#you’d never catch me saying a single bad word about my king

[jeremycollinsstan]

ppl who hate jeremy collins r so pathetic. like get over urself

[pourcap]

thoughts: kr chapter 4

‘Laurent,’ he said, ‘what have you done?’

‘Does it bother you to think of him hurting your country?’ it bothers me that this is probably said by laurent in that some tone he uses when he’s found something to hurt someone with

‘(...) It won’t bring your brother back.’ There was a violent silence. yikes. maybe not the right thing to say when you want laurent to calm down

‘You know, my uncle knew who you were,’ said Laurent. ‘He spent this whole time waiting for us to fuck. He wanted to tell me who you were himself, and watch it wreck me. Oh, had you guessed that? You just thought you’d fuck me anyway? Couldn’t help yourself?' 1) fuck the regent. i hate him and i want him to die 2) laurent is being so unfair. i get it because he’s hurt and confronted with the fact that damen is damianos and obviously responsible for not only auguste’s death but laurent’s whole life turning into a living hell, but it’s not like damen ever forced himself on laurent. plus, laurent sleeping with him didn’t really help laurent in any way, because by the time that happened, damen had already become a helpful asset to laurent by going over battle strategy and controlling laurent’s men et cetera...

‘You said, “Kiss me”,’ said Laurent, each word enunciated clearly. ‘You said, “Laurent, I need to be inside you, you feel so good, Laurent,”’ He switched to Akielon, as Damen had, at the climax, ‘‘it’s never felt like this, I can’t hold on, I’m going to—”’ ‘Stop,’ said Damen. He was breathing in quick, shallow breaths, as he might after heavy exertion. He stared at Laurent. i don’t really have anything to say to this because it left me speechless. laurent can be so fucking cruel, oh my god. using these intimate moments against damen? man. it’s not like this is the first time laurent just seemingly switched off his own emotions, though... (which is ofc very healthy!)

laurent wants to get delpha from nikandros?? did he not once ask damen if he thought nikandros would like him...?

He had not come here prepared to negotiate. Laurent had. Laurent was here as the Prince of Vere facing the King of Akielos. Laurent had known who he was all along. The list, written in Laurent’s own hand, had been prepared before this meeting. this is genuinely painful. i feel so bad for damen :( can he please catch a break from getting his heart broken constantly? 

‘Because I knew who you were,’ said Laurent, ‘and when you killed Touars and humiliated my uncle’s faction, I sent the news of it echoing to every corner of my country. So that if you ever crawled back onto your throne there would be no possibility of an alliance between you and my uncle. Do you want to play this game against me? I will take you apart.’ “i will take you apart” caused me very real physical pain in my chest. i hate all of this. laurent is being so cold and calculating, it’s like we just skipped book 2 completely and are now once again dealing with book 1 laurent (who, looking back, i love, but he’s become so sweet and honest with damen that it hurts seeing him go back to hiding behind all of his walls drawn up). bottom line: ouch. 

Damen let his eyes pass over Laurent slowly, where he stood. ‘You’re alone. You don’t have allies. You don’t have friends. You’ve proven true everything your uncle ever said about you. You made deals with Akielos. You even bedded an Akielon—and by now, everyone knows it. You’re clinging to independence with a single fort and the tatters of a reputation. (...) Let’s not pretend you have anything here worth a bargain.’ okay, they’re BOTH cruel. what the fuck? not that it’s a surprise that damen can hold his own and has a mouth on him, but still, “the tatters of a reputation,” good god. he’s not wrong, but it is low to use every accusation laurent has fought against practically his entire life against him. not that laurent doesn’t maybe deserve it. but yeah. 

i guess one thing i can take away from this whole argument so far is that i would neither want to argue with laurent nor damen. ever. (a bit unrelated, but they’re probably going to fight every now and then once they’re happy and in love and perhaps married so i just wanna say in advance that i feel really bad for anyone who’ll end up witnessing their arguments.)

Laurent’s cool blue eyes were on him, his pose relaxed where he stood, with all the filtered light of the tent in his lashes. Damen felt those words working on him, his body reacting almost against his will. love damen waxing poetic about laurent’s eyes even in a situation like this, though <3 also, laurent terrifies me <3

‘Guion,’ said Laurent, ‘has agreed to testify in writing to the details of the deal that he brokered between Kastor and my uncle during his time as Ambassador.' well. laurent’s got this in the bag.

‘Please,’ said Laurent, ‘insult me further. Tell me more about my tattered reputation. Tell me all the ways that bending over for you has damaged my position. As if being fucked into the mattress by the King of Akielos could be anything other than demeaning. I am dying to hear it.' god, this is so painful. sorry about constantly repeating myself but GOD, IS THIS PAINFUL. 

Damen’s hands became fists. He felt fundamentally outmanoeuvred—even as he could see that Laurent was bargaining alone, with very little, for his political life. (...) yeah, i mean, it’s difficult to not be outmanoeuvred when you’re dealing with laurent who practically plans centuries ahead.

‘And that is how it is to be between us?’ said Damen. ‘Mercenary? Cold?’ ‘How did you think it would be?’ said Laurent. ‘You’d take me to your bed for the public consummation?’ It hurt. man, can’t they just... idk. communicate? i know there were always too many lies and too much history between them but they’re so good for each other :( also, damen checking if laurent really wants things to go this way upsets me so much. for someone who grew up always starving for his father’s approval, he’s really wearing his heart on his sleeve around laurent. i mean, i can’t imagine theomedes wasn’t full of toxic masculinity, and for damen to allow himself so much obvious heartbreak must be new, especially because damen never had anyone he liked so much (’i imagine it’s always like this?’ ‘no, never’, or however that conversation between laurent and damen went) </3

‘I see you’ve thought of everything,’ said Damen, bitterly. ‘It didn’t have to be—you could have come to me, and asked for my help, I would have—’ ‘Killed the rest of my family?' i had to close my eyes there for a second. it’s really just hit after hit after hit.

(...) He took a step back. Then, as if a pillar of control had finally collapsed, Laurent surrendered his full weight to the table behind him, his face drained of all colour. He was trembling, his hairline pricked with the sweat of injury. He said: ‘Now get out.' i don’t know if i want to shake him or give him a big hug :’)

this whole entire paragraph of damen feeling out of touch and heartbroken made me want to cry

The ache of loss didn’t make sense, because Laurent had never been his. He had known that. The delicate thing that had grown between them had never had a right to exist. It had always had an end date, the moment that Damen reassumed his mantle. "that delicate thing” :( damen was so careful in the way he treated laurent, everything about this makes me so sadddddd

(...) If it hurt, it was fitting; it was simply kingship. hmmmm. great life prospects here.

(...) It had been proof to Nikandros that he had honoured the memory of his father. Now Damen was going to take it from him, in a piece of cold-blooded statesmanship. poor nik; that’s got to suck. good thing laurent made sure he’d not leave empty-handed :)))) (i really can’t believe laurent sometimes. what is his brain.)

He waited, not turning away from what it meant, now, to be King. If he could give Laurent up, he could do this. damen is really kind of... auto-piloting this whole thing. i know he’s got issues but seriously, he’s really awful at dealing with his emotions, especially when it’s loss or hurt or whatever. no wonder he blanks out on the field or during physical activities in general, where he can blow off steam

‘He’s playing us against each other,’ said Nikandros. ‘This is calculated. He is trying to weaken you.’ Damen said, ‘I know. It’s like him.' i have a feeling nikandros really does not (and will not?) like laurent

And then, as though Nikandros couldn’t help the words that came out next, ‘If you would at least take off the cuff—’ ‘No. It stays.’ He refused to lower his eyes. i just wanna say that damen is really hot for this

Into the painful silence, Damen said, ‘And you? Will I lose you?’ It was all he allowed himself. It came out in a steady enough voice, and he made himself wait, and say nothing more. i feel like every chapter in king’s rising so far has shown just how emotionally restricted damen is when it’s not about laurent. with laurent, he’s allowed himself to be really transparent about his feelings, even being playful and cheesy at times, whereas in every other situation, he never opens up too much

‘If someone kills your family you don’t rest until they are dead.’ i really don’t think laurent would kill damen even now, even if he had the chance... right? too much has happened between them for laurent to go through with it 

‘Get up,’ he heard himself say, awkwardly, a wrong order for a slave. There was a time when he would have expected this, and known how to behave around it. (...) Nikandros knew him, and she was his type. (...) damen’s heartbreak makes me so sad :(

i would kill for another laurent pov chapter right now. one that runs parallel to this, so i can find out how laurent’s dealing with his own heartbreak (because i know he’s going through it, too!!!)

(...) ‘Here,’ he unpinned his cloak, and whirled it around her shoulders. (...) damen best boy

okay, good, it’s over and i can breathe again lol

that entire chapter hurt :)

[queen-of-the-vampires]

Don’t Mess With The Queen

Characters: Klaus Mikaelson x Hybrid!Reader

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: none

Request by anonymous: Could u do a imagine where the reader is friends with the mystic falls gang and is a werewolf and finds out that she and klaus r mates?

Summary: People who you want to call your friends are planning on killing the love of your life. It’s your job to show them who’s really the boss.

Author’s Note: This is a female!reader. I did change this request a tad, but I hope you like it! I haven’t written for TVD in a while now, so please bear with me on this. After asking a few people, I have decided to end this on a fluffy note. I did write an angsty alternate ending, but I don’t know if the anon who requested wanted that or not.

No one knows why you’re really here. They all think you’re their friend, so they feel comfortable disclosing their plan right in front of you. You want to be friends with them because they seem like genuinely nice people, but they are so fueled by rage and revenge that they’ll do anything to get it… even plotting against your mate, your sire, the love of your life.

Stefan and Damon have spent their entire life fighting each other and putting their noses in places where it doesn’t belong. Elena and Caroline have always been the people who want to fix others, to make them better even if there is nothing wrong with them. Bonnie is always stuck in the middle of everyone’s problems, putting herself and others in danger for no reason.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Elena asks, taking out the last bit of weapons she has stashed in the Boarding House.

“First thing we need to do is pick a location. When is Klaus most vulnerable?” Stefan asks.

“Yeah, the last time we did that, Elijah betrayed us. That moonrock or whatever was our only chance to get him at his weakest.”

“You were one of Klaus’ bitches. What do you think?” Damon asks and turns to you.

“What?” you ask, pulling back from your own thoughts.

“You spent over two years sired to him before Tyler saved you. You must know things that can help here,” Elena says.

What she says is true. You were sired to Klaus for two years, but not in the way they believe. You were sired to him in the beginning when you were first turned by Klaus’ mother. You were a werewolf that was in the same village as Klaus and his family. You two became fast friends, always leaning on each other whenever his abusive father and your abusive mother decided to make you two their toys.

Everything was going fine until one of your own decided to kill the youngest member of the Mikaelson family. There was a family friend of Esther, Tatia, that she used her blood in a spell that would make them the Original vampires. Klaus wanted you to have the same thing, so without his parents knowing, he gave you some of that wine. You were the first-ever turned hybrid that came from a spell.

You and Klaus have spent every moment together ever since. What the gang of Mystic Falls doesn’t know is just how old you are. They think you were just another hybrid that he made with Elena’s blood, stuck with him against your will. Tyler found your pack in the mountains and proceeded to unsire every single one of Klaus’ hybrids. When Tyler got to you, that’s when you started to catch onto what he was doing.

If Tyler wanted to desperately to save you, then you were going to act like you wanted to be saved. You came to Mystic Falls and befriended the vampires in the town. Now, they all think that you hate Klaus as much as they do when really, you’re just as in love with him as you were when you first met him.

“He really liked hiding out in the woods, though, they’re usually on werewolf territory, so good luck trying to get there. It’s probably why you can never find him. The werewolves will get to you before he does. He hears chatter in the wind and he moves to another pack site.”

“That’s smart,” Caroline comments.

“Yeah, so you’re not going to find him there.”

“Guys, we need to figure out something, or else more people are going to get hurt,” Elena says. Sometimes, you really want to kill her so you don’t have to hear her speak. “Klaus needs to die.”

Hearing them talk about killing the love of your life enrages you a little bit. You could take every single person in here without breaking a sweat, but you don’t turn to violence just yet. You take out your phone to let Klaus know exactly what they’re planning. You’d be a bad girlfriend if you let them attack without warning him.

They’re planning on killing you, my love.

It’s cute if they think they can.

They seem hell-bent on figuring it out.

I’m not afraid of them if that’s what you’re worried about. They can’t hurt me even with their best player.

I’m worried someone is going to get very hurt. What should I tell them?

Tell them where I am. Let them come. If it’s a war they want, I’m only happy to provide.

Are you sure?

I’m always sure, love.

You put your phone away and look at the small group, getting up to join the elite circle.

“I do know where Klaus lives.”

“That would have been nice to know a little earlier, don’t you think?” Damon sneers.

“Damon, don’t,” Stefan butts in. “Where is he?”

“New Orleans. That place is crawling with witches and vampires, but he and his family are stationed there.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because he took me there once. The witches will know once you arrive, but most of them are scared of Klaus anyway that they’ll help you blend in. Everyone from that town knows the Mikaelsons are royalty, but their castle doesn’t have a lot of guards protecting it. If you want to get to him, that’s where you want to do it.”

“How do you know all of this? This seems awfully suspicious for someone who isn’t sired to him anymore.”

“He still thinks I am. He’ll call me every day and ask for something. He figures if he has a hybrid in another state that I can do his dirty work for him elsewhere. You want to get Klaus? That’s how you’re going to do it.”

“She does have a point. Better to take this fight to his turf than ours. He’s more comfortable there,” Stefan points out.

Now that they know a location, it didn’t take long for them to come up with a plan of attack. Of course, you told everything to Klaus as soon as you were on the plane to get to New Orleans. He told you not to worry about a thing because he’ll plan a little something for their arrival.

No one messes with the King and his Queen.

When you land in New Orleans, the gang is eager to carry out their plan of attack. Just like you said, the town is crawling with witches who sense you the minute you landed. Every single witch knows you by heart, so they’re confused why you’re with them and not with Klaus. Your love must have only told them the basic information instead of what was really going on.

“Okay, where is this son of a bitch?” Damon asks.

“The French Quarter is where he likes to hang out. You’ll want to start there. Caroline and Elena will blend in more since they’ve never been here, but you two might stick out like a sore thumb. Just be prepared. If anything, I know these guys so let me do the talking.” You pause right in front of the group and turn to Bonnie. “And Bonnie? These guys know you’re a Bennett witch. Try not to do magic unless absolutely necessary. Klaus has a thing with witches.”

You lead the group into the French Quarter while keeping your head down to avoid conflict. The group follows your lead until you reach the middle of the place you call home.

“Stay here,” you say and leave the group on your own.

You approach the small bar within the Quarter, and lean over the counter a tad, looking at the bartender.

“Is Klaus here?”

“I’m right here,” you hear your lover’s voice. You and the Mystic Falls gang turn to see him standing in one of the many doorways that enter the French Quarter. “I hear you’re looking for me?”

“Where in the world did you hear that?” Damon asks, giving you a side glare. You step away from the group and speed over to Klaus, standing just a tad behind him. He smirks and doesn’t break eye contact with the older brother. “Traitor.”

“It isn’t a betrayal if I was never on your side to begin with,” you state.

“What are you doing? You’re not sired to him anymore,” Stefan tries to appeal to you.

“My sire bond wore off in the tenth century. I’m a lot older than you think I am. I really did want to be your friend, but you’re all so driven by rage and revenge that you can’t leave us alone until we’re fixed to the standards set by you. Next time you plan to kill someone, you should think twice about who you let into your home.”

“We should get going,” Elena whispers.

“Always the level-headed one, Elena. Too bad you can’t,” Klaus grins.

Stefan and Damon try to leave using their vampire speed, but they are blocked by the spell put there from the witches in this town. It’s like a big spell to trap the four vampires and the one witch inside. Caroline steps into the sun and immediately screams in pain, seeking the shade to calm her burning skin.

“My daylight ring isn’t working.”

“Yes, you’re all trapped here. For how long is still yet to be determined. Welcome to the French Quarter ladies and gentlemen,” Klaus chuckles.

“I can’t use my magic,” Bonnie panics.

“The next time you even think about going after Klaus, I won’t be so nice,” you say.

Klaus wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, whispering something into your ear.

“Pardon us, we have other business to tend to.”

Klaus leads you away from the group, and only when you two are alone, does he turn you so that you’re facing him.

“You can relax, Klaus, no one is going to hurt you. Not as long as I am alive.”

“I can take care of myself, love,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, but isn’t it better when I do it?”

“Tenfold.”

“Always and forever, my love,” you whisper.

You lean in and press your lips to his, showing him just how much you love him.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why! (not sure how much i will write for this fandom, but add yourself if you want!)

@essie1876​ @choosemyname​ @cuddlyklaus​ @sotmperrie​ @akshi8278​ @chynarosep101​ @gh0stgurl​ @littlemissslytherinprincess​ @honeybums-blog​ @kendall-michele​ @tdntu0​ @miraclesoflove​ @nasatonie​ @thelazywitchphotographer​

[lesbobiwan]

Brat (Wolffe x f! reader)

Explicit — minors DNI

Wolffe x f!reader

warnings: cockwarming, dirty talk KING wolffe, brat tamer!wolffe, spanking

You did this to yourself. You know that, realistically.

Since you woke up this morning, there was a bone-deep feeling inside you that just begged for trouble and, well, you seem to have found it.

Wolffe's jaw clenches, and his shoulders roll back, giving his already broad body an even broader appearance.

Oh yeah, you found trouble alright.

Still, despite the commander burning holes into the back of your head, you turn to your newfound dance partner.

He's sweet enough — a shiny from the 212th if the brand new yellow paint is any hint. He had approached you with a shy smile and an outstretched hand and had raised his voice to be heard over the blasting music of 79s. "D'you wanna dance?"

Like you said: sweet.

But, you're not looking for sweet. you're looking for something rough and dirty. Something you'll undoubtedly feel tomorrow morning.

You think you'll get what you're looking for tonight. Not from this shiny, but you'll get it nonetheless.

If your dance partner notices how you're putting on a show for someone else, he doesn't say anything. His hands twitch like he wants to reach out to touch, but he pulls back before he gets too close.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. In any other situation — if this shiny had been someone else — you would have found his consideration for your personal space sweet.

But once again, you aren't looking for sweet.

You turn your back to the shiny, face to face again with Wolffe, whose grip on his glass has gotten tighter and tighter, and press your ass against his groin.

The shiny gasps and his hips jerk against you. Finally, his hands close around your hips.

Wolffe raises his chin and arches a single eyebrow. Are you sure this is the game you want to play? his expression seems to ask you.

You hold eye contact as you roll your hips against the trooper behind you.

His breathy moan echos through your ear, not at all like the hearty groans that Wolffe would let out.

This trooper is all wrong — too sweet, too tentative, too quiet, too nice — but you know you won't have to put up with him much longer.

Not much longer at all.

Wolffe sets his drink down, still half empty.

A bolt of anticipation shoots through your gut.

Fuck, you can feel how soaked your panties are.

"Let's go," Wolffe's hand, strong and confident, closes around your bicep as soon as he gets within arm's reach.

You plant your feet as best you can, doing your best to keep your ass pressed flush to the trooper's slowly hardening dick. "I'm having a good time, Commander," you look up at him through your eyelashes, poking your tongue out to wet your lips. "But thanks anyways."

Oh, you're really playing with fire now.

The trooper's hands have left your body like he's been burned. "C-Commander," he stutters, stuck between standing at attention and hunching to hide his erection. "I didn't know she was w-with you, I'm sorry, Sir."

Wolffe sucks on his teeth before he jerks his head to the side, "Get the fuck out of here, trooper."

The man leaves, but you don't feel too bad about it.

You pull your arm from Wolffe's grip, but you have a feeling he lets you do it.

It's a trap, you know. Wolffe is baiting you into digging yourself a deeper hole but you can't help it.

Now that he's giving you attention, you're sucking it all in and demanding more, even if it's negative attention.

"What the fuck, Wolffe?" you demand, crossing your arms under your breasts to push them out more.

His gaze trails down, so obviously staring at your breasts that it makes your thighs clench in excitement. He drags his eyes back up to your face.

"You don't talk to me like that, girl," he says lowly, and it would almost be too quiet to be heard over the music had it been anyone else that said them.

But it's Wolffe, and you think you would be able to hear anything Wolffe said to you, especially when he said it like that.

Your clit throbs beneath your panties. You wonder if he'll like the nice gray set you picked out just for him.

"Don't talk to you like what, Commander," you spit out, digging your grave even deeper than before. It'll take forever to climb out of it, but you know it will be so worth it.

Wolffe leans in close, placing his hand to the small of your back and pressing you flush against his chest, "Like a brat."

He lets the words hang in the air between you.

Your breath catches in your throat, and all the previous bravado you had vanishes without a trace.

A brat. The label makes your mouth go dry and your cunt get wet with want.

"What are you gonna do about it?" you manage to say.

Wolffe smirks, digging his fingers in harder against your skin, "You'll find out," he replies, voice dark with intent.

And, maker help you, you can't wait to find out.

~

"Please! Please, Commander," you beg, your hips trying their best to jerk against his grip, "Please, let me come!"

You think you've been here, anchored on his cock by the strong hands that hold your hips still, for hours now. In that time, you've fallen apart at a rapid pace.

You know that your makeup, once applied to your face with care and a delicacy usually reserved for breakable objects, has smeared across your face from your tears. Your very soul feels like it's been exposed to a live-wire, and with every roll of Wolffe's hips you get closer and closer to burning alive.

You'd welcome the flame happily.

Wolffe grunts against your neck, not stopping the barely-there thrusts of his hips, "What did I tell you, girl?"

Smack.

Your shriek and buck against his grip. Your clit stings in pleasure, and when you look down, Wolffe's hand is hovering just over your swollen cunt.

Did he just —

Smack!

This time you get to watch as the flat of his palm smacks against your clit.

Pleasurepain shoots through your core. You cunt clenches around his cock.

"Fuck!" you sob, dropping your head back onto his shoulder as you writhe in his grip. "Please, Commander! I wanna come, please let me come!"

Wolffe hums uninterestedly. He seems so cool, so unaffected by your begging and by the way your cunt tries to squeeze the life out of his cock. "Answer me," he demands, placing his hand — wet now with your slick — back on your hip. "What did I tell you?" He rolls his hips beneath you, pressing against that spot inside you that no one before him has ever hit with deadly accuracy.

Pleasure shoots through your gut. "Please!" you sob, thighs trembling atop him.

Oh, fuck, you think you're gonna come. You can feel it building, can feel your core tightening like a rubber band about to snap.

Unintelligible words fall from your lips — a never ending babble — as your release builds. You try to rock your hips, looking for more pressure against the spot that only Wolffe's cock can hit.

He's ruined you, you think. Ruined you for any other man. How could you possibly try to fuck anyone else knowing that no one could compare to him?

You're so close to coming, you can feel it and you know it'll be devastating. One that will rob you of your senses and leave you a blubbering mess until you recover. Fuck, you want it so bad and —

Wolffe rips you off of his cock.

"No!" you cry out, thrashing in his grip as he manhandles you so that your face and chest are pressed into the bed.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, and you can feel the slick that drips from you. The way he tossed you around only makes you wetter.

"You bastard!" you curse, turning your head to bury your face into the covers, "Please, just let me come!"

Your body twitches with your ruined orgasm. Fuck, you just want him to touch you. One touch and you think you could come.

Wolffe laughs, that son of a bitch, behind you, one hand pressed between your shoulder blades to force you down into the sheets. "Now, that's not very nice, baby," he scolds. His other hand trails up the back of your thigh with a featherlight touch.

You try to push back into his hand that traces up the curve of your ass and yelp at the ensuing spank.

"Now, I'll try to be nice, because I know you've gone cockdumb," Wolffe finally presses his cock back against your pussy, sliding his length through your folds. The head of his cock bumps your clit with every slow thrust of his. "But, I need you to start behaving, smart girl. You've started acting like a brat," he emphasizes his words with sharp spanks, alternating cheeks each time.

The moan that is ripped out of you gets muffled by the pillow. "I'll be good!" You assure, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder, "I'll be good, I promise, Commander!"

Fuck, Wolffe looks so good behind you. His normally well-kept hair is slightly askew, a few strands falling in front of his face, and his mouth is twisted into a feral grin that makes your cunt gush on his cock.

"Yeah? You'll be good?" Wolffe slides his cock back, lining the head up with your weeping entrance, "You'll be my good girl?"

"Yes!" You sob, hands grasping at air as your try to grab at him. "Yes, I'll be your good girl. Only yours! Yours, yours —"

Wolffe sinks inside you with one hard thrust. "No," he groans, "No, I don't think you're my good girl. Not yet." He pulls out all the way, but you don't have to wait long before he slams back inside you and starts a devastating pace.

You wail into the pillow, caught between trying to get away from the brutal fucking and trying to push back into it. He's ruining you, you think again, You'll never be the same again.

"Don't worry, baby," Wolffe spanks your ass hard enough to make you yelp, "I'll fuck the brat out of you."

Unfortunately for you, you have a lot of brat to get rid of, and Wolffe is only getting started.

[drabbles-of-writing]

Stitched Back Together

AO3

first Owl Fight attack, woo! The prompt for this one was “Luz and Raine hanging out”

Summary: Free of Kikimora's control, with scars carved into their skin, Raine is taken back to the Owl House. Awake in the middle of the night, unable to sleep after their whole ordeal, they officially meet Luz. Talking to one of Eda's kids really shouldn't be as intimidating as it feels.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Raine first saw the kids, truly and consciously, there were thorns retreating from their eyes and scars etched onto their skin as Eda held them tightly.

Eda’s sclera had turned black, hands hooked into talons with wings arched over their heads, and was at least two feet taller than when they had last seen her. And there had been a lot to ask about there, and possibly some gawking, but this isn’t about that.

Because as soon as Raine could stand, Eda holding their hands tightly and almost brought to tears at how relieved she was to see them alright, to know there would be no more harm done to them, Raine noticed the two figures far across from them, holding back the few guards trying to intervene.

They recognized them quickly, from the photo that had twisted a hole into their chest, because Eda had kids and she had spoken of them with such desperation and love--

The girl had turned, and Raine knew then they hadn’t been imagining the round ears when they first saw the photo. She had the young demon they recognized earlier clinging to her back, and they both looked at Raine with confusion. The demon’s had been accusatory, but the humans, she had to be a human, looked nothing but curious.

It had all passed by in a blur, the escape from the guards and Eda bundling them into the Owl House, frantic as she continued to check them over, never slowing in her talking as the wings and sharp edges retreated back into her body, which Raine may have quietly mourned the loss of. They suited her.

The human and demon had watched from the background, occasionally offering assistance towards or around the two, but more or less giving them space as Eda fretted and explained all she could to Raine, clinging like she was afraid if she didn’t, Raine would vanish again.

They heard of what Kikimora had done to them, of what Belos had done to them, of what they had done. Of Eda’s acceptance of the curse, of the rest of the BATs being in the Conformatorium (something they both agreed on fixing as soon as they could), of everything that Eda could think to catch them up on.

There would be time to unpack all of that, to formulate plans, to talk about everything beyond what Raine had missed out on. But that could wait until another day, could wait until Raine had gotten rest, and a moment to reorient themselves.

And yet, they still found themself in Eda’s kitchen, nearing midnight, with a cup of tea that looked suspiciously like the one Lilith had liked in their hands.

They knew they should be asleep, it was late, and knowing Eda, there would be far more to fret about in the morning. Eda had offered her nest, but Raine had taken the couch, not exactly willing to voice their opinion on how Eda’s nest did not look comfortable.

They were thankful for it later, too, when they awoke after barely an hour of sleep with the feeling of vines wrapped around their throat and muffled, begging cries as their hands moved of their own accord.

They sighed and slumped against the counter, setting down the cup for a moment to rub at their wrist, where scars from the reaching thorns still lay. They faded the further the scars stretched up their body, but they figured the ones along their wrist and arm would last for the rest of their life.

It wasn’t too bad, a scar was really the best thing they could’ve asked for. They stared down at their tea, thoughts swirling and not even bothering to try and sort any of them out. Later, when their wrist didn’t have a phantom ache.

“Oh, hey.”

Raine startled, almost knocking their cup over as they whirled their head around.

The human stood in the doorway, looking a bit surprised at Raine’s reaction. She had clearly just woken up, hair a frizzy mess and eyes still blinking with sleep.

“Oh, um, hello.” Raine said, forcing themself to relax. “Sorry, is there something you need?” They asked, wrapping a hand around their tea.

“I just came here for a snack,” The human shrugged, breezing right by the counter and towards the cabinets. 

Raine nodded, mostly just to themself, and went back to staring into space, trying to pretend the awkward tension hadn’t suddenly arisen.

They realized after a moment that the girl had paused in what she was doing, hand still in the cabinet door, but taking nothing out. They looked up for a moment, and caught the girl watching them with a contemplative look on her face until she realized she had been staring and jerked back to shuffling through the cabinets.

“So,” Raine said, in some attempt to break the tension, leaning their arms across the counter. “You’re Eda’s kid?” They said, grimacing slightly at how off that had come off sounding.

“Er, yeah,” The human said, frowning at the cabinet before shutting it again and opening a different one. “And you’re...Raine.”

“You’ve heard of me, then?” Raine guessed, taking a sip of their tea.

“Vaguely,” The human admitted, opening another cabinet door. “I know you’re--er, were, the head of the Bard Coven. I know Eda mentioned some group called the BATs you lead. I know that...Eda knows you.” She said, voice becoming more mumbly as she spoke.

“Ah, Eda didn’t speak of me much, then?” Raine inquired, telling themself that they shouldn't really be surprised.

“Not until you, uh, had the whole...thing happening.” The girl nodded. “Then Eda got really worried and me and King asked why she was so worked up, and then she told us you were an old friend, which I maybe halfway trust, and that you had this group with the BATs...and I still don’t think I understand it completely.” She admitted with a sheepish look.

“Sounds like Eda.” Raine chuckled, shaking their head slightly as they smiled down at their tea. “Wait, halfway trust?” They added right after, back straightening.

“I mean, I trust you mean a lot to Eda,” The human said, her raiding of the cabinets forgotten. “And I trust Eda means a lot to you,” Raine did not flush at that, thank you. “But pretty much everyone Eda knows she has a very complicated relationship with, and I’d be surprised if you were the one exception.”

“Ah,” Raine said, rubbing the back of their neck. Is this what it felt like to be interrogated by a kid? “You got me there. We haven’t...seen each other in a while.” They admitted.

“How long?” The human asked, interest sparking in her eyes as she leaned next to the cabinets.

“Erm, two...maybe two and half decades?” Raine said, lifting a hand and tilting it. “Titan, it sounds much longer than it feels when I say it out loud.” They murmured.

“Oooh, another piece of the mysterious backstory!” The human grinned, perking up, all the hesitation from earlier melting away at a probably concerning speed. “Why’d ya stop talking?”

“Ah, well, you know,” Raine said, flushing again as their ears pressed back. “Just...a split, really. Seeing other people. Eda had some things she still needed to work out, and I suppose I had to reflect a bit, too.” They mumbled.

“Wait,” The girl narrowed her eyes, and when Raine focused on where she was again, they pulled back when they realized Luz was on the other side of the counter. “Are you one of her exes?” She gasped, eyes wide.

“Oh dear,” Raine sighed, face falling in their hands.

“You are!” The girl exclaimed, and they sincerely hoped it didn’t wake anyone else up. “Man, and I thought all her exes hated her from how she talked about some of them.” She whistled. “Explains a bit, though.”

“Is that so?” Raine mumbled, knowing that they were blushing up to their ears.

“Yeah, I mean, explains why she seemed so freaked out. She's gotta know you pretty well.” The human said casually. “She goes all out when she gets attached, as I’m sure you know.” She added with a light tease.

“Oh, I know.” Raine sighed, memories of holding back a feral Eda back in Hexside from mauling Odalia still vivid in their mind. “And, since we’re talking, I apologize, but,” They said, raising their head from their hands when they were sure they didn’t look like they’d had a nasty sunburn across their face. “I don’t believe I...caught your name.”

“Eda didn’t mention it?” The human blinked, graciously taking the change in conversation.

“She might’ve, but I’ll be honest, I caught maybe two of every five words she said.” Raine admitted, flicking an ear. “I’m sorry, but I figure I should ask now before it turns into something where I ask at a much worse moment.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” The human waved her hand. “You went through a lot. My name’s Luz.” She said cheerfully, offering a hand. “The other little guy is King.”

Raine blinked at it for a moment before reaching out and taking it, giving a single shake until Luz pulled back. She was practically rocking on her heels from how excited she seemed, and Raine may have allowed a small half-smile in return.

“Have you lived with Eda long?” Raine asked, because they could still remember Eda’s pained explanation that the kids weren’t hers hers, and found themself wondering where in the world she had picked up a human.

“Few months,” Luz said. “Four, maybe? I dunno, the calendars here are different from the human realm.”

“Four months?” Raine blinked, surprised. “I would’ve thought you’d known her longer.”

“Nah, I’m just a recent addition.” Luz shrugged, looking away with a hint of nervousness. “King’s been here for years, though.”

“Huh, odd.” Raine said with a shrug as they went back to drinking their tea. “You act a lot like her, I would’ve thought you’d have picked up those habits from her.”

“I do?” Luz repeated, straightening.

“Yes?” Raine lowered their cup. “When she was younger, at least. Very curious, couldn’t leave any questions unanswered. And stubborn. And maybe a little too attentive for her own good.” They added with a lighthearted tone.

“Oh, yeah, that-that sounds familiar.” Luz coughed into her fist, and Raine smiled at her embarrassment. “You knew her when you were younger, then?” She asked, and Raine chose not to comment on the slight diversion in conversation.

“Since Hexside,” Raine nodded. “I want to say we were eleven or so? Maybe twelve. Never had a moment of peace since.”

“Aw, Eda’s backstory just keeps getting more and more convoluted. At least yours isn’t as crazy as Lilith or her moms. Even after the whole mind-control thing.” Luz said with a fiery curiosity in her eyes, and Raine was impressed at their lack of visible reaction to how casually Luz brought up the mind-control. Another thing like Eda, Raine thought. No amount of answers would be satisfactory, and treated every odd thing like it was just another day.

“Well, I’m glad I got her daughter's approval. Wouldn’t want to fight my way in now, would I?” Raine chuckled, tilting their cup back and finishing the last of it.

When they lowered their cup again, Luz was staring at them like a spooked rabbit, hands gripping the counter. They blinked slowly, brow raised in confusion.

“I-I’m not,” Luz stuttered, coughing to clear her throat and forcibly releasing the counter. “I’m not her daughter, you thought I was her daughter?”

“You aren’t?” Raine frowned, ears perking up. “But you said you were her kid.”

“That’s--I thought you meant--like when Eda just casually calls me and and King kids, or when I’m out with my friends and she’s watching us we’re just ‘her kids,’ you know?” Luz said, looking a little frantic as she did so, wildly waving her hands around. “Not--no I’m not, related to her or anything--”

“Oh, I knew that.” Raine brushed it off. “But Eda told me you and King were her kids?”

“I--when did that happen?” Luz asked, near sounding like a demand.

Raine hesitated, for a brief moment. They doubted someone like Eda would so casually tell a teenager and young demon about that time she, you know, almost died, and it really wasn’t their place to tell them as such if she hadn’t.

“The last time we spoke.” They settled on. “Before the...thing.” They said, mimicking Luz’s words from earlier. “I learned she had kids, and I told her that if she had something to lose, she had to get back to them.”

“I...oh.” Luz said quietly, slowly relaxing and turning her head down to stare at the counter.

“I’m…” Raine hesitated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep, I didn’t know it was a touchy subject--”

“No, no! It’s not, you’re fine.” Luz waved them off. “I just...didn’t know Eda had said it like that.”

Raine would’ve thought something along the lines of ‘Eda didn’t tell you she thought of you as her kid?’ if they didn’t know that Eda was the same person who hadn’t even truly thought of them as dating until Raine had introduced her as their girlfriend with earshot. She’d been so touched over the whole ordeal that Raine had to remind her, repeatedly, that they had been dating for over a month. Apparently knowing, and having a title for it, were two very different things.

They wouldn’t be surprised if this kid was the same. 

“She cares about you, you know that, right?” Raine asked softly, and Luz looked up to meet their eyes.

“Yeah,” She said, cracking a small smile. “I know.”

Raine nodded in satisfaction, stepping around the counter to set their cup in the sink. It was late, they could wash it in the morning. How Eda could've ever thought about leaving a kid like her, they don't think they'd want to know.

“She cares about you, too.”

Raine paused, going still as one hand lightly gripped the edge of the sink.

“I know,” They said, almost surprised that they believed it so easily, inhaling as they set their shoulders back. “It’s almost scary how little that seems to have changed.” They mumbled.

“For the both of you, huh?” Luz teased.

Raine whirled around, ears pressed back as their face lit up again, being greeted with the girl's smug face that she had to have picked up from Eda, it was almost uncanny. 

“I--you--she just--there was--shouldn’t you be asleep at this hour?” Raine managed to strangle out, getting a gleeful giggle out of Luz as they did so.

“I got hungry,” Luz shrugged simply, her smug expression never falling.

“Then grab a snack and go to bed.” Raine huffed, crossing their arms, as if that would hide the embarrassment as they stepped aside.

“I will, once I find where Eda put the cookies. She keeps hiding them from King and doesn’t tell me where she put them.” Luz muttered, stepping up to the cabinets again and opening a new one.

“I think that means she’s hiding them from both of you.” Raine raised a brow.

“She should find better hiding spots, then.” Luz said, retracting a hand from the cabinet with a container full of cookies in her hand, shaking them. “Cover for me if she asks why some went missing?” She asked, a pleading look on her face.

“I’ll cover you if one goes missing.” Raine bargained, and Luz gave them a disgruntled look before sighing and taking a single cookie from the container.

“Can’t believe you.” Luz huffed good-naturedly, putting the cookies away.

“Just because you're Eda’s kid doesn’t mean I’m going to let you get away with everything, Titan knows how Eda would’ve ended up if that happened.” They muttered, shaking their head. “I fear the day you and Amber meet.”

“Who?” Luz tilted her head, taking a large bite of her cookie.

“One of my crew, she’s about your age.” Raine said simply. “I think you’ll get along. Now go, shoo, I’m willing to bet tomorrow will be quite hectic, and you need your sleep.” They said, herding Luz out of the kitchen.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Luz said, smiling as she lightly batted at Raine’s hands, darting out of the kitchen. “Remember, you saw nothing.” She warned, walking backwards as she narrowed her eyes on Raine.

“Lips are sealed, I was fast asleep the whole night.” Raine said, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. “Though I figure she’ll find out, anyway.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got backup now.” Luz said, shoving the last half of the cookie in her mouth before slipping away through the doorway that led to the staircase.

Raine chuckled, shaking their head as they pushed themself off of the doorway. They should probably hit the couch again, too. Eda would only fret more if they were falling asleep all day tomorrow.

“Oh, almost forgot!” Luz said, head suddenly poking through the doorway and causing Raine to pause. “Welcome to the Owl House,” She said cheerily. “Since I take it you’ll be staying a while.”

Raine’s ears flicked back and they mumbled under their breath as Luz’s smile only widened, and Raine couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Night!” She chirped, vanishing around the corner yet again.

Raine watched the place where she’d vanished again, rubbing their wrist and noting it didn’t ache as much as before. 

“Goodnight,” They said to the empty air.

[milkyway-writes]

i’m not ready for that s.r.

pairing: Steve Rogers x black!Reader (anyone could read though)

summary: Even though Steve has been living in modern times for a couple of years now, he still finds himself not used to the present, especially when it comes to women. But when he meets you, an outspoken girl who completely embodies the kind of woman “he’s not ready for,” Steve is forced to reevaluate what he wants.

warnings: 18+, explicit language, dry humping, unprotected sex, sex in a hotel room, a small age gap (but not mentioned much), probably some typos and/or bad grammar, disregard for card games and 60′s music

word count: 2,828

author’s note: This is my first time writing a fic! So, tell me what you think and if you’d like more stuff from me. 

After waking up in a world filled with people dressed in unfamiliar clothing, using confusing language, and carrying around these tiny devices they called “phones,” Steve experienced the expected amount of disassociation. He said things which earned him weird looks, struggled to understand modern references, and sometimes secretly wished he could just go back to his own time. 

But if anything, Steve Rogers was determined. 

He kept a notepad to track the new things he learned and reviewed them in his spare time. He made an effort to listen to the radio and watch popular TV shows. Steve even managed to tailor his wardrobe to a certain degree. Except for the khakis. The khakis were essential. 

Despite his acclimation and newfound understanding of the 21st century, Steve still struggled with women. And in all honesty, he doesn’t even feel that open to dating. He’s completely content with simply working and living his life, romance not much of a priority of his. 

But Natasha keeps pushing it. 

“What about that girl from accounting?” she says, “Laura, Lisa…”

"Lillian,” Steve answers, “lip piercing, right?" 

"Yeah, she's cute."

"Yeah, I'm not ready for that.”

•••••

So, when you show up with a total disregard for authority, a smile that could fool the devil, and a snarky attitude all complete with a cute little nose piercing, Steve doesn’t quite know what to do with you. 

Your words are much bolder than any woman he knew from the 40’s. You behave with a certain level of confidence and self-assuredness that it’s impossible to believe that you’re only in your twenties. And you don’t shy away from showing men up, never one to hold your tongue. Steve notices that you don’t mind interrupting people. You seem to get a glint in your eye each time he clenches his jaw after you’ve cut him off. 

Everything about you is overwhelming to Steve. 

Any time he tries to correct you, you scoff, blowing air through your plump lips. Always rolling those brown eyes in annoyance. (It makes Steve want to scream.)

Nothing is ever easy with you. There is always a rebuttal, or some type of teasing remark, or simply a look that tells him “you can’t tell me what to do.” It enrages him. Steve doesn’t think he has ever met a person who could find a way to fight him on every single thing.

Now, as he looks at you standing with your hands on your hips, freshly-manicured nails on display, Steve wonders how he’ll ever manage to get through to you.

•••••

You hadn’t known much about Captain America before you’d agreed to work with him and Natasha when S.H.I.E.L.D. started falling apart. 

You had been working for the agency for a while now, assisting in the capture of criminal individuals as a sort of immunity for your own crimes. Your skills were too valuable to waste, and honestly, they knew you’d escape any prison they put you in anyway. Despite this, you weren’t the most reliable. 

You often took risks, and your youth raised a sort of concern amongst other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. No one trusted a girl whose main motivation to be an agent was to avoid prison. And because of this, Nick Fury did not bring you on for the Avengers Initiative right away. You needed time to grow, time to figure out your priorities. 

For two years, you focused on your development, learning how to control your abilities and use them most effectively, and in the meantime, you only took on small missions. You were happy with this, so happy that when Fury began reaching out to you with the intent to bring you back on for more advanced missions, you promptly avoided them.

One quiet afternoon, you were feeling the soil of your succulent, trying to figure out if the plant needed watering when you got the call that Nick Fury was pronounced dead. 

Immediately, your stomach dropped. 

Your mind was racing as you rushed to the hospital, hoping that this was all some sick joke. A test. Something Fury had comprised to teach you a lesson. 

Natasha noticed as you stood frozen at the door of the hospital room. Your heart ached seeing him lie there lifeless. 

While you pretended that you didn’t care about him, Fury had always been important to you. He had given you a second chance when you didn’t even think you deserved it. He saw potential in you when others saw you as a delinquent. This grief, coupled with the knowledge that S.H.I.E.L.D. had been compromised, led you to agree to work with Natasha and her new friend, Steve Rogers. 

•••••

Since the beginning, your presence had been an immediate concern to Steve. Along with your untamed attitude, he didn’t like the way you would make hasty decisions that left him wondering if you were still alive. He had to bite his tongue at your stubbornness. And each roll of your eyes pushed Steve further and further to the edge. After a while, he had had enough and pulled you to the side to express his disapproval. 

You stare at him expectantly with your hands still on your hips, waiting to hear why he’s singled you out.

He lets out a breath, “these antics of yours have got to stop.” 

You instantly laugh. Because he has to be kidding. 

It takes everything in him to remain calm when you flash him a smile and saunter away, throwing a “oh loosen up, Captain,” over your shoulder. 

He has to stop himself from watching your hips sway. He catches your wrist. “No. Not ‘loosen up.’ You need to be more responsible.”

“Well you need to understand that I’m not a soldier,” you yank your arm back. “I’ll follow your plan,” you offer, “but sometimes things don’t go as planned and we have to make adjustments,” you say, speaking slowly as if Steve’s a child. 

He steps closer, now towering over your small frame. “Your ‘adjustments’ almost always result in dangerous situations.”

“Really?” You cock your head to the side, “Is that right?”

He narrows his eyes at you.

“So, this is coming from the man who jumped out of an elevator?” Your perfectly arched eyebrow raises tauntingly. “Right?” 

You chuckle as he rolls his eyes. You don’t miss the hint of a smile in them. 

•••••

You do eventually try to be more of a team player, sticking to the plan when you can. You figured you’d be working with them more often, so it was in your best interest to make yourself easy to work with. Your efforts don’t go unnoticed.

Steve is grateful that you don’t pull any surprises when the Winter Soldier makes his attack. The revelation that it was his best friend already enough to throw him off. 

Surprisingly, when Steve decides to go after Bucky, you offer to join him and Sam. Your excuse being that you don’t trust two men to get the job done. 

Honestly, you just didn’t want to go back to your life before. Working with Steve was exciting. He was exciting. The way he’d catch your eyes after you’d say something snarky made your stomach flip because there was a hint of a threat in them.

You enjoyed the way he wasn’t afraid to touch you. He liked to grab your arm and pull you to him when you didn’t listen. He’d once backed you up against a wall when he thought you weren’t telling him the full story pertaining to the mission. And while he was angry, you couldn’t help wondering what it’d be like to have him take you right then and there.

You had come to terms with the fact that you wanted Steve Rogers. You just didn’t know if he’d want someone like you. You were aware that he probably hadn’t encountered many women like you in his past life. 

•••••

While your eye rolls and sassy comments do remain, Steve finds himself enjoying your presence despite himself. The struggle between the two of you slowly morphing into playful teasing, teetering the line between that and sexual tension.

“How’d you end up here anyway?” Steve asks as he lays down an ace of spades. 

You grimace and tuck your king of hearts back into your hand in embarrassment. “We’re on a mission, silly.” You giggle, the diamond in your nose catching the light.

“Mhm very funny,” he says. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You don’t say anything. The only sound coming from your breathing and the Solomon Burke song that’s playing through your phone speaker.

You hum along as you pretend to search your hand for a card to play. 

Steve nudges your knee. You’re not sure if it’s because you haven’t answered him or because you still haven’t put down a card. 

“You mean how’d I end up doing this? Working for S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He nods.

“It’s a long story,” you manage to let out.

“We’ve got time.”

You sigh and place your cards down on the mattress knowing you were gonna lose anyway. 

“A while back, I lost someone…someone very important to me,” you say, “and all I wanted was to hurt the people who took them from me.” You glance up to meet Steve’s eyes, “one thing led to another, and I sort of lost myself. I hurt people in ways I never intended to, caused the kind of pain that,” you search for the words, “that I had always been so afraid to feel.”

“I was so blinded by rage,” you shake your head, “I just completely forgot my morals.”

You feel the bed shift, and Steve reaches out for your hand. 

“Long story short, Fury offered me a job. Said I could use my skills for good. And next thing you know I’m going on these crazy missions and catching ‘bad guys,’” you say using finger quotes. 

You sigh, “you must think the absolute worst of me now, huh?” 

Steve chuckles, “no, not at all.” He pauses and his eyebrows crease. “It actually makes me respect you more.”

You let out a laugh, “well then, sir, you are most definitely twisted.”

He shrugs, “maybe I am.”

You notice that he never let go of your hand, and for a second you swear you feel a flutter in your abdomen. Lightly, you slide your fingers up his arm, tracing the veins. He doesn’t move or protest. Instead, he brings his other hand to rest on your knee. You look up at him as his hand moves from your knee up your thigh, gripping you firmly where your shorts end.

Steve looks at you for approval, and when you nod, he pulls you in by your hips and leans in, letting his lips ghost over yours.

You haven’t felt like this in awhile, and it takes a lot of strength to hold back a whine. Steve continues to tease you, only letting his lips lightly touch yours while rubbing circles into your hips under your shirt. Impatiently, you link your hands together behind his head, and when you grasp the hair at the nape of his neck, Steve finally leans in, letting his lips press against yours. 

Almost instantly, you climb onto his lap, straddling him. The playing cards from earlier are hastily pushed aside as Steve scoots back, bringing you with him. 

His hands find your hips again as he sucks on your bottom lip. You softly grind into him, causing Steve to groan into your mouth. He works to control himself. He hadn’t expected it to feel this way with you. So desperate, so needing.

You can feel his hardness through the material of his sweatpants, making your arousal even more apparent.

Steve leans down to kiss your neck. The feeling of his tongue makes you buck your hips, searching for some type of friction. His hand travels up your side and comes to cup one of your breasts. He runs his thumb over your nipple, feeling it harden. 

This must give him an idea as he moves to pull your shirt over your head. He grabs you again and takes your nipple in his mouth. You moan, continuing to grind onto him as his hands cup your ass. At this point, you’re sure that your arousal is leaking through your shorts.

Steve feels completely lost in you, your body setting him on fire and awaking something within him he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. 

He continues his assault on your breasts as you fight to control your arousal. You feel his cock twitch under you. “Please, Steve,” you say breathlessly.

“Please what?” He mumbles around your breasts.

“I need you.” 

Those seem to be the words he needed as Steve promptly flips you over, roughly yanking your shorts down. He tosses his shirt off as you grab onto the waistband of his pants, urging him to take them off. He pushes you back on the bed, leaning over you. You feel his knee press into your cunt and let out a moan. 

Steve grabs your face, kissing you sloppily, and trails his hand down your body. You nearly grind onto his hand as he places his thumb over your clit and rubs slow circles over it. 

“You like that, honey?” He teases as he rubs you over your panties. 

You nod, biting your lip. 

He grabs your chin, “I said do you like it? Answer me.”

You cry out, “yes, Steve yes,” You whimper, “please I need more.” 

He scoffs, “who would’ve thought to get you to act right, I’d just have to play with this pretty pussy?”

You let out a pitiful whine. 

“Now you wanna be a good girl huh?”

You’re afraid you’re going to cum just from his words when he stops and drags your panties down so slowly that you want to scream. The smug look on Steve’s face makes your face burn. He’s enjoying this too much. 

Once they’re off, Steve settles between your thighs, making you look him in the eyes before reaching his hand down and dragging the head of his cock from your folds to your clit. You moan as he gently taps it against your clit a few times and makes a comment about how wet you are. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he lines himself up at your entrance. Steve groans as he eases into you. You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to go deeper.

He bottoms out, and you both moan. Steve begins to thrust, and you’re already so worked up that you know you won’t last long. He brings his hand down to rub your clit causing you to cry out. 

His thrusts become more forceful. Your eyes close tightly, your sharp nails digging into his shoulders. He leans his forehead against yours, “I know you want it, sweetheart. I know you wanna cum.” 

His words shock you but send a wave of pleasure straight to your core. 

“Come on, honey, cum for me.” Steve says as he thrusts into you. Your walls spasm around his cock, causing him to groan into your neck. He never lets up on his thrusts though, continuing to slam into you as your first orgasm ripples through your body.

“You feel so good around my cock, baby,” he brings a hand up to lightly wrap around your neck.

You groan in response feeling your abdomen tighten once again.

You can tell Steve is close now, his thrusts becoming frantic and rushed. You clutch onto him as the sounds of slapping skin fill the room. Your name falling off of his lips repeatedly in your ear.

“Cum inside me, Steve,” you plead, “I wanna feel you.” He groans at your words, and you feel his hand tighten around your throat. You look at him, and his eyes are dark with lust, you feel yourself clench around his length. The look he’s giving you fills you with a primal need. You plead one more time, pushing Steve over the edge. His thrusts begin to slow, the feeling of him filling you up is enough to bring about another orgasm.

You find it difficult to keep your eyes open. Sleep begins to take you, and you drift off with Steve guiding you to lay your head on his chest. 

With one hand caressing the side of your head, Steve stares up at the ceiling of the hotel room, Nina Simone’s voice floating out of your phone. 

“It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me,”

“And I’m feeling good.”

•••••

Initially, seeing a girl like you would have made Steve doubt himself.

But now, he knows he’s ready for you as he sits next to you holding your hand as you prepare to get your first tattoo.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hi! your writing is so amazing and I always come back to the Geto x reader works you did. I’d love to request a strong female reader whos a warrior that catches Geto’s eye. I know this is vague but I hope it can give you some ideas. Again thank you for your amazing writing its so entertaining 💗💗

The Commander: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.7k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

Suguru knew what might happen if he began allowing females into the King's Guard.

He knew what circumstances he would be putting his men - and himself - in if he did this.

But his troops were so few... and the King himself even had the grand idea that it would be best if they had women in the Gaurd to boost morale in his regime.

He caved the day Satoru - with his glassy blue eyes and somber expression - told him that he had to fix public opinion in his favor - or else. Suguru knew this threat was hollow, but the fact that Satoru - his best friend since childhood - thought it was time, well... that was enough to persuade him.

As announcements went out around the country, Suguru didn't really expect anyone to show up for training. Training as a King's Guard was brutal, and the regiment would include fasting, staying awake for three nights in a row, and building rapport with the others in order to complete the final task - a trek up the highest peak in the middle of winter.

And at first, no one did. Suguru smirked to himself every day that passed, bringing forth no new women into the fold. Perhaps things could be kept as they were. Things could remain as they always had been, and no one would get hurt.

But on the third day of recruitment, you came swaggering in through the gates of the training grounds, pack loaded up on your back and eyes determined.

Everyone held their breath - that's something that Suguru remembered quite well - until you stated your name loudly for all to hear, and dumped your pack onto the ground with a thud.

"I'm y/n from the Whispering Hills," you stated, hands resting on your hips. "And I've come to join the King's Guard."

____________________________________________________________

Everyone knows better than to laugh at a child of the Whispering Hills. The people from that area of the country are famed for their ruthlessness, unwavering loyalty, and quick tempers. They also believe in the Old Gods, which were banned from being worshipped long ago by the king before Satoru's father.

But no one seems to care that you wake up at the crack of dawn, walk out into the field with your nightclothes still on, and kneel in the direction of the hills with your eyes closed and hands folded in prayer.

No one says a word when you stay behind to eat and the others go off to pay tribute to the New Gods with offerings of wheat, grains, and fruits.

No one, not even Suguru, bothers you when you slay an animal and burn it on a makeshift altar (animal sacrifices are also forbidden) because they know you will cut them to pieces without even blinking an eye. And you'd be fully justified in doing so.

Suguru watches you do all of this, his eyes assessing you carefully as you train with the other men without missing a beat, without being injured or tapping out.

And for some reason, the deepest fear he had begins to blossom in his chest like an unbidden guest taking residence in his space. He's watched you for a few weeks now, just being yourself - but has never spoken to you one-on-one. Why hasn't he just--

"Commander."

The voice belongs to you, and you stand above him, looking just as you did on the first day you arrived. Suguru's eyes dilate and he swallows hard past the lump in his throat.

"Yes, y/n?"

"I must request a short leave of absence to meet with my people at the foot of the hills. It is festival season."

"I cannot permit you to leave training for your festivals," Suguru looks back down at his papers, shrugging. "You made a commitment to remain here with us during your training. You must keep that promise or be kicked out of this year's recruits."

Suguru doesn't see the shift in your stance, but he can feel the air around him shift from respectful to hostile. When he looks up at your expression, though, you look perfectly fine.

"Understood."

_____________________________________________________________

But things were not fine.

"Sir! She's refusing to do anything, and we can't complete the trek up the mountain without her in our group."

Suguru's had enough of your non-compliance. Ever since he said "no" to you going back to your hometown, you'd been unmoved from your station in your tent. Festival season was long over, but you'd remained in your tent, alone, and unwilling to reemerge.

The flaps on the tent swing open as Suguru storms in, his hair and eyes wild with disdain.

"Get up," he mutters, and you rise from your bed, looking over at him with bleary eyes. "You made a commitment."

"You do not honor my gods," you begin, wiping your eyes. "I will not come out until the moon has completed its course."

"I said, get up." Against his better judgment, Suguru pulls you up out of your bed by your arm and drags you to your feet. You sneer at him and bark the command to let you go, but Suguru ignores you - again, a poor move on his part. Because then, without speaking, you launch into an attack.

Suguru's been studying you carefully, and he knows your go-to moves, dodging them with ease and skill. You can hardly catch him off guard as your fight spills out into the open, calling the attention of all of the guards-in-training around you.

Suguru's long hair flies in the wind as he ducks, avoids, swiftly blocks, all while you're on the offensive, face turning a deep shade of red as you try to land a single blow on his body. If you could just get him once... then you'd have a personal achievement and a justified temper.

"Your temper is unyielding," Suguru pants, face splitting into a wild grin. "But your body cannot last as long as mine."

"We'll see about that," you reply, hands and fists flying with precision. After a few more moments of this back-and-forth, Geto stops you with two well-timed punches; one to the stomach, and one to the chest. You stumble back to catch your breath, vision blurring, but his hands grip yours behind your back, twisting them painfully.

"Yield."

"I will not yield," you grit out, pain shooting up your arms.

"Yield and I will spare you the punishment that follows."

"I will not yield!" you scream, bucking against the brute strength of the man.

"Your pride will cost you, then."

_____________________________________________________________

Your pride cost you more than just discomfort.

As you lay at the foot of Suguru's bed, your mouth whispers silent curses upon the Commander.

"Hush," Suguru gripes from his perch at his desk. "Your cursing is much too loud for my ears. I must focus."

"I hope you're never able to focus again," you snap, hands tied behind you.

"Such a sweet thing to say to your commander, soldier."

"I hope you choke on it." Suguru looks up from his book, but not at you, contemplating taming that snarky mouth of yours. But he decides against it, returning to his scribing.

Why are his hands shaking so bad, though? Had it really been so long since he felt challenged in a fight? And not only challenged but terribly aroused?

Suguru tries to fight these feelings day in and day out, looking at you with some terrible form of lust in his mind circling around him and making him go insane.

What could he do?

What should he do?

When he sees you laying on the floor with a death glare, he wants to break out into laughter and tell you to lighten up, but he knows if he does, he'll be ruined as a commander in your eyes. He must be stern, tough, unyielding, unshaken. All the things he's always been.

"You take yourself too seriously," you whisper, and Suguru looks over at you again, his brow raised.

"And you don't?"

"This isn't about me," you mutter, looking over your shoulder at your tied hands. "This is about your appearance." She's not wrong. "You want to seem strong. I've been eyeing you, Commander. I know how you work."

"Then you know I'm not going to let you get away with anything because you're a woman."

"But you do have a soft spot for me." Suguru rolls his eyes, despite you being absolutely right. "That's why I thought you'd let me go home for a few days. I see the way you look at me. Have you seen the way I look at you?"

"Don't," Suguru bites out, trying his best to avoid looking you in the eye. "Don't do that."

"Have you thought about me in your bed, Commander?" Suguru's breath hitches and he wonders if you'd snuck into his mind at some point, watching him watching you. "Or should I call you Suguru?"

The alarm bells in his mind are ringing, but something in Suguru lurches anyway, wanting you to say his name like that again.

"Y/n, this is neither the time, nor the place, nor the man you want to test you womanly wiles on."

"Oh?" You produce both of your hands, now untied, for him to see. "Or is it the perfect time, the perfect place, and the perfect man who has me all alone in his tent for the evening?" Suguru stiffens as you walk around to where he's seated, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "You going to show me who the strongest is, Commander? Or are you going to sit there and let yourself be taken by a woman, again?"

The answer is clear by the third hour of the morning.

Your hips smack backward, and Suguru hisses, hand coming down on your asscheek again.

"Tell me who the strongest is," Suguru huffs above you, one hand holding both of your wrists on the bed.

"You are," you breathe, looking over your shoulder at his pleased expression, dark eyes drinking in your features with the lust you'd preyed on earlier. "You're the strongest."

"That's right," Suguru exhales, leaning over your back and whispering in your ear. "I'll always be the strongest between the two of us. Don't forget that, y/n."

[winterscaptain]

tell.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: i cannot tell yall how long i have been working on this one, so i'll save it. thanks to @ssaic-jareau for hanging in there with me as i pulled late nights to make this happen over the weekend!! i love you!! i know it's broad daylight for you while im being irresponsible, but i appreciate it nevertheless. let me know what you think, my lovelies! i cherish your thoughts!

words: 7.4k warnings: language, discussion of sex, canon-typical case events

summary: “we are not people who touch each other carelessly; every point of contact between us feels important, a rush of energy and relief.” veronica roth, allegiant. au!may 2012

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

It’s always tough to spend time away from home when you aren’t on a case, but a conference kept you from your boys the last couple of days, on Strauss’s request. Aaron was none too happy about it, but as the junior-most agent in the unit (even with five years under your belt), the shitty seminars and professional development events fell on your shoulders. 

Even though you landed early in the morning, flying coach all the way back from California, there was a whole day with Jack waiting for you and Aaron upon your return. A rare Saturday - no case, no paperwork, just family.

You knock on the door with a knuckle, unable to reach your keys around your bags and breakfast. 

Aaron opens the door with a “Hey!” coated in laughter, kissing your cheek. He’s still in his pajamas. 

You squint at him. “Am I early?”

He snorts. “Never. We’re running late.” He takes the takeout bags and coffee from your hands. “Thank you for breakfast.” 

“Of course. I wanted -” 

Jack runs across the apartment and slams into you full force. “You’re home!” 

You curl around him, your hands on his head and shoulder as he cuddles into you. “I am! I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

His voice is muffled by your shirt and it makes you smile. You glance at Aaron over Jack’s head to find a smile. 

“Come look at our fort!” Jack, wearing a blanket cape, takes you by the hand and brings you into the dining room, where the dining room table has been turned into a massive fort fit for a king. 

Or, rather, two kings. 

“Oh my goodness, Jack. This is incredible, little bug. Your architectural prowess knows no bounds.” You look up at Aaron from your place on the floor. “Where’s your cape?” 

His deadpan, as usual, never fails to make you laugh. “Uh, I’m wearing it.” 

Jack continues to drag you all the way under the table until you’re laying on your bellies in the little slap-dash shelter.

Aaron flops down on the floor on the other side of Jack. “We slept in here all night.” 

“Really? That sounds like so much fun.” 

What you mean is, What, with your bad back? 

“Mmhmm,” he replies, only to really say - 

Yep. I feel like shit. 

“Can we sleep in here again tonight, Dad?” Jack asks, turning to Aaron. “All together?” 

You exchange a glance with Aaron, who laughs. 

So much for grown-up plans...

+++

You’re both scrambling to get ready for the bike ride across the mall and day at the Smithsonian when the phone call comes in. 

“Hotchner,” Aaron says, still at the counter, tucking his phone under his chin as he finishes packing the rest of the picnic basket. 

He freezes, hastily bagging some carrots and putting them in the basket before holding the phone in his hand and leaning heavily against the counter. “You’re kidding.” 

That’s not a good tone. 

Jack looks up at you, and you rest your hands on his chest over his shoulders, backing him into you as you watch Aaron with your lip between your teeth. 

“Did they raise the terror alert?”

Shit. 

“Okay. That’s for the best. Um…” He checks his watch. “I’ll get down there now. Yeah….Do you need the rest -” 

With a huff, he meets your eyes and nods. 

You let out a sigh and kiss Jack’s head. He knows the drill and runs off for your phone, still charging in the bedroom. 

“Understood, ma’am. I’ll be there first. We gotta get Jack squared away but I’ll get going while -” He pauses, probably interrupted by Strauss again. “Thank you...Yes...I’ll be there as soon as I can and the rest of the team will meet at the scene.” 

You know that also means you. You also can’t ignore the prick of anxiety that shoots through your belly, knowing he’ll likely be in danger without you for at least a half-hour. 

Jack returns with your phone, Jessica already on the line. 

+++

Aaron, of course, leaves right away while you wait for Jess. 

You sit on the couch with Jack. “I’m so sorry, buddy. We’ll have to do a big day, just the three of us, another time.” 

Jack shrugs. “It’s okay. Sometimes you just gotta catch the bad guys.” 

The offhand nature of his understanding strikes you as instantly hilarious, and he laughs with you when you double over, wiping tears from your eyes. 

“Yeah. Sometimes you just do, kiddo.” 

+++

When you finally arrive at the scene, Dave’s already set up hostage negotiation. You cross the street, finding Will and JJ huddled with Emily and Derek. 

“You okay?” You ask, placing your hand on Will’s shoulder. He’s not just JJ’s not-husband. He’s your friend, too, all on his own. 

“Yeah, jus’ fine.” He shakes his head. “Jus’ a little rattled, is all.” 

“Understandable.” 

His mouth presses into a thin line as he exhales. “Thanks.” He checks his watch. “Y’all should get on back. I think Strauss just showed up.”

JJ kisses his cheek and trots off to meet the rest of the unit. After another hug for Will, you follow suit. 

+++

“The media's calling them the Face Cards. Seven bank robberies in seven months. They've killed one person at each robbery.” Aaron leads the rest of you to the trailer, where the monitors are all set up. 

Dave furrows his brow. “M. O.?” 

“Single gunshot wound. Each of the victims has bled out.” 

That doesn’t make much sense. 

You jump in. “Serial killers with a 30-day cooling-off period and we're only just hearing about this now?” 

“Well, headquarters has always characterized them robbers first and killers second,” Aaron replies, glancing back at you. You roll your eyes. 

Of course they did. 

“No one kills seven people without serious psychopathic tendencies,” Spencer notes. He’s more than right, and you thought the same thing - it’s almost like he took the words out of your mouth. 

“I disagreed with the original assessment. I was overruled.” Aaron’s bland version of frustration is clear in his tone, but he knows, just as you do, that ship has sailed. All you can do now is handle what’s in front of you. 

“So why are we here now?” Dave asks. 

“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.” 

Aaron starts to walk again as JJ asks after more information. Aaron usually rattles it off pretty quickly, but with the quick start this morning, you know he trusts the rest of you to ask the questions you need. “What more do we know about them? 

“They're organized, they're efficient. Each strike lasts about two minutes.” 

Derek, walking beside you, finally joins the conversation. “They gotta be scouting the banks in advance. Why haven't we been able to identify them off of surveillance footage?” 

“They hack the security feed and turn off the cameras, both during the initial canvass and during the robbery, until the masks come back on, and then we're allowed to watch.” Aaron leads you all into the tactical staging truck, watching the security feeds. 

+++

As you continue to watch, the scene becomes clearer, the power dynamics more tangible. 

Dave sees it, too. “They're using the hostages as human shields.” 

JJ, with Will beside her, studies the footage, watching the Queen run around while the King finds himself preoccupied with the Jack’s wound. “This is the first time they've been interrupted. What went wrong?”

“It's a big bank,” Emily says. “It's possible they weren't about to round everybody up before someone triggered an alarm.” 

That’s a fair point, but you ask your question anyway.  “Why haven't they cut the feed now that they've been cornered?”

Derek, still beside you, answers. “Letting us see inside gives up a tactical advantage. They gotta know that.” 

They don't seem to care,” Aaron says, from your other side. 

You’re all silent for another minute, watching to see what happens next. Even though their plans went awry, the team still looks fairly calm and collected, all things considered. 

JJ’s frown only deepens. “They're overconfident. Arrogant, even.” 

“The face card masks add to their narcissism.” Spencer’s voice comes from the end of the line. “Their personas are the royalty of poker.” 

You nod - it’s a great point - while Aaron starts making assignments.  

“JJ, Reid, and Prentiss, look at past robberies. That's gonna be our victimology. Pull another analyst if you need to.” He turns to you, then Dave, on his other side. “I want you two to handle negotiations. And, Morgan, strategize tactical options with MPD.” 

You shuffle, gathering your radio and earpiece from the charger next to Penelope’s computer. 

When the rest of the team leaves, you hang back with Dave, keying into the radio channels and standing by for further instruction - you know there’s more for you in the trailer at the moment. 

Further instruction, though, may have to wait. Strauss climbs the steps into the rig and Aaron greets her. “Chief Strauss.” 

“The Director ordered me to supervise your operation.” 

Of course he did. 

“Puts you right in the spotlight,” Dave says, not unkindly. It’s almost fond. 

You can’t help but hold back a little bit of a smile. If the situation were reversed and it was Aaron at the helm, you’d be proud of him, too. 

“Well, you've got gunmen with hostages in the Capital. The Hill's concerned.” 

Aaron nods, gesturing to you and Dave. “We're about to open lines of communication.”

“What about a tactical assault?”

The three of you shake your heads as Aaron responds. “I don't think it's a good idea. There are hostages in front of the doors and windows.” 

Erin, finally onboard, turns to Dave. “What's your negotiation strategy?” 

“The Jack's bleeding out. They'll ask for medical attention.” 

You hum, a little skeptical, and look back at the feed. “The female unsub might have something to say about that. Look at her body language.” 

Dave follows your gaze. “She is cold and detached. The King seems genuinely concerned about his partner's welfare. But she couldn't give a damn.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “The men probably know each other.” 

Aaron, picking up on your train of thought, flags Penelope, “Garcia?” 

She turns in her chair, already typing. “Shuffling my techno-fabulous deck of databases, sir.” 

And so it begins. 

+++

“I’ll do the talking - I’ll need to establish some rapport with them, but I’ll need you keeping the team updated and coordinating any allowances or personnel as things come up, okay?” 

You nod, a little smile pulling at the side of your mouth. “You got it.” 

Dave claps your shoulder. “You’ll be in this chair one day, so pay attention.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He dials in and the phone starts ringing through the speaker. You’ll be able to hear everything. 

“Who the hell's this?” You check the monitor. The King picked up the phone. 

Obviously, the Jack can’t pick up the phone, stupid, he’s bleeding out!

“My name is David Rossi. I'm with the FBI. To whom am I speaking?” 

The King doesn’t address the question, but rather looks back toward his fallen compatriot. “All right, I want a doctor sent in, and then I want out of here.” 

Dave checks his watch. “Well, we certainly can discuss that. Let the hostages go and we'll give you all the medical help you need.” 

You take a mental note. Your memories from Dave’s lectures at the academy are fuzzy at best, and you haven’t had very much time handling these things in the field. The last time a major hostage crisis was at hand, you were a hostage yourself. 

A shot hostage, if the chronic nerve pain in your shoulder is any reminder. 

“I can't do that. I need the leverage.” 

“How about a sign of good faith? Send out the women and children and I'll see what I can do.” 

You watch as the King takes the phone away from his mouth. You can vaguely hear him update the Queen, but she’s not having it. She pulls a child from the lineup and your lower lip disappears between your teeth. 

A man, you presume the girl’s father, speaks to the Queen before she shoots him in the abdomen. The King gets back on the line. 

“You better send in some more help or more people are gonna die.” He hangs up. 

Shit. 

+++

“You’re not seriously considering sending an agent in there?” You turn on Hotch and he sighs, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. 

“We don’t have much of a choice. I’m not the authority on-site and with the director pressing Strauss, there’s not much I can do.” 

The two of you are alone for the time being, so you’re able to rib him for a second to lighten the tension. 

“What’s the point of being unit chief if you can’t lord it over everyone all the time?” 

You're rewarded with a shadow of a smile and a snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. I lord it over you plenty.” 

“Not enough.” Your tone is childish, the words murmured under your breath. 

When he walks away, he taps the side of your ass with the back of his hand. If you weren’t in a professional setting, you could mistake it for a promise. 

But, Aaron, that would be unprofessional!

You turn to look at him and just catch his wink as he hops up the steps behind Strauss. 

+++

With Garcia’s magic and Aaron’s genius, you figure out that the men are related. 

While Rossi hops on the next phone call, you help Derek outfit the medic with a bug and a weapon. 

“We're sending in the medic now, Chris. Tell Oliver help is on the way.” 

Derek nods at the medic and he hops off, heading into the bank. You jog over to the trailer only to find a humorously horrified look on Strauss’s face. 

“Is she…” 

You get closer, looking up at the monitor. 

“...putting on lipstick?” 

You scoff. “She’s vain. Only contributes to a profile of vanity and narcissism. She likes to be seen - this is a game for her.” 

You jog back out before Strauss can respond, taking your place between Aaron and Derek. 

“Green. You gotta go. Green. Go,” Derek says into his mic. 

The agent-turned-medic makes a move and immediately gets a shot between the eyes for his trouble. Your hand files over your mouth and Derek ducks away, taking a second. 

Well, that couldn’t have been any worse. 

You look at Aaron, still staring at the screen, beside you. He’s thinking the same thing. 

+++

Derek walks up to you, kevlar and sunglasses firmly in place. “Tactical's been deployed, snipers are moving into position.” 

At your questioning look, Strauss clarifies. “The Director's ordered a full tactical assault.” 

The look doesn’t leave your face. “His last orders cost us an agent.” 

Radio transmissions fly one ear and out the other, not to mention the flurry of activity around the negotiation tent. Before Strauss can reply, Will’s call shoots past you to Aaron.

“SWAT's getting itchy fingers.” 

Aaron turns, covering his comm mic at his chest. “You remind SWAT that bank robberies are federal jurisdiction. No one fires until they're ordered to.” 

“Right.” 

Will disappears and you suppress a little pleased shudder. Aaron’s very much in control now and it is doing things to your body that are better suited for, well, anywhere else. You tighten the velcro across your chest as if to compress another rush of… nothing useful. 

Aaron turns back to you, Dave, Derek, and Strauss. “All right, when the crossfire starts, what's gonna happen to the hostages caught in the middle?” 

The question is a trap, and Dave doubles down. “That's the wrong call, Erin, and you know it.” 

Strauss falters for a minute, leveling with the rest of you. “It's not my call.” 

Aaron doesn’t let up. “You're here and you're in charge.” His tone is sharper than yours would be in the same situation, but you’re nearly fifteen years younger and a whole four steps down on the totem pole. 

Not for the first time, a rush of affection and gratitude for him crests over your in a wave and you have to look away, taking a deep breath to collect yourself. When you look back, he’s watching you. 

I’m okay. 

He nods as Erin speaks again. 

“So you want me to disobey the Director?” Erin sounds dubious, at best. 

Dave responds quickly. “Yes.” 

Aaron amends, and if the situation wasn’t so tense his correction would almost be funny. “No. I just want you to buy us a little time.” He pauses, wavering for a second as he rephrases. “Don't be quite so efficient.” 

You’re never surprised by Aaron’s political savvy, but it is a nice reminder that he can run circles around every bureaucrat in the district if given the chance. 

“Whatever you're gonna do, do it fast.”

+++

“It’s an impossible ask, Dave. You know JJ will never go for it.” 

“It’s not up to JJ.” Aaron’s voice approaches from behind you. “It’s the director’s call, but mine first.” 

He comes to rest beside you as Dave leaves the two of you alone. 

“What are you gonna do?” You look at Aaron, finding his eyes trained on the monitor, arms crossed over his chest.

He sighs. “If it was you he asked for...” 

You bump his shoulder. “What, not interested in feeding me to serial killers today?” 

It’s a loaded joke, especially for the two of you, but after Emily, you’re past such things. If the situation were reversed, Haley would never stop giving you hell for getting serial-killed the way she did. It’s only fair to return the favor. 

“Over my dead body, baby.” He reaches down to squeeze your hand for a second before letting you go. “Do me a favor?” 

“Anything.” 

“Stay here.” 

+++

You can hear JJ’s anguished shouts from here, beside Dave and the phone. 

Derek has a good enough hold on her, Emily and Aaron protecting him from JJ’s wild elbows. She’s beside herself but eventually breaks free and sprints back toward the trailer. You turn to follow her, just in time to hear a gunshot. 

Will.

+++

You’re all gathered in the trailer as JJ asks the same questions over and over again. Garcia, just like the first time, doesn’t have any answers. 

The static on the monitors is nearly deafening in its silence. 

JJ looks at you for a moment and takes a shaky breath before looking at Hotch. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her voice is broken when she speaks. “Aaron.”

You know he’s never been able to deny her anything. In the entire time you’ve known him, it’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed. 

His eyes don’t budge from hers. “We’re going in.”

+++

You press the heels of your hands to your eyes, trying to stem the stinging from the heat and debris. Your ears ring and you’ve got a scrape on your chin from where you face-planted into the asphalt. 

Eventually, you remove your hands and open your eyes to the early summer sunshine. Your bias is clear enough - Aaron’s the first one you look for and the first one you find.

He’s looking a little dazed and more than a little ruffled, but alive. 

Ignoring the whine in your ears and swiping some blood off your face, you jog over to him, taking stock of him from head to toe. “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer right away, and you realize he probably can’t hear you. An image of Kate reaching for you and the smell of blood flashes into your head, but you push it away. 

His ear…

“Aaron?” You lay a hand on his shoulder and he startles a little, meeting your eyes and coming back to himself all at once. 

He puts his hands on your shoulders, tipping your jaw up with one finger to examine your chin. “You’re hurt.”

“Honey, I’m fine. Your ear…” You follow a small trickle of blood up the side of his neck, rounding him to get a better look. Just as you’d feared, his bad ear is bleeding again. 

He waves off your concern and taps his comm mic, calling for support in quick, clear soundbites. You snag the back of his vest before he can get too far away from you. 

“As soon as you’re done with that, please get it looked at.”

With a sigh, he nods and gestures to your chin. “I will if you do.”

You roll your eyes. 

“Where’s Emily?” You hear Morgan ask JJ as they get their bearings around you. 

With a start, you follow them into the building, attached to a couple of SWAT agents. You know Aaron will get after you for going in before everything’s cleared by bomb squad, but you can’t keep still. 

The heartache you feel for JJ supersedes anything else going on in your head. It’s something that plagues you all the time - the both of you doing this job. Losing Aaron in the field is a stark reality you can hardly consider at any point, especially when evidence of its reality is right in front of you. 

+++

Aaron can’t help himself - he pulls you close after you’re both released by the paramedics, pressing a kiss to your head. It’s almost desperate as he leans back and pulls your collar from your vest, his hands smoothing over your shoulders. 

“I need to debrief SWAT and first responders - can you stay with Dave and help with the media?” 

“Okay. Let me know if you need any extra hands - I’ll send ‘em right over.” 

He smiles at you, soft, small, and affectionate. “Thank you.” 

+++

You pull your phone from your pocket. 

She picks up on the second ring. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Jess.” 

“Hey.” She pauses. “You okay?”

With a shaky sigh, you reply. “Yeah. I’m fine. Aaron’s fine.” 

“I heard about the explosion. Is there anything I can do?” 

“No, we’re fine. Just...Just stay out of the city.” After another breath. “Is Jack okay?” 

She laughs a little. “Yeah. He’s fine. He’s a little anxious but I turned off the TV and we’re headed out to the park for a little while.” 

“Good.” You look over at Aaron, who holds your eyes for a second before returning to his EMS strategy huddle. 

“Be safe and come home to us soon, okay?” 

“Yeah. We will. We love you. Tell Jack we -”

“ - Of course.” 

+++

You follow Spencer through the debris once you’re done handling the media storm with Dave. Picking through the rubble, searching for something - anything - but not finding much. 

Derek’s voice echoes through the ruined, cavernous space that used to be the main lobby. “Everything they've said and done was for a reason. But what doesn't make any sense is she switched the negotiation demand. Chris wanted to go to Switzerland. She changed it to Chad.” 

“They also requested a private plane,” you note, “but no mention of a pilot.” 

Spencer stops, and you almost run into him. Emily stops as well, looking back at the pair of you as Spencer organizes his thoughts. When he’s ready to speak, he says, “Guys, if you think about it, even the dates mean something. In 2004, while she was wreaking havoc abroad, he was dishonorably discharged. Then in 2008, they likely met in Chad. And now this in 2012.” 

Good thought. But then again, when is one of Spencer’s thoughts bad? 

It’s a decent enough question, and you run the gamut of all the surprising and absurd things Spencer’s said in your presence over the years. One in particular comes to mind. 

Evil twin, eviler twin. 

You hold back a little laugh, despite the harrowing circumstances. 

Yeah, that one was pretty bad. 

“Okay.” Derek grabs your attention again. “So, is it a coincidence that those are all election years and they attacked D.C.? Maybe this is a political statement.” 

Emily’s eyes are stuck on something on the ground, but you’re not sure if it’s what she’s really looking at. “No. It's more personal than that. It's their story.” 

Derek’s brow pinches. “What?” 

“All of the details are a part of their story.” 

She starts to leave through one of the shattered windows and you follow her back to the trailer, Spencer and Derek not far behind. She hops up the steps and you take your place beside Aaron once you’re all inside. It’s much cozier in here, with eight of you. 

Spencer fills the rest of the team in on your conversation inside. Unsurprisingly, it’s rote - read like a cold script. 

Emily picks up when he’s done. “Their timeline suggests they were both destructive before they met.” 

“So we're talking about ex-military turning on their country.” Strauss looks and sounds skeptical, but you can’t blame her. In American culture, it’s rather incongruous. 

Now who sounds like Spencer?

“It's rare, but soldiers become disenfranchised no matter what the nationality. And if he met someone like-minded at that time, there'd be no stopping them.”

“So you're thinking they met during the civil unrest in Chad in '08.” Aaron’s voice isn’t skeptical - more probing. You can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “And one or both of them are pilots.”

“So if Garcia concentrates on that region,” Emily points to an area on a map, lit up on the monitor, “specifically weapons running in and out of Libya, there's a good chance we'll find their paths crossed.”

Penelope types furiously for a moment, her fingers flying over the keys. “Okay, multiple entries into Libya for a private pilot named Matthew Downs in '08, but I don't have her name.” 

“Well, because she had aliases. It's the only way to stay a ghost.” 

Looks like Emily’s Interpol knowledge is coming in handy. 

She continues. “Here's the thing - they are a couple. Regardless of what we believe of them, they will celebrate themselves and their connection.” She turns to Penelope, a thought sparking behind her eyes. “Is there anything that happened on this date in Chad?”

“Oh, you are good, Emily Prentiss.” Penelope types for a moment and you lean forward, watching her work. “But this news is not. Yes, there were multiple explosions on this date in '08.” 

Aaron speaks from beside you. He’s a little closer than you thought, and it startles you a little. 

In fairness, you’re still jumpy from the explosion. 

“Where were the most casualties?” 

“At a church-- no, no, a train. Yep.” 

Morgan squints at the photos of the hulled-out building. “Semtex and C-4?”

Penelope nods while Aaron turns toward Strauss. “Are trains still arriving at Union Station?”

“Yes, but only the authorities are allowed in.” There’s a moment where she almost looks panicked, but collects herself as the rest of you gear up to leave. 

Emily exhales down her nose. “That’s why they needed Will.” 

+++

Aaron drives impossibly fast through the district. You sit in the back seat with Emily, holding onto the handles above the door for dear life. 

You’ve never flashed your badge so many times in such a short period. Aaron tucked his badge into a strap of his vest, just to save time, but still has his credentials locked between his fingers as he drives. If you didn’t trust him so much, it would freak you out a little.  

+++

The comm in your ear crackles as Emily speaks. “I found Will.” 

“Is he mobile?” Aaron’s voice comes both from beside you and your comm - it’s a little disorienting, but you push through. 

“Negative. He's got 6 transmitters on him and this whole place is gonna blow.”

There’s hardly a hesitation in Aaron’s steps as he processes the information. “All right, where are you? I'm on my way.” 

He’d like to think he’s made of steel. 

Sometimes he is. 

“No,” Emily asserts. “You gotta get everyone out. Is the bomb squad here yet?” 

“They're 3 minutes away.” 

“Copy.” She sounds a little disappointed, or maybe frustrated, but doesn’t say anything else.

He turns back to you, holding you by the shoulders. “I want you leading evacuation. Get out of here.” 

Tears prick at your eyes and honestly, this is the first moment you’ve really been afraid. Existentially afraid. Afraid of walking out of this train station and leaving Aaron and Emily and Will to blow up. “I’ll see you later?” 

“Yep. Go.” He tries to push you away, but you resist. 

“Promise?” 

His brown eyes soften as his mouth presses into a thin line. “Can’t. I love you. Get outta here.” 

You bounce on your toes for a second, acutely aware you’re wasting valuable time, before yanking him forward to kiss his cheek before you sprint away from him, shouting instructions to the panicked crowd as you go. 

+++

You catch up with Derek, racing to catch your suspect. He corners him in an alley but can’t quite overpower him. You reach for your sidearm, but by the time you take aim, Downs is already on the ground, a gunshot ringing through the air. 

Startled, you turn over your shoulder to find Aaron still staring down the sight of his Glock. 

Could take an eye out, with that thing.

You sigh and holster your weapon. Derek looks plenty dazed and you don’t blame him. It’s not often he’s on the receiving end of a near-miss in close combat. He looks over your shoulder and you can see something pass between him and Aaron. 

Maybe one day, Derek will know how much Aaron loves and respects him. 

You watch Derek shake it off and stumble as he attempts to rise to his feet. 

Today is not that day. 

Coming to your senses, you trot forward and help him to his feet, brushing wayward asphalt off of him. You turn back to Aaron. “Everything alright?” 

He ignores you, pressing the mic at his chest as he begins to run back toward the station. “Prentiss, what’s your status?”

+++

Seeing Will and Emily leave the building in one piece is a relief. You meet Aaron’s gaze and his eyes are exhausted. The gears in his head still whir. He’s still in game-mode, and it’s a good thing. 

With the logistical nightmare of two bomb threats in one day, there’s a lot of work ahead of you. 

+++

You swing back and forth in your desk chair, brain completely numb from the paperwork. It’s been a long day, and you’ve been up since three this morning, what with your flight back from California. You’re certain you’ve had longer days than this one, but you’re approaching twenty-one hours without sleep and it feels worse than you remember. 

What were we planning to do today?

A bike ride and museum day with Jack seems impossibly long ago. Last week, maybe.

Derek and Emily sit on their desks, attempting to keep a conversation going without much luck. 

They were house-hunting this morning. 

Penelope slowly descends the stairs as Spencer turns in his seat. “The convention’s still happening tomorrow if you want to go.” 

They were at a convention this morning. 

Everyone had lives this morning. Weird.

She makes an uncertain noise. “That whole city-on-the-brink-of-destruction thing kinda took the wind out of my sails, you know?” 

You look up at her as she takes her place beside Spencer. “It’ll get you every time.” 

“You gotta watch out for that,” Emily adds. It makes you smile a little. 

Derek looks a little less amused, reminding Emily they’ll have to finish the inspection another time. Between Spencer and Penelope, Emily cops to a crack in the foundation of her almost-home. 

“That does not sound good,” Penelope says. You can’t help but agree. 

There’s a weird look on Derek’s face, but you ignore it in favor of Strauss’s descent on the stairs. 

“Our unsub,” she says, “is Izzy Rogers. She'll be charged with multiple counts domestically, and our international counterparts will have their turn with her. She will never see the light of day.” A little smile graces her lips. 

You realize with the tiniest of laughs (really - it’s a one on the Aaron Hotchner scale of laugher, which means it’s hardly noticeable to the naked eye) that you don’t hate her or even dislike her as much as you used to. Maybe, you even want her around. 

Don’t push it.  

“I just thought you'd like to know that.” 

The five of you murmur something that sounds like, “Thank you, ma’am.” 

She pulls Derek, probably to kick his ass for something or another and send herself back on your shit list. 

That’s a problem for another time. 

You take Izzy Rogers’s file from Emily, looking over an impressive rap sheet. You’re happy for a few things. 

The first - that Aaron’s not a federal prosecutor anymore. This’ll be a case for the ages. 

The second - you’ll never have to think about her again. 

The third - you’re not sure. You’re sleep-deprived. It’ll come to you. 

She cost me my precious eight hours and I’ll never forgive her. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Aaron leave his office. You set the file down and look up at him, halfway-hoping for once he’ll tell you to go home without him. 

“Dave wants to know if everyone is free tomorrow night.” 

Without any inflection at all, you reply. “We better not be doing anything tomorrow night.” 

“Well,” Derek says, interrupting Emily’s snort. “If he’s buying, then I’m definitely in.” 

Emily, Spencer, and Penelope jump onto Derek’s conditional acceptance and a rare smile pulls at Aaron’s face, his dimples on full display. 

“Hear that? We’re in.” 

+++

When you get home, Aaron all-but carries you to bed. With the tenderest of hands, he removes your shoes and socks, unbuttons your pants, slides them down your legs, and throws them in the laundry basket. 

You’re practically wilting where you sit, feeling more and more like a sleepy toddler by the minute. 

Aaron unbuttons your shirt and slips it off your shoulders, kissing each cheek in turn. “I’ll start a shower.” 

You move to protest, but he strips and that mostly shuts you up. He starts the water before he returns to your side.

“I just want to sleep, Aar. Please.” 

“Baby,” he says, a fond little pleading note in his tone. “We just changed the sheets. Do you really want to get semtex all over them?” 

With a huff - “No.” 

He smiles and helps you to your feet. “Didn’t think so.” 

You’re so tired, it doesn't even cross your mind to take advantage of the shared shower or his lack of clothes. By the time he dries you off, tucks you in, and locks the bedroom door to ward off the over-eager six-year-old down the hall, you’re asleep. 

His own exhaustion pulling at him, he doesn’t have the time or energy to cherish how peaceful, safe, and warm you look. He just draws you close to him until he can feel your heartbeat. 

Sleep takes him rapidly after that. 

+++

As Will and JJ exchange their vows, you tuck further into Aaron’s arms. His whisper floats past your ear, barely audible. “Wanna do that sometime?”

“What? Get married?” Your voice is just as quiet. 

“Mhmm.”

“Only if it’s you.”

There’s a kiss pressed to your temple with a smile behind it. “I think I can make that happen.”

You turn your head to the side to keep your snark from carrying. “Please don’t propose to me right now. This weekend’s been long enough.”

Derek kicks the side of your foot from where he stands beside you, unable to hear the conversation but knowing you both well enough to keep you from tumbling down the rabbit hole of distraction. 

Aaron presses another kiss to your temple. “I love you.” You feel it rather than hear it.

You pick up one of his hands and kiss the back of it. You don’t need to say anything. 

+++

Aaron holds you close as you dance together, surrounded by your family. JJ and Will sway back and forth nearby, wrapped entirely in each other. Erin and Dave have been surprisingly brave, dancing and laughing quietly together throughout the evening. 

As nice as it was to just have something for the two of you, sharing your love with your family has its own set of perks. You don’t have to hide anymore or justify your pigheaded protection of the other. 

You can just… be. 

+++

Eventually, Dave calls all the “...fortunately unmarried individuals to the dance floor,” and refuses to let anyone slip through the cracks. 

When Aaron hangs back, drink in-hand and a little smile on his face, Dave calls him out. “Divorcés and widowers, too, c’mon.” He pauses, finding another tactic when Aaron doesn’t move. “If you’re both, you get extra points!” 

Aaron rolls his eyes and you look around, finding an inappropriate amount of humor in JJ’s confused relatives. You can’t help but bark a loud laugh when you see how hard Derek’s trying to keep his mirth at bay.

Too soon for the dead wife jokes? He seems to ask. Can I laugh? 

Something in your eyes gives him tacit permission and he nearly blinds you with his smile. 

When Dave’s tricks fall short, you do your best to pull Aaron from the sideline with your best set of bedroom eyes. He courageously resists, so you give up and settle next to Anderson. “What do you think Dave’s come up with, this time?” 

“God only knows.” 

Anderson, like the rest of you, knows that Dave’s hosting abilities know no bounds. 

“Because so many of you are joyfully unmarried, the newlyweds wanted to make sure there was someone else to suffer the slings and arrows of matrimony with them in the near future. Thus,” he opens his arm to JJ, who appears with her bouquet and a smile, “the bouquet toss will be an equal-opportunity event.” 

With a laugh and a shake of your head, you prepare to duck out of the way. 

You look over at Aaron. This is ridiculous. 

He only shakes his head, hiding his smile behind his drink. And yet…

He leaves the rest of the implication unsaid, but you flip him off for good measure. Your exchange must have taken longer than you thought because before you know it, you have a face full of white roses. It’s over. 

You pull the flowers from your face and level JJ with a glare across the dance floor. “Really?” 

She raises her eyebrows and shrugs. “I turned my back and everything.” 

There are whoops and hollers from your team and you can only roll your eyes. Derek and Will strong-arm Aaron onto the dance floor (you know he let them - if he really wanted to avoid you, they wouldn’t be able to move him an inch), where you’re both cajoled into a kiss and a photo. Penelope’s on the other side of the camera, grinning from ear to ear. 

She waves at Aaron over the camera. “Smile for real, damn you!” 

She amends, adding, “Sir,” for good measure. It has its intended effect and she’s rewarded with a rare, bright laugh from her unit chief. 

Absurd traditions aside, you’d be lying if said you stopped smiling even once. 

+++

As the party settles, some couples stay out on the dance floor, sedately twirling and swaying to the music that continues to play across the yard. 

You and Aaron have relaxed significantly since the Great Bouquet Debacle, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. You’re sitting across his lap, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, with one of his arms wrapped around your middle and the other draped over your knees - the picture of relaxation. 

Penelope, Derek, Emily, and Will have taken up residence on the other side of the dance floor, their heads close together and voices low.

Aaron’s eyes slide over them as he watches the room, scanning out of habit. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

You lean further into him as four pairs of eyes flicker over to you before returning to their huddle. “Us, probably.” 

He hums, understanding and pensive. “Probably our sex life, right?” 

“Probably,” you sigh, playing at boredom. He covers your hand with one of his and you play with his fingers - lacing, unlacing, kissing his knuckles. 

It’s nice to feel safe, comfortable enough to love each other where curious eyes can see you. 

You can feel his smile against your forehead as he presses a kiss between your brows.  

“I mean,” you continue, “there is a lot to talk about.”

He shrugs, adjusting his arm where it lays across your legs to keep you both comfortable in the seat you share. “That’s true enough. Though, I can’t imagine any of their projections being right.”

+++

“I bet they’re into like…tantric sex. Like hours and hours and hours you know?” Penelope says, conspiracy the top note in her tone. 

Derek looks at her and she backtracks, only a little on the defensive. 

“What? Spencer’s talked to me about it before and I...read.” 

He rolls his eyes, but Emily spares Penelope from any further interrogation. 

“I could see that.” She watches the way your fingers wander over Aaron’s bare forearm, playing with the ridges of his watch, the way his thumb absent-mindedly draws small circles on your outer thigh. “Yeah, actually I think that’s exactly what happens.”

+++

“What do you think they’ve got so far?” 

He plays at boredom. “They’re probably trying to take a guess at anything they can reach - with both of our profiles in Derek’s pocket, he’s going to have the most luck, I think.” 

“Really?” You ask. “Not Emily?” 

He snorts. “No. She has her mind on other things.” 

That holds you up for a second, and you’re not sure if he’s still playing into the bit. “Wait, what do you mean?” 

He shakes his head. “I’ll tell you later.” 

“She’s resigning, isn’t she?” You give up the fun and lay your head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. 

Without thinking, his hand rises to your cheek, affectionately brushing over your cheekbone before dropping back down. “She might be.” 

“Did she do that thing where she sighs really big and then looks off to the upper right middle distance?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Shit.” 

You’re both quiet for a moment, just enjoying the low lull of the music and the lights and the sights and smiles of your family. 

“Hey.” 

You lean back a little and meet Aaron’s eyes. “Yeah?” 

“What’s my tell?” 

The concern drops out of your face all at once. “You think I’m gonna spill just like that so you can go and change it on me? Not a chance.” 

He sighs and his chin tips up in defeat. “So I have one?” 

“Of course you do, stupid.” You flick his chest and a laugh rumbles through him. “Everyone does. You know mine, I know yours. You’re gonna have to get over it.” 

“So you’ve caught me in lies before?” He asks, not without humor. 

“Duh. I’m pretty sure I’ve caught every lie you’ve ever told, but you seemed so proud of yourself that I just let you have it.” 

You can almost feel the eye roll. “Really?” He sounds skeptical. “Name one lie you’ve caught me in.” 

“Alright.” You count off on your fingers. “You dinged my car door a couple of weeks ago, you definitely didn’t drop the bags at Goodwill, you do know it wasn’t Jack who finished the ice cream in the freezer, you -” 

“Okay.” He covers your hands with his and kisses your fingers. “That’s enough. I get it.” 

You kiss his cheek. “I’m sure you’ve caught me in every single lie I’ve ever told, too, huh?” 

“Only every once since the day we met. Yours is obvious.” 

It’s a trap. You don’t take it. “Hmm. That’s convenient.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

You lean back to look at him. “You’re a shit, you know that?” 

He nods and raises his eyebrows, a cheeky, close-mouthed smile slowly creeping across his face. 

You playfully smack his chest with the back of your hand. “Fucker.” 

He says something under his breath and you level him with a look that has him repeating himself. 

“I said, you wish.” 

You roll your eyes and tuck back into his neck, kissing the skin above his collar. You can feel him shiver and you know you’ve got him. “Not just wish, honey. Know.” 

+++

tagging: @writefasttalkevenfaster @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @bwbatta @wakatoshislover @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @arthurmorrgans @the-falling-in-the-danger @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou @baumarvel @kerrswriting @messyhairday-me @ssworldofsw  @deagibs @crazyshannonigans @moonshinerbynight @jhiddles03 @teamhappyme @mendesmelodies @starsandasteroids @unicorn-bitch @ambicaos @bispences @thebivirgin

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | chapter one: how odd

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

notes: you guys have been so amazing with your feedback on “guarded” and it warms my heart that you loved hoseok and ms. kim -- so it’s time to show mr. kim some love, too.  this series will not be long (probably three parts) but i had to break it into chapters because of the POV shifts. please let me know what you think about this chapter and as usual thank you so much to all the tiger wives and my amazing betas @ladyartemesia​ and @hobi-gif​.

this series is dedicated to the amazing @sahmfanficbts​ who is an incredible writer, an awesome woman, and kim namjoon’s number one fan.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

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

“You fired me?”

Namjoon turns at the sound of the quiet accusation that comes from over his shoulder.  

There is color in your cheeks as you cross the length of his office.  Your jaw is tight, one lock of hair falling free from the loose knot at the base of your neck. One perfectly-arched brow is raised high.

You look hurt.

Beautiful -- but hurt.

Guilt hits Namjoon like a freight train.

“Of course not,” he deflects, taking a seat.  He picks up one of the papers scattered across his desktop and pretends to read it carefully.  “I reassigned you to a position I believe will be a better fit.”

There’s no way he could miss the irritated breath you suck between your teeth but Namjoon keeps his eyes glued to that paper in his hand.  He realizes, absently, that it’s a takeout menu.

He hopes you haven’t noticed the same thing.

“Well, was there some kind of problem with my performance?”

Namjoon winces at the dejection in your tone.  He finally forces himself to meet your gaze and finds your eyes brimming with frustration.  

He certainly can’t blame you on that account -- you have every right to be frustrated.  You shouldn’t be made to feel somehow lacking when it’s him who is lacking in every way that counts.

“Quite the opposite,” he says carefully.  “I think it’s a waste of your skills to have you keeping my schedule and taking calls.  Seokjin can make better use of your talents on the business side.”

A strained silence settles over the room and Namjoon clears his throat before looking back down to his papers.

“Well, the new girl is terrible at this,” you say flatly.  “I certainly wouldn’t have let me walk in here unannounced.  She’s too busy looking at her phone to look after you.”

Namjoon knows you’re right about that.

In the few short months you’ve worked for him, you’ve proven yourself to be unnaturally attuned to his needs. You knew without asking which calls he was trying to avoid and when, when to clear his schedule the day after a rough night on the streets. You’ve kept his office stocked with every comfort he’d ever wanted and some he hadn’t even realized he wanted.  

You are the single best assistant he’s ever had and he couldn’t stand to keep you around for one minute longer.

You don’t wait for Namjoon to formulate some kind of response to your damning and accurate observation.  By the time he looks back up from his papers, you’ve already turned on your heels to leave.  

He watches you walk away with regret weighing heavy in his gut.

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

Namjoon’s keys clang loudly when he drops them on the table in his foyer.

This penthouse is the best apartment in one of the best buildings in Seoul.  It’s filled with lavish furnishings and expensive paintings and boasts a stunning view of the Han River.  It’s one of the finest residences in the city.

And Namjoon hates it.

The vacant rooms and the echoing walls seem to mock him, making him all the more aware of how empty it is.  How completely devoid it is of any life. Most nights he stays at the office until he’s delirious with exhaustion just so he can collapse straight into bed once he gets here. 

Tonight though, for once, this place seemed like a better option. 

Namjoon pulls off his tie and releases the first few buttons of his shirt before pouring a scotch.  

He’s drinking too much these days -- he knows it -- but the drinks help slow the constant movement of his mind.  They help dull the anxiety that seems to take over when he’s too still for too long.

He walks to the window to look out over the night sky.  

This is his favorite way to see the city -- high up enough that everything looks pristine.  Get closer and you’ll be assaulted by the noise and the crowds and the pollution.  Get closer and the flaws are too hard to ignore.

“Was there some kind of problem with my performance?”

Your words echo as clearly in Namjoon’s mind as if you’d spoken them out loud in this cavernous apartment. He takes a seat in his plush chair and sips his drink, savoring the familiar burn of the scotch.

He thinks back to when you both were kids.  

Your father -- one of the few decent men in his own father’s inner circle -- didn’t bring you around much.  He can only recall a few social functions you’d attended before taking off to university.  News of your father’s death came shortly after that and it had been years since Namjoon had even spared a thought for you.

Then you came walking through his office door.

You definitely weren’t a kid anymore, that much was clear.  

What was much less clear was why you -- a college graduate -- turned up one day, desperate for a job.  He hadn’t questioned your need for fast work and fast money and you hadn’t questioned the long hours and strange requests.

You repaid him with a flawless work ethic.

And he repaid you by fantasizing about fucking you blind over his desk basically every chance he got.

So yeah, there was a problem, all right.   

The problem was Kim Namjoon.

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

“There you are.”

The voice on the other end of the line practically slithers into Namjoon’s ear when he answers the late call. 

“Mina,” he sighs, infusing the name with a displeasure that comes through loud and clear across the connection.  “This line is for business only, you know that.”

Mina makes an exasperated sound.

“I wouldn’t have to call your cell if you’d return my messages from the office.  I’ve been trying to reach you for more than two weeks now. I’m starting to feel like you’re avoiding me.”

Namjoon pulls the phone away to allow himself a long exhale before putting it back to his ear.

“How did you get this number?”

“You’re hung up on that?” Mina groans. “Honestly, Namjoon.  I reached out to your new assistant who was more than happy to pass it along.”

Fuck. He’s going to have to fire the new girl, isn’t he?

“She’s a nice girl,” Mina muses.  “Far more competent than that last assistant of yours.  Excellent decision on replacing that woman if she fails to complete a task as simple as delivering a message. Three messages, actually.”

Namjoon mulls that information over in silence.

“Where is your mind these days, Mr. Kim?” Mina tries to cover her displeasure with a laugh but he hears it anyway.  “You’ve been so distant lately.  It’s been too long since we had the chance to enjoy one another’s company.”

Namjoon can envision the pout she is wearing on the other end of the line and it aggravates him beyond belief.  Pouting ranks near the very top of his least favorite female manipulation tactics. 

Pouting makes him want to put his fist through a wall.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he mutters.  “I’m here.”

“Are you drunk?”

Namjoon grits his teeth, fingers tightening around his glass.

“No, Mina,” he grinds out. “Not drunk. Just not in the mood.  Not anymore.”

She sputters on the other end of the line as Namjoon ends the call.

Maybe he should feel bad about being so blunt, but he doesn’t.  It’ll be a week before she’s onto the next wealthy, connected man.  Women like Mina make sport of locating and latching on to power. 

She’ll survive.

Namjoon stares out into the night sky and sips his scotch, letting his mind wander back to the one piece of the conversation that did capture his interest.

What are the chances that you -- a woman with seemingly unerring attention to detail -- forgot to deliver three separate messages from the same caller? 

He contemplates that in the dark.

How odd.

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

YOU

Kim Namjoon was the most serious boy you’d ever seen. 

Even as a young man, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. You can still close your eyes and remember exactly how he looked back then -- standing solemn at his father’s side, lanky body swimming in a suit he’d not yet grown into.  His hair just a touch too long and falling into his eyes.  

You thought he was the most handsome boy in all of Korea.

Namjoon kept mostly to himself -- no easy task given that his status alone made him the most celebrated catch amongst the children of the Gajog.  

Everyone fought for the attention of the boy who would be king.  

It would have been so easy for him to abuse the power he had over his peers, to treat them with disrespect, but Namjoon never did.  You noticed how kind he was to the children who idolized him.  You noticed how well he managed the volatile moods of his alcoholic father.  You noticed how he hovered protectively over his sister.  

He never noticed you, of course.

Your own father was careful to limit your exposure to the Gajog and as such, you lived on the outskirts of the social circle.  By the time you were a teenager, you’d only spoken to Namjoon directly a handful of times.  The few times you did see him face-to-face, you’d had to suffer through that awkward moment before his eyes lit with recognition.  

It always took a minute for him to remember who you were, but when he finally did -- every time he finally did -- your heart would stop just a bit at his shy smile.  

That was the image you held on to when you held your breath and walked into his office a few months ago.  You’d taken a deep breath and prayed that the quiet, kind kid you’d known so long ago hadn’t changed too much over the years.  And then you stepped into his posh office.

Kim Namjoon definitely wasn’t a kid anymore.

The Namjoon who stood up from behind his desk to bow a greeting was nothing short of devastating.

Standing in place of the slender boy from your childhood was a man with deep, dark eyes and a striking, angular face.  His suit -- cut to fit every line of his body to an exacting standard -- did nothing to conceal his powerful frame.  He had grown into the full lips that once seemed a bit too large for his face. 

Without a doubt, he’d become the most handsome man in all of Korea.

The shy smile remained, though -- dimples prominent when Namjoon extended a hand to shake yours and you woodenly accepted, blinking back.  You’d realized, absently, that you were gawking.

You hoped he hadn’t noticed the same thing.

If Namjoon had picked up on your mortifying reaction to seeing him after all these years, he was far too much of a gentleman to let on.  He’d offered you a seat and then listened patiently as you explained that you were in need of a job -- any job -- so long as you could start right away.

You left out the painful details, of course.  

Namjoon nodded quietly as you outlined your education and qualifications and emphasized your willingness to serve the Gajog in any role he saw fit.  His eyes were warm and reassuring as you spoke, but you still braced yourself for the possibility that he’d send you away empty handed.

He didn’t.

At the end of your impassioned speech, Kim Namjoon made you an offer you could not refuse.  

Reporting directly to him and starting right away.

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

The serious boy you’d known so many years ago had grown into an even more serious man.

It didn’t take long on the job to notice the bone-deep melancholy that seemed to emanate from Kim Namjoon.  He was good at concealing it in front of others but you saw it clearly.  The way he would stand at his window at night, drink in hand, brooding.  The way the shadows behind his eyes would surface when he thought no one was looking.

But you were always looking.

You wanted so badly to help.  

You wanted to do something to help ease the burden he seemed to carry around at all times.  So you threw yourself into the work, memorizing his routines and taking note of the things he needed.  You organized his files.  You streamlined his schedule.  You ran interference on Yoongi and Hoseok and Seokjin on the nights when his moods turned dark and ominous.

Tiny gestures, in the grand scheme of things -- but there were days when you could convince yourself the gestures made a difference.

Days when Namjoon would look at you with a quiet appreciation that made you feel heat down to your toes.  Days when his eyes would soften as you’d instinctually met some need he hadn’t voiced out loud. Days when the darkness inside of him seemed to recede and one of those heart-stopping shy smiles would emerge.

You convinced yourself over time that this was enough --  that taking care of him like this would be enough for you.

It had to be enough. 

To allow yourself to imagine otherwise was nothing short of delusion.  

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

“Eomma?” 

You call out into the quiet as you lock the door behind you.  You can barely make out the sound of your mother’s soft reply from her bedroom.

This is where she spends most of her days now, shuffling between her bed and her chair, too weak to stand for more than a few minutes at a time.  Pill bottles litter the nightstand, obscuring the yellowing photograph of your parents as newlyweds.  

“My sweet Ttal,” she rasps, voice hoarse from disuse, “You’re home.”

“I am,” you sigh, sweeping into the room and pulling off your coat.  You bend down to drop a kiss on her forehead before taking a seat at her side.  Your mother’s once-luminous skin is now spotted with age, eyes cloudy and dull, but she is still one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.   

She flinches when you take one of her hands into your much colder ones.

“Sorry,” you murmur, massaging over the paper-thin skin.  “It’s freezing outside.  I should have warmed them first.”

She gives your fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Home early again,” she croaks.  “Is everything okay at work?”

Her innocent question brings the sadness simmering just under the surface of your thoughts back to a full boil.  You still can’t understand why Namjoon chose to reassign you -- and you still can’t forget the sting of getting the news secondhand from your replacement.

Your face falls at the memory and you hope your mother doesn’t notice.  

The last thing you’d want to do is add worry to her already long list of concerns.

“Yes, Eomma,” you soothe, smoothing back her hair.  She leans into your touch with a tired smile.  “Everything is fine.  My new boss doesn’t keep me as late as the old one did.  But that’s a good thing, right?”

“Right,” she agrees, closing her eyes.  “Mrs. Sim left just a short while ago.  She brought some Japchae for dinner.  Not as good as mine, but not half-bad, either.”  

You laugh at the way the corner of her mouth lifts into a smile at her jest.  

People like Mrs. Sim are in large part why you’ve fought so hard to keep your mother here in your childhood home.  The financial strain has been tough -- particularly when paired with the medical bills -- but you need the help.  With no siblings to share your burden, you’ve had to lean on the goodwill of longtime neighbors.

“Leave Mrs. Sim and her Japchae alone mother,” you tease, standing to stretch.  “I’m going to get a shower before bed.”

Your mother makes a noise that sounds like approval, but you can tell she’s already drifting off again.  

She’s on so many pills these days; a blessing and a curse.  More pills means less pain and better rest -- something she desperately needs.  But more pills also means far fewer moments of lucidity -- much shorter windows of time for you to enjoy your mother’s quick wit and dry humor.

She’s back in a sleep state before you even make to stand.  You stroke your fingertips across her face just as your phone pings in your pocket.  You pull it out and very nearly dismiss the routine banking alert altogether -- but something catches your eye.

You swipe into the app to confirm you’re seeing the numbers correctly -- that your tired eyes and tired mind aren’t playing games with you.  

They aren’t.

The direct deposit of your paycheck is coming on the date it should, at the time it should.  But the number glaring back at you from the screen is higher -- much higher -- than it should be.

A demotion and a raise in the span of one week?

How odd.

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

GLOSSARY:

Gajog: Family

Eomma: Mother

Ttal: Daughter

tag list: @barbikatherine​

[marvelslut16]

Oblivious

Prompt number: 18 “you don’t see it?”

Fandom: Saturday night live? Pete Davidson?

Paring: Pete Davidson x reader 

Rating: T

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: An asshole cheater. Mentions of Ariana Grande (yes that’s a warning- don’t come for me). Swearing. Mentions of slight sexting- just mentions boobs nothing graphic. Mentions rehab. Slightly angsty ends fluffy.

A/N: So I broke my one rule and wrote for an actual person. Pete Davidson is precious and doesn’t deserve the hate he gets. I was also almost hella basic because I was so close to titling this the king of Staten Island. Anywho, the cheating scum part of this story happened to me and I immediately thought Pete would never do this to me- so I wrote this lmao. I think my love for the Knicks seeped into this story a bit. 

You had been talking to a guy for close to three months now. You thought he was charming, and sweet, and he was built like a god! You’re friends were a little weary, none more than Pete, when you admitted you hadn’t met up with the man yet. Their faces would go from being happy for you to pitting you instantly. But you knew you weren’t being catfished, you video called with Henry multiple times a week. While Henry wasn’t your first choice, he never would be, you were starting to see a future with him. 

But that vision went to shit with one simple text. You had gotten a new bra, maroon and lacy, and boy did it make the girls look good! Feeling a little flirty in your new bra, you texted a picture to Henry to be a little tease while he was at work. Almost instantly you got a text back, and it read; ‘shit baby, you’re tits are way better than my girlfriends!’ with multiple heart eye and drooling emojis to follow. 

You had never felt more embarrassed in your life! And that’s saying something considering Pete makes jokes about you on SNL and in his standup routines, all approved by you beforehand of course. You had met Pete years ago, while he was scrawnier than he is now, had a lot less tattoos, and right when he was just starting SNL. You had bumped into him on the sidewalk while trying to catch a cab in the pouring rain, you expected to be yelled at with a thick New York accent for what felt like the millionth time that day, but it never came. Instead Pete hailed the cab for you but not before exchanging numbers and promising to show you around since you had just moved to the city for college. 

After showing you around the next day, you were surprised when he continued to text you for the next month. To pay him back for his generosity you took him to see a Knicks game, lucky for you your dormmate had a fight with her boyfriend so she sold the tickets to you for dirt cheap. The seats weren’t great, all the way up in the nosebleed section, but you were in Madison Square Garden watching the Knicks! Pete was pleasantly surprised by you when you could name the players and you actually knew how the game was played, unlike girls he had dated. Of course before you left the arena you had to splurge and got yourself a Carmelo Anthony jersey! 

Many years and Knicks games later you’re still friends with Pete. You’d call him your best friend, but you know Colson is his even if he claims it’s you when you’ve asked in the past. You’d be by Pete’s side every time he admitted himself into rehab- making sure you were there to pick him up when he got out. You had been there to pick up the pieces after Ariana- hell you were picking them up when they were still together. You were beside him every time he got bullied off his social media by stupid haters or little Ariana stans after they broke up. He made sure to be at your graduation, and he was there to rant to when you had a bad day at work. Pete was there to hold your hand when you got your first tattoo, which he wanted to pick out for you but you refused. Pete was there to pick up your pieces when a guy hurt you, like right now. 

You’re in his basement, curled into his right side, his right arm slung securely over your shoulder, his fingertips making soothing trails up and down your arm. You had convinced him to watch an old episode of SNL- before he was on it, but new enough that Kate McKinnon and Bill Hader were on it together. You snuggle further into his warm side and let out a content sigh. 

“You were too good for him, (Y/N/N),” Pete finally brings up the elephant in the room. You had hoped that watching an episode of SNL would put the ‘you deserve better than him, he’s just scum,’ talk Pete gives you every time you go through a break up.

“If I was too good for him, then I’d still be with him,” you murmur a line from the movie clueless into his baby pink sweatshirt covered chest. 

“None of these guys deserved you, (Y/N/N),” Pete says sternly, you roll your eyes not in the mood for him to tell you how amazing you are but not make a move on you, yet again.

“Pete, stop,” you pull away from his chest, his arm falling off you as you scoot to the front of the cushion. “I really don’t want to have this conversation again, no matter how many times you tell me I still won’t believe you. I should get going, don’t want to miss the last ferry back to the city.”

“(Y/N), please, wait,” Pete’s skinny fingers wrap around your wrist as you stand and go to walk towards the door. “We just ordered pizza, just stay the night.”

“I can’t Pete,” you whisper, staring down at your sock covered feet, you had gotten Pete to take better care of his hardwood floors by convincing him to have a no shoe policy. “Give some pizza to your mom and your sister.”

“You’re off tomorrow, you originally planned on staying,” if you didn’t know any better you’d say his voice was laced with hurt and disappointment. “Why won’t you stay now?”

“I can’t keep doing this Pete,” loud laughing coming from the studio audience on the now forgotten episode of SNL only seems to be mocking you and your feelings. “Every time you tell me how amazing I am and you don’t- it’s just hard to believe when no one seems to agree with the sentiment.” 

“You don’t see it?” his voice is soft, he stands from his seat, getting momentarily stuck in the blanket that was draped over your laps. “You really don’t see it,” this time it’s not a question, it’s a statement. 

“See what Pete?” he lets go of your wrist to spin you around to face him. 

“That I’m in love with you,” his eyes shine in sincerity, but they aren’t what you’re focusing on. “That I have been since that first Knicks game!”

“You don’t love me,” your voice shakes as you stare at the heart that was once Ariana’s bunny ears peaking out above his left ear. You reach up and gently trace your finger over the heart. “You’ve dated models, and movie stars. You were engaged to Ariana, even after you knew she didn’t want us to be friends. Because she didn’t trust me. You didn’t love me Pete, you chose her, and yet I was still there to pick up the pieces after you ignored me for months, because I love you. Because I didn’t care how much I was hurting, I knew I had to be there to make you feel better, to be able to see your smile again.”

“I was settling for Ariana!” he grabs your cheeks so you can’t look away. “I thought I could get her to warm up to you, I’ve never wanted you out of my life (Y/N)! You were with Eric at the time, it hurt like hell to see you that happy with someone that wasn’t me! So I proposed to Ariana because Eric bragged that he had a ring for you! But then you guys broke up and I couldn’t just break up with her right after I proposed.”

“Eric did propose, I said no and broke it off,” you smile sadly. “He, like Ariana, didn’t want us to spend time together, so I dumped him. All of the guys eventually realize they’re second to you, so they either break up with me or ask me not to see you anymore. And I was selfish every single time, I hurt them so I could be happy with you in my life.” 

“Fine, you want the truth?” Pete asks, and you nod. “It wasn’t the Knicks game. I knew I wanted to date you that night. But the first time I knew I loved you was when you came with my mom to pick me up from rehab the first time after we were. You didn’t run far away from me, you still wanted to be around me and you put up with my shit. Everyone leaves when I go to rehab, they think I’m too much to handle.”

“Well I don’t! I never have Pete!” you’re crying by now. 

“I know! Fuck, you’re too damn perfect for me (Y/N). I convinced myself for so long you were too good for me, that you couldn’t love me,” you don’t know how to verbally respond, so you do the first thing that comes to your mind. 

You grab the back of Pete’s neck and pull him into a kiss, it’s all teeth and tongue. The passion sends jolts of electricity through your body, a wave of giddiness rolls over you as you realize that this is really happening. You’re really kissing Pete, he really loves you too. As the kiss continues it becomes slower and more gentle, both of you want this feeling to last as long as it can. When you finally pull back, lungs burning and desperately in need of air, the feeling of his lips linger on yours. 

“I do love you, (Y/N/N). There’s never really been anyone else,” he caresses your cheek and gently brushes his lips on your forehead. 

“I love you too Pete,” you lean in for a peck, which he quickly deepens. You pull away giggling, “so much.”

Permeant tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen​ @rexorangecouny​

[p4nkow]

White Lie

Hello hello! As usual, I have no idea of what this is about 💀 I saw a post it said that they were currently filming in a school and my dumb ass was like Oh right, they’re in high school

Part two

I loved writing for Rafe, pretending that he isn’t a lil piece of shit, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing it!

Summary: Being a secret girlfriend wasn’t exactly how you’d planned to spend your high school years. As a question keeps haunting you, you face Rafe about the nature of your relationship

Warnings: swearing?? A making out session? Oh and also some angst

gif not mine so credit to the owner! and don’t mind what’s written in it 💀

Being a secret girlfriend wasn’t exactly how you’d planned to spend your high school years. Everyone kept saying that those were supposed to be the best years of your life — the years during which you make memories you’ll cherish forever, the ones you’ll tell you grandchildren someday.

A lot of good things had happened to you so far — you’d made some good friends, the kind of friendships that last a lifetime. You’d been accepted as a cheerleader, which wasn’t as exciting as you thought it would be. However, it was a good distraction from your shitty Pogue life back in the island. You even got a job — Kie had asked you to work as a waitress at her family’s restaurant, The Wreck. When she said ‘Just think about it’, you said Yes in a heartbeat. No need to think about it. That job would help you provide for yourself and pay your food, after all.

Oh, and yeah. You also got a boyfriend.

A guy who you came so abruptly and suddenly in your life that he turned it upside down without you even noticing. Because never, not even in a million years, you would have imagined that you’d be dating Rafe Cameron. The Rafe Cameron. The Kook king.

It wasn’t planned — like at all — for you to fall for him.

Everything started out as a flirt — some staring at the keggers down at the Boneyard, some casual touches in the hallways, and then you ended up making out in The Wreck’s men’s room. Neither of you had planned it, and you didn’t even dare to imagine what your friends — or even his — would say about it. Everyone in the Outer Banks knew that between the two groups there was some bad blood.

But thankfully they didn’t know anything. They didn’t because you were with a guy who wouldn’t openly say that was dating you. The thought hurt you every time — was it your fault? Was he ashamed of you?

The only time you’d brought it up, hiding how it truly hurt you, he gave you a frown and simply said “You know — it’s... it’s because of my father.”

Of course you knew that his relationship with his father was at loggerheads. Hell, it was so bad that you weren’t even sure that there was a relationship between them. Still, Rafe wanted to please him so badly that he wouldn’t even tell him that he was dating a Pogue.

But you’d be lying if you didn’t say that it had been fine by you too, at first.

After all, what the two of you shared was something special and as such, you didn’t want to yell it through the halls. And, to be quite honest, you feared your friends’ reactions. You didn’t even dare imagine what JJ would say if he knew you were sneaking around with Rafe Cameron.

But you had to admit that playing secret boyfriends with him was fun. The risk of getting caught made everything even more exciting. It made every look, every touch even more significant.

Two months ago, if someone told you that Rafe Cameron loved to cuddle at night, you would’ve laughed right in his face. And now you were the one he held close to his body every night as he slept peacefully. Funny how fast the night changes, huh?

There were times when you thought that you were going to get caught with your hands in the cookie jar — Sarah once walked in on you as you were making out on his desk, but you quickly hid your face in his chest as he surrounded you with his arms. She didn’t even have the chance to give a proper look at you, considering that she flew off the room. Now she made sure to knock every time she had to speak to him.

But now that the summer had ended, you were worried about how your relationship with Rafe would develop. Would you still have the chance to sneak around, trying to avoid the prying eyes of the islanders?

But since the moment you set foot at the Kildare County High School, things went down quicker than you could ever imagine.

Rafe was a class ahead of you, considering that he was a year older, so you didn’t really have many chances to see him in the morning. And when you crossed him in the hallways, he would look at you but openly ignore your presence.

And every single time he walked past you without saying a word, you felt your heart break a little.

The few moments you were given with Rafe during the day, the way he made you feel, the way your skin burned whenever he touched you or how he’d always play with your hair — was all of it worth the way you felt everyday because of his behavior?

And that question kept haunting you, remaining unanswered.

It was a Thursday morning and it wasn’t a particularly exciting day at the Kildare County High School. Well, actually, days seemed all the same there.

Between third and fourth period, you had to stop by your locker to grab your history book, and John B offered to walk you.

“Can’t believe I’m already failing history”, he groaned, a frown forming in his face. History book in one hand and the other hand hidden in his jeans pocket, John B got a lot of stares from the girls chatting in the hallway. Could you blame them?

As you swung open the door of your locker, you gave him a quick look. “C’mon, you’re not gonna fail it. We’ve just started.”

The hallways ware starting to get crowded as everyone hurried to move to their next class, chitchats filling the orange walls of the building.

“Yeah, and the guy already hates me”, he quickly added as he leaned towards the lockers next to yours.

When he groaned, you couldn’t help but shoot him another look. “What?”

“Why is he everywhere I go?”, he murmured between his teeth, leaning his face close to yours to make sure not to be heard by anyone else.

Brows narrowed, confused expression and hand still in the air while holding your history book, you moved your gaze to the point he was nodding at.

And there, standing near the cafeteria’s open door with some of his classmates, there was Rafe. Topper was there, as well as Kelce and two girls you didn’t know.

His features were relaxed as he laughed with them, the fluorescents reflecting an unnatural light on his light brown hair, neatly pulled back by some gel. He was wearing his football team’s jersey, which fit him so well that you couldn’t move your gaze away from him.

You didn’t like the way your stomach twisted at the sight of him in the company of those girls and you sure as hell didn’t like the way he was openly ignoring your presence.

Lost in your thoughts, you’d probably been staring at him for way too long when John B frowned again and, waving a hand in front of your face, said “Y/N?”

“What?” You blinked a few times, looking back at him. “Yeah, sorry. You were saying?”

John B gave a quick look at the group you were staring at with a weird look on his face before turning back to you. “Uh, nothing. We’re late for class, c’mon.”

When you closed your locker with a loud thud, probably using more strength than needed, Rafe finally noticed you. And his fists immediately clenched at the sight of John B standing right next to you.

He’d done everything in his power to bite the bullet and get over the fact that you were friends with him and his group. But he couldn’t stand the sight of that Routledge standing so close to you. Or the way the two of you moved almost in unison, as if it was natural for him to second your movements.

You were in the middle of your history class when your phone vibrated when you received a message.

Rafe: Meet me outside.

Giving a quick look at the teacher, whose back was turned to you as he wrote on the board, you re-read the text to make sure that you weren’t dreaming.

As much as you wanted to give in at his request, you quickly typed I’m the middle of my class.

You didn’t put the phone away, hoping that Rafe would reply. It was the only way you could contact him and you were more than happy to hear from him after the coldness he showed in the hallway.

Rafe: Say you have to go to the bath or smth. C’mon, baby.

Biting your bottom lip at his words was an automatic reaction, and you gave a quick look at your classmates to make sure that no one had noticed you blushed.

When you met John B’s eyes, he raised a brow in a silent questioning look. To dismiss your weird behavior, you just shook your head and looked away.

It took you a few moments to summon the courage to speak up, waiting for the teacher to turn towards you before raising your hand, catching his attention. “Uhm... Mister Suarez? May I go to the bathroom?”

He dismissed you with a hand gesture, which you took as a Yes, so you hurried to gather your things up and leave the class.

You weren’t exactly sure of what he meant by ‘outside’, so you looked both ways in the hallway, trying to spot him. Everything was quiet, the quiet buzzing of the fluorescents was the only sound in the background. So, when you started to walk towards your left, heading to the back exit, your footsteps echoed all around you.

Each step you took, the more excited you were. It was unusual for Rafe to ask you to do something like that, especially at school, and that’s probably the reason why you were so tense. All the hurt from before seemed vanished as you walked, being replaced by nothing but excitement.

But you knew it was only a temporary change.

A hand surrounded your bicep as you were about to walk past the chemistry lab, dragging you in as you let out a surprised squeak. There was no need for you to look up to know that it was Rafe.

The lab door closed behind you with a loud thud, isolating you from the rest of the school. The room was in semi-darkness, and that’s all you could notice before Rafe made your bag slide off your shoulder and land on the floor, being immediately forgotten there.

His blue eyes immediately found yours as he made you move backwards towards the nearest table. “Rafe”, you whispered, unable to form a meaningful thought.

“Shh”, he whispered back, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb.

And then his lips crashed on yours, not leaving you the time to process what was going on. Your instinct was to place both hands in the back of his neck, holding some strands of his perfectly styled locks between your fingers.

When your back hit the side of the table, both his hands slid down to your ass, further to your thighs. He lifted you by them, making you sit on the board without even thinking of pulling away from your lips.

Placing a hand on your lower back, he made you slide towards him, in such a way as to press your bodies together. When he pulled away from your lips to take a deep breath, he shifted his attention to your neck. Understanding his intentions, you leaned your head to second his movements, biting your bottom lip as he started to leave wet, hot kissed down to your neck.

“Rafe”, you murmured again, completely lost in those sensations. Your hands were now cupping his face, trying to pull him as close as possible to you.

But then, as your heard loud footsteps right out of the door, you repeated in a warning tone “Rafe, wait.”

The way his head quickly snapped towards the hallway told you that he’d heard them, too.

When he turned again towards you, you realized that he’d taken a few steps back from you were sitting, moving away as if he was being charged with electricity.

His reaction hurt you, again. All the excitement of the moment had quickly vanished and now you felt even more hurt than before. Hurt, used and humiliated.

When you tried to swallow to get rid of the knot that had formed in your throat, you felt tears watering your eyes, forcing you to look away from him.

With a little jump, you got off the table and hurried to get your bag from the floor. Rafe was still standing there, and he started to react only when you swung the door open and walked out of the lab.

“Y/N”, you heard him saying from behind you, but you didn’t stop.

As you stormed out of the building, quickly getting rid of the tears that had watered your cheeks, you heard his firm steps following you. “Fuck, Y/N. Wait!”

He only managed to reach you when you finally got to your car, stopping right behind you. He placed a hand on the door of the vehicle to stop you from opening it. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

When you turned towards him, his face was just a few inches away from yours. And his heart ached a bit when he saw your eyes filled with tears. He tried to cup your cheek, but you looked away and avoided his touch. “Y/N?”, he repeated. “Talk to me, baby.”

“Are you embarrassed of me?”, you suddenly asked.

His brows frowned in confusion at your question, as he slightly shook his head in denial. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Answer me”, you demanded. “Are you embarrassed of being seen with me, Rafe?”

“No!”, he abruptly answered. “Of course not! Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what you were asking him.

“Then why are we still keeping it a secret?” Your voice was now way lower than before. Resigned, even.

Rafe’s lips parted and you could see the indecision growing in his eyes. His beautiful, troubled eyes. “You know why”, he whispered.

Even though you tried to hide it, the irony in your voice was evident when you asked “Your father, right?”

And he fiercely nodded. “Yes! Yes, of course.”

Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you swallowed hard. With a burden on your heart, you murmured in a low voice “Because I’m a Pogue.”

Rafe didn’t reply. He wanted to — all he wanted to do was comfort you and fix whatever was going on between the two of you at the moment, but there was nothing he could say.

“You can’t tell him about us — you don’t want him to find out about us, because you’re embarrassed of the fact that I’m a Pogue”, you concluded. And that was the unvarnished truth.

Rafe’s shoulders dropped at your words and he pulled away his hand from the car door. His eyes were glossy as you gave him a last look, before turning your back to him and getting in your car.

“Y/N”, you heard him murmur as you threw your bag on the passenger seat and turned on the engine. “Don’t go. Please.”

The vulnerability in his voice almost made you give in, but there was no turning back. So you drove away from the parking lot, leaving a hurt Rafe watching you slide away from his fingers.

[sanjisock]

more than words

50 words; 50 sentences

ao3

#01 - Motion

A spinning kick, a swing of blade — the two meet and hit but don’t hurt, and Nami sighs exasperatedly at such a pathetic display of a mating dance.

#02 - Cool

Zoro stands his ground as his enemy — finally, finally — falls unceremoniously on his back, unconscious, and Sanji thinks for a moment that the sight of Zoro — wild and victorious and ready to take on the world — looks kind of, maybe, slightly cool.

  #03 - Young

Brook sees the two — dying to die for each other, the weight of their friends’ lives pulling down their shoulders — and he thinks too many people forget how young they still are.

  #04 - Last

The Cook is the last person Zoro would consider lending a hand in a fight — “who would want to work together with that dumbass anyway,” he lies whenever anyone asks, and doesn’t admit that it’s because he trusts Sanji’s ability to stand his ground, wholly and fully.

  #05 - Wrong

Sanji knows Zoro, like him, understands better than most — that this nakama thing isn’t just something you’d die for, but something you’d kill for, too.

  #06 - Gentle

Sanji manages to catch Kitetsu before it rolls off from the deck during a storm, and in that moment, Zoro knows, from the reverent way he regards the swords in his hands, that this isn’t the first time the Cook has wielded one.

  #07 - One

“Calm down, Marimo,” Sanji says with a dismissive wave of his hand when Zoro asks about the sword a few days later, “I’m not about to take your place as the ship’s swordsman; a cook doesn’t use his hands to fight, and I had a terrible teacher anyways.”

  #08 - Thousand

“I’m worth two thousand men,” Zoro grumpily says, almost sulking, and Nami can’t resist patting his head like she would to a little boy pulling the pigtail of a girl he has a crush on.

  #09 - King

You’re like the prince of Dumbass Kingdom, Zoro says, and it takes Sanji everything in him not to blurt out, Dumbass Kingdom sounds about right; wait ‘till you see the fucking king.

  #10 - Learn

Watching Sanji converse fluently with a couple of tourists in a Northern language, Zoro wonders when he will ever stop learning something new about Sanji — or if he ever will, at all.

  #11 - Blur

When Zoro finally comes to, the wounds from Bartholomeow Kuma is muted by Chopper’s medicine, a dull throb at the back of his consciousness; but the sharp pain against his heart feels raw still, visceral and razor-sharp, tucked alongside the ache of Sanji’s sacrifice.

#12 - Wait

“Wait,” he manages to croak out before Sanji flees the room, the word spilling out unbidden; he isn’t quite sure why, but he knows that he wants the Cook to stay.

  #13 - Change

“Have some fucking decency ,” Sanji yells, throwing a shirt at Zoro’s direction; the brute has been walking around the ship bare-chested like an eyesore ever since they entered the summer island, and Sanji is just trying to do everyone a favor — and definitely not because there’s a different kind of heat pooling at the pit of his stomach.

#14 - Command

Robin watches the two in amusement — Zoro could have easily refused to be Sanji’s pack mule, and she can hear him grumbling about it still; and yet, here they are, once again, together at the island’s marketplace.

#15 - Hold

Sanji is rough around the edges, bristling at the slightest touch; Zoro knows he needs to be gentle, but he doesn’t quite remember the last time he held something that isn’t a hilt of a sword, without meaning to hurt . It’s a learning curve. 

  #16 - Need

Sanji knows Zoro is a dumbass, but it takes a special kind of stupid to think he would never be good enough for Sanji, when he’s all that Sanji has ever needed.

#17 - Vision

Zoro never regrets losing his eye, but he wishes, sometimes, he could still take in the sight of Sanji with an unimpaired vision, just to see more of him.

  #18 - Attention

“You’re starting a fight, Marimo?” Sanji growls, voice low and dangerous, and Zoro thinks, yes, yes, anything to get you to look at me.

  #19 - Soul

He loves the kid like a brother, but sometimes Zoro hates how Luffy can easily see past his gruff words and feigned ignorance; the way Luffy only needs to take one look at him to guess, “you’re worried about Sanji, aren’t you?”

  #20 - Picture

He carries around everyone’s bounty posters, Sanji tells himself, and tries not to think too hard about how the only one he kept in his breast pocket is Zoro’s, folded neatly against his heart.

  #21 - Fool

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done so far,” Sanji says when they part, lips still tingling from their earlier kiss, because Zoro’s love is fierce and consuming and Sanji knows, ever since he was just a kid with the iron mask, that he doesn’t deserve any of this.

  #22 - Mad

“Don’t you ever say that kind of shit again,” Zoro snarls, slamming the wall beside Sanji’s head, his voice trembling with a kind of anger Sanji has never seen him with before — frustrated, desperate. “You’re important to me, Cook.” 

  #23 - Child

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji tells himself every day, the voice ringing in his ears; you stopped being a child deserving of a dream the moment you chained Zeff down to the ground.

  #24 - Now

Grow up and cast your dreams away, Sanji wants to tell himself, but the voice stutters, drowned out by the sight of the kid bleeding on the deck of Baratie — he’s a swordsman, too, acknowledged by none other than Dracule Mihawk himself — but a kid still, throwing himself headfirst towards the case of his dreams, steps unweighted by regrets.

  #25 - Shadow

Zoro doesn’t know which is worse — Sanji, forever running away from the shadow his brothers cast; or Zoro, chasing after someone who is no longer around to leave behind a shadow anymore.

  #26 - Goodbye

After Whole Cake Island, there’s a period of time where Zoro would follow Sanji around the ship like a lost puppy, unwilling to let the Cook out of his sight; Usopp definitely didn’t expect Zoro to have such a cute side, and crouches over his new invention to hide his smile.

  #27 - Hide

“We’re not doing that here,” Sanji hisses, and forces himself not to laugh at the pout on Zoro’s face; the galley might be secluded enough, but they’re still on the enemy ship’s galley.

  #28 - Fortune

It is annoying, the way Sanji keeps reminding Zoro that he could have collected Mihawk’s bounty and lived the rest of his life in wealth; especially when Zoro would trade any riches in the world just to stay by the Cook’s side.

  #29 - Safe

It catches Zoro off guard when Sanji starts talking about his mother; it’s a short anecdote, a single happy memory, but Zoro can tell by the way Sanji tells it — guarded and hesitant, like he wants to keep the words close and safe — that he has never shared it with anyone else before.

  #30 - Ghost

Usopp starts shaking like a leaf as soon as they enter the abandoned, dilapidated house, and Sanji gently tells him, sometimes the worst ghost is the one you create yourself; Zoro feels the weight of Wado on his hip, and agrees.

  #31 - Book

“I don’t need this,” Zoro grumbles with a blush, pushing the book back into Nami’s hands, trying hard to ignore Nami’s laughter and the words ROMANCE FOR DUMMIES emblazoned on the book’s jacket.

  #32 - Eye

Shusui sinks into the man’s stomach, all the way to the hilt, and Zoro thinks of the way Sanji curled into himself as the man landed a lucky hit on the cook’s hand. An eye for an eye.

  #33 - Never

“This is my first time,” Zoro whispers, head ducking away as he feels his face flush at the admission; but Sanji’s hand rests on his cheek, encouraging, and he can feel the curve of Sanji’s smile as their lips meet and Sanji replies, “it’s mine, too.”

  #34 - Sing

Luffy cheers when Zoro and Sanji comes into view, and he lets them take on the next batch of enemies; a good fight is always fun, but watching Zoro and Sanji fight is even more so — like watching a dance that only those two know the melody to.

  #35 - Sudden

“What, are we supposed to be surprised?” Nami says, barely looking up from the map she’s working on; Sanji sputters, face redder than the tomatoes he served during breakfast, and Nami feels almost bad for him.

  #36 - Stop

“But we — Zoro and I — how did you know?” Sanji asks, and promptly stops asking questions when he realizes the rest of the crew aren’t surprised either; who could blame them, when his and Zoro’s sexual tension can be seen from a mile away.

  #37 - Time

Sanji knows they have to break apart soon, just to breathe, but right now all he cares about is to taste as much of Zoro as possible — he has waited two years for this, and it has been two years too long.

  #38 - Wash

They have their fair share of fighting — and how, considering the amount of repairs Usopp has to do for Merry just from their petty fights alone — but what the crew doesn’t know is that they also have this thing, this quiet thing, just him and the Cook and a stack of dirty plates between them.

  #39 - Torn

“In retrospect,” Robin observes, “dressing up our dear cook in a maid uniform would not only lower the enemy’s firepower, but also ours, considering how distracted our swordsman has clearly become.”

  #40 - History

“Why do you keep him around, mister?” The kid asks, pointing at the old swordsman with three swords and an eye scar by the peer; Sanji laughs, pats the kid on the head, and says, almost wistfully — “you can say we have some history.”

  #41 - Power

Sanji tugs at Zoro’s sleeve, and Zoro follows suit despite his complaints — Sanji thinks, distantly, how much of an honor it is, to have so much control over such a powerful man.

  #42 - Bother

“I didn’t have enough time to make this three-tier ice cream cake for our lovely Nami-san and Robin-chan because you distracted me!” Sanji says with a hard jab of a finger against Zoro’s chest, and Zoro thinks, good .

  #43 - God

Zoro does not believe in gods, but there’s a hymn of a noise when Zoro presses his lips against the crook of Sanji’s neck, the hallelujah of the world breaking apart as their bodies move together, and he thinks, close enough .

  #44 - Wall

 Zoro slams his fist into the wall of Polar Tang, and is taken aback by the depth of his own frustration; he knows Luffy and the others will get Sanji back from Big Mom’s place, but it unsettles him still, the way Sanji hides himself under layers of pretenses when Zoro has bared so much of himself to the Cook in return.

  #45 - Naked

“What the fuck was that for , Mosshead?!” Sanji shrieks, justifiably furious, leg raised and on fire after Zoro sliced his tray into two without preamble; Zoro can’t exactly tell the Cook he did it because he was too surprised at the sight of Sanji in a swimming trunk and nothing else.

  #46 - Drive

Why Zoro , people sometimes ask, but the answer is easy to Sanji — nobody drives him crazy the way Zoro does, and is that not what true love feels like?

  #47 - Harm

Zoro knows Sanji will be furious ; but as he faces Kuma, knowing at least the Cook is out of harm’s way, he knows he would do this a hundred times over, a thousand times over, a million times over.

  #48 - Precious

Sanji is sitting by the corner of the infirmary, face pale with red-rimmed eyes, and Zoro thinks he’s never had that, before — people who would weep for him, knowing that he is more than dried scars and calloused skin.

  #49 - Hunger

This thing we have is dangerous, Sanji tells him, but Zoro doesn’t care — he already has a craving, the same way he needs a booze when it’s been too long, except he thinks that this vice will surely kill him.

  #50 - Believe

This isn’t faith; this is the truth, Zoro’s truth, the same way he knows he will become the Greatest — Sanji will find that elusive sea of his, and Zoro will stay with him until it is the last thing he can do.

[headoverhiddles]

The Romance Of A Yellow Rose - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Words: 5.6k

Synopsis: You and King get married, and celebrate your first night together by consummating the marriage. 

Commissioned by a friend! Enjoy.

Your eyes open on the rugged planes of the Southern state the three of you had found yourselves in. As you roll over to stretch the sleep out of your body, you find a single yellow rose, native to this area. A smile grows on your face. It’s King’s way of saying good morning to you, as it had been for many months.

For years now, you had been tagging along with Schultz and Django. Having attached yourself to their travels three hot summers ago, the two men had become quite fond of your travelling company; King in particular. Over time, your relationship had evolved from a companionship, through friendship, to having romantic feelings for one another. You were the first to admit to them; King hadn’t wanted to say anything, as he still held a fruitless hope that one day he could return you to the pleasantries of the normal life you once knew, before it had been uprooted. But as the months passed, you getting more and more comfortable and (dare he say) suited to the lifestyle of a bounty hunter, it was becoming apparent that you were going nowhere. Not without him, anyway.

Hildy had decided to stay with some friends in the North while the three of you travelled the country on business. Texas Jack, Turkey Creek and Jack’s wife Camarilla were more than happy to keep her with them. It had put Django at ease at least, knowing they had one less person they had to worry about with them catching a bullet. Hildy was even teaching Camarilla different things she had learned over the years at their home, and the four were getting on fine from what Django took from her letters to him. King wished you had enough sense to stay with them, but where the older bounty hunter went, you went. You had made that quite clear.

Today, a warm day in mid October, you, King and Django were headed to visit a plantation in Conroe, Texas. There an outlaw by the name of Amos “Sly Eye” Little had been posing as an overseer for 3 months, flying under the radar on the small eastern Texan plantation. He wasn’t a particularly dangerous outlaw, only wanted for his habit of skipping out on poker games before paying up. Three months ago, he ended up double crossing the wrong man which led to legal involvement, and now to deter trouble in peaceful towns he was wanted dead or alive by the state. King and Django had discovered upon visiting this plantation that the family who owned it had been dodging the law for a while as well.

After the slaves had been freed by King and Django, this outlaw family just so happened to get in the way of a few bullets. The last man left alive on the property is now Amos.

“Back here!” you call. King dashes toward you, swiping you out of the way as a bullet whizzes by your ear. You sit in shock for a moment, King’s arm still around you. For a man who isn’t very dangerous, this Amos sure is trigger happy.

“Django!” King shouts, but his partner is already far ahead in pursuit. “Never listens,” the doctor mutters, loading his shotgun and aiming. You watch as Django dodges a couple more of the outlaw’s bullets before grabbing Amos by his collar, lifting him up a few feet. The man tries to scramble for his gun, but Django of course is faster. Just as he’s about to fire at close range, King clucks his tongue, looking through his target. “Bullseye.” Your eyes shut briefly as the snap of the bullet leaving the gun jolts you closer to the older man. He pulls you out of sight once more as the bullet hits Amos through the side of his head, out the other side in a bloody deluge. Django jerks his head up your direction, dropping the corpse into the carnage at his feet.

“I was handling it!” he mutters.

King comes out from behind the tree, helping you up with one hand. You brush off your pants as you both approach the other man. “You were being hasty again,” King says.

“I was handling it,” Django insists with a look. You two nudge arms amiably, and King gives you a disapproving look.

“You are encouraging him.” He turns to Django. “And you’re encouraging her.”

“What’s wrong with a little congratulations?” you giggle. “You got your dead cowboy.”

“I would trade a thousand dead cowboys to keep both of you alive. You’re the best things that have ever happened to me, do you know that?” King gives you a meaningful look, before brushing off Django’s jacket and squeezing your hand. “Forget this place. We’d better get the horses and get out of here.”

Taking the initiative, you go off in search of Tony, Fritz and Ida, your mare. Django approaches King, taking off his bloodstained gloves. “You talked to her yet?”

“She doesn’t know, no.” King looks down, nervously stroking one side of his moustache. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“You wait any longer, she’s gonna be burying her husband to be.” King doesn’t bother taking offense—he knows Django is right. He’s much older than you—not one foot in the grave as Django likes to tease, but older. That had been another source of insecurity for him during the burgeoning relationship, but you had made it clear that you didn’t mind; in fact, you liked the difference in age. King’s fellow bounty hunter interrupts his thoughts. “Y’all should get married here. Nice place, no one left in it now.” Schultz looks around the grounds. It is pretty, and it would be nice to marry you in such agreeable weather... but King shakes his head.

“No Django. This place was built on treachery and suffering. It would be not only tasteless, but bad luck to get married here.”

When you three make it to the next town in the state over of Arkansas, something is waiting for King at the inn.

“You Doctor Schultz?” the innkeeper asks, spitting tobacco into a spittoon. King nods, taking out his billfold. The innkeeper sizes him up. “Yep, man who sent this said fella looking like you’d be coming through here. This’s for you.” He takes a letter out from behind the desk in one of the cubbies, and slides it across. King expects it would be from Texas Jack, but it instead it’s from a different friend in the North; a sheriff acquaintance he had written to before about his situation with you. Thanking the man, you all head upstairs, and when King gets to a desk, he slips on his reading glasses.  

 Thought you’d make your way through this here town, Schultz-

Sounds like a hell of a woman, the one you’ve told me about. You softie. Knew you wanted to settle down, and it’s about damn time, too. What the hell are you doing with her down in the South then? She oughtta be up here. Maybe I’m biased, but there’s a lot more law n order up here. Better people too. I am biased, spose.

You asked me what I thought about asking for her hand. Why wait to marry her? Hell, bring her up, we’ll have a ceremony here! I’m not only a sheriff, but an ordained minister too. Bet you didn’t know that. Wouldn’t kill you to ask. Anyway, no reason why I can’t make things look good, clean up the place nice and host your happy union. Got some more birthday cake here too, for someone to eat. Pretty good.

Come on up when you finally convince yourself she won’t say no.

- G. A.

“You got a letter back from Sheriff Snowy Snow?” Django smirks. King stares at the letter in his hands for a long while, before looking up at him with a smile.

He could do it. He could finally ask for your hand.

“Django, my boy. We’re going to Nebraska.” You overhear, and turn back with the bags.

“Up North? What for?”

“To see an old friend of mine, fraulein,” King says, taking the bags from you to carry inside. “Sheriff Gus Arnett.” You smile. It’ll be nice to get out of all this heat and around some likeminded people—people who King can relax and be himself around.

You had all stopped off to pick up Hildy in Boston after travelling by train through the Southern states and switching back to horsepower as you made your way up through the wintery landscape of barren northern land. It was worth it, of course; King and Django had insisted Hildy come too, and you had been happy for female company.

“Has my troublemaker been behaving himself?” is the first thing Hildy asks you, kissing your cheek in greeting.

“About as much as mine has,” you laugh.

“Coming from the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. It is you who has been the naughty one,” King chastises you right back.

“Maybe one day, you can teach me a lesson for it.” King blushes as Hildy lets out a loud laugh at the connotations of such a taunt. He knows you’re still virginal, waiting for marriage as you’ve told him before. Once united by matrimony, that’s another wall that could be knocked down between you, if you decided you still wished to give yourself to him.

It was no secret you wanted King, and he had made it plain he would wait for you—he’s a gentleman in every sense of the word. Still, men have needs, and some late nights it had been hard. Many evenings by the fire had ended with you in his lap, grinding down as you kissed him with feverish intensity. It had always ended the same way however, with you heading off to sleep alone and leaving him with nothing but his mind to picture what the next hour may have felt like. This time, King feared he wouldn’t last once he finally got to feel you as he’d wanted to for so long. Either way, he had a silver tongue, and experience in the art of pleasuring a woman. He wouldn’t leave you wanting; whatever you needed he would give you.

 Arriving at the snowy lodge some days later, Sheriff Gus Arnett comes out the front door. A couple of minks and rabbits are hanging from the roof over the porch, and two pairs of boots caked with snow are drying outside by a wooden rocking chair that had been collecting frost no doubt since September.  

“King Schultz and Django Freeman, in the flesh! Come on in with your little ladies!” he says, opening his arms. You approach first, and he shakes your hand with the assurance of a man who’s not used to gentle handshakes. “I don’t believe we’ve met, ma’am,” he says softly, “But any friend of King’s is a friend of mine. Especially a friend like you.” He winks at you and smirks over at King, who ushers you in out of the cold quickly. Gus tips his hat at Django and Hildy, closing the door after they come in.

“Like I said,” he sighs, “We got some cake. Y’all want some?”

“Perhaps we wait until after dinner?” Schultz proposes.

“I wouldn’t mind some,” Django speaks up, giving King a look. King just chuckles.

“Go ahead, my boy. I was a dentist, remember. Old habits remain, I suppose. Would you like some, (y/n)?”

“I’ll have the piece you didn’t want,” you tease. You lean closer to him to brush your lips against his ear. “When it comes to you, I want everything.” The former dentist swallows. This proposal couldn’t come at a better time, as things between you two are heating up.

That night after dinner of rabbit stew and some leftover cake for dessert for everyone but your beloved, everyone had retired to bed a few hours after the sun had gone down. In your own room, you set your satchel on the bed of clothing you had been travelling with in the South, and just as you’re about to unpack, a knock at the door distracts you from your task. King slowly pushes the door open—he’s dressed in his white shirt and grey vest, his hair freshly combed back. It seems counterproductive to groom that well before bed, but to be fair, you had never personally witnessed King’s nocturnal habits in a place that allows such a luxury. He offers his arm, and when you take it in curiosity, he leads you out the back porch of the lodge home. The wind isn’t too cold tonight, but he still wraps his arm around you. The mountains are beautiful out here, and the snow has stopped for the night to allow for a crystal clear view of the surrounding landscape, snow white on the bottom and starry black on top.  

“It’s been a while since we’ve been able to sit together like this,” King says. “Just sit and enjoy one another’s company alone. It’s very rare we get time just the two of us without our faithful hero.” You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Mm. We’re usually around a campfire, with Django snoring behind us.”

“At least we don’t have any of that to score our evening. I think Django’s gone to bed with Hildy in there.”

“You should be in bed too,” you fret. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I never have been very good at that. I’m a light sleeper, fraulein. Especially when I have lots on the mind.”

“You know what helps me when I can’t sleep?” You smile. “Something I learned from you.” King turns to look at you, a soft chilly breeze blowing the silver blonde hair from his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“A story.”

King ducks his head, and pulls you closer to him. “I think that would do the trick. Go on then, my love. Will you regale me?”

“I know a story of a deep running love, where a woman slowly developed feelings for one who she learned to depend on.”

“A common story, no?” King teases.

“Shhh. She loved very freely, but this was different. She not only loved this man, but worried about him when he wasn’t around, yearned for him, desired him in ways that drove her crazy sometimes.” King’s breath audibly quickens.

“And what did our heroine do about this tumultuous situation?”

“Oh, she took care of things. But not like she knew he could.” His breath hitches. You bite your lip as you go on. “The two had been together so long... learning one another’s quirks, laughing at little things and sharing moments others wouldn’t understand. They knew what scared them, what made them smile. At the end of the day, she told the man a million times how she adored him. But she was afraid he still didn’t know how much.”

King rubs down your finger, eyes trained on it before looking up at you. “I think I do.” You forget whatever you were going to say next as King rubs his rough fingers over your knuckles, bringing them up to his lips to kiss them. His beard grazes your skin pleasantly as he opens his mouth. “Will you be my wife?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Truly?”

“True as my love for you.”  

“Tomorrow?”

“If you wish.” You lean in to kiss him.

The door bangs open, Gus tosses a pail of water out all over you two. He realizes where you two were sitting, and his eyes widen.

"Gott verdammt."

“Oh, hell. I’m— what are the two of you doing out—?” He can’t even finish his sentence—you’re laughing too hard. King tries to keep up a grumpy facade at the fact that you had both just been drenched in ice water in this weather, but he can’t help it. Your laughter is infectious.

“Please tell me there is enough boiled water for a bath,” he sighs, and you shiver. “For the fraulein, at least.”

Django and Hildy had been up to witness the commotion from the noise of it all, no doubt committing the sight to memory for future teasing. They returned comfortably to bed with one another, which was a comfort you and King couldn’t currently afford in your state.  

You get to work drawing the bath as Gus passes you each pails of hot water. King comes in, shedding his dripping fur coat and tugging at his tie. Your eyes drift down to his chest, then back up to his face. King subsequently tries to distract himself so as not to focus too hard on you. You had stripped down to your slip, which was stuck to every curve of your body from the water. The temperature hadn’t done much to help any other evidence of the cold, around your breasts. He tries not to look too long.

“Would you take me out of this?” you ask. It’s a harmless question, but King’s thoughts run wild. He could simply refuse you, but what reason would he give then? That he couldn’t control himself around you, so close to your wedding night?

“Of course,” he sighs softly, and approaches. He takes the back of the slip and undoes the buttons, helping you pull it over your head. He inches it up, the wet material dragging along your skin. He turns to go as you’re revealed, and to his dismay, you don’t stop him. Only one more night, and he could have all of you.

As you step out of the lodge, it’s as if you’ve stepped out into a painting. A light dusting of snow is falling over you, snowflakes catching in your eyelashes and melting tracks down your cheeks like tears of happiness. King is standing there at the end of the pathway shovelled out, just by the small lake. It’s frozen over, reflecting the light of the moon through every little icicle hanging from the branches of trees hanging over top of it. Mountains soar around the group of you, boasting the most beautiful landscape you’d ever seen.

King takes your hand as you approach. Beside him, you see Django dressed in a handsome green winter’s jacket, black leather gloves pristine. On your side, Broomhilda is wearing a beautiful green dress under layers of a form fitting brown jacket. You’re in a beautiful snow white dress with furs covering your shoulders and a fur hat. King is also wearing his grey fur coat. The two of you join hands, and recite vows.

“I know I’m a considerable number of years older than you,” King tells you softly, “But I promise to make up for this. I promise to protect you with my life, cherish you, and support you in every endeavor you wish to pursue.”

“I will stay by your side no matter what,” you tell him, “I’ll be brave when you can’t be. I’ll be strong when you need me to be. I’ll love you as long as my heart beats, and oppose anyone who tries to take you away.” Kindness in his eyes, King smiles down at you, crow’s feet crinkling. He lifts your hand up to kiss.

“Do you take this man?” the sheriff asks.

“I do.”

“Do you take this little lady?” King sighs out through his nose, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“I certainly do,” he breathes.

“Well hell, you may kiss the bride then!”

When King leans forward, you surprise him by taking a step forward and wrapping your arms around him, deepening the kiss. It lasts for an eternity between you, and when you part, King brushes the snow off your rosy cheeks and presses his lips to your forehead.  

“Ich liebe dich,” he whispers into your hair, and you slide your arms around his middle in embrace.

Inside the bedroom upstairs, a fire crackles in the hearth. The curtains are open to the snowy view outside, and the frost on the glass only makes you savour the warmth inside. King pours you some bourbon, and comes to sit down beside you in front of the fire. As you cuddle into him, he puts a hand on your back and draws you in for a kiss, his beard pleasantly tickling your face. Bourbon forgotten, the kiss deepens, and you feel his tongue slip into your mouth as you part your lips for more. You pull away, smiling.

“Can I ask you something?”

He looks at you. “Of course. What are you thinking about?”

“How does it feel?”

King looks at you. “You will have to be a little more specific.”

“How does it feel to finally consummate a marriage?”

 He stares into the flickering fire. “We don’t have to do it if you’re nervous.”

“I didn’t say that,” you say, crawling over to straddle him. King welcomes you into his lap. “I just wanted to know. You’ll show me?”

“I would love to.”

“You know I’m inexperienced.”

“I do,” King nods.

“Isn’t that undesirable?” King seems offended that you would even suggest such a thing, at the very least ruffled by the idea of it.

“My dear, of course not. Being inexperienced merely means I can show you how to do things.” He hums against your neck, grazing his lips down.

“I’m not completely clueless,” you breathe as you tilt your head back to give him better access. You stand in one smooth movement in front of the fire, leaving King sitting and gazing up at you. “I know what fucking is.” You hear his exhaled breath.

“Yes. I would assume you wouldn’t be entirely in the dark about that.”

“But I’ve never felt it,” you whisper. “I wanna feel it, King.” He doesn’t get a chance to respond. You undo your dress, lace by lace, letting your fingers twine slowly between the hooks. You sigh his name as the corset comes free, recalling how you’d longed for him to do this last night, and you hook the straps of your dress under your thumbs, sliding it down to reveal the slip beneath. You hear his breath hitch, but he doesn’t make a move.

You run your hands down over your ass, letting out a soft noise. You hear him readjust where he’s sitting, and you work now on the cream coloured pants beneath the white gown, sliding them down ever so carefully.

“(y/n),” King whispers.

You let out a moan. “I’ve been wanting to get out of this the entire ceremony just to see how you would look at me, seeing me like this for the first time.” You swing your hips a little, arching your back, and finally wiggle some more as you drop your pants to the floor. King’s breathing is heavier now, and you stretch your arms above your head, sighing again as you let your hair free. “Like I said. I may not have done this before, but I know a lot more than you think I do.”

“I’m not certain I believe that, my feisty little one,” King huffs, averting eye contact. Oh, no. Not tonight he doesn’t. You’re only in your chemise now, and you turn to reveal smooth skin he’s never seen before, bunching the fabric up just enough to give him a peek of the v of your hips.

You can see the visible outline of his hardened cock in his pants, straining against the tight confines and desperate for some kind of relief. You put one leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Touch me?” you whisper, and reach down. He doesn’t stop you, just watches closely as you bring your hands to his pants, untie them, and reach in to take his cock in your hand. He does as you say, returning the touch with his hands up your back, taking the straps of your chemise down. He takes a shallow breath as your fingers come in contact with his warm cock. You grin wickedly, swiping your thumb up to spread his precum around a little. He meets your eyes as you pull him fully out of his pants.

“Oh,” he huffs gently, head falling back a little as you stroke him once.

“Is that good?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to his ear. “Am I doing it right?” King stutters a little, gasping for air when you swipe over his swollen cockhead again.

“You are doing just fine,” King whispers, lips parting.

“Mmm,” you mumble, pressing a trail of wet kisses down his face and lazily taking his lips between your teeth, leading into a dizzying kiss full of tongue and one another’s slow breath.

“Stop. Wait my love,” King mumbles, stalling your wrist with his hand. You pout.

“What’s wrong?”

He opens his eyes to look at you, pupils blown with lust.  “After a show like that, I am at your complete and ready service, not the other way around. Tell me exactly what you want me to do,” he whispers gently, and you get off of him, lying back on the floor like a princess awaiting a treat.

“Could you pleasure me with your mouth?”

Your cheeks heat, but King nods with a smile, dispelling any nerves you might have for such an intimate display of sensuality. He lays you on the floor, pressing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone and across the top of the soft skin of your breasts. His hands come up to gently hold your hips down as they circle upward—he moves your legs so he can brace himself between them, pressing more kisses down over your stomach to the impressions on your hips he’s left with his fingers.

“I want you to have me,” you whisper. King strokes one hand along your thigh.

“It takes time to discover each and every spot that will make you weak for me, lieb,” he mumbles, mouthing at your panties with a practiced finesse. “Be a good girl now for me. Be patient. There is more to come.” The bounty hunter takes the panties down with deft fingers, sliding the fabric down your legs until you’re bare to him. Your cheeks heat, but he reassures you with a starstruck gaze, looking over your body like a lovesick man. He dips his head back down with a soft kiss to your thigh, reaching up to hold your hips as if he’s predicted your body’s reaction already. He presses a reverent kiss to your clit, and his tongue takes a sweep of your folds, making you quiver as his beard scratches the soft skin of your thighs. His prediction proves correct when your hips jerk up as he gives his first lick between your lips. You reach back to grab the carpet, before deciding instead to grip onto his blonde and silver locks where his mouth works between your legs. It’s a surreal pleasure—unlike anything you’ve felt before, and you want more.

 “Does that feel good?” King asks. All you can do is nod, but he encourages you to tell him exactly how you feel. “Use your words, fraulein.”

“Yes. Don’t stop,” you sigh.

“My good girl.” King dips back down, swirling his tongue around your bud until you’re shaking. Taking care to hold you close to him, he moves himself up until he’s grinding himself against you. “I want nothing more than to be inside of you,” he whispers.

“Take me as you wish then,” you groan.

“Tonight is about you,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I want it.”

Unbuckling himself, he takes his time slowly working a finger inside of you. He adds another and gently curves them up, before gauging your reaction. Going by the desperation in your face, he slowly replaces his fingers with his cock, pausing every inch to check and see if you’re still alright. You can tell how he’s exercising his restraint—you’re so tight, and all he wants to do is take you until both of you are sweaty and screaming, but he must make this last. You can feel him sliding into you, and his hand comes up to hold yours. Your eyes screw shut as he finally bottoms out, and he presses a kiss to your chest. “Tell me when it is okay to move.” You nod.

“Please.” He starts up a slow pace, covering your body with his as he takes his time with you. Too desperate to take the time King might have in mind to teach you patience, you push your lips harder against him, and roll over on top of him. You kiss the bounty hunter, again and again until your lips are swollen and King is painfully hard inside of you.

“Lift up your shirt for me,” he whispers, his voice gentle. “That’s it.”

“Have me,” you mumble.

“What was that?” King asks, “You must use your words if you would like something, hm?”

You blink up at your older lover. “Please take me King,” you raise your voice, and he smiles.

“Hm.” He gives you an affectionate smile. “I have no choice but to oblige my lady love when she asks as nicely as that. Very well. As you wish.”

He pumps in harder, ripping a groan from you. You’d dreamed of what this would feel like, and it turned out better than you had imagined, King’s soft sighs and the rocking of his body against yours heightening every touch he grazes your sensitive skin with.

A moment later, he pulls out and flips you over gently. He then positions himself between your legs and brings his mouth back down between your legs, suckling around your clit again. “King,” you whisper, breath hitching.

“Louder,” he encourages, and goes back to masterfully taking you apart with his tongue. He soon encourages you to sit on his face, and you do, feeling him lick you perfectly as the pleasant feeling of his beard returns to tantalize your skin. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue as you reach down to touch his cock. It’s a foreign feeling in your hand, but you soon get the hang of the motions, twisting your fist and using his precum to slick your strokes.

“King... don’t stop,” you groan, his tongue delving just barely inside of you. He moves off of your pussy as you moan, and licks his lips.

 “I must admit, I wanted nothing more than to do this all day,” he groans as he moves back up your body, “But I am a gentleman.”

“Too much of one sometimes.”

As if in challenge, he picks up his pace and starts to grunt your name, leaning down every now and then between thrusts to press a kiss to your breastbone as his face scrunches up. You love how uncharacteristically possessive King is getting– it turns you on beyond belief. Your moans grow loud as the bounty hunter’s cock fills you over and over again, satisfying your need for him as your noises blend together into the creak, groan, gasp of making love for the first time.

“K… King…” you groan, breasts bouncing with every thrust. His breath is hot on your neck, and he presses an open mouthed kiss there.

“You are astonishing,” he whispers, “You’re perfect… oh, bitte, bitte Fraulein, you feel so nice… you are my everything.”

“King, just like that, oh god–” you groan, and he makes a noise at your slutty display, reaching up to massage your breasts. You feel your orgasm approach as he continues to touch you, and his hand quickly comes down to rub your clit.

“Ah,” you moan, and clutch his shoulders. King sighs, feeling your pussy squeeze him, and with a stuttered thrust he cums as well, spilling inside you. Soon, you’re crying out his name, and he squeezes your hand tighter as you both finish at the same time, the love you share burning at the height of its passion as your bodies become one. You both rock together to ride out your orgasms until you’re satisfied. Panting breaths mingle as you snuggle close to him.

 “Is that what all the fuss was about?” you tease. King frowns at you, and you laugh into his chest.

“Into bed before I take full offense to your jokes, beloved,” he murmurs. You nod, smiling as he helps you up with one hand and carries you bridal style over to the bed covered in furs for a warm night’s sleep together—finally together. 

"I am lucky I have such a pretty creature warming my bed tonight," he jokes, "A plucked chicken like me should be very grateful." You huff another laugh, rolling over beside him to finally tuck in with your love. 

"I've only ever wanted you. That'll never change, no matter what." You grin. "Tonight only helped solidify that fact." 

"So you are with me for my talents in the bedroom, ah!"

"NO--"

"I understand it now." 

"King!" 

"Shh. Let's sleep now. We will argue like an old married couple in the morning." 

The next day, Hildy and Django are already in the living room of the lodge. Gus is in the kitchen making up some breakfast.

“You look radiant this morning,” Broomhilda says, smile wide.

“Yeah. You do look pretty good. Different,” Django nods, narrowing his eyes as if to try and decipher what could have changed about you. Hildy just rolls her eyes, turning back to you from her own husband.

“So. Where’s your significant other?” You grab yourself a cup for the coffee that’s brewing, settling in across from them at the table.   

“He’s still sleeping. He worked hard last night.” Tucked in the pocket of your nightgown is a single perfect, yellow rose he had saved you from the South, one King had left his new wife to find upon waking.

[makebank]

secrets & suds

request: long request but to summarize jj is involved with a kook but hasn’t moved past hooking up, he gets in trouble for pope sinking the boat, and she decides to help out. 

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mentions of smut but none, cussing, typos, angst, fluff

He presses a quick kiss to your cheek as he throws his shirt over his disheveled head. His skin is slightly damp and glistening and some of his tufts of hair plastered to his forehead. “Gotta bounce, see you tomorrow?”

You beam at the blond from across the room and send him a smirk, “You always do”. He rushes out of your house just before dawn. JJ was always good about making sure to leave before your parents woke up, specifically your dad. You never minded the class division, but it was easy to say from your spot on the kook throne. You take a moment to regain your breath then toss yourself back onto your silky king size bed. Your satin pajama set lay wrinkled off the side of your bed, you knew he was going to love ripping off the matching outfit as soon as he saw you. 

For some time now you and JJ have had a little arrangement. And by arrangement that meant he came over most nights to fool around. Sometimes you’d get him to watch a movie or cuddle, but it was always interrupted by your parents waking up or his friends texting him for something. You weren’t exactly sure when you started to fall for the troublemaker, but it came with ease. He seemed so rough and mysterious, which is what amplified your want for him in the first place. But after closer observation, he is kind, gentle, and would do anything for you. Of course you knew it would never happen. He is too caught up in the division and himself to even want anything more than this. Not that you don’t love the time you get with him, but you crave more. 

You sigh as you stand up wrapping yourself in your fluffy robe. Peering out of your bedroom window, you watch JJ sprint across your lawn and expertly hop the high gate. 

-

Alternating between mindlessly scrolling through your phone and checking out your window, you grow impatient. JJ had never missed coming over without texting. You were worried something happened or maybe he was just bored of you. It was getting late, so you send a single text hoping he was okay and try to lull yourself to sleep.

-

The next morning you wake up and for a moment your fears weren’t there. Slowly blinking your eyes open, it all comes back to you. You reach for your phone hoping for some relief. To your dismay no new messages were from him. You jump out of bed and rush to take a quick shower. Some slight snooping wouldn’t hurt. 

You definitely weren’t close with any of JJ’s friends, but you did know where to find them. You enter the Wreck looking overwhelming overdressed in your designer shoes and this season’s newest sundress. You find a vacant booth and make yourself cozy until a curly haired girl you recognize as one of his best friends comes to get your drink order. After she introduces herself, it clicks. Kiara right you had a class with her freshman year of high school. Hm small world. She comes back with your coffee and asks what you’d like to order.

“Have you seen JJ lately?” you awkwardly ask. She shoots you a confused look before settling into a glare. “What’s it to you?” You stumble on your words, “Oh… nothing. He just normally mows our lawn on Wednesday mornings, but he didn’t show up. Just thought I’d ask”. She seems semi satisfied with your answer and doesn’t press for more detail. “Well, he’s busy. Not that it’s any of your business anyway. So do you want something to eat or not?” You weren’t sure why she was being so hostile it's not like you two ever had any direct problems. Maybe she was just being protective of her friend. You weren’t going to take it to heart. 

You slump down in your seat resigning to the fact you weren’t going to get any answers from her. “No, I think I’m good with just this. Thanks”. She huffs whatever and walks away. Just as you're about to leave you see a frantic boy rush up to the counter to Kiara. You knew it was Pope from the pictures JJ has shown you. He looks like he’s on the verge of meltdown. 

“I can’t believe JJ covered for me. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. I feel so bad! What do I do?” He’s running a mile a minute and Kiara tells him to lower his voice. She brings him into the back room to comfort him away from eavesdropping ears. However, you heard it all and can’t comprehend what happened that he would owe that much money. Nonetheless, you conclude that you’re going to find a way to help him, wherever he is. You drop a couple twenties leaving a hefty tip and rush out of the restaurant. 

Walking down the street you bump into the three bozos that rule your side of the island. They ogle you and shout their vulgar ‘compliments’ at you. You scoff but are well accustomed to their barbarian-like nature. As you strut away, you overhear Rafe yelling at Topper. “Dude, get over the boat! You won’t even hit on y/n with us. That Maybank kid will have to pay one way or another”. What was with today and perfect timing? You thought you were going to have to dig a little deeper.

You walk home to think of a plan. You had lots of money, but your parents would notice if you took that big of a chunk out without something nice to show in return. There was no way you could get that much, but you could find a way to get fifty percent. That would be enough to get the authorities off his back and give you time to talk down the Thorton’s. You decide you could easily sneak a couple thousand without your parents noticing, but you were going to have to figure out a way to come up with the rest. 

It dawns on you after spending all your childhood watching teen rom coms. A car wash! Everyone was always searching for one after a storm. Plus, it wouldn’t take much but a simple tweet and an instagram story to have people lining the block. You immediately text the girls’ group chat to set the plan for tomorrow. 

- 

You wake up with a spring in your step ready to put your plan into action. You frown a little knowing it was another day with no word from JJ. You hope he’s safe and just taking time to himself. 

Putting on your skimpiest bikini and shorts you gawk at yourself in the mirror. It’s not like you had a problem with showing yourself off, you just knew the attention you were in for today regardless. You were doing this for JJ though, you wanted to help him out and show him there’s a lot more to you than having money and pretending to be perfect. 

You greet all your friends and start setting up. As cars start to line up, you can’t help but giggle to yourself thinking of the stereotypical ‘Cherry Pie’ or “Milkshakes’ playing in the background of every car wash scene. You get to work flirting and scrubbing cars as you all work for every dollar. The nice thing about Figure 8 was that they were willing to spend whatever. Just as you were about to head to another car you hear someone shouting your name.

You whip around to see a red faced and furious JJ. “You’re alive!” You try to lighten the tension. “What the hell are you doing y/n?” You frown in confusion. “What do you mean? A car wash?” He doesn’t seem satisfied with your sarcasm. “You're half naked out here and all these guys can’t keep their hands to themselves,”  he remarks annoyed while flailing his arms. You grin for a moment realizing he’s jealous, then it dawns on you, “First of all, you just disappeared off the face of the earth for days. No text or anything. Second, since when you do you care about what other guys say to me?” He crosses his arms over his body clearly irritated by your logical retort. “It’s none of your business. And I don’t care”. All the energy drains from you at the impact of his words. “Fine. Then keep not caring and leave me alone.” You swivel around stalking off to another car leaving him alone. Even if he didn’t want you, you were determined to finish your job and then move on.

You turn over your shoulder to see JJ storming off in the other direction. Your heart aches at seeing him actually leave. At least you knew he was breathing now. The next car pulls up with Pope in it. “What was that all about?” Your eyes widen at one of his friends catching you. He chuckles, “It’s okay I know about you guys. He tells me everything”. You soften knowing you weren’t a complete secret. “I’m not sure. He’s upset with me though.” He sends you an empathetic smile, “Don’t worry. He’s dealing with a lot right now. He’ll cool down eventually.” You nod your head, “Yeah, I heard about that. That’s actually what this is all for,” you admit sheepishly. Pope’s eyebrows raise with confusion. “My mom had me bring the car, because she said it was raising money for the high school”. Yikes. “That’s my bad. I kinda said it was for whatever people would listen to, so people would come”. He laughs, “Quick thinking y/l/n. You want some help?” Now it's your turn to laugh. “I’m sure we could find you some short shorts somewhere.” He parks the car off to the side and grabs a sponge to contribute. 

The rest of the day goes by with a breeze while joking with Pope and the girls. The last car drives off and you all plop on the curb for a break. You dry off your hands and start counting the money. You could almost cry happy tears. You raised over four thousand dollars. You thank everyone and promise to buy them mimosas at brunch tomorrow. For spoiled rich kids, they sure knew how to help someone in need. Pope pulls you into a side hug, “Thanks for doing this for him”. You smile squeezing him back, “thanks for helping”. 

After putting on some real clothes you stalk off to the Thorton’s. They promise they’ll leave JJ alone about the couple thousand left so it can be paid off slowly, now that they have a down payment for another boat. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you did all you could. 

-

JJ was relaxing at John B.'s when he got a call. After hanging up, he’s elated and full of energy. He yells to the pogues, “Guys they said I don’t have to serve any time for the boat!” They all jump up excited and ask how. “They said over half of the debt has been paid, so they said I’ll have to sign up for some payment plan. But this means it won’t be on my record or anything”. They all join him in a group hug congratulating him. John B. pipes up, “Who paid it?” JJ stops for a moment considering that it wasn’t just magic, and the only person he knew that had money that knew was Kie. “Did you have your parents do it Kie? I seriously can’t thank you enough,” he picks her up into a giant hug. She shakes her head once he lets her down. “No, I wish I could’ve though. Sorry man.” 

Pope is smirking thinking about his day yesterday trying not to blow his cover. JJ notices. “What do you know, Pope?” He just shakes his head not budging. JJ throws his arm around his neck putting him into a choke hold wrestling move. Kie and John B. are enjoying watching them fight until Pope taps out. “Fine! It was y/n. That’s what the whole giant parade of cars getting washed was”. JJ freezes speechless. He turns on his heels and instantly busts out of the chateau. 

Meanwhile, you’re getting into comfy clothes preparing yourself for a lonely movie marathon tonight. Just as you settle into your thousand thread count sheets, your door swings open making you jump. “JJ you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?” He crosses your abnormally large room beelining to you. He grabs your chin and pulls you into a kiss. Your hand naturally falls to his arm as you allow him to passionately lead your lips. You pull away gasping for air. “What was that for?” 

He sits down next to you. “I am so sorry. I’m sorry for disappearing and not texting you. And I’m really sorry for being such a dick yesterday at the car wash. I didn’t know you were doing all that for me. Either way though I shouldn’t have acted like that. Thank you for what you did. It means a lot. I’ll repay you I promise”. You smile rubbing your thumb against his hand. “I forgive you. You don’t need to repay me, we worked for it. You were right though, it wasn’t my business”. He shakes his head, “I wasn’t right. I like you a lot. I’m stupid for not saying it before. I just didn’t know how to tell you about all my issues and thought I’d scare you off.”

You lean over kissing him on his cheek to soothe his obvious tension. “You can’t scare me off. And I really like you too. You can trust me with your secrets, but I’ll try not to meddle anymore if you don’t want to tell me.” Grabbing your arms to scoot you closer, he brings you in for another long and deep kiss. “Don’t worry. You can know all my secrets now,” he winks as he pulls his shirt off easing you back onto the bed. 

taglist in reblog, join in my bio

[keilemdarkmode]

crybaby

🚫contains themes of abuse, noncon/dubcon, yandere. 🚫

all characters aged 18+

(r18+)

pro hero! hitoshi shinsou x reader 

word count: 2.4k

you cry so pretty, all for him. 

a/n: hey y’all! please don’t read if this isn’t your cup of tea!!

this is my first (posted) story with like. dark themes. finally, i am able to filthily indulge my crying kink <3333 enjoy!!

warnings: yandere, spanking, dacryphilia, kidnapping, isolation, degradation, spanking, light pet play (collars and nicknames), light non-con

||||||||||||||||| 

You were so fucking pretty when you cried.

For him, anyway.

Just him.

If anyone other than Hitoshi dared to upset you to the point of tears, they would hardly be around much longer to tell about it.

No, Hitoshi took pride— hot, ego-boosting, revolting— pride in making you hiccup and wail to the point of a migraine once your tears had settled. Fuck toeing the line of pain and pleasure, he’d shove you over its jagged edge without a thought if it got you to tears.

If he was in a particularly cruel mood, he’d keep you sobbing for hours.

It never felt long enough for him, but he prided himself on knowing what limits of yours he could safely break without breaking you. The last thing he wanted was a lifeless doll, that would defeat the entire purpose of keeping you in the first place.

There were surely thousands of other tight cunts in the world that would fall all over the famed, underground hero ‘MindBreak’, but Hitoshi didn’t want any of them. He’d had a fangirl or two strung up in his bed during his early years of professional hero work, but it was always lackluster. Too many clawing, exaggerated moans and needy cuddling for his liking. He’d rather beat one out alone than pretend he enjoyed indulging a girl’s selfish fantasy.

Hitoshi had given up on ever finding a partner who would suit him just right.

Until he met you, of course.

...

A hostage situation, easily diffused with a handful of words in the twilight of a closing luxury shop, expensive purses and watches lining the walls.

It was far too simple for Hitoshi to bait the villains that dared to put you in harm's way.

When he first saw your tear-flushed cheeks, the barrel of a villain's handgun to your temple, Hitoshi knew he was beyond fucked.

His cock shouldn’t have twitched at the sight, yet it did. He was sporting a half-chub the entire mission, endlessly glad that his costume was baggy enough to hide it and that his voice modulator covered his hot, shamed cheeks.

When Hitoshi finally got to you, carefully checking you over for bumps and bruises, he let his hands linger. Any potential self-imposed disgust that bubbled in his throat died the second he felt your skin against his own.

He was hooked.

You thanked him, tearfully, over and over as he walked you to a waiting ambulance, rubbing at your eyes with the backs of your wrists. Hitoshi kept a firm hand on your lower back, quietly reassuring you that you were ‘safe, alright, protected—’

The last word might’ve been a bit much for a pro-hero to a civilian, but you were too busy sobbing to notice.

...

Hitoshi had to be subtle at first.

Showing up at your work, always bearing a coffee and a smile, talking to you like an old friend and not a near-stranger who kept too many tabs on you. You didn’t know about his behavior and Hitoshi was convinced you wouldn’t care either. You always grinned so sweetly from behind the counter, sipping the beverages he always treated you to.

Blissfully ignorant.

You were sweet, far-too innocent to notice how Hitoshi pushed and pulled you into the undertow of his fucked-up desires.

Maybe he was first disgusted with himself, for a small while, but he was quick to rationalize, easily mushing and tugging his own mind into a lull of lust and instinctual compliance.

You needed him, it was obvious. You needed a sweet man to kiss and blot your pretty tears away, keep you safe from the horrors of the world while he did so.

Hitoshi was happy to provide.

...

You fought him, of course, when he first brought you home.

He was careful not to push you in the beginning, letting you sputter and beg your lips dry and eyes red before even thinking about reacting. The kitten-kicks and punches you landed phase him in the slightest.

Hitoshi wasn’t delusional enough to think you wouldn’t need time to adjust to your new existence.

But, truly, giving you constantly neutral expressions hurt him too.

He wanted to scoop you up, kiss your pains away and keep you safe, like he knew he would. But, Hitoshi wasn’t an idiot. If he pushed you, there was no chance you’d ever trust him.

He had to be patient.

Hitoshi also knew that he should only use pain if he needed to. No need to punish your tears that he loved so, so much. It was only when you acted out that he ever would use force.

...

Such as the time you’d tried to pry off the pretty collar Hitoshi had made for you.

Sleek, black leather, a few o-rings, silver hardware and even a damn bell. The whole thing was even studier than it looked, a thin band of metal running between the layers of fabric, making it more than industrial grade. The last thing Hitoshi wanted was to snap the pretty present he'd even you— not to mention it had to stand up to the heavy links of chain that tethered you to the headboard of your silk-covered king-size bed.

See, he was even nice enough to let you have your own room while you settled.

Though you chose to spit on that kindness quickly.

He’d walked in to give you breakfast—  a warm, home-cooked meal, your favorite, when he found you, bloodied at the neck, as you had slipped a fork (you must’ve saved it from dinner the night prior) between the unyielding collar and the fragile, weak skin of your throat. Tears spilled down your chin and cheeks, frustration and rage so clear in your eyes.

Hitoshi had never truly been upset with you until then.

He felt his own face fall.

When you finally noticed him at the unbolted door, you chucked the bloody fork at him.

You missed by a mile.

What Hitoshi didn’t miss was every strike he laid the plump flesh of your ass that day.

With every strike, Hitoshi wondered why he hadn't bent you over his knee sooner. Maybe it was his early boundaries and need for some order in his own mind.

He loved you, he didn’t want to hurt you.

But now, you fucking deserved it—

And he’d take advantage of it.

He yanked the chain attached to your pretty collar, forcing your neck and spine to curl just right as he smacked his hand down against your bare ass yet again.

“Bad kittens don’t deserve to feel good, do they?” Hitoshi asked, knowing you wouldn’t be able to reply with anything other than fat tears. You’d already soaked the sheets below. Hitoshi had particularly reveled in getting to grind your cheeks into your own mess.

Part of him was tempted to take it a step farther.

He only teased you, though. A single finger trailing from your tight hole to your clit, smearing what little slick you provided (He made a mental note to purchase lube.) Through his touch, obliviously teasing, you had shuddered for him, squirming harder, trills of pleas dripping from your bitten lips, ‘please, no, no, I’m sorry— please, Hitoshi, please, don’t— ‘

Hitoshi didn’t, as much as he wanted to watch you sob while he broke your cunt with his fat fingers.

He had to be patient.

Instead, he settled for spanking you until your ass was bruised and battered. He didn’t even try to count his strikes, rather he stopped when he ran out of ways to verbally berate you.

“If you just listened, kitten, I wouldn’t have to do this,” Hitoshi tsked, shaking his head as he slapped at your upper thighs. “If you were a good girl, I wouldn’t have to spank this cute little ass, would I?”

You squirmed, wailing into the sheets. You’d already begged yourself silly for a reprieve, but Hitoshi didn’t care. Hitoshi didn’t want an apology.

He wanted to see you weep.

He wanted to see you millimeters from shattering, preferably with your tight, silky cunt around his cock. It was a goal he aspired to reach.

But first, you needed to be trained as a proper pet.

At the end of that first punishment, Hitoshi yanked you upright by your collar, back painfully arched as you panted, shaking and writhing in his grip.

Hitoshi forced your thighs around his own, relishing the fear that continued to spill from the wrinkles and lines around your eyes.

It got even cuter when he spit on your lips, harshly slapping your cheek, though tender enough to catch your jaw as you reel.

“So, what did my sweet kitty learn?” Hitoshi asked, watching the way your glassy eyes refocused on him. The tears on your cheeks had yet to slow or stop. Hitoshi wondered if he could get you to run yourself dry.

“T-that— t-that— “ You sniffled, wrists flexing in Hitoshi’s vice grip. “Um—”

Your eyes went blank, vacant.

It hurt some part of him, though it was buried quickly.

It was necessary.

Hitoshi squeezed your cheeks in one hand, cock twitching at the feeling of your precious tears wetting his hand, “Feel that, kitten? In your head— you know what this is? Answer honestly.”

You shook your head, slow and methodically.

“It’s my quirk. You’ll do anything I say without question.” Hitoshi massaged your slack cheeks, tightening his grip on your wrists. “Anything. Do you understand?”

You nodded.

Hitoshi didn’t want to use his quirk on you— no, he wanted to make you his handiwork, not the byproduct of his feared-quirk.

Still, it was a nice safety net.

“I’m going to release you, and then you’re going to tell me what you learned.” Hitoshi already started to let you go. “And, kitten, be quick about it. I wouldn’t want to keep you bent over for much longer, especially since you’ve already made such a mess.”

The moment his hold was fully released with his last words, your eyes went wide, body going rigid.

“Bad kittens don’t get to feel good!”

You panted it out, pain and panic having stripped your already raw mind bare.

Hitoshi was nice enough to sit with you as shakily ate your cold breakfast, praising you in the same breath as calling you a ‘disobedient cunt’ and an ‘ungrateful whore’.

It was cute to see the whiplash in your eyes.

...

You got better, under Hitoshi’s training.

It just took a bit of time and coaxing.

You cried a lot after that first punishment, flinching whenever Hitoshi got within a few feet.

Hitoshi’s response to this was simple—

Get you nice and needy.

He was the only person you saw anyways, so it wasn't a hard feat.  

A few crushed up sleeping pills into your dinner left you knocked out and pliant, though Hitoshi only tucked you into bed, allowing himself to even kiss your forehead as he got to work.

He removed all of the books and drawing paper he’d given you. All of your clothes sans three distinct, uncomfortably fitting outfits were removed from your closet.

Each bit and piece of stimulation Hitoshi could find, he stole away. Even the alarm clock at your bedside.

He even took away your towels, though graciously, he left behind your toothbrush and toothpaste. Hitoshi really patted himself on the back for his grace.

He left you to awaken only with a sheet on your bed and a sweet note from him on your bed.

Kitten,

Be a good girl.

Hitoshi (Master)

...

His plan worked wonderfully.

At first, you were still reluctant to get near him. Though it hardly mattered.

Hitoshi made a point to hardly speak or spend time with you when he would drop off your meals. He didn’t linger.

Though, he did make a point to praise you a single time, each day. Just a small, insignificant ‘good girl’ with dinner just before exiting to rebolt the door to your room.

He’d always wait in the nearby hallway, pulling out his phone to check the hidden cameras that dotted your room.

Typically, you would eat quietly, then tucking into yourself in your favorite corner of the room under your single sheet for the rest of the day. Maybe Hitoshi would have felt some remorse over your shivering, scared form if he doubted himself and his methods.

It wasn’t long before you started to crack.

You’d sniffle behind the door, rubbing at your eyes from the view of the cameras.

Quickly, you went from cries to sobs, then all-out wails.

The first time you screamed, something wretched and high, Hitoshi left you to beg and plead behind the door, as much as it pained him.

As cute as your begging was, he couldn’t deviate from his methods when he was so fucking close to his goal.

With a sly, curling grin, Hitoshi felt confident that the next time he graced you with his presence, you’d be wrapped around his finger.

...

You had become so well-trained.

Perfect, like Hitoshi always knew.

You’d taken to sitting on the floor as Hitoshi busied himself with the day’s paperwork. Some program droned on in the background, just white noise for the evening.

You’d been good that day, particularly good as Hitoshi ate your cunt like it was his last meal over the arm of the couch he was now sitting on.

He couldn’t count the amount of time you wept ‘thank you’ as Hitoshi drove you into a mess of snot and sobs.

After the fanfare, your body spent and tired, he’d given you some reprieve. Your cheek rested on his knee, eyes half-lidded, shoulders relaxed.

Softened, good and proper.

All for him.

You had your slipups, notably. Mistakes were human, weren’t they? You still jumped sometimes if Hitoshi got too loud. You’d shriek if he surprised you, in jest or otherwise. Still needed a lesson drilled into you once in awhile, but overall you were a very well-trained pet for him.

“Kitten?” Hitoshi hummed, not looking up from his papers. “Up on the couch. Head on my lap.”

You sweetly climbed up, the skirt you wore riding up against your thighs. Hitoshi watched your hand twitch to cover yourself, but quickly, you stilled.

That particular lesson had been hard for him to get through your dumb little skull, but eventually, finally, you understood that Hitoshi was the one who decided how much you bared and when.

Luckily, he was more fatigued than normal. He reached out to smooth your skirt flat, squeezing your thigh as he did.

You laid on him, so pliant and soft. Hitoshi absent-mindedly played with your hair, skirting his nails against the shell of your ear, cherishing the way you shivered against him.

It was moments like this that were his favorite.

You started sniffling.

Though your head was directed towards the TV, Hitoshi knew better than to think it was the show that triggered your tears.

No, it was just circumstantial.

Hitoshi enjoyed the soft moments. No fighting, no need to bruise and hollow out your mind, just you so sweetly curled up for him like the perfect kitten you were.

The tender moments are what made you cry so hard.

You slowly dissolved into ragged breaths, fisting the fabric of his joggers and burying your face in his thigh as you wept.

Hitoshi felt his dick twitch.  

He let you do this, despite knowing why you did. He felt no guilt as you shattered with sobs against him. You needed the catharsis of it, Hitoshi knew this and wouldn’t take that away from you.

He was just so gracious.

As was so routine, he dragged you up, wide hands positioning your thighs around his own. You sagged in his hold, half-limp and half-relieved by his contact. You settled on his lap just like he taught you, tucking into his neck with your hands bunching up the front of his shirt as you wept.

Deliciously hot tears seared Hitoshi so well that his eyes rolled back into his head. Though, he kept himself appearing unaffected, sorting through his paperwork all the same, though lightly rocking and cooing to you as he did.

His fucking crybaby was right where they belonged.

[hermits-that-craft]

In My Dreams (Will You Remember Me?)

Flower Husbands Fic - Chapter Eight - Stay a While, Stay a While

Ao3 in the comments

“Aeor give me guidance.” Scott prays, kneeling in the back parlor. “Because if you give me strength, Rivendell will lose her allies to my hand.”

Scott leans back on his heels, fighting not to push his head into his hands. “I know you chose me, as your champion and the king of Rivendell, but we have been allied with idiots.” Scott grumbles. “And they want to attack Jimmy for being your champion, so I’m pleading with you for guidance.”

Scott sits in silence as dawn breaks over the mountains, listening to the serenity that the break of dawn brings.

Or what is supposed to be the serenity of the break of dawn, because one of his guards is fighting with someone. Not a physical fight, from the sounds of it, but a verbal one. Scott stands from his position on the floor, leaving an apple under the golden deer that he parents claimed represented Aoer as an offering. Scott adjusts his cape, putting his crown on his head, ready to aid his guards in getting rid of whatever disgruntled merchant decided to go straight to his house instead of his council to air their grievances. 

“You cannot demand council with our ruler, even Rivendell’s closest allies cannot do that.” She snaps, and Scott shivers. Eloise is always harsh, preferring to terrify potential threats away than calm them. Though, its not often that she has to bring up their allies to send merchants down the hill, towards town.

Scott opens the door, ready to call Eloise off, when he sees him.

Jimmy stands in the doorway, nervously holding his hands in the air. He wears the stupid codfather head, but he also glows in the light of the early morning golden hour. The snow glitters around, and the fish hybrid shivers in the wind, but Scott can’t help but to blink. It’s too early to form thoughts about this.

Aoer he’s got it bad for this man.

“Stand down, Eloise.” Scott says, finally find his voice, though its stuck in his throat and he’s not going to be able to speak to Jimmy in private if he’s asked to. “He’s a guest here.”

“Of course, your highness.” Eloise says, lifting her hand from her sword. “Shall I escort him to your office?”

“There’s no need, we’ll be in the front parlor.” Scott smiles, and Eloise glares at him for a split second before she steps aside.

“Enter, Codfather.” She says, her voice saccharine. 

“Uh, thank you?” Jimmy says, walking into Scott’s home. Eloise rolls her eyes, shutting the doors behind him.

“I’m sorry about her.” Scott says. “She’s at the end of her shift. I assume your night guards are like her?”

“Um, sure.” Jimmy says. “They’re certainly something.”

“If they’re rude to you, you ought to fire them.” Scott says, but Jimmy doesn’t seem to be listening to him.

“It’s beautiful in here.” Jimmy’s voice is barely audible, a breath on the wind, but Scott’s filled with pride anyway.

Jimmy looks over the intricate carvings on the archways, the gilded railings that lead to the higher levels. The codfather runs his hands reverently over the embroidered tablecloths, as though nothing in his home is worth even the silver stitchwork. It fills Scott with a subtle pride, though his house doesn’t look lived in - what with the maids and cleaners ensuring that nothing is ever out of place, that dust never settles on the rafters, let alone the tables - Jimmy now knows that Scott could afford to take care of him, to give him a life that's more than comfortable.

“What’s this?” Jimmy asks, and Scott walks towards his potential partner. “It’s beautiful.”

The golden statue of Aeor rests on the mantle, glittering in the light. Jimmy holds onto his clothes, as though he doesn’t want to touch it. Scott fights back a soft smile at the gesture, its kind of the man to do, even if unnecessary. Aoer would not care if one of his statues was touched, even if it were touched by someone who knows not of the god.

“It’s a statue my parents gave me” Scott says. “It’s supposed to keep me and my loved ones safe while I’m at home.”

“This is your house?” Jimmy gawks. “These two rooms are as large as my entire house.”

Scott winces, turning to avoid offending Jimmy. Why would the founder of an empire live in a hut? Sausage and Fwip built their castles outside of the town that they were given to rule over, why didn’t Jimmy build himself a castle, something fit for someone his stature.

Jimmy deserves better.

“It is my house.” Scott admits. “I built it myself, when my parents told me that I was their heir.”

“Did they?” Jimmy asks, something sad infecting his tone. “That must be nice, your design skills are impeccable.”

Scott flushes a deep crimson, blinking a few times as Jimmy giggles. That damned giggle, that mad Scott stumble over his feet as they danced during the ball, the one that makes the words solidify in his throat, that he can’t get a single syllable out. He can’t even think, just focusing on that giggle.

“Do people not compliment your builds often?” Jimmy asks, cocking his head to the side, and Scott catches a glimpse of Jimmy’s eyes.

Ocean blue, and full of mischief.

“Not to my face.” Scott lies, not wanting to vocalise the words that fight to escape his throat. “Can I ask why you’ve come over? I’m fine with this being a social visit, of course, but we’ve never exactly had those.”

“I wanted to apologise for the ball.” Jimmy says, so quietly that Scott’s heart shatters.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Scott says, softly, ever so softly. He needs to reassure Jimmy. No one should sound that upset with themselves over a party that they didn’t even ruin. “You made my night, it was nice to dance with you.”

“I promise that I would see you soon, after that dance.” Jimmy says. “And I didn’t. I’m sorry, King of Rivendell, please accept this gift as an apology, even if you do not accept the apology.”

And Jimmy offers him a flowering blue orchid, growing in a small, hand painted pot. It’s a strong plant, the soil is wet and the flowers bright. The pot has green paint around the borders, and a silver ribbon is wrapped around the pot, tied in a neat bow.

“It’s beautiful.” Scott says, carefully taking it from Jimmy. “How do I care for it?”

“Strong light, high humidity, periods of dry soil altered with periods of heavy watering and airflow around the roots.” Jimmy says, and Scott can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m sure you’ll be able to care for it well.”

“What if I kill it?”

“Then I’ll bring you a new one.” Jimmy offers, watching as Scott carefully puts it on one of his tables. Scott watches the cod hybrid rub his arms, as though he was cold, but its rather warm in Scott’s home - kept a perfect temperature for everyone, so why would Jimmy be cold?

“You alright?” Scott asks, looking at Jimmy. “You’re rubbing your arms.”

“It’s a bit cold in here.” Jimmy sounds embarrassed, and Scott watches as he nervously shifts his balance. “It’s alright though, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re from the swamp.” Scott realises aloud. “Take my cloak, as recognition of my forgiveness.”

Scott takes his cloak off, handing it to Jimmy. Jimmy holds it as though its made of the most precious material, running his fingers over the stitching in a way that screams reverence. As though this cloak means something else, something more to Jimmy. 

Scott didn’t just intrude on some Cod Empire custom, did he?

“I can’t accept this.” Jimmy says, pushing the cloak back into Scott’s hands. “It’s too good for you to hand away. I’ll be alright, keep your cloak.”

Scott frowns for a moment, the cloak in his hands. Jimmy is a guest, not even an elf who could adapt to the cold quickly, and he’s a cod hybrid. He needs the warmth, he’ll get sick rather quickly if he doesn’t accept the cloak. Then Lizzie would kill Scott, and take back her blessing. Not only that, but it could take months for Jimmy to heal. So Scott needs to improvise.

Without thinking, Scott wraps his cloak around Jimmy’s shoulders, pulling the other man close to him as he does the top button up, taking care to ensure that he doesn’t damage the silk thread that keeps the button on. He can hear Jimmy’s breathing hitch as he does, and Scott looks down into the man's eyes, watching as something unreadable passes through them.

“Now you’ll remain warm.” Scott says, slightly breathless as he steps back.

 Jimmy looks up at Scott, and pulls the cloak closer around his shoulders. The cod hybrid steals Scott’s breath away, even though Scott can’t see his face. The cloak pools at the floor around Jimmy’s feet, the arm holes slightly too low to be practical, but he looks stunning anyways.

“Could I offer you tea, or breakfast?” Scott asks, standing in front of a plush armchair. It’s his favourite chair, though due to the fact that it’s situated in the front parlor he doesn’t use it often.

“I had breakfast before I came, but tea would be nice.” Jimmy says. 

“I’ll have that arranged, if you want to take a seat?” Scott says, smiling. He waits for a moment, as Jimmy chooses a seat, before he walks into the back parlor.

Scott quickly crosses into the kitchen, watching as one of the chefs jump in surprise. He’s already had breakfast, and it’s far earlier than he would normally arrive for a snack or a break from meetings with stuffy officials. Scott offers them an apologetic smile, and they roll their eyes, smiling at him.

“How can I help you, your highness?” They ask, turning away from kneading the bread.

“Could I bother you for some tea?”

“Meeting’s going that poorly?” They ask, washing their hands in the sink as they turn on the redstone kettle.

“I have a guest over, and he asked for some?” Jimmy deserves nice tea, and Scott hopes he’ll like it.

“The codfather’s over for a social visit?” They ask, incredulous. “You never have social visits, let alone with one of our allies' enemies.”

“He’s nice.” Scott says, watching as they pour the tea into two tea cups. “I’d like him as an ally.”

“Considering how Arel saw you put your cloak on him, I think you’d like him as more than just an ally, your highness.” They smirk, putting four biscuits on a tray. “Are you able to carry this out yourself or do you need someone to supervise the pair of you?”

“You aren’t my father, Cyran, nor my mother.” Scott says. “I can carry this, and we don’t need a supervisor.”

“Don’t make a mess of the front parlor, my lord.” They tease, passing Scott the tray. “I may not be your parents, may Aeor guide them, but I am your eldest member of staff. You were so young when I was bought onto the staff, you’re still the boy who hide behind my skirt from your tutors.”

“Please stop telling people about that.” Scott mumbles, embarrassed.

“Stop leaving your guest unattended. It’s rude.” They say, ushering Scott to the door. “I don’t want you back here until your guest has left, Scott.”

And they shut the door on Scott, making him laugh silently. Of course they kick him out to attend to the guests, they’re so stubborn. He should give them a raise.

Scott carefully carries the tray of drinks and biscuits through the back parlor, silently opening the door to navigate to where Jimmy sits. Jimmy’s looking out of the front window, watching as Rivendell bustles about as families take their children to school and adults attend to their jobs. The sun beams down, reflecting off of the snow and casting a glow into the front parlor, just as Scott intended when he designed the build. Scott places the tray down, startling Jimmy.

“Thank you.” Jimmy says, as Scott passes him a cup. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?”

“Not at all.” Scott lies through his teeth. His guards will inform the advisors that he’s busy, after all. Potential allies are more important than sitting through another meeting that leads to nowhere. “Am I keeping you from anything?”

“Nothing that I can’t get done later.” Jimmy takes a sip of his tea. “This is amazing.”

“Thank you.” Scott smiles. “Are you doing anything important tomorrow? I have a meeting after lunch that I must attend, but I would love to give you a tour of Rivendell.”

“I have a meeting with Fwip tomorrow.” Jimmy says, and Scott’s heart stops. “I’m going to his base to arrange a trade agreement, but maybe next Wednesday?”

“Did Fwip arrange the meeting?”

“He did.” Jimmy nods. “I don’t want to spark a war between us by entering the Grimlands uninvited.”

“Do you know what you’re going to ask him for?” Scott says, ignoring the pit beginning to form in his stomach. Fwip is something, an enemy of the Cod Empire and someone who believes that Jimmy is Aeor’s champion, which means he could harm Jimmy.

But it’s just a trade meeting, and Fwip has honour. He wouldn’t harm Jimmy during a peaceful meeting.

“Probably some gunpowder.” Jimmy shrugs, before a ring sounds from his pocket. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Jimmy pulls out his communicator, looking at the caller id before wincing.

“Something the matter?”

“I was supposed to meet with Joel now.” Jimmy winces. “I should go.”

Jimmy moves to take the cloak off, but Scott stops him, gently moving the other rulers hands from the button. Jimmy looks up at Scott, and though Scott can’t see Jimmy’s face, he can tell the codfather’s surprised.

“Keep it.” Scott murmurs. “You can return it when you come back for the tour.”

“Thank you.” Jimmy says, taking his hands from Scott’s. “I’ll see you next week.”

“I’ll see you then.” Scott smiles, walking Jimmy to the door. “Fly safely.”

“I will.” Jimmy says, walking away from Scott’s home.

Scott shuts the door, leaning on it with a sigh. Something isn’t right about this, something is so intrinsically wrong with Fwip inviting Jimmy to his empire for a meeting that Scott’s stomach turns with fear for the other man. Jimmy’s naive, the ruler of the youngest empire in this world. Even Shubble’s empire is older - just from a different dimension. Scott needs to ask Aeor to protect Jimmy. Surely they will.

Scott wonders if Jimmy liked the bouquet of roses that he left for him.