’, for whatever reason. Probably to potentially manipulate him. To tell him later on that he was crazy or delusional for believing that Brenner had confirmed it. Peter fidgeted with his hands until Brenner glanced at him. He stuck them in his pockets. He hated how pathetic he was when he felt nervous. It made him feel weak like he was just as susceptible to his emotions as every other human. One thing that helped distance him from them was to analyze his feelings. His nerves almost felt humorous if he looked at it from a logical standpoint. He’d been through worse. So why was this the reaction he was getting? Maybe it was normal to be feeling this way because of the current situation. It’s not like he had other life experiences to compare it to. He hated feeling unprepared. “Peter?“ He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Brenner. He really needed to stop spacing out. “I’m feeling especially nice, so I will give you a choice, One,” Brenner said, calling him by his lab number. Since it was just the two of them, it didn’t really matter what he called him. However, Peter almost recoiled at the sound of it. He already felt less than an actual person, but only being called a number, not even a real name, made it worse. “Choice?“ “The choice to be there and witness, or to go back to the rainbow room.” Brenner continued.

Now he understood why Brenner had called him over. They stood outside another set of doors. Peter didn’t know why Brenner was being so generous suddenly. Well, as generous as he could be. Was this a trick? If so, it was a strange one. He considered his offer. Throughout his whole life at the lab, Peter didn’t get choices often. He usually just had to accept whatever Brenner did with him. So whatever decision he made about this would be crucial. Technically, it wouldn’t hurt to just be there. In all honesty, his curiosity grew. He had always been a curious person. It was probably what drove him. “So?“ Brenner waited for his response. Peter remained silent as he thought about it. When he finally decided on his answer, he spoke. “Yes.” “Good, I think this will be a great experience for all of us,” Brenner said. “All of us?“ He repeated. Not because he didn’t understand, but he wanted to know specifics. “Terry Ives is the mother,” Peter nodded shortly. He slightly remembered her. They had maybe one or two brief interactions between them in the past. Nothing more than a quick ‘hi’ or passing each other by in the hallway. They had both been test subjects. One of them volunteered, and the other didn’t have a choice. That was all. “So... when do we go in there?“ Peter asked, absentmindedly fidgeting with his sleeve. “Soon,” he replied. “Oh...“ Peter murmured, frustrated that Brenner wouldn’t tell him the details. “As for what to do right now, you need to suit up.“ Peter would’ve scoffed at that if he knew it wouldn’t have ended in punishment. The certain words people used to describe things didn’t really make sense. Though when did people ever make sense? Why would there be any suiting up? There was a baby in the process of being born, not some sort of fight. Henry understood he was out of his depth a bit, but he wasn’t clueless. “I mean, wear medical garb,” Brenner added. “Oh.” He thought. “Course.” “But where do I—“ “It’s folded up on a shelf in the medical ward behind these doors,“

---

Peter realized his mind needed to stop wandering and focus, especially right now. Time had passed, and he had been brought into the delivery room. He had to admit; that he had been through plenty of overwhelming experiences, but this was on a whole other level. He wasn’t even going through anything himself, and yet he still internally cringed. Peter felt awkward just standing there watching, feeling out of place. Though when did he not feel out of place? But he didn’t know what else he could do. He definitely wasn’t medically qualified to make medical decisions and give instructions. Maybe being there was a mistake. Time felt stuck in between being frozen and feeling like everything was going too fast; something that Peter didn’t appreciate. At least he could maintain his calm and collected persona. The feeling of time being out of control settled once it was done. Peter watched as Terry briefly interacted with her newborn daughter. Several emotions went through his head. He couldn’t identify most of them, however, the one that was probably familiar to him the most was jealousy. He knew it was absolutely ridiculous, but couldn’t control it. Why did he feel so strongly about this? He knew he was acting so immature. Peter felt ashamed. Maybe pushing his feelings down would help. Hopefully, Brenner hadn’t noticed him clenching his jaw. In reality, his emotions didn’t matter, because soon he’d have to pretend to not even know about her; about the child. Henry hesitated, calling her ‘his child’ in his mind. Technically, yes, she was, but he didn’t even know her, really. Something in his mind clicked. By Brenner allowing him to see her be born, and then probably never letting them interact in the future, that was the real punishment. “It was a trick, after all.“ He thought. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

---

They had sent him back to work in the rainbow room after watching his estranged daughter’s birth. He had been forced out rather quickly, not even getting the chance to hold her. Not that he had even thought about it. Not seriously, at least. “Peter,” Brenner said. “What could he possibly want now?“ He thought. “Yes?” Peter politely answered. “I have something to show you,” He tried hiding his confusion and almost-turned annoyance. “Okay,” he said. Peter reluctantly followed him once again. He furrowed his eyebrows as he saw the familiar infirmary and then related rooms after. He felt hope in his chest after seeing a sign reading ‘nursery’ on the door they were walking towards. Weird reaction in his opinion. “Why are you acting like this?“ With the key in his hand, Brenner unlocked the nursery door. He warned Peter to be quiet and signaled for him to follow. They walked past cribs, some of which were empty at the moment. They stopped in front of a particular one. Forgetting his usual calm mask, Peter’s eyes betrayed him; revealing his surprise once he recognized the infant laying in the crib. She was here at the lab’s nursery. The baby he saw delivered. His daughter. “I don’t understand...” Peter’s voice was quiet. “Why isn’t she with her mother?” He turned to look at Brenner. There were some things that Peter had missed out on learning, but even he knew it wasn’t ideal to remove an infant from their mother. Especially one hours old. “She’s... out of the picture now,” he answered vaguely. Peter didn’t know why he felt a pang of concern at hearing that. He glanced away and held back a frown. “Why did you bring me here?” He questioned. “I thought perhaps you’d like some more time with her, it’s only fair,” Brenner said. “Why is he acting like this?“ Peter thought. He knew there had to be some cruel motives at play, but he wasn’t sure how. He’d like to think after knowing the man all these years, he’d solved the riddle that was his mind. But there were still things he couldn’t figure out. Without thinking more, he said yes. Was he foolish to quickly accept? Probably. Did he care right then? No. He could deal with the consequences later. Brenner left without another word but showed the key in his hand; indicating that he’d be right outside the door. Peter scolded himself for the way he’d been acting; practically irrational. He snapped out of his self-deprecating thoughts once he heard the small noises coming from the newborn. Peter stared at her, noticing how dark her brown eyes were. A contrast to his pale blue eyes. But that didn’t mean he didn’t see any similarities between them. One thing that stood out to him was the shape of their noses were alike, among other things. Peter found himself cautiously and slowly reaching his hand out, almost as if he was afraid something would happen. He didn’t know why he wanted to; he could’ve stopped himself at any time, could’ve left the room early, but something compelled him to stay. Her tiny hand moved toward his fingers, and she grabbed them. Peter didn’t immediately move his hand away like he thought he would. “You’re interesting to me, and I’m not sure why...” He confessed. He could say how he truly felt at that moment. Who would even know? It’s not like she could tell anyone. And surveillance didn’t pick up audio. She made another tiny noise in response. He gently touched a bit of hair she had on her head. It felt soft and fuzzy to the touch. Peter was never the type of person to find things cute, except maybe spiderlings, depending on his mood. It came as a shock to him to get those similar feelings as a response to her. He tried convincing himself that it meant nothing. It was just his brain’s wired instincts to find her cute. Simple biology and science. So then, why did it feel like more than that? Despite all of his inner thoughts telling him not to, Peter went against them and carefully picked her up.

At first, he gently held her up and at arm’s length. She didn’t squirm like he thought she would. He had some experience holding infants before. Brief childhood memories of younger distant relatives came to mind. But it had been a long while, showed by how awkward he felt at first. Peter managed to get a proper hold of her. Luckily, she didn’t fuss once. In fact, she was quite quiet compared to other babies he’d been around before. She felt so small in his arms. Her brown eyes stared into his. He suddenly understood what people meant when they’d describe his stare as ‘intense’. “I guess we’re more alike than I realized...” He spoke. Peter never felt so conflicted in his life until now. Realistically, he knew he should feel nothing but resentment while looking at her. Bitterness at how she was a symbol of the lack of choice he had over his life. If he could call what he had a life. But he knew it was more complicated than that. She hadn’t asked to be there, and neither did he. That gave them an emotional kinship of sorts. None of this was her fault. He knew he should’ve despised her, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he felt a rare feeling of fondness. Peter sighed. “This is wrong, wrong and you know it.” He thought. At least, that’s what he had always taught himself. He couldn’t believe his own heart was betraying him. Human emotions and their ways. The soft feelings he felt increased when she had a tiny smile on her face. “You are going to get attached, stop before it’s too late.” Peter suddenly remembered he was on borrowed time when he heard Brenner talking with someone outside. He gently placed her back in her crib. “I guess this is a goodbye, for now, at least,” he said. His stare broke, and he glanced back up when he heard Brenner opening the door. Peter stood with his posture straight and his hands neatly folded, hoping he didn’t look too suspicious. “Your time is up, Peter,” Brenner said. “Yes, sir,” he murmured. As he followed Brenner out, he sneaked a glance over his shoulder at her one last time. He felt genuine disappointment when he saw her reaching her little hands out toward him.

---

Peter came back to visit a couple of days later on his own in secret. It was either a smart decision or a foolish one, or maybe somehow both. He was risking punishment by seeing her again, but somehow got the feeling that it was worth it. Perhaps he was going soft, or she just... influenced him. Peter had more important things to focus on than that. Being an orderly allowed him to have access to many keys. Despite not having a specific key to the nursery, Peter discovered one room he had access to, shared locks with it. He didn’t know if it was just coincidence or sheer luck, but he felt grateful either way. What was originally a second visit turned into multiple secret visits. He knew he was acting on impulse rather than straight-up logic, but something kept telling him to keep coming back. Peter would usually try to sneak away once people weren’t around. He had quickly learned her routine as well and would wait for when there wouldn’t be a nurse or nanny tending to her. Peter knew that physically, her health was their top priority, which eased some of the stress he had been experiencing. Worrying about someone other than himself originally felt foreign, but he was getting used to it. Most of the time, he’d visit her in the evening, right before she was supposed to sleep for the night. Peter couldn’t do much except observe her, but there would be times when he’d let his guard down more and just talk to her. He knew she obviously couldn’t say anything in response, but for some reason, it would calm him to talk about pointless stuff with her. Peter would mainly tell her about what he did that day, or about random facts about spiders while she would hold onto his hand. Occasionally if he was in a particularly bitter mood, he’d vent to her. He couldn’t remember the last time when he could genuinely speak his mind. Spending time with her significantly calmed him down. In fact, it quickly became his favorite part of the day. So at least there was an actual benefit to this and not just... wholesome feelings. That’s how he tried to justify it in his mind. Besides the one-sided conversations, he’d watch her sleep. Sometimes she didn’t feel real to him, which he knew didn’t make any sense. Especially since he always watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing. Recently, Peter had gotten a strange feeling that something would happen to her. It almost made him paranoid. What if Brenner decided to do something to her? Take her away somehow. Peter would never admit it, but over time, he had become protective over her. As he kept coming back to visit, the worried voices in his head quieted down. Nothing had happened so far. Maybe it was all in his mind.

---

As per usual, Peter snuck away to the nursery. He slipped the key into the doorknob and unlocked it. Peter walked in and closed the door as quietly as he could. He made his way to his usual place by her crib. He froze. She wasn’t in her crib. He felt that dreaded feeling in the pit of his stomach. After a somewhat stressed search with no results, he froze again. It was like she had never even existed. All evidence of her being there was gone. No explanations. He knew she had been real. Peter saw her birth, he saw her sleeping in her crib; he held her in his arms. He hadn’t imagined any of it. His mind raced, looking for an explanation when it finally found one. “Brenner must have moved her elsewhere...” Peter’s thoughts began to spiral. Had Brenner found out about him seeing her again? If so, how long did he know? How long did he let it go on? He bit his lip and fidgeted with his hands. “Why are you getting upset? You knew this could happen, would happen.” “You were warned this whole time, it’s your fault for ignoring the signs.” “Never should’ve gotten attached in the first place.“ “This was the punishment all along.“ “You, are a fool, Henry.” He felt his heart sink. Not having any choice, Peter sighed and left the room in silence. He ignored how his throat stung from holding back any tears.

---

After the incident, he’d still check to see if somehow she would be back where he’d last seen her. Peter stopped coming back to the room once he realized she wouldn’t return. He would’ve tried searching for her elsewhere. Realistically there had to be other nurseries somewhere else, hidden from him, but Brenner had been keeping a close eye on him. With Brenner keeping him on a tight leash, it felt impossible. Sometimes at night while he would be sleeping, his mind would dream about her. There were times occasionally when he didn’t want to wake up and face reality, but he was forced to. Despite time passing, Peter never once forgot about her. Deep down, he hoped they’d be able to see each other again; one day.

[poptod]

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

+

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

[irrelevantwriter]

Problem With You

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, banter as foreplay, mental warfare, Rio being jealous...and admitting it (toxicity at its finest)

Word Count: 3.3K

Summary: Part 2. You decide you aren't going to let Rio affect you. Good luck with that. 

A/N: You guys do not even understand how much I appreciate the love and support I’ve gotten for my Rio fic! Really, truly. Ya’ll know how to make a girl feel special and because of that, I wrote like a madwoman. Seriously. @likedovesinthewnd​ can attest to that fact lol. So here we have a part two for House Call. If you haven’t read that, I highly recommend you do. Only because I added some plot this time around. Ya girl is riding this Rio wave as far as it’ll take me, so strap in because a bitch is plottin’. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Read Part 3 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

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

You laughed to hide the expression of boredom you wore as you walked up the driveway to your house. Luke, your date, hovered behind you, an obvious look of hope in his green eyes.

It wasn’t happening.

“I had a really great time tonight.” He said with a sheepish smile, his boyish grin doing nothing for you.

“It was fun.” You lied, taking a step back to make your getaway.

Luke matched your movement as he started to lean in close, his intention clear. And unwanted.

“Hey, mama…”

The voice made you jump, forcing your date to move back and out of your space. You turned to your right to see Rio leaning against your parked car, legs crossed at the ankle and hands stuffed deep into the pockets of a black jacket. He was ominous looking. Mysterious, with that hint of danger that seemed to follow him everywhere. His dark eyes were trained solely on you, ignoring the other man just feet away.

“You know this guy?” Luke asked with an amateur bravado that made you want to cringe.

The men couldn’t have been more different. You knew of Luke from little league soccer. He was the father to one of the boy’s on your son’s team. He’d been divorced for a few years and had made his interest in you known once you and Paul had split. And after your rendezvous with Rio nearly two months ago, you were itching for something...anything that made you feel half as alive as you had that day.

It was not going well.

“Family friend.” You replied, gaze still captivated by the man in black.

Rio chuckled at your answer, but didn’t say anything to refute it.

“Are you-,” Luke started, addressing you with a concerned lilt to his voice.

“I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got some stuff to deal with.” You cut him off, leaving no room for argument.

Thankfully, he took the hint and nodded, pulling his car keys from his pocket. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” You said simply, desperately wanting him to leave you and Rio alone. The situation was beyond awkward for you. It was uncomfortable to have Rio present to view something so personal. And you could tell he was sizing Luke up, the smirk on his face saying exactly what he thought about your date for the evening.

Luke gave you and Rio one last wary glance before he was walking down your drive and to his parked car. You waited until he’d driven away before you faced Rio full on, eyebrow quirked up in annoyance.

“What’re you doing here?”

He didn’t answer you.

Instead, he straightened and began to walk in your direction, eyes appraising you and your dress. You stiffened your spine, unwilling to let him see you so flustered. That game was getting old. He would pounce on your nervousness, manipulate it to his advantage. You weren’t going to let that happen again.

In the weeks since you and Rio had slept together, he’d made his attraction for you obvious. The drop-offs were now moments for him to flirt, attempting to keep you in an anxiety-riddled state for his enjoyment. He liked to see you affected by his presence. You didn’t.

You’d regretted sleeping with him the moment it happened. You didn’t want to be involved in that aspect of his life when you were so entrenched in his business operations. It wasn’t a good look. And chances were, Rio wasn’t the type to take on a divorced mother of two from the suburbs. He led a very different life from yours. He was looking for someone to fill his needs in the moment. Nothing more, nothing less. But that’s not what you wanted. Least that’s what you told yourself.

At this point it was more about self preservation than anything else. And with Rio, your need to protect yourself was on high alert at all times. Be it your life or your dignity.

“Who was the guy?” He finally asked, his strides bringing him close enough for you to smell his cologne.

“Friend.”

“PTA or little league?” He taunted with a knowing smile.

You hated that you were that predictable. That he could read you so easily.

“Does it matter?” You snidely retorted, tightening your grasp around the black clutch gripped in your right hand.

“Nah, it doesn’t.” He replied smoothly, licking his lips...lips that you’d tasted...lips that you wanted to taste again. “We gotta talk.” He continued, face growing serious.

The shift in mood made dread knot your stomach. You swallowed thickly, eyes darting to the darkened houses and empty streets in your neighborhood.

“Inside.” You gestured behind you and turned away, leading him to your front door. You walked the steps up to your porch, not hearing him follow at first. You knew what the reason was. You’d worn a fairly modest black dress on your date with Luke. The garment hugged your figure with a high neck and long sleeves, the length stopping at your knees. The eye-catching feature of the dress was the back...or lack of. It was backless and it’d apparently gotten the attention of more than just your date tonight.

You struggled with your keys in the lock, feeling his gaze burn hot across your naked back. You shivered and sucked in a breath when you felt a delicate brush of a finger dance along your spine, his body heat now crowding you. His breath was warm against your neck, the suddenness of his actions making your head spin.

“S’cold out here. You’re shaking.” He rasped into your ear, finger still trailing in a sensual pattern against your flesh.

“It’s not the cold.” You said flatly, finally pushing open the door. You left him on the porch as you walked into the dimly lit house, setting your purse and keys on the bench in the foyer. You went straight to the kitchen, flicking on a light. The soft clicking of the door let you know he’d made his way inside after you.

You pulled two glass tumblers from the cabinet and then grabbed a bottle of whiskey that Paul had left behind. You poured the amber liquid into each glass, your mouth already preparing for the intense burn that would come with swallowing it down. You were in need of the liquid courage though.

“How’d you know my kids wouldn’t be here? You have my custody agreement memorized or something?” You asked as you sipped at the liquor, sliding the other glass towards Rio from across the kitchen island. The exact island he’d fucked you on weeks before.

You didn’t bother trying to hide your aggravation towards him. Ever since that day in your kitchen, he’d been difficult to ignore. He was a constant in your thoughts. Your dreams had only gotten more explicit, more intimate. It was irritating. You hadn’t felt right since. And it was all his fault.

“Something like that.” He said, eyeing the glass on the counter. He studied you for a long moment, as he was prone to do. He watched you gulp down the entirety of its contents, his mouth turned up in mirth.

“What’d you need to talk to me about?” You questioned, trying not to wince at the bitter taste that now sat on your tongue. The whiskey was already heating up your insides, coating them in a fine layer of confidence and nonchalance.

“How’d your date go?” He threw back, dodging your question as he finally picked up the glass and swirled its contents.

“Why?”

“I wanna know.”

He tossed the drink back in one go, his inked Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. It was a surprisingly erotic sight.

“You really wanna know about my date?” You asked incredulously, eyebrow once again raised at him in question.

“I don’t ask questions I don’t wanna know the answer to, darling. You know that.” He retorted with a testiness that made you momentarily retreat.

“It was fine.” You supplied with a shrug of your shoulders, unsure of what he was looking for. The date had actually been a disaster, but you weren’t going to divulge that to him.

He laughed. A real laugh with his head thrown back and chest vibrating.

It pissed you off.

“What the hell is your problem?” You gritted out between clenched teeth, the alcohol now rushing through your veins and fueling your rising anger.

Rio went silent. He straightened to his full height and edged past the island to stand in front of you. His face gave away nothing. No smirk. No narrowed eyes. No false sense of security with a charming smile. Nothing.

“Who says I got a problem?” He finally said, leaning into your face and making you lock eyes with his own.

Your gut reaction told you to look away, but you fought against it. Instead choosing to meet his intensity head on.

“You seem awfully interested in my personal life. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.” You taunted, fully expecting another round of laughter from him.

You should’ve known by now that Rio never did anything you expected. That’s what made him Rio.

“And if I was?” He challenged, not backing down from your accusations. He shifted closer, forcing you to lean back. “If I said I’d kill him for touching what’s mine. What would you do? Hmm?” He continued, eyes roaming your body as he spoke. His voice grew thicker, the desire now suddenly apparent and washing over you like molasses.

“You wouldn’t.” You whispered, feeling the ghost of his hands along your hips. The barely there touch made your body come alive with familiarity, the memory settling right between your thighs.

“I don’t make threats I don’t plan on acting on, baby. You know that.” He teased, throwing his own words back at you.

“I’m not yours.” You shook your head, tightening your hands into fists to keep them at your sides.

He laughed, though the sound held no real humor. “Yeah, you are.” He said with a nod, hand reaching around to drag along your back, making your eyes fall shut.

His touch felt so good. Intoxicating. Like your body knew who it’d been waiting for this entire time. You’d been a fool to think you could replace the feeling.

“What do you want?” You asked, exhaustion lacing your words. You felt like you asked him that same question every moment you were together. You knew the answer this time though. You were just hoping you were wrong.

“You.” He whispered, finger now caressing your cheek and pushing waywards strands of hair off your face.

You’d been expecting the response, but it still jolted you. Still made you fraught with worry and unease. You lashed out, pushing his hand away and putting distance between your bodies.

“You want me to quit my job. Leave my kids. To do what with you? Run away to wash money and run drugs?”

“Yeah.”

You studied his face for several silent seconds, searching for any traces of humor. There were none. He was serious. Unflinchingly honest in his desire to have you.  

“Well, that’s not gonna happen. So you should probably go.”

You brushed off his words and moved past him and towards the entryway, ready to see him out. You didn’t get far. You made it to the other side of the island before a hand reached out for you and slammed you back against a firm chest. You gasped, unable to pull away as another hand attached to your other arm. They held you by your elbows, forcing your backside to press dangerously close to his front.

He’d moved quickly and without warning, nearly knocking you off your heels. You were both breathing heavy, both from the movement and the lust that threatened to spill over and bleed out all across your hardwood floors.

“You’re stubborn as shit.” Rio breathed into your ear, his grip tightening around your arms and forcing you to still.

“I’m smart.” You retorted, feeling yourself start to loosen in his hold. His chest was pressed tightly to your bare back, his crotch nestled almost perfectly against your ass. Your lower body shifted under the guise of pulling away, but you felt it. And so did he.

“Yeah, that too.” He whispered.

His face buried itself into your neck, lips covering the area with kisses. You arched into his touch, getting lost in the familiar sensations. His hands dropped from your arms and reached for the hem of your dress, pulling the fabric up your thighs.

It was happening again. The vortex that swallowed you up last time was back and it was making time simultaneously speed up and slow down. The outside world felt like it was at a stand still while you and Rio reintroduced your bodies to each other. The soft touches and gentle caresses morphed into hungry grasps and passionate clutches. His mouth worked over your neck and sucked, knowing exactly what that action did to you. You reached around and ran your nails over his scalp, feeling him shiver in response.

Your feet shuffled as he led you to your couch, pressing you into the back of it. You pushed your ass out and into him, feeling the length of him beyond your clothes. His hands tightened around your hips and then traveled under your dress. You gripped the cushions as he tore your panties away, the savagery of it making your thighs slide obnoxiously together. You moaned when his rough hands kneaded your ass, spreading the flesh to see what was waiting for him.

Through the fog your heard a distinct growl that reviberated from his chest and went straight to your throbbing sex, your walls desperately clenching around nothing. You bit your lip when you felt the head of him at your entrance, the heat from his flesh so overwhelming that your knees nearly buckled.

“Spread your legs, mama. Let me in.” He instructed, hand latching onto one of your shoulders for leverage.

You obeyed his command. You obeyed because that’s what you always did. You always ended up doing as he said. And that’s what scared you. Not the illegal shit or the risk of throwing your whole life away. It scared you with how complacent you could be to him. And you knew that eventually you’d give him the life he wanted from you.

A strangled moan fell from your lips as he began to push forward. He felt larger this way. Felt as if he could reach all the way into your chest if he wanted to. You pushed back for more when he teased you, sliding back out and refastening his hold on you.

In the next moment he was fully embedded inside of you, pulsing with such a need that you could do nothing but tighten around him. He appreciated the sentiment. You cried out in what sounded like agony, but was in fact an unbearable amount of pleasure that felt nearly spiritual.

His hips slammed into yours with wild abandon. You steadied yourself along the couch, feeling the piece of furniture slide across the floor with every thrust. In this position he had full access to you, and he utilized it. He roamed your body freely and without permission, making you beg for more. You couldn’t see him. And that was just fine because you could feel him. You could feel every hard line and groove. Every brush of his fingertips and bruising kiss. You could feel it all.

“Fuck...I-,” You gasped as you circled your clit, feeling him hit so deep that you were forced onto your tiptoes in your heels. “I’m gonna cum.”

Your confession earned harder, slower strokes. They made you see stars. And within seconds your entire body was spasming with waves of pleasure akin to electrical shocks. The force of it was almost painful. Sounds that you didn’t recognize flew past your lips as you trapped him inside of you and rode out the blissful high.

His hand moved from your shoulder to the back of your head, readying himself for his own release. You went limp after such a powerful climax and he took that as his cue to continue. His pace was forceful, low grunts permeating the air as he fucked into you. His fingers dug into your thighs in that way that made you feel owned. You clenched your inner muscles around him, coaxing him further into euphoria’s waiting arms.

“Shit,” He hissed, his hips beginning to stutter as he finally came.

You accepted every thick drop that now coated your walls. You couldn’t describe the feeling of fullness you felt with his cum settling into your womb and his twitching length still nestled tightly against your walls. But for as wrong as everything else felt with Rio, this...this felt right.

His low chuckle broke the silence as he retreated from your body slowly. You missed the sensation almost immediately.

You stood on shaky legs and pulled your dress down, seeing the shredded lace that had been your panties in a pile near your feet. You kicked off your heels, a relieved sigh leaving your lips at the action.

“I’m gonna be gone for a bit.” Rio announced suddenly, reaching up to lazily scratch at the facial hair that lined his jaw. He’d redressed, now looking like a poised professional and not someone who’d just cum inside you.

Mild panic seized your chest, but you schooled your features, attempting to play it cool.

“Gotta get back to your other life?” You retorted, choosing to be a smart ass rather than show any real concern for the man who’d just fucked you in another area in your home. Another space where your family gathered desecrated by your sins.

“Nah, this is it for me, darling.” He said with a shake of his head and lick of his lips. “Just gotta handle some things.”

“That’s not vague at all.”

He stepped to you, once again pressing you into the couch. Only this time you were facing him, breathing in the same whiskey-tinted air as he invaded your space.

“You know what your problem is?” He rasped, voice rough enough to send a tingle down your spine.

“You.” You jabbed. The liquor was working. Your lips were loosened and your attitude was running the show. You’d be lucky if Rio decided to ignore your childish behavior.

He angled your chin up to him, leaning in as if he was going to kiss you. He hadn’t yet that evening. And you found yourself yearning for it. His fingers slid over your lips and trailed down your neck, gently grasping your throat. He didn’t apply pressure, but the innuendo was there. It thrilled you in a way you hadn’t been expecting.

“You worry too much.” He said, eyeing your lips the entire time.

You licked them in response, having nothing to say for once. He wasn't wrong.

“Everything stays the same. Mick will be at the drop-offs. He’ll stay close if you need anything.” He explained, his hand floating down your collarbone and over your breast to settle on your waist.

“And you?” You dared to ask, hoping he wouldn’t see your question as anything more than a professional query.

“Like I said, I got some things to handle. I’ll be in touch.” He deflected. “And don’t miss me too much, yeah?” He said with a charming smile, choosing to grip your hip and squeeze.

You scoffed at his words, crossing your arms and watching him leave without another word. You tried not to let the new information he’d shared bother you. He didn’t say how long he’d be away, but you had a feeling it was going to be for more than a few days.

The notion made you uneasy.

While Rio’s presence unnerved you, his looming absence made a lump form in your throat. You didn’t have the energy to analyze what that meant. It was going to be back to business. And in a way you were grateful for the reset. He’d come back and things would go back to an employee-boss relationship. Back to normal.

Right?

[imaginesforhotguys]

Masterlist

An updated Master list for all the stuff I have written so far. I will update every time I post something new.

Request are still opened and encouraged! The shows and people I write for are in my bio!

Marvel

Bucky Barnes

Bucky get the phone: You have to make sure that your home in time for the phone call from your doctor.

My Name's Bucky: Bucky doesn't get why you are throwing knives at him.

Nervous: Bucky can't figure out how to tell you his feeling so he just sleeps on your floor.

Half My Heart: you get hurt on a mission before Bucky is able to tell you how he feels.

New York New York: Bucky meets a stone cold New York girl…or does he?

You Know Me: Bucky goes missing and there is nothing you won’t do to get him back.

To Little To Late Bucky needs to tell you something that just may break both your hearts.

Complicated: When Captain America comes to get Bucky after the bombing the last thing he was expecting was to find you there.

маргаритка: There is only one person who can break you from your trance of destruction.

Steve Rogers

Promise: You met someone unexpected at Remembrance Park

Peter Parker

I Met Spiderman: You tell Peter about your interesting conversation on Saturday night.

You Can Always Make Me Laugh: Peter can always count on you to make him laugh even when the situation isn't great

Euphoria

Fezco

News Year's Eve: At the party things get a little out of hand but don't worry Fez is to the rescue.

Sons of Anarchy

Jax

Maybe A Little To Protective: You have a slight over reaction at some girl talking about your man.

A New Member Of The Family: Jax bringing your two kids to the hospital to see you and the new baby.

Wrong Place Wrong Time: You accidentally got shot because you were at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Packing: You have had enough of the crow eaters and decide that you need to leave…for now.

Opie

Fist Fight: Opie does what he has to do to protect you.

Worth it : Opie tells Jax that he is dating you, his younger sister, and it ends just as he thought it would...both of them bloody and smiling.

Chibs

Babies: You and Chibs are on babysitting duty.

Bait: Chibs hating the idea of using you as bait for a sting.

Won't happen again: Chibs  gets mad when a routine visit goes south.

The Walking Dead

Daryl

Kidnapped: Daryl and you getting kidnapped by the whisperers.

And They Were Roommates: You and Daryl moving in together.

Glenn

Word Vomit: Bumping into Rick and his group while out scavenging and meet a guy name Glenn who can't seem to shut up.

Rick

I Had No Idea LONGER STORY

Negan

Over It: You have just about had enough with Negan and his weekly visits to Alexandria.

Reunited: Being reunited with Negan after the attack at the fair.

WWE

Dean Ambrose

Butt Dial: Butt dialing Dean while he is on tv.

Stay Away: A match goes sideways.

I Wouldn't Miss it for the World

Part 1

Part 2

Poor Timing: Dean asking Seth if he has a chance with you. Just not at the right time.

On My Block

Spooky

Enough: Spooky takes matters into his own hands.

Halloween: Spooky coming to your rescue at the Halloween Party.

Treat You Better: Spooky not liking the way people are treating you.

Descendents

Jay

Pink Hair Don't Care: Being the daughter of Hades and dating Jay and finding it very hard to hide the fact that you’re mad at him.

Harry

Chaos: You and Harry causing chaos at Auradon Prep.

Nervous Little Pirate: Harry getting nervous seeing you in the halls of Auradon Prep.

Stranger Things

Billy

Drive Back Home: Billy driving home from dropping you off after your first date with a stupid grin on his face.

Other People I Write For Not Based On Shows

Jason Momoa

Facetime Call: Facetiming your husband Jason with your daughter while he is on set.

Interview:Jason getting nervous during an interview because they keep bringing you up. *I cannot believe that I wrote a story with Amber Heard I'm disgusted*

Henry Cavill

Beauty

You're Joking Right: Henry getting mad when another guy has the crazy idea of asking you, his girlfriend, out.

And I Oop: Henry embarrassing himself when he meets you for the first time on set.

Youtuber: Henry getting a little irritated by your constant vlogging.

Shows I No Longer Write For

Harry Potter

Sibling Rivalry: Both the Weasley twins being into and they begin to fight over which one gets to ask you out.

The Outsiders

Family Time: Dally being nervous about meeting your family for the first time.

[wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse]

Abandoned HC Part 2 (Teenage GN!Reader)

Request: Anon - Hey! I know you’re going to be busy soon- so no worries about getting this done asap. I was wondering if I could get an extension on the Abandoned HC you wrote? But it’s like, a few months later or something and Readers Bio Dad returns/does things trying to get back into their life but they don’t want him to?

Word Count: 355

Warnings: Not so great bio-dad coming back

Tony Stank

-He would be so so protective

-He would also be way too confrontational 

-It would be a bit of a hassle to make him calm down because at this point he sees you as his own child

-And he does not want to give you back

-And now you have siblings too, Peter Parker, Harley Keener, and little Morgan (can you tell he likes to adopt children lol)

-You are very hesitant with even seeing your bio dad, so when you meet him, Tony makes sure to go as well and insert himself into the situation

-Safe to say it was a very awkward encounter, and your bio dad finally realizes how you feel about him

-To make you feel better about everything, Tony and you go out to dinner at your favorite restaurant and enjoy yourselves without thinking of your bio dad even once

-Side-note, but Pepper would also be an angel during the whole ordeal, and she would probably be even more vocal about her disdain for your bio dad

Boromir

-To say he is mad is an understatement

-He has grown very fond of you and has become very attached

-He still doesn’t understand why anyone would want to leave you in the first place

-But he lets you make your decision on whether you want your father to be involved in your life

-As much as he wants to interfere, he doesn’t, he knows you are old enough to make your own clear decisions

-On the inside, he desperately hopes you don’t choose your dad, even though he refuses to say it

-He feels guilty for being so protective, but he does have good reason

-In the end, you make your choice, and whichever one it is, he will be happy for you no matter what

-He is delighted that you chose him, however, he does question himself for a while, to make sure he is a worthy enough parental figure for you

-Finally, he comes to terms with the fact that he would be a better mentor than your bio-dad will ever be, which definitely boosts his ego.

@lord-westley​ Thought you might be interested

[hrina]

In The Ring, Pt. I - Jab

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 4k REQUESTED: not exactly lol

hey everyone! this is PART 1 of the boxer!harry AU i’ve been working on. i was so inspired by this concept that i wrote it all in one day lol. if u enjoy reading it, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated! it really helps in terms of motivation and just knowing how my readers feel about this story in general. so yeah, that would really make my month!

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, go stupid go dumb! my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio, for anyone who would like to check out my other fics or who feels like chatting. can’t wait to hear your thoughts 💘💘💘

~*~

    January 7, 2021

All of Harry’s teeth are still intact.

For now, at least.

He knows that mouthguards exist—there’s one tucked between his lips every single time he enters the ring. But even then…sometimes punches go awry. Sometimes your opponent dodges at the last second. Sometimes people end up with a mouthful of leather and a few loose incisors. He always keeps one fist near his chin, shielding the lower half of his face from any blows that come his way.

Speaking of blows coming his way…

He ducks away from the straight jab that the man throws—The Wall, they call him. Harry had rolled his eyes when the nickname boomed across the room, soon lost in the roar of the crowd.

He’s never been one for flashy introductions. He prefers to let his technique speak for itself. His brand is his name. Harry Styles. Simple, concise, and so utterly deceiving. He loves watching the smile melt from his opponent’s face, basks in the moment when they realise that he’s tougher than his name suggests.

The Wall jabs again, and Harry successfully dodges the punch. He doesn’t register the other fist hooking around, however, until the blunt front of the man’s glove makes contact with the side of his head. Usually, a blow like that wouldn’t even faze him. But the sheer force behind the hit knocks him off-balance, stumbling to the side as he loses his footing and inhaling sharply when his shoulder collides with the ground.

The yells from the crowd are deafening. Harry coughs, trying to guide air back into his lungs. When he blinks, black spots dance across his vision. Subconsciously, his eyes trace a path upward, past the floor, past his opponent’s feet, past the ropes encompassing the ring. Higher and higher, still, past jeering faces and sloshing beer bottles and grungy eye makeup. All the way to the top of the bleachers, to the exit—to you.

That’s been your unofficial spot for the past two years. Once you turned twenty, your father finally gave in, allowing you to attend Harry’s matches in exchange for the cessation of your endless badgering. You always stand near the door, observing the commotion with thoughtful eyes and puckered lips. Despite himself, Harry has started to think of you as his lucky charm. It’s dangerous—he always swore that he wouldn’t be one of those overly-superstitious athletes—but he can’t help it. He just seems to perform better when you’re around.

Through the rocky field of his vision, he can see just how wide your eyes have grown. There’s an unmistakable look of concern on your face as you watch the fight unfold. Your hand finds its way to the base of your throat, playing nervously with the rose-gold pendant resting there. You crane your neck to get a better view of the ring, your pupils flitting back and forth between Harry and the frighteningly large man looming over him.

A warm rush of adrenaline floods Harry’s veins. The saliva that has gathered in his mouth tastes stale on his tongue. He spits it out as he staggers to his feet. The crowd grows louder, somehow.

The Wall’s smile shrinks as Harry assumes his previous position; his hands orient themselves in front of his face. His opponent gnashes his teeth, seemingly annoyed with the fact that the match has not ended. Harry shakes off the dizziness clouding his brain, and then he’s lunging forward with a newfound sense of determination. He throws punch after punch, sidestepping The Wall’s returning attempts. All he can think about is the fact that you’re up there, watching, waiting, worrying. He never wants to see you like that again.

You’re his goddamn lucky charm.

His victory comes in the form of an uppercut followed immediately by a nasty right hook. The Wall—this big, towering man with bulging biceps and rippling pectorals—crumples to the ground. Harry waits, his chest heaving with exertion as the countdown begins. He’s prepared to watch his opponent rise again, to shift back into a fighting stance and start over. But as the seconds trickle by and The Wall remains motionless on the ground, he soon finds the tension in his body seeping out into the hot, sticky air.

His shoulders sag in relief as a single promising word echoes through the grimy arena.

“Knockout!”

~*~

The crowd thins out considerably in the ten minutes following the termination of the match. Harry stumbles out of the ring, sliding through the ropes and pulling his mouthguard from between his lips. Your father is waiting for him with a smile on his face, holding out an arm and helping him jump down from the raised platform.

“Well done, H,” he says, patting his back proudly.

Harry pants and nods. Your father holds out a reusable water bottle for him to take—he accepts it graciously and gulps down the cold liquid with fat, greedy slurps. Once he pulls the nozzle away from his mouth, he runs the back of his hand over his face to catch any stray droplets that have collected on his chin.

“Thanks, Coach.”

“You took a pretty hard fall, there,” your father says, guiding him to sit down on a bench propped up against the wall. “Medic’s in the back. He’s checking out Aaron right now, but you’re next.” He taps his index finger against Harry’s temple. “We’ve got to make sure everything’s alright up there.”

Harry sucks in a deep breath, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Who the fuck is Aaron?”

“Oh.” Your father laughs. “Aaron. The Wall. Whatever you want to call him.”

Harry frowns. “Don’t like that. Makes him sound like a dick.”

A new voice enters the conversation.

“That’s because he is.”

Harry’s head snaps to the side, and there you are.

You look nice, as usual. There’s something about you that he can never seem to properly describe. You always look so…clean. If he tried to vocalize his thoughts, he’s sure that you would look at him like he was crazy.

But in his head, it makes sense. You take care of yourself. Your nails are spotless, your hair smells good, and he knows that you must dab spritzes of perfume onto your pulse points before you leave the house, because a fresh scent follows you wherever you go. Even now, as you stand a few feet away with your hands on your hips, he catches it on a deep inhale. Not flowery, not fruity, just…clean. Refreshing. Light. Breezy.

Your father snaps him out of his reverie, and he realises that he should probably stop listing every word in the thesaurus.

“How do you know?” Your father’s inquiry is curious. He shoots you a puzzled look, his mouth curling down into a soft scowl.

You roll your eyes. “Called me ‘sweet thing’ before the match started and asked me if I was the prize,” you say, sticking your tongue out in disdain. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Harry’s lips twitch.

Your father chuckles. “That’s my girl.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “What time are we leaving?” you ask. The question is directed at your father, who is fiddling with the drawstrings hanging from his sweater. “I was hoping to study a bit more before bed.”

“Soon, gioia,” your father says. “As soon as Harry gets checked out, we’ll be on our way.”

You nod, and—for what feels like the first time since you cut into the interaction—you glance down at Harry. “Hi,” you say softly, shooting him a small, friendly smile.

He meets your gaze for only a moment. Everything about you is so gentle. Your irises are like melted pots of honey, regarding him with such warmth he feels like he’ll never be cold again. “Hi.”

“Congratulations on your win,” you murmur. Harry wants to bottle your voice and save it as a keepsake. “You made a great comeback.”

Because of you, he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. “Thank you,” he offers up instead, the words scraping against the roof of his mouth and tumbling unceremoniously into the air between you.

A moment of silence ensues as you wait for him to say something—anything—else. But he’s done. You nod once before turning back to your father, who is tweaking the settings of the watch wrapped around his wrist.

“Do you know where the washrooms are?” you ask. You toy absentmindedly with the necklace hanging from your throat. “I need to pee.”

“You can use the one in the women’s locker room,” your father tells you, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “Around the corner, first door on the left.”

“Thanks,” you say, slipping by and pressing a quick peck to his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

He just nods in agreement, still too preoccupied with his watch.

Harry, on the other hand, can’t keep his eyes off of you as you walk away. He takes note of the way that you tuck your hair behind your ear, how you shoulder the strap of your purse to keep it from slipping down your arm, how you walk with a purpose despite being so moderate and kind. His gaze falls momentarily to the sway of your hips, the enticing nature of your waist. He stares for a long moment before tearing away, clearing his throat and blinking a few times in quick succession.

“Proud of you, H,” your father pipes up, tapping the face of his watch twice before dropping his arm with a sigh. “You did well out there.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters. A spark of guilt flares up in his chest when he realises that he had been blatantly ogling you with your father standing only a few feet off to the side. He silently berates himself, shaking his head free of any alluring thoughts.

Your father’s phone chirps with the arrival of a new notification. He fishes the device out of his pocket and glances down at the screen.

“Let’s go,” he tells Harry, jerking his head to the right. “Medic’s ready for you, now.”

    January 13, 2021

“C’mon, H, be smart with it! Watch how he angles himself!”

And Harry’s trying, really, but Arthur—or Artie, as your father likes to call him—is a hunkering titan of a man. He used to be your father’s star athlete before retiring, and now…now he’s working in finance, or something akin to that. Harry isn’t one hundred percent sure; he usually zones out when people begin to discuss the stock market.

Artie throws a right hook, but Harry sees it coming and blocks it with ease. They move in a circle, focussed only on each other while other individuals outside of the ring totter around.

Harry prefers to train on weekdays during the afternoon, because that’s when the gym isn’t as packed. Right now, only a handful of other people are working out, lifting weights or doing cardio exercises. Harry and Artie are here so often that nobody even blinks an eye anymore. And your father…well, he runs the place. Of course he would be here.

The sparring continues. When Harry refuses to make the first move, Artie sticks one glove out, beckoning him forward. “Come here, pretty boy.”

“Don’t make me pull your hair,” Harry grits, because Artie’s ponytail is swinging temptingly from beneath his headgear.

The other man laughs good-naturedly before lunging. Harry blocks his uppercut and delivers a strong, pointed jab right to the middle of his chest. Artie stumbles backward, inhaling sharply as the breath is knocked from his lungs. Harry bites back a smile.

“Nice, H!” your father calls.

“Thanks, Coach,” he mutters.

The front door of the gym opens, accompanied by the soft tinkling of a bell to announce the new arrival. Harry’s attention is reflexively drawn toward the direction of the sound, and his heartbeat stutters beneath his ribs.

You’re there, with your hair tied back in a low bun and silver hoops hanging from your ears. You’re holding a tray of coffee in your left hand, and there’s a warm smile on your face. You wave excitedly as you greet Portia, the middle-aged woman sitting behind the front desk. The two of you chat as you shrug off your jacket and tug the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your mouth moves languidly. Though Harry is too far to hear your voice, he has a pretty good idea of what you’re saying. Your eyes widen and you shiver dramatically, shaking your head.

It’s cold!

A heavy fist makes contact with the side of his jaw, and he falls to the ground.

Your father’s loud exclamation pulls your attention away from Portia and toward the ring on the opposite end of the room. Harry groans lowly as he pushes himself to his knees, tilting his head from side to side and cracking his neck. When he turns to face your father, he finds him frowning through the gaps between the ropes.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, shooting Harry a disappointed look.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, climbing to his feet with a grunt. “Got distracted.”

He chances a glance back at you, and his shoulders grow tense when he realises that you’re making your way over to the ring, the tray of coffee held between your hands like a peace offering.

“Hello, boys,” you singsong. “I brought drinks.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” your father says as you hand him his designated cup. He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to your hair. You hum happily in response.

“Jason!” you call out as Artie approaches the side of the ring. “I got your lemonade.”

“Thanks, little girl,” Artie hums, accepting his drink graciously and taking a long sip from the straw. “And for the hundredth time, stop calling me ‘Jason’.”

“Stop calling me ‘little girl’,” you shoot back, laughing deviously. “I can’t help it if you look like him, okay? You’re even the same age, too.” You cock one eyebrow. “Should I start calling you ‘Aquaman’ instead?”

“God, no.” Artie shakes his head vehemently. “Let’s stick to Jason. ’Least that’s a real name.”

You giggle as he ambles away. Your eyes shift over to Harry—who has kept silent the entire time—and your lips curl up into a kind smile. “Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.” His voice is guttural.

“Last, but not least,” you murmur, plucking his drink from the tray and holding it up for him to take. “One black coffee, right?”

“Right,” he confirms with a curt nod. He tugs his bulky gloves off, dropping them to the floor and reaching out to accept the cup. A strong spark pricks at his hand when his fingers brush against yours. Your responding gasp is soft, barely-noticeable—if he weren’t so painfully aware of everything you do, he would have missed it completely.

“Thank you,” he says, guiding the coffee to his mouth and taking a small sip.

“No problem.” You smile up at him again, and God, that fucking smile. He wants it tattooed onto the backs of his eyelids. A wave of heat blooms in his chest and creeps up his neck, but thankfully, the pink flush blends in with his sweat-slicked, already-rosy skin.

“How was class, sweetheart?” your father asks, tilting his head to the side.

“It was good.” You shrug, tossing a thumb over your shoulder. “I’m going to head home now, though—I have a proposal due in a few days and I really need to get started.”

“Go, go,” your father concedes. You bid him goodbye before standing on your tiptoes and craning your neck to catch sight of Artie, who is quite evidently enjoying his lemonade.

“Bye, Jason!”

“Bye, little girl!”

You laugh. Your gaze lands on Harry again, eyes sparkling and features resolutely tender. “Bye, Harry.”

He swallows down the hard lump in his throat. “Bye.”

    January 16, 2021

Harry’s workout playlist features a lot of Ariana Grande.

He just thinks that she’s good, okay?

But he knows that Artie and your father would never let him hear the end of it, so he keeps that information private. During practice, he’ll endure whatever shitty tunes Artie picks from his own library, and he won’t say a word. He’s not in the ring to dance, anyway. He’s there to make money—albeit illegally—because quite frankly, he hasn’t discovered an aptitude for anything else.

It’s late—the gym is technically closed. But the great thing about having the owner for a coach is the fact that Harry was given another key to add to his collection. Your father doesn’t care, as long as he locks up after he’s done. Harry has spent more time here than at his own home, he imagines. It’s nice when it’s quiet—it gives him plenty of time to think.

The back of his t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. He’s gazing at the ceiling as he lifts the heavy weights up and down over his torso. A bubbly song is playing on his phone, keeping his energy high.

So what if he listens to Ariana Grande? She makes great music.

The distinctive sound of footsteps reaches his ears. He pauses, setting the weightlifting bar back onto its rack and sitting up quickly. The noise is coming from the stairs that lead down to the swimming pool in the basement. Harry stands, and though his muscles are already screaming from previous exertion, he readies himself for the worst.

You appear at the top of the flight, your slippers smacking against each step loudly. You’re ruffling a towel against your wet hair, your head angled to the side as you squeeze out any excess water. Upon catching sight of Harry, you freeze in your tracks.

“Oh. Harry. Hi.”

“Hi,” he says slowly. “I…didn’t know you were here.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you reply wryly, a small smirk making its way onto your lips.

Harry scratches sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Er…I was just working out.”

You nod, your expression coy. “I can see that.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air. Harry clears his throat, rubbing his jaw with his fingers because what else is he supposed to do? “Were you—did you go for a swim?”

“Yeah,” you say. Your shoulders deflate, like you’re almost grateful that he’s contributed more to the conversation. “Spent half the time doing laps, and the other half on my phone.” Your lips quirk up with the feeble joke.

Harry chuckles weakly. “That’s just how it is, sometimes.”

Your eyes flutter shut for only a moment. “Yeah.”

More silence. Harry chews nervously on his bottom lip. Why the fuck can’t he speak?

The song playing from his phone changes. Your eyes narrow ever-so-slightly when a few upbeat notes trickle into the air, followed immediately by the smooth crooning of a woman’s voice. “Is this…,” you hesitate, and he can see how you’re fighting a smile, “…Carly Rae Jepsen?”

“Uh,” he says dumbly, uncertain of how to proceed. Sure enough, I Really Like You by Carly Rae Jepsen is filtering through the taut atmosphere, painfully loud now that the two of you are truly paying attention to it.

A high-pitched laugh falls from your mouth, and your shoulders shake with the force of your amusement. Harry, unable to help himself, begins to chuckle along with you. Heat blooms across his cheeks, but he’s not as embarrassed as he thought he’d be. Your giggles aren’t derisive, he realises.

He’s nearly overcome with the urge to take you in his arms, then, but he resists.

“Late night, watching the television…,” you sing quietly, and then you’re dissolving into merriment all over again.

Once your joint laughter subsides, you shoot him a bright grin. Harry tries his best to return it, though he doesn’t think that he mirrors your smile to its full extent. You sigh in delight, shouldering the strap of your bag and tossing your towel over your forearm.

“That honestly made my night,” you tell him, utterly sincere.

His heart somersaults in his chest. “’M glad.”

“Well,” you say, shrugging gently, “I should probably go.”

“Yeah.” His response is hollow. He lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He lies back down with a grunt as you make your way toward the exit. His fingers wrap around the weightlifting bar, about to pull it off of its resting place, when your voice suddenly rings out again.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He sits up too quickly, nearly catching his forehead against the metal of the bar. When he turns around to face you, he finds you doubling back, approaching him and nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“I actually—,” you pause, like you’re unsure of how to continue, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing his hands over the black shorts covering his thighs. “Go ahead.”

“It might be kind of weird,” you warn. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He shakes his head, blinking solemnly. “I won’t.”

“Would you—,” you begin, and your fingers come up to play with the pendant resting at the base of your throat, “—teach me how to box?”

“I—,” Harry recoils slightly, taken aback by your question. “What?”

“Would you teach me how to box?” you repeat, though your voice is significantly smaller. “I want to learn how to defend myself.”

“Against what?” he asks, his brows knitting together in concern. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine.” You wave away his worries with an inattentive flick of your hand. Harry’s eyes narrow as he studies your face. You refuse to meet his gaze.

You’re lying, he realises, straight through your pretty teeth. But it would be impolite of him to pry, wouldn’t it? And this is the first time that the two of you have ever been really, truly alone; he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

“Okay,” he says slowly, even though he doesn’t believe your guarantee.

He pulls at the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up and wiping his face with the fabric. When he fixes his gaze on you once more, he thinks he catches your eyes drifting across his torso. Cocking one eyebrow curiously, he climbs to his feet.

“What do you want to learn?” he asks, reaching for his phone and pausing the music streaming from the device.

“Anything,” you say breathlessly. “Everything.”

His lips twitch.

“I—,” he scratches at his nose with two fingers, “—I don’t really have a set schedule, you know, between practice and actual matches.”

“I know.” You nod understandingly.

“And I know you have school,” he continues, tilting his head to the side. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Positive,” you tell him. There’s something strong burning in your eyes; he can’t quite figure out what it is. “I want to train. Just…don’t tell my dad, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats. He swallows heavily, offering his phone to you. “Put your number in, yeah? I’ll text you on the nights I’m free, and if you’re not too busy, we can meet up here.”

“Alright,” you concede softly. You take the device from him, and he pretends not to notice just how badly your hands are shaking. Your nails tap quietly against the screen, and before you know it, you’re passing the phone back to him with your information saved under a new contact.

“Alright,” Harry echoes.

The two of you stare at each other for a long, silent moment. The spell is broken, however, when you finally take a step back, clearing your throat and tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“I should go,” you say. “For real, this time.”

“For real.” Harry nods.

“You’ll lock up, right?” you ask, retreating toward the exit.

“Yup,” he says, popping the last letter instinctively. At that, you smile, your mouth curling up into a soft, inviting crescent.

“Okay,” you murmur, placing one hand on the door. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He watches you go with forlorn eyes and empty lungs. “Goodnight.”

~*~

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[boldlyvoid]

Intro to Criminal Minds: Why They Did It

Criminal Minds x MINDHUNTER AU

Spencer Reid x Margaret Carr (OC)

Part 1: Ed Kemper.

Summary: Spencer is teaching a 7-week seminar on the most interesting criminal cases, explaining their actions to understand why they took place. Only, not everyone in the audience is a student.

warnings: graphic details of a real rape and murder case, like every trigger in the book, applies to this fic so read with caution (if you watch either show you're used to it, however), it's all real and did actually happen and I don't support any of it. strangers to lovers, mutual pining, flirting, fluff, eventual smut, idiots in love, OC is Wendy Carr's daughter, her bio father is Jason Gideon

word count: 3.9K

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't having fun teaching.

He started with guest speaking, moving to special seminars a few times a year. But he wanted something more, settling for a 7-week criminal justice elective of his choosing.

Intro to Criminal Minds: why they did it. Giving Spencer an excuse to share the most intimate facts about serial offenders in a setting where no one could tell him to shut up.

14 students total signed up for the two-hour Seminar, taking place every Thursday at 11 am from September until Halloween. Over the 7 weeks, he would explain the fascinating insights of the most successful killers in the United States. Only asking that his students write about a prolific crime they find interesting by the end of term, for their full grade.

All he wanted was to read about obscure killers from around the world, from the perspective of aspiring profilers.

The first Thursday, he came prepared with his coffee a half hour before the class. He wanted to write the main points on the whiteboard in advance, nice and neatly.

To his surprise, a student was already there waiting for him. "Oh, hello,” he smiled softly.

She was sitting with a book in her hands, she pushed her glasses up her nose to look at him as he walked in. She was older than his typical student, around 35. Probably finishing up a degree or adding something to what she already had.

"Hi," she smiled at him. “Sorry, I’m early, I was visiting my mom at Quantico earlier.” She explained. "I'm not a teacher's pet or anything. Promise, I’m not even a student.”

It made him laugh slightly, correcting him like she read his mind. "It's okay, I'm Doctor Reid," he introduced himself softly.

“Margaret Carr, Peggy is also fine.”

"Pleasure to meet you," he said quickly before focusing his attention on the whiteboard.

He could feel her eyes on him the whole time he wrote, not wanting to turn around and catch her. "That's so interesting," he heard her mumble under her breath.

"Hmm?" He turned around.

"It's just that, everyday occurrences that never phase the regular person somehow cause psychopaths to kill," she read the board back to him.

"I was reading a study a while back about how psycho killers medulla oblongata is approximately 19% smaller than the average human’s. Based on the way they're nurtured as children affects if they grow up to kill. The ones that don't often end up in law enforcement and other positions of power where their psychopathic tendencies can come to play."

He was taken aback for a moment. He had never experienced a student who was like him before. Someone who just pulled facts into conversations like it was nothing.

"I read that as well," he smiled. "It is fascinating. The smallest amount of bullying and abuse from a mother or disappearance of a father figure can set them off."

"Or, on the other hand, there are people like Ted Bundy," she added. "He was well-loved and taken care of, but it went to his head. His god complex and affinity for lying led him to be incredibly charismatic and enabled his killing."

"You're very educated on this already; are you just interested in hearing me speak today?" He asked, not wanting her to leave, finding it interesting that she was there.

"Oh," she blushed. "I was going to talk to you more about it after the seminar actually."

“Okay, I’ll be waiting for you,” he felt a little giddy at the prospect.

"Thanks," she laughed. "Seriously though, I'm a big fan of your teaching style, I saw a few of your classes when my dad was teaching at the academy in 2005. It's a lot easier to remember facts if the lecturer genuinely loves what they're talking about."

"You're going to like this Seminar then. It’s basically just a way for me to get paid while unloading all the random facts I have,” he warned her with a smile.

"I know." She smiled back at him.

The rest of his students filed in slowly. By 11 am, 14 faces were staring back at him.

"Hello," he waved awkwardly. "I'm dr. Spencer Reid. For the last 12 years, I've worked with the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit. Catching serial offenders across the country."

He took a deep breath, letting the nerves find their way out of him. "I've been asked time and time again who my favourite serial killer is, which is a peculiar way to phrase the question. It feels morally wrong to have a favourite in the way people do with baseball players.

"I am, however, fascinated with several serial offenders' reasoning and explanation for why they did what they did. Every single killer is different, but it all comes back to 1 thing. Do you know what that is?"

They all shook their heads. “What is your relationship with your parents like?" He asked. 

Everyone in the room reacted; some students sighed, some rolled their eyes as they recalled their parents and childhoods to memory.

"When a person decides to kill, it's often never in the moment. It's in childhood. The majority of serial offender's stories start the same; their mother didn't love them, their father left. Someone at home abused them or put them down repeatedly."

"Thus, causing a hatred so primal to bubble. No matter how hard they try and fight it, the bubble always bursts. They go from fantasizing to killing in retaliation for their abuse, taking the anger out in stages."

He referred to the board. "Every killer has a stressor and a trigger—something that causes the urge to bubble and the event that causes the bubble to rupture.”

"Edmund Kemper is a fascinating example of this. He grew up with a family for the first few years of his life before his father fully abandoned them. His mother handled the situation by turning her anger onto her son; it was his fault his father left, he looked just like him, Ed was just another useless man who would never amount to anything," he emphasized the words. Hoping the class sees the effects words have on children.

"He started by cutting up dolls, stealing his sister's barbies and cutting their heads off. In his mind, he was getting out his anger and hatred for how his mother saw him. She hated men, causing him to mature with a warped idea of what women are truly like."

"His attraction to killing worsened his mother's hatred; she could tell something was wrong with him, that he didn't react to everyday situations the way he should. By the time he was ten, she was locking him in the basement for days on end, telling him he was a monster and her biggest regret."

"The change in her rage amplified his own. He hated hearing her speak. He hated the way she walked around, thinking she was better than him. That just because she was a mother and a working woman, she deserved respect and submissive’s. All he could see was a woman with a big head who needed to be humbled. This is the moment when the psychotic side of his brain blended his hatred of his mother with how good it felt to kill."

"Is that why he, you know?" Peggy cut in, running her finger along her neck as she pretended to cut her head off.

He pressed his lips together in an awkward smile, nodding. "His signature, as it's called, was decapitation. But more specifically necrophiling the severed head of his victims."

The whole class let out a disgusted noise, Peggy and Spencer making eye contact while they shrugged, it wasn't news to them.

"At age ten, he moved from barbies to cats and dogs, never leaving them around for his mother to see. While he hated her, he was also absolutely terrified of her. Breading a special type of killer. When you think of school shooters or preferential predators, what do they have in common?" He asked.

He pointed at a student in the back. "They have a specific type of victim they’re after?"

"Exactly. Most serial offenders want to go after the cause of their pain or attraction. However, Ed wasn't able to kill the source of his rage for a long time. His mother mentally abused him so intensely that he believed she was in control of him and that her opinion of him mattered. He saw her as his God, he loved her, but he also knew that he disappointed her.

"He ran away soon after to find his father. Travelling to California, only to be told he was unwanted there as well. It wasn't just his mother that his father was escaping; it was the fundamental aspect of family that he didn't want. Ed defiantly didn't want to go back to his mother after that, so he moved in with his paternal grandparents."

He kept catching the looks on Peggy's face. She knew the story already, waiting patiently to hear the words he chose to make the horrific acts seem a little more conversational.

"His grandmother was exactly like his mother. If I had to guess, his father most likely had a distaste for his own mother and thus divorced Ed's mom. Only he never grew up to be a killer, just an absent father—his absence doing to Ed what never happened to him."

"Ed killed his grandparents when he was 15. Telling the police and his therapists that they had beaten him constantly, they refused to feed him and called him names. He said he snapped from the trauma; it was self-defence."

Peggy laughed to herself, making him smile softly. "Sending him to a mental hospital instead of a juvenile facility was the worst thing they could've done for him," Spencer added.

"Why?" A student asked.

"Ed is a psychopath." He reminded them. "He doesn't feel empathy the way we do. You can admit that you feel bad for him, yes? If you understand why he killed people, it doesn't make you sick, like him, it makes you human. You see a hurt person hurting others; Ed Kemper sees himself as a new sort of God, choosing who dies, how and when."

"He was brilliant, having the exact IQ as I do," just a humblebrag, "the staff trusted him. He looked like an innocent boy, smart enough to take matters into his own hands for the betterment of his life. They gave him computer privileges, they let him work the front desk and file patient information. Giving him all the resources to learn about who he was inside and how to get away with it perfectly."

"Damn," another kid added. "When did he get out?"

"At 21.” He answered the student quickly. “Ed was interviewed by my mentor Jason Gideon, in the 70s. Where he explained that being locked up during his sexual prime, as well as the access to information, is what truly set him off more than his mother.

"He moved back in with her and his sister when he came out of the institution, immediately returning to the constant ridicule. He went from being told all the time that he was a smart and charming young man, capable of rehabilitation to a useless, no-good son, who would have been better off collecting in a condom or running down her leg."

The whole class laughed, shocked at his repetition of Ed's mother's words.

"He got his licence when he was released. And remember, this was prime time for hitchhiking in California; everyone and their mother walked the roads with a thumb in the air. It was the birth of free love and recreational marijuana usage. It was also the best hunting ground for a learning serial killer."

"He was able to pick women up, but like I said, missing his sexual prime while in an institution made him almost impotent. He didn't know how to speak to women; he had to create a fantasy in his mind every time, one that involved killing, before he could look at a woman."

"How did he get them in his car then?" A voice asked from the back.

"He was 6'9, 300lbs; he looked like a big teddy bear. And his mother was the local college administrative assistant, so the whole town knew him anyway. If Ed offered to give them a ride, it wouldn't be that bad, right?" Peggy turned around to face the class as she explained for Spencer, who just shook his head.

"He only wanted to rape the victims, originally," Spencer added. "But he couldn't. There was no release of the tension. The bubble that had been growing inside him was at its breaking point; he needed to just do it. Get it over with and move on."

"He killed 6 women in succession after that. Gaining the name "The Co-Ed Killer," well before anyone even suspected Ed Kemper," Spencer took a sip of coffee, feeling his throat start to dry as they reached the insane part.

"He was overly friendly with the cops; he wanted to get his record expunged and join the force.” Spencer finally continued. “Being told, "don't worry about your record, worry about your weight.""

"Most killers enjoy wearing a uniform for the power and talking to the police about their cases, in the hopes of gauging how smart they really are—taking pride in the fact that they are getting away with it for so long."

"He watched all the cop shows, and he read all the books. He knew that in order to get away with it, he had to do it where no one could trace it back to him. He knew he had to keep his cool and avoid looking obsessed with the case, but just curious enough to gain insight into how they thought he was doing it. It went on for years, and they had absolutely zero leads, finding headless bodies every few months before they finally received a call." He left them hanging, walking over to his sheet of paper and pretending to read it while they anticipated the catch.

"Ed always knew that he wanted to kill his mother. He just never knew when,” Spencer teased the story along. Noticing as the students fidgeted in their seats as they wondered what happened next.

“In his interview with Gideon, Ed said that he knew she would die 7 days before he killed her. He walked into her room that night to find her reading, with the audacity to ask if he wanted to come in and chat all night. Teasing him for the way he rambled to her. It was the last time she ever did that."

"It's hard to imagine his signature with the fact his second last victim was his mother," Peggy added, cringing at the thought.

"Wait," another student interjected. "Who was his last kill then if he only really wanted to kill her?"

"Remember how I said he lacked empathy?" Spencer asked. "He loved his mother in the same way a prisoner can end up loving their captor."

Peggy nods at the comparison, looking like she's never thought of it that way before, then smiling at him.

"You grow a bond through the trauma and when the only thing you've ever known is violence and hate, you don't know what to do when that's gone, it's hard to cope."

"He said he killed his mother so that she never had to know what he did. She'd never have to sit at his court hearings or be able to tell the media that she always knew he was a killer."

"His last kill was his mother's best friend," He finally answered the question.

"He didn't want his mother to be even more disappointed in him, but he also didn't want his mother's best friend to find her like that and be upset. So the obvious answer to him was to kill her too."

"What the fuck?" He heard a couple of kids say under their breath.

"Yeah," he agreed with an almost chuckle. "This is what I mean by their answers are fascinating. It makes so much sense to them; clearly, if I kill my mother, her friend will be upset, so the best answer would be to put her out of her misery as well. He sees them as objects, like a matching set. One would lose value without the other."

Everyone was silent then. The students took in all the information they had just received, staring up at him with a look of disgust mixed with wonder.

"Any questions?"

Peggy raised her hand for a change; he pointed towards her in approval. "You missed the part where he specifically took the heads from the three women before his mother and brought them back home with him. He buried them in the yard outside her bedroom window, making sure they were always looking up to her."

Spencer was amazed that she knew the details. "Yes, I guess I did."

"I always found that part particularly interesting in this case," Peggy added. "Her opinion mattered so much to him. He knew how much she loved her co-ed's and how they looked up to her so much. They'd be exactly like her. He felt trapped in a town of women who were exactly like his nightmare, and his response was to make them physically look up to her for the rest of her life."

"Exactly." Spencer smiled. "understanding how he sees the situation and how the events played out in his mind is the key in figuring out who he is."

"If you were on the case in '72 when the first victims were discovered, how would you have handled it, Dr. Reid?" A male student in the back asked in the silence between answers, taking his shot before Peggy and Spencer went any further in their discussion.

“That's a hard thing to answer, connecting evidence back then was a lot harder than it is today, if it wasn’t for men like Ed there wouldn’t really be this many answers,” Spencer said honestly.

Another student put her hand up, “what’s the worst thing he did in your opinion?”

That racked his brain, there was a handful of horrific things he did that were particularly horrific, “probably his mother's entire murder.”

“What did he do?”

Before Spencer could answer he saw Peggy open her mouth and start explaining. “He not only cut off her head and fucked her neck, but he also took her vocal cords out and shoved them down the garbage disposal. And before he called the cops, he cleaned everything up and made her look presentable because he said his mother wouldn’t want guests to see the mess.”

The class all cringed, sinking into their seats with disgust. But that didn’t stop Peggy from explaining it all further.

“He used to go to a bar all the cops went to and he would talk about his case. They would always one-up themselves and say they were close which gave him this false idea that they were on his tail and they’d find his mother soon. But when they didn’t, he called it in from a payphone and said he’d come over and explain it all. And boy did he ever, the cops said he wouldn’t shut up. And then when they put him in the cop car finally, a woman walked past him and he threw up.”

Spencer watched her with awe, the way she could call information to memory like that was beautiful. He listened to her like he’s never heard a fact before, she was so intriguing.

“Thank you for the detail,” he teased her lightly. “Sometimes I get so caught up that the really gross parts get swept aside.”

The class smiled at him, he had gained their trust and attention within only 1 hour of class.

“I know you said you don’t have a favourite,” another student asked from the back. “I agree it’s weird, but who is the one you gravitate towards the most?”

“I’ve met hundreds of serial killers, I’ve read about thousands,” he explained. “I think Ed Kemper is the one I gravitate the most around because he was so willing and open to explaining why he is the way he is. Going as far as to say that the only way they could keep women safe is to give him a lobotomy. He didn’t believe there was any correcting to be done, only removal of the evil within him.”

He heard slight mumbles as everyone took in what he said. “Does anyone here have a killer or a case that interested them in learning more, or just introduced you to the chase of justice?”

Peggy put her hand up, “I personally think BTK is the scariest, most tactical, and just downright evil man to ever exist. He scares me to no end but he’s so interesting to learn about.”

“Ahh,” Spencer agreed. “Too bad you won't be here for week 3. But with that I think I’ll end the class, next week we’ll be discussing the difference between Ted Bundy and Richard Speck.” He nodded lightly, watching the majority of them close their books and had on out.

“I really enjoyed the class,” she said softly. Holding her purse in one hand, a collection of files in the other.

Spencer turned to look at her then, smiling right back. “It was a pleasure to teach alongside you.”

“What do you mean?” She teased, “it’s not like my mom and dad were the ones who did all the interviews."

“Carr,” he repeats her last name. The gears turning in his mind as he brings all the information forth.

“Your mother is Wendy Carr, she was recruited after the BTK case with Bill Tench, she’s who was behind that study you mentioned.”

“I know,” she smiled.

“Who’s your father?”

“Guess,” she looked at him with an unimpressed look on her face, pushing her glasses up slightly.

“You’re kidding? Gideon never said he had a daughter let alone a,” he stops himself before he can embarrass himself any further.

She smiled at the implication of his words, “but he’s told me all about you Dr. Reid, that’s why I'm here.”

“You need help with a case and I’m the only agent in Virginia currently,” he pressed his lips together awkwardly. Knowing it was too good to be true that she would have any interest in him in the slightest.

“No actually, I have a case I’ve been working on privately and I need some help. I asked my dad but he said you’d be able to help me the best. I agree,” she corrected him softly. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was a big fan of yours. When I would sit in and watch his lectures, before he knew I was his kid, you would always step in at the best parts, adding the smallest details to the story that the average person would forget. It’s magnificent.”

He laughed slightly, tugging at his collar as she complimented him. “Thank you, you’re quite magnificent as well,” he replied with a blush and a smile

She didn’t look like Gideon, probably because she smiled so much. Like sunshine on legs, she beamed, all but blinding him with her smile as she stared at him, “do you want to get lunch and go over this case with me?”

“I’d love to.”

taglist: (message me if you want to be added or removed)

@shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Congratulations

Fred Weasley x Reader

~Master~

Word Count: 1.7K

A/N: Hope you like! Please like, reblog, comment, whatever! I need validation! 😂 I wrote this on a whim and okay, if anyone knows that like interview or whatever that Selena Gomez did where she was asked a song that reminded her of being in love, that’s what got me writing this at midnight because I caught inspiration. 

***

“Y/N will play with us! Won’t you, Y/N?” Ginny yelled out as she entered the common room, ruining the world you distracted yourself in with your book. Behind her was a group of people, a couple of them having the Weasley red hair, but all of them your friends. Ginny smiled at you, approaching the table you sat at and sliding into the seat.

You sighed deeply, putting a fake smile on your own face as you closed your book. “What are we playing?” A few people celebrated as you agreed, but right away your eyes flickered to a certain nervous face. It wasn’t that Fred didn’t want you to play, it was that since you both broke up 3 weeks ago, you’ve barely said a word to him. If you play this game, you’d be close, not walking out of rooms the moment the other walks in. You gulped, feeling Ginny pull you over to the couches where everyone began taking seats. You fell in between Hermione and Harry, both of them quickly noticing Fred taking the seat farthest from you.

There were 7 people playing with you. Ginny, Harry, Hermione and Ron, the twins, and Angelina. George pulled out a box from behind him as you quirked a brow. “What are we playing?” you asked again, letting a laugh as George made a big debacle of opening it.

“It’s a game Fred and George made.” Hermione said as leaned over to you, amused to see how this would turn out. “We’re the test subjects.”

Your eyes went wide. “What pranks weren’t enough, they moved onto games?” you laughed as Hermione smiled and shrugged, knocking her shoulder with yours.

“Tell us the rules.” Ginny told her brother causing George to roll his eyes as he removed the last two things from the box.

“It’s a simple game.” He began, sharing a smirk with Fred.

“Like Truth or Dare.”

“Only different.” They said together, having planned their pitch beforehand. You kept your eyes on George as they spoke, too afraid of sparing a glance to Fred as he carried on.

“We’re spilt into two teams and each team gets a vial and a card.” He held up each object to demonstrate, the vial was quite large, barely able to fit his hand as he placed it on the table and the card looked blank. Fred’s eyes met yours briefly as you looked at the objects, a hitch in his breathing letting you know he hadn’t seen it coming. George waited for his brother to say the next line before realizing he was looking at you, too busy staring at your now down casted face as George took over.

“The card will ask whoever’s holding it a question, and you have to answer truthfully, otherwise you have to do the dare that’s written on the back.” Fred seemed to snap out of his trance in the middle of George’s instructions, shifting in his seat as he kept his eyes off you for the time being. “Whenever you answer a question truthfully, part of the vial fills up. If you choose the dare instead, the vial doesn’t fill. The first team to answer enough questions to fill the vial completely, wins.”

Small sounds of intrigue went around the group and it seemed like everyone wanted to play the game. “How are we splitting us up?” Ron asked, glancing around the group. “Older versus younger?” He offered and you swallowed thickly. That would put you on a team with Fred, and you weren’t sure that’s what you wanted. Hermione, having seen your reaction to Ron’s suggestion, was the first to step in.

“How about girls versus boys, instead?” She offered. There were a few sounds of agreement, but when Hermione shot Ron and Harry a glare and flickered her eyes between you and Fred, Harry and Ron were suddenly more enthusiastic about the idea. Everyone moved, putting the girls together on one side of the table and the boys on the other.

“Thank you.” You whispered to Hermione and she squeezed your hand under the table. She might be 2 years younger than you, but Hermione has always been easy to talk to, especially in the last few weeks.

The twins got the game started, using Harry as the first person to answer a question. The question he had to answer was simple: What’s your favorite dessert?

“Treacle tarts.” Harry answered immediately and you had to hold back a chuckle, remembering all the times you’ve seen him stuff his face with them. The boy’s vial started to fill slowly from the bottom, a blue liquid inside that you all furrowed your brows at.

“What is that?” Angelina asked from next to you.

Fred and George shared a look and a smile as the they answered her together. “Magic.” Everyone chuckled at them, including you. You knew they wouldn’t say, gotta have their secrets. What you weren’t aware of, was Fred watching as you laughed, the slight tug of his heart when he heard the sound he’d grown to miss.

The questions kept coming, each group taking turns answering them as the vials slowly filled up. A few people had opted for taking dares as the questions became harder to answer. George, for one, was dared to change into girl clothes for the rest of the game and you took him upstairs, throwing him a few of your clothes to wear. Needless to say, it was quite entertaining for everyone as he came downstairs with you in tow and the whole group laughed, including the boy himself. Harry was dared to sprint down to the Slytherin Common room and back 3 times, and Angelina was dared to perform a song for the group, which George immediately complained about the unfairness of the dares in his own product. You had answered quite a few questions yourself, ones like: Your favorite place in the world or what’s the most illegal thing you’ve ever done. The girls’ vial was almost full as Hermione answered her most likely final question, leaving enough room for one last person, which much to your luck, was you. You sat with a smile, everyone laughing as Ron opted out of answering his question, deciding spilling who his crush was wasn’t something he was going to do, despite the fact that everyone knew it was Hermione, who blushed as you poked her leg.

“Alright Y/N, you just need one more question to win it for the girls.” George said with a smirk as Hermione passed you the card. You stuck your tongue out at him, earning a laugh from everyone as George put his hands up. “Or you could take the dare like a chicken and let us prove once and for all that we’re better.” The boys cheered in a friendly fashion as the girls booed, everyone sitting with a smile on their faces.

“Haven’t taken a dare yet, Weasley. Don’t plan on it now.” You shrugged with a cocky look before putting your hand to your chest. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask, how’s my jeans, chicken?” you asked, hearing Ginny clap as she laughed at her brother’s fallen face. Fred pulled your attention as he laughed at your question, seeing George shift awkwardly next to him. You quickly let your head drop again, wearing a fake smile as you tried not to look back up at him. It was harder to do than you thought.

“Read the card!” Ron laughed out, seeing the card had already scribbled a question on it.

“Okay!” Your grin turned real again as you started reading. “What is a song...” Everyone knew something was wrong the moment you stopped in the middle of the sentence and gulped, letting your smile fall off your face immediately. They all got quiet as they waited. “… that reminds you of being in love?”

Fred wasn’t sure he was breathing as you finished reading. You couldn’t spare him a glance, instead staring at the paper in front of you. Everyone was watching you, sharing looks with each other without any clue of what to do.

“You can do the dare, on the back.” Harry spoke up, pointing to the under side of the car. His words reminded you that you weren’t alone as you sucked in a breath, looking up to him and shook your head.

“No, it’s fine.” You didn’t know what fine meant, but you knew you were far from it. You tried to think, any song in the world that reminded you of being in love. The only problem was had only been in love with one person, and it ended with your heart broken. The only song you could think of was the one playing at the yule ball when Fred and you went together, the first time he ever told he loved you.

Does it remind of being in love if all it makes you feel is heartbroken?

“I don’t know.” You whispered, gently placing the card down on the table. Your eyes moved around everyone in the room before landing on Fred and neither of you looked away. “I don’t think I have one.”

Fred felt the sting behind his eyes as they met yours and he tried not to cry, not in front of everyone here during a game. A game that was supposed to be fun, a project he started 3 weeks ago to get his mind busy and off the breakup and here it was hurting him more.

The vial on the table slowly filled up as you turned to look, watching it change a light shade of purple as well, meaning your team won. No one celebrated. Instead you all sat there, frowns on your faces and you weren’t sure how long you could last before breaking down.

“Congratulations.” Fred said, keeping his voice low. “You guys win.” You knew he was speaking to your group, but if you had willed yourself to look at him one last time, you would’ve seen he was looking directly at you. He was gone the moment the words left his lips, running upstairs to his room. When you couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, you felt Hermione putting an arm around you and pulling you into her arms. You allowed her to console you, letting the tears fall freely as Angelina grabbed your hand and Ginny moved behind you to rub your back.

You didn’t feel like you won anything.

***

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[glorified-red]

Classify the boys as they types of fanfic writers you've encountered. :))))

Thank you so much for the request! Don't think I have to tell you how much it means to me to open up my Tumblr and see 10 asks sitting in my inbox.

The BatBoys as Fanfic Writers on Tumblr

word count: 1100~

warnings: none

Dick Grayson: The Popular One

Mostly known for his AU’s because he comes up with completely original AU’s no ones ever even considered writing about

Focuses more on plot rather than feelings, very dialogue heavy

Has done a coffee shop AU

Probably a mermaid AU if you dig deep enough

He likes to go into detail about minute things in his storyline that have nothing to do with the plot but it makes the read much more interesting

Longest taglist ever

Gets plenty of asks asking to be put on his taglist and he's always super sweet when answering them

Very, very interactive fanbase

Spends hours making headers just because it looks cool

Uses pretty dividers

His master list is so aesthetically pleasing you could stare at it for hours, probably even has a key

Dick doesn't like posting regularly, instead he likes to post whenever he has the time or feels like it

Makes up for lack of new content by reblogging things

Reblogs like a champ and WILL spam reblog

Leaves an insane amount of nice comments on every fic he reads

If he follows your blog you have his profile pic memorized because he likes to interact incredibly often 

Super bright pfp that's easily memorizable

Does not mind doing a face reveal

Huge following and very popular

Insane amount of mutuals and their biggest supporter 

Always does tag games and tags like twenty people

Super long bio

Jason Todd: The Realist

Has a “Dark Blog”

Jason likes to bring awareness to real world situations through his writing so it can get dark real quick on his blog

Makes sure to tag thoroughly and has plenty of warnings throughout his blog

Mood-boards Mood-boards Mood-boards Mood-boards

Probably doesn't use dividers but uses ----- or ~~~~

NSFW blog but super kinky that his summary/warnings can be a whole story in itself

Puts his own poetry up ONCE and his fanbase begged him for more because it was so good

Regularly has a poetry night where his fans can send some of their poetry in and Jason will give advice/react/add on etc

Has a horny night right after just to spite his followers

Jason has two separate blogs, one dark and one is a casual one for ‘normal’ fics so his fans can stay comfortable

Probably has a cheesy name for his dark blog like “After Hours” or “Dark Mode”

His profile picture is an aesthetic picture like smoke or a gun on his dark blog and the colors are just inverted on his light blog due to laziness

A good amount of followers but they’re all really interactive and act like a small family circle

Doesn't do tag games

He has like 3 mutuals he regularly talks to and one of them is an irl friend

Likes to remind his followers to drink water or go eat at random but then is the one to get snarky with them or bonk them on the head for getting too horny in his inbox

Writes about feelings a lot, goes very in depth to what his characters are feeling at any given moment, physically and mentally

Has his pronouns in his bio

Tim Drake: The Original Novelist

Very elaborate writer

Sucks at dialogue but makes up for it with his lore and descriptions

Does a ton of original work, has like ten original series’ in his master list with more than fifteen parts each

Makes his own worlds with his own lore but adds in the characters because he still wants to write for his fandom

Basically an author already

Uses words you have to google sometimes

Requests are closed and doesn't respond to feedback in his inbox but secretly rereads them

Tim’s master list is intricate with multiple links to other master lists

Pretty basic/boring headers/dividers to not distract from the links

Posts at random, can go a month or two without posting a fic and then posts nothing but fics for a week straight

Too scared to reblog things at first, barely ever likes things either

Uses the tags very often to scream into the void

Reblogs things that has nothing to do with the fandom he writes for that you'll get whiplash every time you open his blog from how random it can be

On the rare occasions Tim does comment or reblog, he’ll quote a specific line from the fic and scream about how good it was

His profile pic is a random ass photo he liked one day and refuses to change it even if it has nothing to do with his fandom

Refuses to do a face reveal but does post cosplay photos with his face blurred or a mask on

Decent following and only popular because of one original series that blew up

Tim had a few mutuals and hypes them up in private so he can tell them each and every moment he enjoyed in their fic

Does tag games but always says “I tag whoever wants to do this” because he never knows who to tag

His bio is literally just his masterlist because he has a separate bio in there

Damian Wayne: The Conversationist 

Mainly does headcanons but when he does sit down and write, its hella long and very well thought out

Loves writing body language and going into depth about the flaws of his characters

His writing is not fancy at first but its very immersive - one line in and you can easily picture everything, very good at imagery

Damian opens his askbox for headcanons from his followers and will disprove them with facts or add on with his version of canon 

Amazingly good at characterization as if he wrote the character himself 

No headers, he only uses titles

He doesn't even see the point in dividers until someone shows him then he decides to makes his own (insanely good btw)

Posts on a regular schedule to the point that you don't even need his notifs on, you can just open your phone on a certain and know Damian posted

Does not reblog things, its his own blog so why should he reblog other people's things? 

Strictly a writing blog so its very easy to scroll through and see nothing but fics

He has his pet as his profile picture

Not the biggest follower count but he doesn't care about it, he came to write nothing else

No mutuals, only people he knows of and interacts with but does not consider them mutuals

His bio is super simple, just “Writer of __ fandom”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@bungunz

@red-hood-redemption​