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stevebabey · 1 year

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Steve hates to ask this of Eddie.

Really, it’s a last resort sort of thing. Robin’s gone for the week, some trip upstate with her family. And it’s fine, they’re close but Steve’s a big boy. He can handle a week without his best friend.

But, well, it’s just unfortunate for it to creep up on Steve when Robin’s gone. It being… shit, how did Robin explain it? She was so much better at keeping track of all those things than he was, all the terms filed away nicely in her head to be recalled as needed. Steve’s much messier— in his head, in his life.

Touch aversion, that’s what she called it. A by-product of the severe lack of touch in his childhood she had said; not enough hugs, hand holding, the works and now Steve’s grown to find it too strange. Something prickles under his skin, pulls in his gut all the wrong way, when someone’s too touchy-feely with him. Robin’s said it’s normal, and he believes her.

It just makes it harder when this comes by. That completely strange backward want that carves into his chest, creating a chasm that just aches. Suddenly, Steve wants to be touched, needs to be touched — like something behind his ribs is just begging for comfort in the form of touch, any way he can have it. Like some young part of him can still remember the hunger he had for it and it comes back in full force, a tender wound between his lungs.

It doesn’t happen that often — though, it’s more frequent than ever recently — but usually, Robin’s here. She can almost always tell before Steve works up the courage to ask. Twitchy fingers give him away. He hovers closer than normal, shoulders brushing more often.

She always gives him a smile, softer than her usual snark and says, “C’mere, dingus.” and stands on her tip-toes to envelope him in a hug. Steve can’t help but sink into it, gripping her close around the waist for as long as he needs until the hole in his chest feels a step closer to patching up.

Robin also tells him he can have as many hugs as he’d like but Steve is firm with himself; he only needs one, then he’ll be back to fine.

It what’s he needs now. One really fucking good hug. Still, he hates to ask, least of all from Eddie, because, well— okay, Steve has no reason to assume Eddie wouldn’t give him a hug.

He’s seen Eddie’s hugs before. Like everything he does, Eddie puts his everything into it- he hugs Robin til she wheezes, loves to lift Nancy off the ground, and the hug he gives Dustin is sweetest of all, a hand on the back of the littler’s head while he does some strange little sway. Dustin always laughs, playfully shoving him away by the end but Steve knows he loves them, that it helps in more than one way.

Steve is glad that Dustin has someone, besides his Mom of course, who can hug him, because Steve can’t give that to him. Maybe one day, but for now, hugs from Steve are a rarity — few and far in between. Maybe, he thinks, he doesn’t want to ask Eddie specifically because of that niggling feeling that comes up around Eddie, all gooey and soft. A feeling the swings too close to a crush that Steve has no fucking clue what to do about.

So, he hates to ask. Really. On the drive over to Eddie’s, a hangout organised before Steve started to feel the lack of touch creep in, he runs through any other options. Wait til Robin gets back? Steve’s not sure he’ll make it another 4 days. When left alone, it seems to consume him and make everything harder, everything heavier to deal with.

He’s still tossing it when he climbs the steps to Eddie’s trailer. Steve decides that he’ll see how it goes, see if there’s an opening to ask…semi-naturally or something. He’s not gonna spring it on the guy.

Eddie is wonderful company as always, devilish grins and god-awful comments about the film he picked. Steve feeds off it, drinking in the infectious energy. He tries to let it be enough; their shoulders pressed together, Eddie’s knee knocking his when he laughs, the way Eddie leans into his space to whisper even though it’s just them here tonight. Steve wants it to be enough. But even then, he can see the way his hands twitch in his lap, desperate for more.

Steve closes his eyes. Curls his hands up so tightly his nails bite into the skin. He tries to use it to wane off the feeling, the ache that sings out for Eddie beside him and it nearly works. Until—

“Steve? Y’okay?” Eddie’s voice pipes up, making Steve open his eyes in an instant.

“Hm?” Steve hums, hoping that his casualness will be enough for Eddie to skip over his peculiar behaviour. He blinks, tilting his head just a bit to show he was confused why Eddie was asking.

Eddie chuckles lightly, gesturing towards Steve’s lap, where his hands sit still clenched, white knuckled with his self-restraint. “You seem a bit stiff, that’s all.” Eddie rechecks. “You good?”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, forcing his hands to unclench in his lap. “I-“ he begins, then stops, unsure of what he was going to say. He did say he would look for an opening tonight. The way Eddie’s regarding him, open faced with his concern, is as good as he might get.

“This might sound a bit weird,” Steve starts, defensiveness already tingeing the words, his shoulders curling in just a bit. Eddie could say no. He’s allowed to say no. Steve really doesn’t want him to. “Like, if you think it’s weird, that’s totally fine and we can just, like, forget I said anything and—”

“Steve.” Eddie cuts him off, a linger of an amused smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything you say weird, sweetheart. Shoot. What’s on your mind? What troubles the great mind of Steve Harrington?”

God, it’s like a whole bunch of words designed to set Steve’s head spinning. ‘The great mind of Steve Harrington’ makes him want to scoff. ‘Sweetheart’ makes him want to swoon. He can’t decide which one he wants to do more.

“Can I-” Steve stammers, the words halting automatically. It’s too much of a habit to swallow them down. Coercing them out takes more work. He stares up at the ceiling as he grits his teeth, releases a harsh sigh, pulling himself together. “Can I… have a hug?”

There a moment of silence and Steve holds his breath.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and Steve takes his eyes off the ceiling to see just what that Oh means. Eddie’s smiling, a soft one gracing his pretty mouth, and Steve thinks, maybe, one day he’ll have the courage to ask for a kiss as well. Relief moves sluggishly through his veins— Eddie’s smiling, this is good.

“Well, of course,” Eddie grins widely and opens his arms, inviting Steve in. Steve hesitates for only a moment before he leans in gratefully, his arms tucking around Eddie’s midriff tightly. Eddie’s arms curl around Steve’s neck, pulling him in close. It’s the easiest thing in the world, sinking into it, so much that Steve tries his best not to immediately slump against Eddie. It feels a bit too pathetic, so Steve reels himself in. He can’t make his arms relax, trying too hard to take only what he needs and not a moment more.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice teases beside his ear, his breath warm. “You call that a hug?”

He squeezes Steve a little tighter, pulling him even closer and Steve can’t help the way he melts into it— he slumps, leaning against Eddie properly and burying his quiet whine of relief into the juncture between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs comfortingly.

Eddie takes him wholly, gives a damn good Munson hug, all warmth and comfort. He smells like, well, Eddie — a lingering scent of weed, something musky, something Eddie. His arms around Steve’s neck shuffle and Steve worries he’s trying to pull away so soon, only for one of his hands to tangle in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He combs through, light fingernails scratching at Steve’s scalp and shit, Steve really can’t control the noise of contentment that slips out his throat.

“Can’t believe you got so worked up just to ask for a hug,” Eddie tsks, tone coloured in disbelief. Steve makes a noise of protest, trying for a moment to wind it all back in but, like Eddie can sense it, he’s squeezing him tighter again. He begins to rock them, a soft sway side to side that lets Steve lean on him even more. He hums a tune Steve doesn’t know, low and soft.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles in reply, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s apologising for. For having to ask, for taking so much, for enjoying Eddie’s arms around him just a little too much.

“What the fuck for?” Eddie laughs lightly, one of his hands beginning to drum against the divots of Steve’s spin. It feels like he’s tapping pure delirium with each fingertip, shivers that make Steve’s chest glow terribly warm. It feels good, so good to be held and honestly, Steve could stay here all night if Eddie let him. Knowing Eddie, he would, because he’s that fucking nice.

That knowledge alone forces Steve to sit himself up, extracting him limbs even though so much of him mourns the warmth, the touch, that goes with it. He wants the touch but he’s had enough. Some scorned part of him burns bitterly to think Eddie would give him more just to be nice. Steve doesn’t want that— Steve wants Eddie to touch him because he wants to.

“Sorry, man, I just, uh, get like that sometimes.” Steve feels the need to explain, bringing a hand up to rub at one of his eyes. He does it half so can hide his embarrassed expression from Eddie— who’s looking at him so gently and still so so close.

“Just, aha—“ Christ, it wasn’t this awkward telling Robin. Steve’s hand moves to rub the back of his neck. “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile since,” He gnaws on his bottom lip, something alike to humiliation curling in his gut. “Since I’ve had some touch. Usually, Robin’s around but y’know.”

He waves a hand, huffing another awkward laugh. Eddie hasn’t moved much, just listening intently, his brows ever so slightly inching closer together. He looks outright concerned at Steve’s next words.

“It’s okay, I’ve— I’ll be good now.” Steve nods along, like the motion will help him convince himself as well as Eddie. He’ll be okay now. Usually, one hug is all it takes. He ignores the surging tidal-wave want that is still going, still aching to be held by Eddie again. It would be selfish to ask for more. Eddie didn’t invite him around to hug— it’s weird, and Steve shouldn’t- can’t ask for more.

“Sooooo,” Eddie draws out the word, an impish smile beginning to play at the corners of his lips. He opens his arms wide again. “You don’t want another hug?”

In his lap, Steve’s fingers twitch. Eddie’s eyes dart to them for a second, before fixing back on Steve. He does, he really fucking does want another hug. He can’t. He’s had enough, really, it would greedy to have more.

Steve shakes his head, forces himself to huff another laugh that accidentally comes out as a strained sigh. He smiles weakly, “No, no, I’m good, dude. It’s… I’m okay, swear.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s convinced him. Eddie studies his face, his mischief slipping away as he deliberates Steve’s words. His eyes narrow, arms dropping just an inch before he smiles brightly and says, “Okay, can I have a hug then?”

Which, okay, right, Steve didn’t think of that. People don’t ask him for hugs. He blinks, a bit dumbly. Eddie is waiting, face eager and for a second there’s an expression of almost smugness on his face — like he’s about to get exactly what he wants. Because he knows Steve would never be rude and say no.

“I mean,” Steve breathes, voice a bit tighter than he’s expecting. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, you can have a hug.”

“Great!” Eddie replies and he wastes no time. He’s all up in Steve’s space, arms around Steve’s waist this time. The motion takes Steve by surprise, enough that because he’s not expecting it Eddie’s weight pushes him back so he’s lying on the couch.

If Eddie cares, he pays no mind, his head curling up into the crook of Steve’s neck as he hugs him closer. His hair gets in Steve’s mouth, making him splutter for a second, but Eddie just grins, wriggling closer until they’re pressed firmly against each other. Steve would go as far as to say this is closer to cuddling than a hug, with Eddie squishing him from above, his arms around Steve’s middle.

“Just so you know,” Eddie’s voice rumbles from where their chests are touching, his breath sweeping across Steve’s neck. Steve shivers without meaning to, feels Eddie’s responding grin even as he continues. “All hugs requested by me are automatically 10 minutes long. Hope you’re okay with that, sweetheart.”

Steve isn’t stupid — he knows Eddie is doing it for him, doing it because he could see right through Steve’s stupid facade, had peered his yawning hunger for touch right in the face and hadn’t blanched. Instead of feeling tricked or fooled, Steve just feels…warm. Comfortable. He works his arms around Eddie’s neck til their more comfortable and find the courage in him scrape his fingers through Eddie’s hair— like he had done to Steve. Eddie’s sighs sweetly and Steve thinks he could listen to that noise forever.

“I’m… I’m okay with that.” Steve murmurs lowly, yet he knows Eddie can hear him. Eddie noses closer, a borderline nuzzle against his neck, and further down, one his hands starts to stroke softly up and down Steve’s ribs.

Steve can’t help the way it makes him freeze, the breath in his lungs holding tight as he tries to relax, tries to ignore the prickly feeling under his skin. It’s a lot. A lot of touch that Steve just isn’t used to just yet, even if he desperately craves it.

“Relax,” Eddie whispers into his skin, a soft instruction paired with the motion, one soothing stroke up and down his ribs. Steve pushes the breath in his lungs out, forces the tension out of his body, trusts that Eddie wouldn’t be offering— wouldn’t tell him to relax if he wasn’t allowed to.

“That’s it.” Eddie praises, feeling the body beneath him settle and sink a little lower into the couch. “Now, watch the movie.” Eddie instructs, jutting at the still playing screen with his chin. Steve laughs a bit, but obeys, turning his head to see what part they’d gotten up to. They’d missed a big chunk in their hug. Steve nearly apologises for it, the words on the tip of his tongue, before he decides Eddie might smack him for it.

So, he doesn’t. He watches the film, let’s the gentle touch of Eddie on his skin relax him til sleepiness starts to fill each of his limbs, heavy like lead. Eddie’s hand stops moving eventually, when his breath gets heavier, lulled by Steve’s scratch in his hair. A snore starts up, loud and quite frankly, annoying, and yet, Steve finds that with Eddie’s arms around him, he has no trouble finding sleep.

It’s the first time in years Steve’s fallen asleep in someone else’s arms. And even if he doesn't know it yet, it’s certainly not the last.

now with a part two!

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emdeerm · 7 months

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Past saves Present

Og fic ig

In some cultures, it is believed that children are able to remember bits of their past lives till the ages of 3-5.

For Danny, the opposite was true. He got his memories at exactly the second he turned 5.

And he had to promptly dodge the blade of the boy in front of him.

His brother, his mind supplied. His twin.

Danny stopped swinging his own sword, focusing on dodging and avoiding the fate of being a slashed pillow. His new/earned skills especially helped with that greatly as his head was seriously trying to re-kill him.

"I yield," he rasped as he jumped away from his brother and looked at their Mother. "My head hurts, Mother," he added pitifully.

His twin looked slightly concerned for a second, before schooling his face in a way Grandfather has been teaching them.

"Tch." But he did put away the blade before their Mother, said a word.

"Dynial, Damian, you are not to stop until you have received permission in the future."

The boys nodded. Mother took their hands and led them out of the private training ground back to their rooms.

Danny spent the rest of the day lying down, slightly feverish and miserable as his brain was processing and acclimating the new set of memories. Clockwork said it wouldn't be too bad. We'll, the clock bustard has been wrong. It fucking sucked.

His brother was hovering. Their Mother was always around, not letting anyone into their space. Ra's is being kept in the dark.

A peaceful rest was all he needed for his brain to finish sorting out new information. And Danny was stuck in a bit of a dilemma.

You see, Damian and Dynial love their Mother, strive to be the best Demon Twins, and see nothing wrong with their life so far.

Their hands are still clean.

Danny, on the other hand, has many MANY choice words for his current situation and one Clock Ghost.

You want to try reincarnation ONE time! No wonder others don't really do that.

-------

Their days continued like they did before he got his memory back. It wasn't hard to be Dynial when he actually was him.

The nights were filled with planning. And a personally assigned mission: get Damian to be interested in normal things.

Stars weren't much of a hit. Uncultured child.

Animals were a little intriguing.

Simple art and craft projects seemed to hit the spot.

Keeping their little meetings and activities hidden wasn't as hard as one would think. Mother still had her missions. The two of them were often left alone in their wing of the place, the supervisors being allowed only till the doors. Ra's was the Head. He didn't check in on them all the time. The two of them weren't slacking in their training either and were considered prodigies.

Danny wanted out of this Cult.

A many months after feeding different information, facts, crafts and so on to his brother, Damian was curious. He was suspicious about the sudden knowledge but he was also 5. He only had to reference the Lazarus Pit (unfiltered and dirty ectoplasm? Seriously? Clockwork, you can't expect him to work on his vocation) once to convince the child.

They snooped around and found out that they had a father out in the world.

Danny got a plan.

It was super stupid. And dangerous as hell. As well as literally (half)suicidal. But he felt it in his chest and knew he'd succeed.

His Core was here. But it was sleeping. And if he wanted to be safe and away from here, he needed to start it up again.

The big pool of Ecto would do just fine. His Core would filter out the impurities.

He didn't want to stay here until his hands no longer protected. He didn't want such life for his brother either.

---

Damian infiltrated the Lazarus Room just in time to see his brother jump into the Pit.

He ran to the edge.

He was sinking.

The green was too bright. The smell around them was too much. His ears rang.

He reached towards the water, eyes unseeing and hands numb. His heartbeat was too loud.

His brother's wasn't loud enough.

"Don't touch the puddles, Dami, you'll get sick," a gentle, cold hand stopped him from diving.

The child looked up. His brother was floating above the water. He looked all wrong. But he was there.

"I didn't want you to see this part..." his brother laughed awkwardly as he landed next to him. A bright ring of light blinded Damian for a second.

And his brother was back.

-----

Getting used to his powers again felt nice but tedious. Soothing his twin was heartbreaking. He didn't think this through hard enough.

Their Mother was none the wiser to the fact that one of her children died and came back. Nore was she privy to the escape being planned by both.

On one moonless night, when Mother wasn't there, the shift was changing and the world was asleep; two boys phased through the walls and flew. Small bags of stuff were strapped onto them as they traveled to their father.

Mother's notes called him Bruce Wayne, Batman, Beloved and Detective.

It wasn't hard to find him when they arrived.

Though, Danny didn't expect a furless furry and a pantless child to be their new family.

Can he ever get a normal Family???

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mothhball · 2 months

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five-finger discount

Pairing | Neil Lewis x Reader

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, blackmail, sex on camera, brief edging, creampie, cheating, cursing, Moth pretends to know anything about movies

Summary | You’ve been trying to make easy money, but you’re not as subtle as you thought. Some lessons need to be learned the hard way.

Words | 4.4k

Notes | FINALLY DONE. and vaguely inspired by 70s porn haha

MINORS DNI

INT. GUMSHOE VIDEO – THRILLER AISLE – DAY

“No, it's not. That's not what she said. Someone is in trouble. Something bad is happening!” squawks a woman from the running TV in the background while your fingers trace over the backs of the VHS as you walk past the shelves.

1 PM on a Wednesday certainly is no rush hour at Gumshoe Video. Even the most annoying film bros don't come here at this time of day to flaunt their knowledge of the craft and subsequent absence of social skills. You're in the clear, pretending to deeply think about your choice in entertainment for the end of the day, even though that couldn't be further from the truth. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you spot the business owner, entranced by the film that he put on to pass the time, and you can see his plush lips silently mouthing along to the dialog. Cute. And easy to trick.

It's not your first time here. No, you made sure to become familiar with the place over the course of months now, learning where each genre and title has been sorted into its rightful place.

Certain old VHS-tapes can sell for a small fortune online, and for every tape you rent, you take one for free with the plan of selling it to the highest bidder. Currently, you have a stack at home, waiting for you to finally stop procrastinating and open up that damn eBay account.

Your pinky catches on a specific tape. 'A History of Violence', currently estimated to lure an additional 199 bucks into your greedy bank account. Quietly, you pull out the film, leaving a gaping hole in the neatly sorted row as you slip it into your purse.

With nimble hands, you try to rearrange the tapes to make the missing VHS a little less obvious, but in your haste, a few of them escape your clammy grasp and clutter to the ground. A head of silky brunette hair whips around, and you're met with pretty blue eyes as the store owner turns to face you.

You let out a giggle, trying to sound as vapid and innocuous as possible. You’re in character now. The persona you chose? An unassuming, ditzy little thing that’s hot enough to distract him, but stupid enough as to not get suspected of any wrong-doings. You’d say you’re a good actress. A fantastic one, even.

"Sorry," you purr, batting your eyelashes at him. "I'm a little clumsy today." You're already bending over to pick up the tapes when he makes his way over to lend a helping hand, and you make sure to show off your cleavage in an intentionally accidental way. You know he’s into you. You’ve been seeing the heat in his gaze for weeks now, along with the occasional crack in his voice and an almost endearing desire to impress you. It’s his biggest weakness and the reason your plan has been working flawlessly until now.

"Hey, hey, no worries. Uh, gravity wins sometimes. Don't sweat it," he grins at you, brushing his fingers against yours as the two of you work together to put everything back into place.

"What exactly were you looking for anyway?" he suddenly asks, breaking your focus for a second.

"Uh, Moonstruck," you mutter, completely on autopilot. The store owner nods, pursing his lips as he mulls over your answer. You’re aware of your blunder before he even answers.

"Moonstruck? Then you're in the wrong section. You know, with how often you come here, I thought you got the hang of our layout by now." Fuck, he’s got you. Play dumb. Play dumb!

Your poker face almost cracks, but you keep your composure. Or at least you try to. "Huh? Oh - I... right. God, I'm just all over the place today." You giggle again, relieved by the way his grin seems to soften. Hook, line and sinker. He may think he’s detective Sam Spade from ‘The Maltese Falcon’, but you’re Brigid O’Shaughnessy. Or he’s Batman and you’re Catwoman. Or – well, it doesn’t matter. Baseline is, you’re snatching tapes right from underneath his nose while he’s too busy fantasizing about what’s underneath your clothes.

The store owner speaks up again, lazily rubbing the back of his neck as he leans against the shelf, and his free hand wanders and gestures around a bit as if he’s trying to figure out which pose would look the coolest and most effortless.

“Right. Actually, that wasn’t really fair of me.” You tilt your head at him, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly which prompts him to elaborate. “Some of our tapes went missing. Y’know, some of the oldies and goldies? That’s why I didn’t stock Moonstruck this week.”

Your lips part in surprise, but all you can reply with is a soft ‘oh’. The store owner shrugs, leaning in towards you. There’s something conspiratory about his expression which makes your stomach churn a little. “Yeah. But I do still have it. It’s just in my office.”

There’s a beat of silence as you mull over the unspoken offer. Your plan is built on the one tape you always rent for cheap. No one would think you’re stealing if you’re actually paying for something, right? Despite this, you wonder if you should call it a day and head home with the stolen film hidden in your purse. Alibi be damned.

“I… That’s great. Uh, actually, I was just about to –“ he cuts you off with a casual wave of his hand, and the grin on his face widens once more.

“Don’t worry. I’ll even give you a discount. Just follow me.”

INT. GUMSHOE VIDEO – NEIL LEWIS’ PRIVATE OFFICE – DAY

The private office of Neil Lewis, cinephile and pop culture enthusiast, is decorated with a distinct Film Noir charm, lovingly empathized by leather chairs and a checkered floor. Not to mention the letters on the door. He calls himself a private investigator. A joking title that makes you palms sweat ever so slightly. You notice that he set up a small camera on his desk, but he brushes it off as a regular procedure.

"So... Moonstruck,” he starts, gesturing for you to take a seat. Which you do. “Great pick. Just curious - Why did you go for that one?" The question makes you pause for a second.

"The... the cover spoke to me,” you casually lie, trying to sound somewhat cute, but it doesn’t land. Neil’s expression quickly betrays his skepticism, and his lips part while his narrowed gaze wanders around the room for a minute. "Hm. And what about the other one?"

"What do you mean?" Play dumb, play dumb, play – but he’s not letting you off the hook so easily.

"The other tape."

Silence fills the office, and you swear the VHS in your purse is starting to burn a hole right where it’s settled in your lap.

"Which... other tape? I just picked out this one."

"Ohhh, right. Sorry. My bad. Just… Moonstruck." The way he’s saying this makes it seem like he enjoys the taste of the letters on his tongue. You nod, a little too eager to get this conversation over and done with.

"So you won’t mind me looking through your purse?" Neil leans forward in his seat, folding his hands on top of his desk. Your eyes briefly fall onto the little desk name plate that’s undoubtedly just made out of shiny, golden plastic. But it does the job. It intimidates you. At least to a certain degree.

“No,” you lie through your teeth, trying to shrug off the tension. “I… it’s certainly no problem, Mr. Lewis. None at all.”

Neil lets out an apathetic sigh as he rises from his seat, causing the leather to squeak. His steps seem a little too confident for a video rental owner as he moves around the desk to first walk over to the door and lock it. “Neil is fine. I’m not a big fan of… formalities,” he starts, coming up behind you to set his hands on your shoulders. His hands are gentle but firm, causing your body to warm right down to the deepest layers. To make his control over the situation even more apparent, he splays his hands, tracing your collarbone with his middle finger. It’s subtle enough that he could pass it off as a figment of your imagination if you should choose to speak up. But you don’t. You stay quiet, even as he leans down and you can hear the murmur of his voice right next to your ear.

“Open your purse.”

You bite your tongue, slowly opening your purse to find Cher’s face grinning back at you. It’s Moonstruck. In all of its romantic glory, and it makes both you and Neil freeze for a moment. You lick your dry lips, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

"That's mine."

"Yours?" You wouldn’t know, but his eyebrow twitches upward at your ridiculous claim.

"Yeah. A... personal copy." Great, now you’re doubling down.

"With my name on it?" Silence, yet again. You could basically hear the dramatic music that the producers of any reality TV shows use in the background of any tense scene. But this isn’t scripted. No, all of this is improvised.

"... what are the odds?" you croak, feeling how your throat goes dry in real time. Neil scoffs in reply, shaking his head, and his grip on your shoulders tightens a tad before he lets go entirely. His expression is stern as he steps in front of you, leaning against the desk and crossing his shapely arms over his chest. For a moment, he’s silent, letting his eyes wander all over your form in a slow, appreciative way that makes your palms get sweaty. “You do know I have to call the police, don’t you?”

“What?” Your breath hitches in your lungs, and you blink a few times, almost in an attempt to shake yourself out of this very strange dream. “This… this is just one tape. Isn’t this kind of excessive?”

“Yeah, maybe it’s one tape today. But you’ve been coming here for weeks.” Your jaw drops, but you can’t seem to come up with an appropriate response. You’ve been had. For the past months, you were convinced that he only saw you as a little piece of eye candy wandering through the store, but he’s been seeing right through you all along. Now you definitely don’t feel like Catwoman anymore. When he notices that you’re not going to say anything, Neil continues.

“Did you really think we don’t have security cameras all over the place? Well, I’ve been watching you the entire time, playing along when you pretended to be all ditzy and cute. It’s not just one instance. It’s a whole case, baby. And you’ll go to jail.” That makes you break out of your stupor, and you can feel your pulse speeding up.

“No- wait, no, no, no. Please, can’t we just talk about this for one second?”

“I don’t bargain with thieves.” He’s smug. Too smug for your liking, considering that he’s threatening you with the loss of your precious, precious freedom.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” you plead, fixing him with the biggest puppy dog eyes you can muster in an attempt to appeal to the soft, awkward side of him. And he cracks. At least the tiniest bit.

“Maybe… maybe we can work something out. But I’ll need to search you first. Who knows what else you’re hiding.” He gestures for you to stand, and you get up from your seat, causing the leather cushioning to faintly squeak once again. “Spread your arms. To the side.”

Your expression settles into a pout, but you do as you’re told, much to Neil’s satisfaction. He returns to his previous position behind you and starts by touching your shoulders, slowly trailing his hands down your arms. His fingers leave tingles behind on your skin, and you’re even more aware of how close he’s gotten when you feel his breath on the back of your neck. His cheeky hands continue to wander, making their way down your sides, softly squeezing around your waist before he moves on to your hips. You try to think about it as a TSA search, but it’s a little hard to do when his hands linger for much longer than necessary on your thighs and your calves as he crouches down. Once he’s satisfied, he straightens back up, and you almost think he’s done before he leans in to rasp into your ear.

“You’re gonna have to take your clothes off… so I can search you more thoroughly.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you’re about to protest, but he’s already pulling your top off, tossing it aside before he moves on to your shorts. A sigh escapes him as he pulls them down along with your panties, and he doesn’t give you even a second to recover before he’s gripping and caressing the curves of your body. Leaning his chin on your shoulder, he runs his fingers over your hips, feeling how your skin warms beneath his touch. “Take your bra off.”

“What? There’s no way I could be hiding a tape in there –“ In response, Neil lightly pinches your thigh, causing you to jump a little and let out a soft whine. Seems like there’s no way around it. With shaky hands, you reach behind yourself to unclasp your bra, and Neil leans back ever so slightly to give you the space to move. That is, until your tits are exposed, and his body is glued against yours once more. The feeling of his hardening cock pressing up against your ass sends heat into your core, and you instinctively clench your thighs together. Of course, this catches his attention.

“Ah, so you are hiding something.”

He wraps his arms around you, steering the two of you over to the mirror he hung on the wall next to his ridiculous little costume rack. You watch your own flushed expression as his hand slips between your legs to let his fingers trace over your already wet folds. With a groan, you try to avert your eyes before he corrects you with a rough grope of your breast.

“No. Eyes on yourself. I want you to see the guilt on your face while I search you.”

Reluctantly, your eyes return to the mirror, just in time for him to plunge a finger into your velvety pussy. Your lips part, and as much as you’d like to keep quiet, your resolve crumbles immediately when he finds that sweet spot inside of you. Within minutes, the office fills up with the sounds of your pleasure and the obscene squelching of his fingers in your wet cunt. And he’s thorough in his search, quickly working you up from one finger to three, making your toes curl against the checkered floor. For a moment, he drives you up to that delightful edge, only to pull his fingers out of you at the last second.

You don’t have the capacity to complain when he lifts his hand towards the light, showing off his glistening digits. Both of you are entranced by the sight, and Neil lets out a soft wheeze before he licks his fingers clean.

“Yeah, I made up my mind. Get over to the desk and bend over.”

“I have a boyfriend,” you whine, turning your head to give him your biggest puppy dog eyes.

“Well, you should’ve thought about it before you stole from me. Losing those rare tapes was a financial disaster for me. I’m risking this store. And I’m not gonna do it without something in return.” He finishes his sentence with a light smack to your ass which only manages to get you even more riled up. It’s hard to disagree with him when he knows just how to get you going.

Neil drags you back over to the desk, angling the camera in just the right way before he hurriedly tears his clothes off completely. The sight of his urgency makes your chest fill with butterflies, but you still need to protest. You have to!

“I don’t usually do this… what if my boyfriend finds out?”

“That’s one more reason to behave. You wouldn’t want him to see this little clip, right?” he asks, although the question is entirely rhetorical. You’d love to feel guilty, but you can’t bring yourself to it.

His hands run from your shoulders down to your hips, kneading your flesh with the attentiveness of a potter crafting a masterpiece, and he leans over you to place open-mouthed kisses down your spine. You shiver, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle the noises that are threatening to escape your mouth. With a quick movement, Neil reaches under your knee to guide your leg on top of the desk, and you let out a soft sigh when you can feel your arousal rolling down the inside of your thigh as he spreads you open with two fingers.

“You know… nice girls wouldn’t get this wet in situations like these. Then again, you’re a filthy thief, so you’re the furthest thing from a good girl.”

Neil wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest so he can latch back onto the side of your neck, sucking and biting while he uses his other hand to guide the tip of his cock against your drooling entrance. His naked skin against yours fills your head with need, and you press up against him a little more to feel him more closely as he slowly pushes inside your velvety cunt. Both of you let out a hiss, and Neil follows it up with a needy whimper as he stills for a moment.

“Fuck… oh fuck,” he breathes, causing your lips to twitch up in subtle amusement. Neil’s hand shakes as he adjusts the camera, making sure to get everything in frame, and in this moment, you clench around him on purpose, causing him to moan right into your ear. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that –”

The slap to your ass is meant to punish you, but it’s doing the exact opposite, and you let him know this by moaning his name. His lips return to your pulse as he pushes his cock deeper into you, stretching you so perfectly that it sends goosebumps over your skin. Or maybe it’s because of his warm breath on your ear. Or his hands diligently kneading your tits. The cocktail of heated touches and sensations is literally making you feel drunk.

“Your cock feels so good,” you whine, causing him to suck in a sharp breath at the praise.

“Yeah?” he chuckles, bottoming out inside of you before he starts to set a slow, sensual rhythm. “You’re such a depraved little slut… getting off on your punishment. If only your boyfriend knew.”

Neil rolls his hips against yours, drawing a moan from both of you that would fit perfectly on the set of a porno. Maybe you’re hamming it up a little to feed his ego. But that isn’t very hard to do when he fills you up so deliciously, making you wetter with every thrust.

You’re already starting to feel breathless when he slowly speeds up, drilling into your dripping pussy with even more fervor. Words are starting to become a little difficult, but you try your best anyway. “You’re better than him. SO much better –“

Your reward is a second smack – aimed at your chest this time.

“You’re damn right I am,” he groans, sucking another hickey into your skin and adding to the little necklace of bruises he’s been placing around your neck. “Suck these for me, will you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, but it doesn’t last long when he brings his fingers up to your mouth, and you eagerly latch onto his digits, still faintly tasting yourself from earlier. You suck them down to the knuckle, running your tongue in between them in a way that makes him groan and pound your cunt even harder. Once his fingers are sufficiently coated in your saliva, he pulls them free from your lips and reaches between your legs to rub your clit.

The one leg you’ve been standing on threatens to give out immediately, but he holds you up with his other arm, and gently guides your hands into place to better support yourself on the desk. Neil nuzzles his face into your hair, breathing heavily against the shell of your ear.

“If you promise not to steal ever again, I might let you cum on my cock.”

His words are intercepted by quiet grunts and whimpers, and you find yourself agreeing pretty quickly, blabbering out promise after promise.

“I’ll never – never steal again! I swear, I swear, I swear, please! Please, please let me cum –!”

You’re almost not recognizing your own voice due to the desperately needy tone that’s laced through your pleading, but Neil doesn’t mind. Quite the opposite, really, because you can feel his thrusts picking up in intensity. He rewards your obedience by rubbing your clit a little faster, and you have to bite your knuckle as to not cry out his name. Fuck, it’s only noon and you’re approaching your release at breakneck speed.

“Fuck… I – I’m close,” you breathe, turning your head to look at him from over your shoulder. His teeth are back in your neck as he kisses and bites at your skin, and his voice sounds strained as he answers you.

“Go ahead… let go for me. If only your boyfriend knew, hm?”

That’s it. Your orgasm rips through you, and you let out a whine as you claw at the surface beneath you. Neil is generous enough to let you ride out your climax, but you can tell how impatient he is when he suddenly pulls out, swallowing heavily.

“On your back.” He doesn’t have to tell you twice. It’s a little awkward, but you manage to scramble and reposition yourself, lying back against the desk and looking up at him with flushed cheeks and tousled hair. Neil is in the same state, licking his lips and swallowing dryly as he guides his cock back into your cunt, aided by his thumb on the base of his length.

“Fuck… how can you still be this tight? Shit, FUCK…” He’s cursing and muttering under his breath, having half a brain to readjust the still rolling camera as to not miss a single second. His hands guide your legs around his waist, and he leans over you, staring at you through blown out pupils that clash against the vibrant intensity of his ocean gaze. His pretty face is red, and sweat beads on his forehead, causing his hair to stick to his skin. Without thinking, you reach up to push it back, causing both of you to still for a second before Neil finds his tone again.

“M’gonna fill you up… and send you back home to your boyfriend with a creampie in that pretty cunt. Alright? Alright.”

You can only nod in response, hearing your own racing heartbeat in your ears along with his continued grunts and moans. His hands on you are gentle, but his thrusts definitely aren’t as he pounds you against the desk. Neil’s hips smack against yours, causing every novelty item around the two of you to tremble along to your feverish rhythm. You tilt your head back but he goes after you, finally capturing your lips in a hungry kiss that he’s been trying to hold back from the entire time. But now that he’s rapidly approaching his own climax, the self-restraint is completely out of the window.

Your tongues clash, and you moan into his mouth when his hands find yours, linking your fingers together. Neil’s lips faintly taste of iced coffee as he licks against your tongue, and your grip on his hands tightens when his movements start to become erratic.

Your lips stay locked the entire time, even as he lets out a guttural groan when he finishes inside of you, thrusting into you a few more times to push it in as deep as possible. Finally, he stills and pulls away from you, unable to resist stealing one last peck from your swollen lips. You’re still breathing heavily as his hands roam over your body once more, relishing the feeling of your skin beneath his fingertips. Now that he has material on you and you promised not to steal again, he’s gentle. Almost too gentle, and you have to clear your throat to snap him out of it.

Neil catches himself, blinking down at you with soft eyes while he wipes some sweat off his brow. There’s a subtle twitch in his lips that tells you that he’d love to keep touching you, but he’s aware of the setting you’re in. Almost reluctantly, he pulls out of you to let you retrieve your clothes. While you’re getting dressed, he checks the camera and stops the recording before he speaks up.

“You’re free to go, then. You know what happens if I catch you stealing again, right?”

The question prompts you to nod in response, and you mumble out a “yes” as you pull your top back over your head. Once Neil confiscates the VHS from your purse, you’re free to exit the store on trembling legs, cringing a little at the feeling of your combined fluids leaking into your underwear. But God, this heist was worth it.

INT. YOUR PLACE – LIVING ROOM – DAY

As expected, the house is quiet when you get home, and you let out a deep, satisfied sigh as you throw yourself onto the couch to decompress for a moment.

Not even 20 minutes pass until the front door opens, and you hear familiar footsteps. A lazy smile spreads over your face, and you sit up, watching you boyfriend as he kicks off his shoes and throws his jacket over the coat rack on the wall. He makes his way over, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips, and your vision is filled by ocean eyes and faint freckles. Neil chuckles softly, placing the camera onto the coffee table before he sinks down on the couch next to you and pulls you close. “I’m glad Lucien agreed to take over the rest of the day.” You hum in agreement, closing your eyes when he brushes his fingers through your hair to massage your scalp.

“I think that was our best one yet.”

FIN.

tags: @ellebelleshelby @cilliansprincess @mcumorningstar @x0xomady @mandies24 @detroitbecomevenom @pretty-bluebird @ink5ouls (couldn't tag) @flwrs4aust @vampmary1411 @ashdrinksoatmilk @luvizuku @nnattu @ptolemaniac @kiss-me-cill-me @celebrities-imagines

#neil lewis x reader #neil lewis x you #neil lewis smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #watching the detectives #.moth writes

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flamingpudding · 7 months

Text

Fictober23 Prompt: 17 - "I never said it would be easy."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: -

A/N: I saw a post with a comment that Dan chronological wise is ten years old according to a wiki, I haven't seen it myself but I decided to run with it for this anyway.

It was supposed to be a normal morning but that got quickly interrupted by a long drawn out shout of 'Bruce' and a white and black blur suddenly flying though their ceiling right at Bruce. Two out of four present bat-kids instantly sprang up from their chairs into defense positions and with drawn weapons. The other two only arched an eyebrow before turning their attention back to their breakfast with a suppressed laugh, they had seen that black and white blur often enough during their times as Robin.

Damian glared at his older brothers as he stood with drawn throwing knives while Tim after a second of realization sighed, righten his chair from the ground and sat only slightly embarrassed at how Dick and Jason laughed.

Hovering above their breakfast table with his hands on Bruce's shoulder was now Phantom also known as Danny Nightingale, looking completely frazzled. The source of the yell as well as white and black blur from seconds ago.

"Bruce! I need your help! Please! I can't ask Jazz because she is busy and I sure as hell won't ask Trenchcoat. I don't think Supes can handle them and you're like the only one else I could think of to ask! Bruce, please!"

None of the bat kids really knew how long exactly Bruce had known Phantom. The man had only recently admitted to personally knowing the Ghost Hero when Nightwing had caught Phantom collapsing onto Batman and de-transforming and Batman handling it like that hadn't been the first time. They only knew that he had been an unofficial member of Justice League Dark and was the one that helped Jason with his Pit Madness as well as came to visit every now and then as Danny. What they had learned additionally from Alfred was that Phantom was the adopted son of Alfred's old friend and that when Bruce had been younger, he often came to visit or to hang out with them to escape his own family drama.

The bat-kids had figured out that way that Bruce and Danny were probably something akin to childhood friends that both also worked in the hero buisness.

Either way no one was in danger and so they watched on with curiosity as to what Phantom wanted. So far the Ghost Hero was still rambling on and on about something he couldn't entrust to anyone other than Bruce, while their father was leisurely taking a sip from his coffee completely pokerfaced like he was used to the other man rambling at him like that.

"Danny." Bruce finally cut in as the other was about to restart his entire plea for help. "World ending or personal."

The white haired man blinked as he finally floated to the side and let his reformed feet touch the ground. "Both? Sort of?"

Bruce grunted, the universal sigh for the other man to elaborate and the children payed attention interested on what was going on.

"I have a diplomatic meeting with the Tempest Dimension. One of their Demon Lords discovered that interdimensional travel is actually possible by having created a portal when he tried to teleport somewhere in their Dimension. I can't take Dani and Dan with me for this, the last time I allowed them to accompany me they nearly caused a dimensional war. Clockwork doesn't want to watch them, Jazz is to busy trying her newest psychological tortur- I mean therapy on Joker and I can't make the fruitloop watch them since both Dan and Dani swore they would wreck havoc if I leave them with him during football season."

Bruce arched an eyebrow and Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yea I know, but last time Trenchcoat watched them he nearly sold his soul again to never ever babysit them again. And Clark is too nice to watch them, they will use it against him."

Bruce hummed. "How old are they now?"

"Five and ten body wise since the assimilation process with their bodies finished a couple years ago. They should start normal aging soon."

The bat-kids exchanged confused, disturbed and partially horrified looks at what the two men were talking about. There were so many questions they had. They were wondering if they could make Bruce talk about his childhood and get some information about Phantom that way. Tim had attempted researching him once and barely found anything besides some disturbing information about a haunted tourist town called Amity Park that was Phantom's territory.

"Bruce! Please! They have a dragon with a human body in that dimension! I just know that Dan or Dani will attempt to fight him!" Suddenly an idea popped in Dicks head and exchanged a glance with his siblings, checking if they had similar thoughts.

"We could watch them!" Dick then piped up, this was their chance to find out more about Phantom and his relationship with their dad.

Wide green eyes blinked at Dick and for a moment he felt like he had made a grave mistake, especially as he noticed Jason was sneaking away now like he decided he did not want to be part of any of this. Which is fair but come on, this was their chance.

"Are you sure?" Phantom questioned him carefully, side eyeing Bruce who was still calmly sipping his coffee and gave phantom a slight nod.

"You said five and ten, right? How bad can it be watching kids their age! They can even hang out with me and Dami!"

"Do not involve me-" Damian's complaint was shushed by Tim stuffing a pancake in the others mouth, earning him a death glare from their youngest but it was good to know that at least one of them was on his side with this plan.

This time Danny exchanged a full on look with their father, it appeared like they were silently talking. Something Dick doesn't really remember Bruce doing with anyone in the way he saw it right now.

"Well if you say so…" Phantom slowly agreed before reaching with his hand into a green portal pulling out a heavy looking bag. "This is the medicine box. If either of them look the slightest bit melty use the syringes in here. That's ecto-dejecto and basically ghost medicine for them. Though for emergencies there is a portal amulet that leads right to Frostbite."

The bat-kids looked stunned at what Danny was holding up before putting it back into the medical box and pulling out a silver green thermos front he bag. "If Dan misbehaves in any way or form use this to put him in time out. Just point the open Thermos in his direction and press the button down here. Pressing the button again will release him, but if he misbehaves to the point of having to use the thermos you can leave him in there until I pick them up again."

They knew that Phantom wasn't completely human but was that normal parenting? Hadn't they seen him use that thermos on enemies of the JLD before? And he was using it to discipline his kids?

"They know better than to overshadow anyone to get their will but in case one of them does, these bracelets should keep you safe from it. Otherwise call Bruce, he is one of the four and a half adults they listen to too."

"Is all of that really necessary? I am just babysitting them right?" Dick asked, still a bit stunned as Phantom handed him the bag.

"Yes. I never said it would be easy." The man only answered before opening another portal and sticking his head through for a brief moment.

A little girl of five hopped out of it a second later looking like a perfect copy of Danny Nightingale's human form, though what was more shocking was the hulk of a man with flaming hair coming through the portal growling and snarling at them as the grown man stood behind the girl with crossed arms. From the corner of his eyes Dick saw Phantom pinching the bridge of his nose. Before he floated over to the tall man and quite frankly pinched and pulled on that man's ear.

"Dan. Human-form now."

The man continued to growl and snarl for a moment with blazing red eyes before two white circles formed around his middle. A transformation they had seen a couple of times before from Phantom after Bruce had admitted to knowing him personally and introduced him as Danny.

Instead of the hulking beast of a man there was now a ten years old boy that looked surprisingly similar to Damian just lighter skinned and blue eyed. The boy still growled at them with his arms crossed while the little girl giggled. Damian was looking at the two with narrowed eyes before he turned his stare on Bruce.

"This is Dani and Dan." Danny introduced the two kids and Dick heard Tim mutter something about unoriginality when it came to naming. But before anyone else could comment on anything or even greet the kids an eyeball appeared out of thin air. The ghost hero and his kids looked at it for a moment before the man sighed dismissing it with a wave of his hand.

"I have to go now! Dani, Dan behave and play nice. If anything goes wrong Bruce has my emergency summoning pendant!" A second later Phantom disappeared through the portal the kids had come in, the little girl, Dani, gleefully shouting a quick "Bye mom!" Before the portal closed.

There was a moment of silence before Damian decided to break it. "Father, I believe there is something you have failed to inform us about."

"And that would be?"

"The existence of blood related siblings you have sired with Phantom."

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luveline · 1 year

Text

𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

Hotch touches your face much more than a boss should. Or, 5 times you have a nosebleed +1 time Hotch does.

8k words, a slightly bloody coworkers to lovers, fem!reader, nosebleeds, reader works in the BAU but isn't a profiler, jack is a sweetheart, hotch has game fr, fluff + hurt/comfort

༺༻

You like your desk job. You handle paperwork primarily, and act as a sort of assistant unofficially. Anything to be useful — you get paid either way. It's why you don't mind trying to be helpful in the office and take on some of the office administrator's overflow.

Today, that's fixing the coffee machines. The office can function on one at a stretch but both being broken means an entire roster of grumpy agents and all of them are on your back. And when they have to see all the stuff they say? You figure fixing the coffee machines is the least you can do.

You're ignoring the weight of their waiting, elbow deep in one of the machines. The instruction manual had mentioned a little spout that can get clogged with detriment. Hopefully, you can clean it out and get at least one machine working by midday.

"Oh no," you murmur.

The piece you're trying to unscrew is tightly wound, too tight for your fingers to work behind. You're probably going to need a small tool, like an allen key.

"No luck?" Agent Prentiss asks, sounding defeated.

You look up from the machine and smile quickly. "I need smaller hands," you joke, letting the machine sit back on the counter and pulling out your aching fingers. "I'll have one working by the end of the day, Agent Prentiss. Scout's honour."

She shrugs and waves a hand at you. "It's alright. What's one day without caffeine?"

You laugh at her good-natured sarcasm and go back to your machine. When you're certain you can't jimmy it you turn your attention to the second machine and run through the steps. You're too determined to lose. Your coworkers depend on you.

You start by changing the filter and are unsurprised when that doesn't work. You check the button connectivity, the fuse, and then you turn again to that small piece that needs to be washed.

"Yes," you cheer under your breath, pulling the piece from its home to assess the problem.

It's a tiny pipe with a piece of mesh that acts as a sieve to trap dust. Maybe. Whatever it is, it's full of caramelised coffee grounds. You move to the sink basin and turn on the faucet to clean it, washing with anticipation as the burned coffee trickles down the drain.

You're pleased enough to feel a mild adrenaline rush, and your excitement leads to butter fingers: you drop the prized piece of pipe and it rolls out of sight.

This is not a good time for business casual.

You tug your too-tight pants from your thighs and bend down in search. When it doesn't reveal itself you get on your knees and run your hands along the seams of the kitchen cabinets, face lowered.

"Is everything okay?"

You wince at a very familiar, very unfortunately timed voice.

"Yes, sir, everything is perfect," you say, looking up to meet the eye of your boss' boss, unit chief SSA Aaron Hotchner. "I've misplaced a piece but I'll have the coffee machine working again in no time. I'm sorry."

He raises his eyebrows at you. It's a very nice expression on him, his eyes light with an emotion you don't often see on him. "Is fixing the coffee machine in your job description?" he asks.

You think it might be a polite reprimand. You won't insult him by insisting you're always on time with your actual delegated workload because he and your supervisor have to send you emails asking for missing paperwork all the time, so you try to disarm him.

You beam.

You're not a supermodel but everybody is pretty when they smile. "Sir, I thought I could sacrifice my lunch break for the good of the Bureau."

"Yes, well." He looks like he wants to smile back. You might be seeing what you want to see, though. "That won't be necessary. Take your time."

Your smile falters as you feel a telling heat at the back of your nose. "Thank you," you say quickly, covering your nostril with the pad of your index finger.

You're hoping your swift words will send him on his way, but he's literally the lead profiler of the BAU. He knows suspicious activity when he sees it.

"Is something wrong?"

Blood starts to trickle down your palm. You slide your hand up to cover your nose the best that you can. The alarm on his face when he spots the blood sliding down your bare forearm can't be understated.

"It's just a nosebleed," you placate, sounding stuffed up.

He's a quick thinker, tearing a wad of paper towel off of the dispenser above the microwave and offering it to you.

If you weren't so distracted by your current predicament you'd say thank you.

He turns back to the paper towels and tears off another wad. To your horror, Hotch bends down right there in the kitchenette and waits for you to open your palm, feeding the towels into your spare hand.

"Should you tilt your head back?"

"I think that's a myth," you say.

Your skin starts to scrawl with embarrassment, the itchy, awful feeling of being pinned by his eyes.

"How long do they usually last?"

"Not very long, sir. I'm sure you're busy."

He tilts his head slightly to one side as if conceding your point. "Let me help you up," he commands.

You can't make yourself reject his help. Honestly, it's nice to have somebody care even if the nosebleed is purely superficial. His fingers curl around the crook of your elbow and he helps you onto your feet just in time for Agent Prentiss to return.

"Hotch, what did you do?" she asks, bewildered.

You try not to laugh too much, worried you'll force another burst of blood.

—

Confidential information. You hear it, you ignore it. Harder to ignore the whiteboards in the conference room that are currently choc-a-block with prints of crime scene photos.

You don't mean to gawk at them. It's severely unprofessional and you shouldn't really be in here to begin with. The electronic screen is off, as are the monitors, so you know the room isn't in use.

That could change any second, and it does.

You hide your clammy palms behind your back at the sound of footsteps and try not to rush obviously toward the mug you'd come in here to collect.

The door creaks open as you're leaning over the table.

"I'm sorry," you say without looking.

"You don't have to clean up after anyone."

"Actually," you say quietly, abashed at having been caught, "this is my mug."

You turn to face him.

Agent Hotchner is tall and handsome. These are two undeniable facts and yet every time you see him it feels like a surprise. It might have something to do with how composed he is, how deliberate his movements are, or it might just be 'cause you have a crush on him.

It's anybody's guess.

"I can make Reid wash it," he says.

You're so whipped that your chest confuses his offer for something much worse. Like, he's on your side.

"That's okay, I don't wanna punish him for my own fussiness." You cover the mugs printed sides subtly, or as subtly as you're able.

"What's special?"

You smile at him, lips pressed together tight and eyes squinting slightly. You know what he's getting at but you ask anyways, stalling now he's caught you. "About what?"

"About the mug."

You peer behind him.

"You can't tell anyone," you murmur, rounding the table to stand by his side with your shoulders to the door. "I'm not sure anybody knows it's mine."

The mug is a corn-husk yellow and printed with a scene from a vintage Peanuts comic, dark-haired Lucy standing behind her lemonade stand that boasts 'Psychiatric Help 5¢'. Charlie Brown sits in front of it looking morose.

It's hard to describe why you like it so much.

"I see," Agent Hotchner says.

It's become something of an office joke, offering each other five cents on bad days, calling someone Charlie Brown when they look lost. You doubt very much that anyone is making fun of you, you're just hiding that it's your mug because that's part of the fun. The mystery of the Peanuts mug.

"I can't drink out of anything else," you confide, turning your face to his.

He's definitely smiling this time. "Why would you?"

You nod in genuine delight. "Exactly! Vintage Peanuts, and I searched so much for this because they used to use lead in glassware paint, and-"

The nosebleed comes on suddenly. There's a drop of blood running down your lips before you've even realised. Agent Hotchner's eyes follow it all the way down.

"Oh, no," you say, blood dripping to the hill of your chin.

You use the back of the hand that's holding the mug to catch what's rolling down your neck and the other to pinch your nose closed, bending forward on instinct to hide your face. You're seasoned in nosebleeds. You know how you look — scary. Ridiculous.

"Here," Agent Hotchner says.

His hand comes into your eyeline, offering a dark square of fabric. You cringe at the idea of marring his likely expensive handkerchief but you can't not accept, pressing it haphazard to your bloody nose.

"What were you saying about lead?"

You're so frazzled about the blood you don't realise he's made a joke until it's too late to laugh.

"Do you know what causes them?" he asks.

"I'm not really sure, sir. I used to get them all the time as a kid, um…" You pull the handkerchief away from your nose to check if it's still bleeding. When it doesn't continue, you say, "They're pretty harmless. It's done already."

"If you need time off for a check-up, I'm sure the office administrator can find a sick day for you."

You smile at him, and then remember the blood and grimace. I must look like Carrie right now, you think morosely.

"That won't be necessary, sir, thank you. It's apparently the dry air." You're starting to feel more and more warm under his serious gaze. There's a startling amount of concern there. "I'm gonna go clean up now. Excuse me," you say, face glowing with heat.

"Of course."

You cover your bloody face with the back of your hand, his handkerchief held in red-stained fingers. You pass Agent Prentiss on the stairs, hurrying past her with an I'm okay smile.

"Hotch, again?" you hear Agent Prentiss ask incredulously. "Where do you get off?"

—

You can't return Hotch's handkerchief, it's a biohazard, but the fabric had felt so soft and the monogram in the corner had cued you in on how expensive it must have been. Your guilt manifests itself into three new handkerchiefs with the embroidered A.H. They aren't half as nice as the one he'd let you ruin. You leave them on his desk — or rather, you get Dr. Reid to leave them on his desk, as walking into his office doesn't feel like something you're allowed to do — and try to forget about them.

For a week, you do. Agent Hotchner doesn't visit his office, Agent Jareau apprehends him on his way in that morning and the profiling team gather around their round table, and you don't see any of them for four days. The Friday they return, you're already on your way home.

That's why his actions the following Monday shock you.

It's unusual that he walks anywhere that isn't a straight shot to his desk. You're doing paperwork for once in your life, sitting awkwardly with your foot hooked under your thigh and a pair of wired earphones in. It's not technically allowed but he really doesn't venture over to you often. You've become complicit in your unsupervised nirvana of a desk job.

You snatch your earphone out and struggle into a normal position. "Agent Hotchner," you say, wondering if you should call him Special Supervisory, or maybe something cooler, like your Highness. Your grace. He's intimidating in his accomplishments at the FBI, and he's super handsome.

"Can I see you in my office? Ten minutes."

You nod brainlessly.

Your desk buddy doesn't wait long after he's left to investigate.

"What did you do?" they ask from across the short partition.

"I really don't know," you say, though you have your suspicions.

"Were you reading on your computer again? I told you, read under the desk like a normal person."

"No, I learned my lesson with that one when Agent Morgan started reciting Pride and Prejudice from over my shoulder."

You check your face in a compact before you report to Agent Hotchner's office. Your heart beats in your throat as you knock his open door.

"Come in," he says without looking up.

You take a cautious step.

He finishes off quickly and lifts his chin. His eyes are dark in the early morning light, his hair in mild disarray from the wind and drizzle.

"Come in," he says again.

You wish there was a word that could describe his voice accurately. He talks in the peaceable kind of cadence that comes with hushed tones without truly being hushed.

"Sir…" You bite the bullet. "If this is about the macadamia cookies, I promise I'll replace them. I didn't actually eat any of them. They kind of fell out of the cabinet and exploded, it was a freak accident."

He holds up his hand. "Thank you. For the handkerchiefs. They were unnecessary."

He says 'unnecessary' with a smile.

"Actually, sir, I think they were entirely necessary." You just disagreed with your boss. "Sir. I couldn't return the first, I ruined it and I- I didn't think you'd want it even if I got it dry cleaned."

He raises his eyebrows. "It was unnecessary," he repeats, the word drawn out carefully. "But, I appreciate the gesture. Thank you."

Two thank you's. You stop while you're ahead. "You're more than welcome, Agent Hotchner, sir."

You share an amicable glance and turn to leave.

"L/N?"

You stutter to a halt. "Sir?"

"Hotch is fine."

You try not to swallow your own tongue. "Hotch," you say, and then worry that's something people only do in movies.

A few days later, your humming along to your earphones and wading through the chaos of the bullpen feeling pretty happy. The office has been busy but not in the scary, suffocating way, and you're happy to be here. The BAU can be hard (and that's as someone who isn't on the front line). Times like this are cherished.

You pause a foot from your desk, eyes creasing into a suspicious squint.

There's a small box on your desk.

"What is that?" you ask your desk buddy.

"What?" they ask.

"That. There's a thing on my desk."

"Nothing to do with me."

"Think I should call the bomb squad?"

"I'm sure you'll be alright. Maybe read the note before you raise the alarm."

"There's a note?" you mumble, caution swiftly overrun by a burning curiosity.

You'd be sincerely worried about a bomb, only this is the FBI. If a bomb got this far into the building half the people in it would lose their jobs. You kick your bag under the desk and drop your ipod onto the desk, tinny music blaring from your earphones.

"What are you?" you ask under your breath.

The box is wrapped in crepe paper and a yellow sticky note has been attached to the top.

Rest assured, made without lead.

That only confuses you more. You're hesitance has your desk mate sitting up in their chair. "Wait," they say, peering over the glass partition, "should I raise the alarm?"

You slide a trim fingernail under a neat stripe of tape. "No, I think we're good," you mumble.

And lo and behold, a mug is homed inside. A Peanuts mug no less; the mug has been printed with a Peanuts comic panel. Charlie Brown lays on the floor in a straight plank, and standing overy him is his friend Linus, who says, "I have been asked to tell you that your cries of anguish are keeping the whole neighbourhood awake!"

You laugh loud and instinctively, shrill enough to attract the attention of half the office. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you slouch down as low as possible in your desk chair. Heat pools in your cheeks.

"What is it?" your desk mate asks.

"A present."

And hence your new favourite mug is brought into life. You write your name on the bottom with black sharpie and continue to deny all knowledge of the first, which you retire to the drawer of your desk.

For a while your nosebleeds go away. You know exactly who left the mug on your desk, and you remember the joke he'd made. Maybe Hotch had been on to something, and you'd inadvertently poisoned yourself.

You smile practically every time you see your new mug, and you're unsurprised when others appreciate its humour.

You're not sure how to explain it to an eight year old, though.

You're slumped over, nose to the desk and hand working diligently across your notes. Having a crush on your boss makes doing your work easier because you're constantly trying to impress him — an impossible task, but trying all the same. Your earphones bump a soft love song, something sweet to cut through the unhappy details of the case file you're working on.

"What are you listening to?" a small voice asks.

You drag your gaze up slowly and find Jack Hotchner standing beside your desk. You've seen him in person a few times, and once as Hotch's phone wallpaper, but he grows so much between visits you almost don't recognise him.

"I'm sorry," you say, pulling your earphone out, "what did you say?"

"What song are you listening to?" he asks, hands creeping up over the lip of your desk.

You sit up and smile at him. You can't say he looks like Hotch, though maybe you can see it in his tiny grin, that hint of cheekiness. "I'm listening to a song called At Last. It's a love song. Do you… want to listen?" you offer quietly.

He nods.

You push your chair away from your desk and turn down the ipod's volume so it doesn't damage his hearing. "Here," you say, offering one of your earbuds. "Don't push it in, okay? I don't want it to hurt your ears."

Jack takes the proffered earbud but doesn't seem super interested. "Do you have The Beatles?" he asks.

"The Beatles! Is that what you and your dad listen to?"

He nods, pleased, and you nod yourself, flicking through your songs in search of what he wants.

"I have Here Comes the Sun. Do you like that one?"

He beams. "Yes! Me and dad sing that one in the car."

That's a really nice image, Hotch and Jack belting happy lyrics together in the busy mornings. It's also odd. Hotch singing isn't an image you can say you've ever thought of before.

"I love this one," you tell him, letting your elbows dig into your thighs so the two of you are eye level with one another.

"Me too."

You share the earbuds, Jack combing your desk for something interesting no doubt. You cover a case detail that involves some gory images and almost knock over your mug in your haste.

"What does that say?" he asks, pointing.

Jack looks between you and the mug for answers.

You lick your lips. "Uh, do you want me to read it to you?"

He thinks about it. "Can I try?"

"Of course you can."

You clear a path for the mug and place it in front of him.

"I have been asked to tell you," he begins confidently, "that your cries of an-" He frowns. "Anguish are keeping the whole ne… I don't know that."

"I'm sure you do, it just looks weird. Neighbourhood."

"Neighbourhood," he repeats. "Keeping the whole neighbourhood awake." He huffs a boyish, gentle laugh that makes your heart spin.

"Good job, buddy."

He melts under your praise. He's a cute kid, and his hair shines golden under the office lighting. It flops to one side as he tilts his head. "What's 'anguish'?"

"Anguish. Uhm, it's like sadness."

"Oh." He takes this in. "Do you have Let It Be?"

You eventually give up your chair and let Jack sit with your ipod in his lap, playing through all The Beatles songs that you have. Nobody seems to be watching you and Hotch has yet to come out of his office and tell you off for supplying his son with technology, so you work around him, leaning over the back of the chair to fill in what's missing from your reports.

Jack leans back in his chair, his adorable singing coming to a stop. "Do you have movies on the computer?"

Yes, but should my boss' son know that? "It's for work," you say regretfully.

"Not even FernGully?"

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "It's okay, it's not your fault."

"Do you like to draw? I don't have many colours, but we can play a game."

He smiles for a moment, then hesitation crawls over his features. "Dad says not to disturb anyone."

"I'm on my lunch break," you assure him. You hadn't been, but you don't mind taking it now. "Are you hungry? I have oranges."

You and Jack end up sitting under your desk. You really don't mean to end up like that; you sit on your knees because your back has started to ache and Jack wants to sit with you. You can't say no to him. (You could, you just don't want to.)

"What did she say after that?" you ask, fingers digging into two orange segments to pull them apart. You shave off all of the strands of white pith before you pass it to Jack, who says thank you every time.

"She said to ask Stacy who said to ask Morgan P who said to ask Joan. And Joan said she didn't wanna know, but then she changed her mind after I told her abd she said to ask Cooper."

"What did Cooper say?"

"Cooper says he doesn't think he knows where it is."

You nod, chewing your own orange slice slovenly. "Well, what did your dad say?"

"I haven't told dad."

You lift your head from the paper where Jack has drawn an impressive house with five windows. "You haven't told your dad?"

"He worries about everything."

"That's his job, Jack. He has to worry about you."

"He worries about everybody."

"Some people do." You clean another orange slice for him, and he says thank you again. "You're welcome… Jack, I really think you should tell you dad. It sounds like somebody might have taken your pencil case on purpose. And even if he can't find out who did, he can get you some new pencils for school."

"I told mom but she hasn't done anything yet."

Your stomach hurts.

"Well," you murmur, picking up the green pen, "I'm sure she's trying her best, baby. Can I help colour in these trees?"

You and Jack fall into a companionable silence, his head bobbing to You Make My Dreams (Come True) the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're not sure how long you sit there, but all good things must come to an end, and your half hour for lunch draws to a close.

"Hey, Jack?" you say, straightening where you kneel and preparing to stand. "I have some stuff I have to do but you're welcome to stay there."

Unfortunately, you don't manage to grab his attention. Double unfortunately, somebody else does.

"Morgan, where's Jack?"

You peek past your desk chair. A little ways away, Hotch stands looking sick to his stomach, and Agent Morgan looks lost.

"I didn't have him?"

"I asked him to sit with you," Hotch says miserably, throwing his gaze over the office. "Jack?"

Jack hears that loud and clear. Something in his dad's tone must spark some urgency, as he stands in a rush and trips on his own shoelace, smacking the top of his head into your nose.

You gasp.

"Ouch," Jack moans.

Blinking, you shake off your disorientation. "Oh no, are you okay? Here, sweetheart, stand up," you encourage gently, "I'm so sorry, have I hurt your head?"

Jack's gaze to the floor, he rubs the top of his head with a clumsy hand. "It's okay, Miss Agent, it wasn't you and-" He stares at you.

"What?" you ask.

"Dad!" he shouts, backing away from you. "Daddy!"

Jack runs out of your little alcove and straight into his father's legs, almost bowling him over. Hotch drops two relieved hands down to his small shoulders. "What?" he asks, startled, "What happened?"

Your nose stings, admittedly, but you've felt worse. It's a light throbbing that distracts you entirely from the blood racing down your lips until you taste it.

Shit, you think, crawling out from under the desk with one hand, the other clamped over your bleeding nose. Your movement draws Hotch's attention, which in turn gathers at least a quarter of the office's.

"I didn't mean to," Jack says shrilly.

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," you say stuffily, clambering onto shaky legs.

You turn your head away from the collective gaze of the office and start toward the kitchen and hear at least three different people say, "Wait!"

You ignore them, using your elbow to help tear off a paper towel from the roll and pushing it without finesse against your face. You squirm under the weight of tens of eyes, more embarrassed than anything else, worse when a warm hand turns you by the shoulder.

"He really didn't mean to," you say, looking up into Hotch's concerned face.

"I know."

"Is he okay?”

"He's not the one with a nosebleed," Hotch says, neither kind nor unkind.

"I honestly didn't even feel it."

His fingers curl around your wrist, a slow tightening. "That doesn't surprise me, Y/N."

You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. “He bumped his head into me."

"Mm. Just a red mark. It won't even bruise."

You deflate in relief. "Oh, good."

Hotch's hands have found their way onto yours. He pulls one from your nose, gaze hardening at the strong river of blood that makes its way into the dip of your cupid's bow.

"I'm sorry, sir."

He shakes his head and gathers another wad of tissue paper, a light blue that quickly turns to a wine dark when he presses it to your face. Your heart hammers at his proximity, a thousand and one nerves aflame.

He's close but not too close, nothing anyone could mistake for something else, and still it feels like a strangely intimate moment. His careful touches. He directs your hand to hold a fresh paper towel to the stream of blood and discards the bloody tissue. You watch him push up his sleeves carefully and give his hands a quick rinse in the sink before he dampens another paper towel.

It's cool against your neck.

"I think your shirt is ruined," he says, dabbing at a line of dried blood.

You shiver at the feeling of cold water dripping under your starched collar.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, moving up to your jaw.

You don't know how to admit it to him. No, it doesn't hurt. Your hands are really warm, and you're touching me so gently I can barely feel it.

"A little."

"Well, Jack is very sorry."

"He doesn't have to be. He tripped, he…" You fade off as Hotch lays his hand across your cheek, thumb lifting your head slightly so he can clean your chin.

"How are you faring?" he asks.

You pull your tissue away and wait for the tell-tale heat of continued blood flow. You're ashamed to admit it but you're almost glad it hasn't stopped, Hotch's hand warm and large and impossibly comforting. Nosebleeds don't stress you out, exactly, but it's not fun to be covered in your own blood at work where everyone can see you. It's nice to have somebody wiping it away.

"I think I'll live," you say.

—

Jack sends you an apology card.

It's hand delivered. Hotch is coming up to the BAU main floor as you're heading out. Like a rock dividing a river, his teammates stream from the elevator around you and Hotch remains inside.

"I'll catch up," he promises.

Agent JJ raises her eyebrows. Agent Morgan chuckles.

You draw in on yourself self-consciously. You don't dress as nicely when he isn't here, and today you're rivalling Dr. Reid for most lovable dork in a pair of brown pants and a big sweater. Teetering the line between professional and unprofessional.

"Sir," you greet, stepping into the elevator.

He presses the ground floor button. "I have something for you."

Your eyebrows jump up high. Hotch unzips the main zipper of his duffle back and threads between clothes and papers for a smaller envelope.

"It's for you."

You accept, careful not to tear the thin sheet of folded paper as you pull it free. You're thrilled to see a drawing of Charlie Brown on the front, crudely drawn but clearly him with his head-wrapped in bandages. His puppy Snoopy sits beside him with something in his hands. You're not sure what.

The inside is even sweeter.

To Y/N

I am sorry if I made your nose angwished. Please feel better soon

Love, Jack Hotchner.

"Oh, I love it," you say, rubbing your thumb over a heart drawn in red crayon. "He's really something else, Hotch. He's brilliant, and so smart. I mean, anguished."

He laughs and it twists your chest in five different directions. "He is."

"It wasn't his fault though. If my nose weren't so sensitive it really wouldn't have bled at all, I didn't bruise. How is he? Did his head feel better?"

The doors open. You hesitate, waiting for his reply.

"Children are made of harder stuff than we are," he says.

You step backwards out of the elevator. "I felt so bad. I don't suppose he'll want to come and sit with me again."

"Actually," Hotch says, stepping out of the elevator just as the doors close again, "he thinks you're, uh, in his own words, the 'coolest friend' I've ever had."

"Friend," you repeat with a smile.

You've focused on the wrong word, and you worry an awkward silence will ensue, but Hotch steps up to the plate and says, "Yeah. He wouldn't stop telling me about all the cool songs you have on your ipod."

"Purely for non-working hours."

"Right." His smile says that he's seen straight through you.

You're thinking maybe he likes what he sees.

"This is really amazing," you reaffirm, pressing Jack's card to your chest.

"He felt guilty."

"He doesn't have to. Please, tell him I said thank you. And that he's amazing. And that my nose was being dramatic." You smile softly. "He can sit with me whenever he likes."

"Maybe at the desk, next time, rather than under it."

"Yes, sir."

You nod at him and he nods back, and you take it as a dismissal, turning on your heel. You've barely walked a metre when he's speaking up.

"Y/N?"

You look at him from over your shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Are you hungry?"

You bite your cheek in a hurry to answer, “Yeah. I’m starving.”

Your heart is basically a ticking time bomb in your chest as you and Hotch make your way into the heart of the city. He's a fast walker with long legs and you rush to keep up. That’s totally why you’re breathless. Not because he makes you nervous.

Hotch is a really surprising guy, though maybe he isn’t surprising at all, you’re simply unversed in how he is outside of work. He talks more and his voice grows louder the further into the city you go, more expressive.

You’re no profiler, but you’d bet money on Aaron Hotchner being nervous.

Good thing you’re nervous, too.

“It’s not far now. You like Thai?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course. Have you ever had Tom Yum?”

“With shrimp?”

“Exactly.”

“I think I’ve tried it. I lived off of pad Thai when I was a prosecutor,” he says, head tilting back very slightly. His Adam’s apple works under the skin.

He looks back down, a sheepishness to his voice as he continues, “A lot of late nights.”

“More than now?” you ask skeptically.

His laugh is low and warm. “No. The firm was much closer to the city than the bureau. It’s a long walk.”

“It is,” you say, taking a small step closer to his side to share a secret smile, “but it hasn’t felt that way tonight.”

You try to keep it light. You don’t want to scare him off.

“No,” he agrees. “It hasn’t.”

You duck into a fragrant Thai restaurant and order fast, the two of you knee to knee in the very corner. A potted plant threatens to blind him every time he moves, and so he endeavours to stay very still.

The food's a little on the spicy side, and while you're laughing you can't find it in you to feel embarrassed about your runny nose.

"You didn't like Seinfeld?" you ask, and how you got here's a mystery, but Hotch is extremely passionate about it in the best way.

"No, of course not. How could you? George was always worrying about something, he was the definition of a self-fulfilling prophecy and he never learned!" he debates, all in a rush, chopsticks moving in emphasis.

You snort and wipe your nose again. "It was like a relief, though, that it was happening to him and not to you, you know? You might be having a bad day but George Costanza's having a worse one."

"Oh, honey," he says.

It takes you a second to realise that he's talking to you.

"What?" you ask, perplexed.

Hotch stands up though there's no space for it, chopsticks ditched and hand pushed into the recesses of his pocket swiftly. He pulls out a small packet of tissues, and he lifts his chin, a jut. You lift your own, and he's quick to press the tissue to your nose.

"It's bleeding?" you ask, startled.

"Just a little."

"Sorry."

"No, no," he says, bent down, a comforting hand around your shoulder, "don't be. It gives me an excuse."

"To do what?"

"To be this close."

Your smile is a slow, molasses thick thing. You can't get a handle on it, and Hotch's answering one is worse. He looks so happy to be here with you, to be wiping your bloody nose.

It's only a small nose bleed. Hotch pulls the tissue away once or twice to check, wiping at it tenderly and giving you a comforting squeeze each time. The silence feels natural as breathing.

"There," he says eventually, pulling the bloodied tissue away with a smile. "All done."

"Thank you, Hotch."

"I'd think you'd better start calling me Aaron, considering."

"Considering what?"

His hand climbs from your shoulder to the column of your throat. He doesn't make you wait any longer, leaning down with a sure, brave deliberateness. He presses his lips to yours.

A sweet kiss but too short — barely two seconds and he's taking a half-step away, your lips tingling in want.

You go to stand and he pushes you down into your seat, not unkindly. "I'm gonna go see if I can get some hot water for you," he says, placating your gutted look with a kiss to your cheek.

He wipes it thoughtlessly with the pad of his thumb before he goes.

You're genuinely surprised your nose doesn't start bleeding again at the look he gives you as he turns the corner toward the restaurant's kitchen. Protective, knowing. Your heart races in your chest.

You probe at your face, elated. Your sensitive nose is good for something after all.

—

The first time you sleepover with Aaron is an accident. You don't "mess around," as you'd crooned over the phone, joking but with enough salaciousness to make him smile. The gas and hot water had stopped working in your apartment, and though the landlord had promised they'd fix it the very next morning, Aaron couldn't stand to think about you cold and alone when you could easily be warm and with him.

So here you are.

"Are you sure this is okay?" you whisper, peering over his shoulder at Jack.

His son stands in the living room in his pyjamas.

"It's okay," he says, "I asked him, and you know he's obsessed with you. His one condition is that you watch FernGully."

"FernGully," you say, enthused.

"You'll like it."

You actually really do. Showered and dressed in your own pyjamas, a little shy but not too much to stop from laying against his side on the sofa. He's got one arm around you and one around Jack but he might as well be invisible, the two of you talking in murmurs across his chest.

"And that's-"

"Pips," Jack supplies helpfully.

"Pips," you say, hand spread over Aaron's chest.

If he didn't know better he'd think this was a slice of heaven.

"So many people," you whisper in Aaron's ear.

"More in the second one."

"There's two?"

After the movies finished — "It was better than you said, Jack," — and dinner’s been eaten and cleared away, Aaron takes Jack to bed.

"Do you want a story?" Aaron asks, flitting around the room in a half-hearted attempt to square away the mess.

"No."

"You sure?"

Jack's eyes are heavy, and they have been since dinner. "Yes," he mumbles, face turned into his pillow, hands lax on top of his blanket.

Aaron smiles and makes his way to Jack's side. He kisses his son's cheek, and strokes the soft hair from his face. He smells like strawberry toothpaste and kids shampoo.

You're sitting on the end of the bed when he gets to you, face damp with skincare and shining in the light. Aaron kisses you without touching it, worried he'll mess it up.

“He’s wiped. All the excitement,” he says.

“Excitement- From me?” you ask.

“From you.” He puts his hands carefully either side of your neck.

You haven’t been dating very long, and still he knows how easy it is to fluster you. And while he loves to see it, see you giddy and shy, blinking at nothing like there’s a light shining in your eyes. He’d once pressed his thumb with the very faintest of pressure into your windpipe while kissing you, and you hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for three days.

He loves that, but he’d prefer if you slept facing him. He wants to see what you look like asleep, as odd as it sounds, he assumes you’ll be beautiful. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were more.

“Aaron,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Want me to massage your bad shoulder?”

He wonders, as he thinks is more than allowed, if that’s a seduction trick, but you genuinely just give him a massage, as you have a couple of times in his office after noticing how sore it gets now the weather’s cold.

You rub into the problem spot carefully, sighing with sympathy. “Oh, baby,” you say, more to yourself than him.

He fucking loves the way you say it. Aaron’s never been called baby like that — like it’s his name, and it’s sweet to say. Your tired yawns warm the back of his neck as you go. He doesn’t think he’s getting lucky tonight, and he doesn’t care one bit. He feels pretty lucky just having you near.

He gets you under the covers before you can fall asleep against his back and makes sure you know how grateful he is for the massage with two kisses. The first is a genuine thank you and the second is to make you laugh, nipping and playful under your jaw.

Aaron falls asleep thinking about it.

He wakes to something much less idyllic.

It’s that strange feeling. Being a dad has honed it, but he’s always had it. It’s one of the things that makes him so good at his job, a prickling at the back of his neck. At first he can’t pin it down.

Your waist rises under his hand with your breathing. He remembers that you’re there and smiles contentedly, hand sliding behind your back to pull you in. You’d fallen asleep on your back, and you’ve turned toward him in your sleep.

The metallic stick of blood is sudden and sharp in his nose. He knows what it is before he opens his eyes. The room is dark, lit only by the red light of his alarm clock on the nightstand. His eyes ache with fatigue, and he knows in his gut that it’s too early to get up.

Blood pools under your nose. Not a lot, nothing to panic over, but blood all the same. He sits up, quickly turns on his bedside lamp, and rouses you as gently as he can, a hand slid under your shoulders to drag you up.

You blink blearily. “What?” you ask, voice scratchy.

“Nosebleed,” he informs, pinching your nose before blood can slink down your neck and ruin your pyjama shirt.

You wince and he hates the way you flinch away from his touch, your clouded confusion. It’s only a second but it doesn’t sit right with him.

“Sorry, honey.”

You catch hold of his bicep and blink some more.

“You okay to pinch it yourself? I’ll go grab some tissue paper.”

You nod robotically and replace his light pinching with your own, much less kind. He rushes to grab a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, and when he returns you've pulled yourself into an alert sitting position, awaiting his return.

He tears you off a wad of paper. “Here, honey.”

“I think it’s stopped.”

“Yeah? Let me grab you a towel.”

Back to the bathroom. When he returns for the second time you’re holding his given toilet paper against your face. He’s alarmed to find your eyes glassy with tears, shimmering in the bedroom light.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, sitting across from you.

He’d been right about sleepy you. You look lovely, a little funny with your rumpled pyjamas, and now quite sad because of your tears. “Honey,” he says again, pulling your hand from your face so he can assess the damage, “you’re okay. Is it hurting?”

You’ve told him before the nosebleeds are painless, but maybe they’re a symptom of something, maybe you’re sick—

“I ruined your pillow,” you mutter.

Ah. That’s much better than your being sick. He can work with that easily.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to lift your head. The blood has stopped already; your nosebleeds are often a whirlwind, over by the time you’ve started panicking.

“I’m sorry.”

He drops your bloodied tissue into his lap and brings the dampened towel to your face. He’s cautious. Your nose gets irritated and any roughness could disrupt the blood clot or agitate the anterior blood vessels inside.

“You think I’m mad over a pillow?”

“No, of course not.”

You sound stuffy. It’s adorable. Adorable and sad. He rubs the hill of your chin in a show of affection.

“Then why?”

“Sorry, I think I’m just tired. I- I was trying to make tonight perfect because,” — a small tear bumps down your cheek — “it’s our first night together even if it was accidental.”

He dabs at your upper lip and the wet blood there with a smile growing. “It was perfect. It is perfect. You getting a nosebleed on a seven dollar pillow doesn’t change that.” His hand moves to your cheek, squashing your baby tear. “You know I love any opportunity to touch you… Now, do you want a glass of water?”

You close your eyes and lean your face heavily into his palm. “Can I have one of those kisses from earlier?”

“Can you keep your blood inside your body?” he asks with a smile, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“Depends how hard you bite me.”

He’s very, very gentle.

—

Aaron breaks his nose. You are not supposed to know that he breaks his nose, only he breaks it so bad that he has to go to the hospital to get it set, and he decides he’d like you there.

Technically, somebody else broke his nose. The details aren’t important. What matters is that Aaron makes a rookie mistake and he has to deal with the consequences, which is a biting, aching pain behind his eyes and a trip to the ER. He does not let them take him in an ambulance, and it really isn’t urgent. He sits in a waiting room chair with a stiff back and it doesn’t take long before you’re striding inside looking terrified.

“Hey, baby,” he says, testing it out. He doesn’t really like it.

“What did they give you?” you ask, bending at the waist to take his face into your kind hands.

“Vicodin when I got here.”

“Lucky you.” You turn his face in your hands.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

“I wish I could say the same, but somebody messed you up bad.”

He laughs and takes your face into his hands, the two of you smiling way too much for the situation that you’re in. “I was so worried,” you say with a little laugh.

He kisses you soundly. It hurts, but it’s worth it.

They call his name not long after and a nurse takes you both into a grey examination room. The doctor is a short, stern woman who has to use a stool to reach Aaron’s face, and she sets his nose with a swiftness that even he manages to recognise for the brutality that it is in his drug haze.

You hold his hand. He has to try very hard not to crush your fingers.

It starts bleeding immediately.

Aaron meets your gaze over the doctor's head, eyes wide and in similar fashion as your own, and he knows it’s an adverse reaction to shocking pain but he starts giggling. Aaron Hotchner doesn’t giggle, really. He laughs, and sometimes when he’s with Jack that laugh can get super loose and high, but this is a bona fide giggle.

You try to gasp in shock but you’re laughing too. “Aaron,” you reproach.

He holds his breath as the doctor presses gauze to his face.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says.

You snicker behind your hand. The doctor presses gauze to his face and rolls her eyes. She likely does not get paid enough.

“You’re still handsome,” you say giddily.

“Oh, well that's good.”

There’s a small silence rife with tension, and when it breaks it bursts like a dam. You laugh so hard you end up clinging to his arm, chest pressed to his bicep. He strokes the back of your head with a wobbly hand, wondering how miserable he’d be if you weren’t here with him right now.

“What happened to keeping all your blood inside your body, Hotchner?” you ask, delighted.

He beams at you dopily. “I’ve never been any good at that.”

You kiss his forehead. The doctor is furious.

༺༻

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enihk-writes · 3 months

Text

[someone older]

pairing: older!multi-fandom men x gn!they/them!reader

reader is written to be in their early twenties, under twenty-five and fresh out of uni with their first degree and no corporate work experience.

summary: shorts about old men and a younger beau to-be

content warning: big age-gap relationships // superior-subordinate power imbalance // possible infantilization // some form of saviour-complex // (some unintentional) manipulation

characters: zhongli (genshin impact) // neuvilette (genshin impact) // jing yuan (honkai star rail) // tang gunak (return of the blossoming blade) // dokgo (return of the mad demon) // chongyue (arknights) // shamane (RE:1999) // hiromi higuruma (jujutsu kaisen) // ryū (gokurakugai)

author's note: my lovely oomfs i need yall to look away and pretend im doing okay,,, the demons and the little voices in my head have won and taken over..... i have to make that middle-aged man pregnant so so so so bad it's terminal... (head in hands)... OUGHHHHKKKGSHHH (coughs blood and straight up dies)..... looking at the list here i really have a type huh....

[PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY TRIGGERS CAUSED BEYOND THIS LINE]

ZHONGLI who had lived for long enough to have seen and experienced almost everything one could see, was still taken aback when he felt a familiar throb in his heart as he conversed with the new face of the artisan's alley. a fledgling who had just left their nest and was beginning to make their way into the world — your naivety much unlike your more seasoned neighbours who knew how to set the prices of their goods to gain the maximum profit. you were often tricked and scammed out of selling your wares at their proper price, too scared to stand your ground and disrespect your older customers. the former archon couldn't bear to see a budding talent, such as yourself, sell themselves short out of expected social courtesy. he often found himself buying your highest-priced works even if he had to empty his entire wallet. you were beyond grateful for his patronage, even offering a commission, free of charge. that's just how bad business was before he stepped in. oh you poor thing, now that he knows how easy it was to get you dancing in his palm, how could he let you meet better opportunities? he was your lifeline, the only way you were going to make it in this career you chose. and you better not forget that.

NEUVILETTE knew that he shouldn't be so enamoured with the new hire. really. a being who had been alive for as long as he falling in love with someone thousands of years their junior? he wanted to rip his hair out. the chief justice approached this predicament as he would with almost anything he deemed annoying — avoidance. sending you out on errands that kept you out of the office for the whole day, giving days off to everyone if there was nothing on the agenda, having you go sort out documents in the filing room, and a whole host of other things that made sure you and him wouldn't cross paths. once he had a clearer mind to sit down and think, he is immediately riddled with guilt. weren't his actions akin to that of a black company employer? you on the other hand, could not be happier to hit the jackpot. good pay, regular days off, responsibilities that didn't require you to rack your brain too much. this was everything an energy-saving adult like you could ever want. it must be nice to frolic around and stay blissfully unaware while your boss was in the middle of a mental breakdown alone in his office.

JING YUAN was a calculating man, despite the commonly held belief that he never really took things too seriously. he kept a rather consistent air of nonchalance so impenetrable that it annoyed you whenever you couldn't discern what was on his mind at that moment. your after-hours hobby these days was to drop by the community starchess club and play a few rounds with the people there. and who else was waiting there at your seat every day? your damned boss. the elders who were there swooned over the handsome general, remarking about how you and him made a great pair — much to your chagrin. the man would always send a blinding smile in your way as you got closer, even going so far as to help you settle down. the routine was always the same each night. you would play against him for at least five rounds consecutively, lose against him in almost every single match, play against the other club members, gather your things and go home for the day. the general would also coincidentally be done with his activities. he offered to walk you to your front door, you've learnt from the one time you refused that the general was unusually talented in pulling an extremely sad, pathetic, wet and kicked puppy face. unfortunately, you were too nice to reject him further. ah, but now that he knew of that weakness of yours, you'd better expect that he would be pulling the same trick again soon.

TANG GUNAK felt that he was far too geriatric to be feeling this way. especially when he had adult children of his own. the youngest of whom was only a few years older than you were. a talented person, emerging at the top of your class in the academy meant that the world was your oyster. so why had you decided to come down to sichuan and work as an aide in this family? the patriarch had no clue, and he certainly didn't know how to even bring up the question. at first, he had hoped that perhaps you and one of his children would be wed but as time passed, it became increasingly obvious you were not interested in them at all, rather you had set your sights on the patriarch himself. him? the widower? the poor man who had only felt the touch of his dead wife? he was very scandalised that the young aide of his house was so open about their attraction to him. however, it seemed nobody in the household was on his side. not even his own flesh and blood. though for all that forwardness, he never expected that you would be so hesitant and shy when you were alone with him. it was endearing how you became more diligent whenever that happened, how you would engross yourself in your work just to pretend he wasn't there with you. the next time he looked up from what he was doing, you were passed out on your desk. he moved over to carry you back to your quarters — it was deep into the night right now anyways, so nobody would see him with you in his arms. he tucked you into bed, leaving as quickly as he came. the glimpse of his own flushed face in the reflection of the window never left his mind the rest of that week.

DOKGO had agreed to follow his disciple to town only because said disciple was going to throw a tantrum in his courtyard and the older man was not in the mood to deal with the adult child. the master pretended to not be acquainted with his own disciple when the man began to flirt with the women passing by. he walked on and sat down at a vacant bench in front of a teahouse. his troublesome disciple eventually shook off the girls clinging onto him and joined his master at the table, a string of apologies falling out his mouth when he caught sight of the older man's disapproving glare. only when the younger man offered to pay did the old master's hardened expression fall softer — fine, he said with a grunt. the second headache of the day came in the shape of you, a wandering merchant, or so you said. you slipped in to sit next to the master after the disciple had graciously allowed you to. not like the older man could oppose when there weren't any empty seats in the vicinity. while the conversation was lively as you talked with the disciple about your travels, he could only focus solely on the callouses of your palms, something a merchant who says they are not a martial artist shouldn't have. you had noticed his scrutinising gaze, throwing him a quick grin as you continued the chat with his disciple. oh? he could only wonder what that was about. shame that his dull, blockheaded disciple had let that slip past him. the master wonders if he should up the training regime when they get back.

CHONGYUE was up and early, as he usually does, leading the daily morning exercise with the other operators. the doctor not being there was somewhat expected, but you going missing? that was a first. when the morning exercise was over, he headed up to your room to check on you, finding the door slightly ajar. cautiously, he walked into the dark room, you had a bag of junk near the entry, from the looks of it you were living off cup noodles and soda, again. no wonder you were now curled up in bed all sick. he might have to give you an earful later, but for now, he puts aside your laundry and took out the trash. he goes down to the canteen, ordering some warm chicken porridge and even stopping by the nurse's office to pick up whatever he thinks you might need. this time, you were now somewhat awake. grumbling and muttering complaints under your breath from the disturbance, he helped you sit up. you insisted on feeding yourself, but he would have none of it. you could only comply and open your mouth wide every time he brought the spoon to your lips. you finished the food and even took the medicine obediently, earning praise from the man himself. before he left, he rubbed some medicinal balm on your stomach, layering warm blankets and patted you back to sleep, reciting an abbot's chants as he did so. the nostalgic feeling was comforting. you should thank him when you got better — maybe he might be interested in a popular classic novel from your home country, or should you try your luck with the lacquer pots instead?

SHAMANE spotted a figure hunched over the running stream near his hut as he was out collecting the fresh water he would need for the day. when they didn't answer his calls, he walked over, not too worried about whether the figure was a dangerous critter or not. the snap of a twig had them spin their head in his direction — that's when he met your eyes. you both stared at the other, sizing each other up. when he decided that you were not a threat, he introduced himself with his signature smile. you did the same, albeit quieter, still a little peeved from seeing a large bearded man in the middle of nowhere. friendly as ever, he kept the conversation going. he talked about himself, he asked about you, and so on and so forth until you finally admitted to him that you had gotten lost in the mountains, also you had twisted your ankles. he pointed to his hut and asked if you wanted to rest in there until you got better, how could you say no? the month when you lived under the same roof as him passed by quickly, and soon enough it was time for you to go back down the mountain. when you both parted ways at the entrance of the village, there was an air of reluctance in saying goodbye. you promised to write to him, maybe even visit him. he only laughed you off, not expecting much to come out of that. though when he received his sister's letter not long after, he thought about taking you with him to his hometown. but ah, isn't visiting each other hometowns a thing expectant newlyweds do? well, he could always pretend he didn't know about these things, couldn't he?

HIGURUMA was pretty friendly with the tenants renting out the office space next door. all of whom were fresh design school graduates trying to start a business together. you were the one he's grown the most familiar with, the unofficial boss of the company and the one who was single-handedly juggling your own practice along with other administrative duties. he helped you where he could, the doors to his own law office always open to you — even in the wee hours of the night. you would sit cross-legged on the big swivel chair as both of you engrossed yourselves in your respective work with the boxes of takeout splayed all over his table. when it was late enough that you missed the last train, he drove you back to your apartment. and everytime you sat in the passenger seat, he would reach over to pull the seatbelt on for you. you could have done it yourself but how were you supposed to pass up the chance to have him come this close? enough to even catch a whiff of his cologne? the lawyer himself knew that you were capable enough to do something this simple, but he couldn't help but enjoy the way you tried not to look at him as he did this each time. the ride back was quiet and serene, your tired body sank into the plush of his car seats and soon you were knocked out cold. even when you were both already parked outside your residence, you still wouldn't rouse. he clicks the seatbelt off you, even going so far as to push the seat back so you were lying more comfortably. you've done this enough times where he has a blanket to cover you with as he waited for you to wake up. which you would, and feel so ashamed. he thinks about how cute you were babbling out your apologies and thanks, all while scrambling to pull yourself together and out his car. only to repeat this whole song and dance the very next night.

RYŪ was a bit of a recluse. never really leaving his room unless it was for a really good reason. which was rare, and by rare it was almost never. but a human had to eat, shit and get clean — which was where you came in. as the designated errand runner for the organisation, you were the one that ended up having to take care of that guy's day-to-day needs. you might have hated him at first, with how picky he was with his food, even the brand of his necessities had to be the exact right one. doesn't matter if the stock ran out, you had to go out there and haunt for a place that still has it or else he wouldn't even entertain your presence. the one good thing you had going about you was that you were adaptable, learned things quick and was light on your feet. if things went south, you always had a backup, and a backup for the backup, you get the idea. the man, mayhaps out of the other's insistence, but you liked to think that he had warmed up to you, started to initiate conversations. at some point whenever you brought him his meals, he would make you sit and watch him eat. at first, you didn't know what to talk about, but then you also started bringing your own lunchboxes to eat alongside him, and you talked his ear off about what you made that day. over time, you both fell into a routine and on days when he's kept you a little too long with him, you'd stay over and crash on his couch. and after more time had passed, he's already got some of your clothes together with his in the wardrobe. hell, he even bought a bigger sofa just so you could sleep better whenever you stayed over. give it more time and who knows, you might end up moving in completely, not that this old hack would mind too much.

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hells-wasabii · 3 months

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So I came down with Covid yesterday :(

I was seeing if you were open to do one with Alastor and a sick reader? I don’t do requests often, this is so new to me💕❤️

Hi! I hope you’re feeling better by the time you read this! Covid isn’t fun at ALL, but I hope you enjoy the read!

Character: Alastor

Type: Headcanons+Drabble (Alastor x sick!reader, Fluff)

Alastor as a caretaker would honestly be a sight to behold. And he’s surprisingly good at it? Then again whenever his mother would fall ill he was right there to nurse her back to health, so he’s got a little bit of experience in that department.

Speaking of his mother, he would go out of his way to cook something for you, more specifically soups and the like that she would make for him when he was sick. Something full of nutrients to help you get back on your feet. When he would get sick as a child he had his mother to rely on, and now, you would have him. You were his partner after all. He couldn’t just leave you in such a state.

He would personally oversee that you’re well taken care of. Whether it be fresh linens for your bed or water to drink should you wake up thirsty. Whatever you needed, he would have it to you just as quickly as he could. It was odd seeing him so… nurturing, but then again the radio demon did have a habit of showing you sides of him that the rest of hell would never see.

You were sick, there was no doubt about that. You had been for nearly two days now. The first day hadn’t been that bad, at least at first. You didn’t even know it was possible to get sick in hell, and yet here you were, laid up in bed recovering from one of the worst fevers you’d ever experienced. It made you wonder if hell had some sort of super-flu or something of the like

It had quickly escalated to the point that it felt as if you could feel your bones. The second day you had spent much of asleep, a fact that had been a small relief on your aching body. That is until the fitful fever dreams came along. Oddly enough you found yourself trying to solve puzzles as a means to break the fever. It never worked.

The only thing that really kept you grounded when you were conscious had been the chills that left your muscles aching. Of course, you knew that sickness couldn’t kill you in hell, especially not a sinner, but by god did it feel like you were dying.

Everything had been a haze up until a couple of hours ago.

You had already decided by that point that the only thing worse than actually being in hell was being sick as hell in hell. But you did count yourself lucky, you did have one hell of a caretaker, after all. Groggily you opened your eyes to look over at the demon reading in the plush armchair in the corner of your room. You’re not sure how exactly he knew that you were awake, but the radio demon lifted his gaze to meet yours not even moments later. You noticed his smile softened just a bit before he spoke.

“Glad to see you’re awake, darling.” The radio demon said gently, sliding a bookmark between the pages of his book and setting it down on the seat of the chair as he got up. “Give me a moment to fetch you something to eat, I imagine you’re quite famished. I’ve prepared a soup I know you’re just going to love, my mother's recipe!”

The soft lull of a radio playing music from your bedside table met your ears. You thought you could recognize that song, you were sure it was one you had heard Alastor humming before. It brought a smile to your lips. You decided that you quite liked that song, as well.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin imagine #hazbin headcanons #alastor x reader #alastor headcanons #alastor imagine #alastor

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jae-bummer · 1 year

Text

Let Me Take Care of You

Request: Hiii can i request a Chan fic Where reader accidentally raises her voice at him while she’s frustrated with uni work or something and he gets really hurt and kinda puts her in her place (respectfully of course) and makes her realize that she was wrong and later she apologizes and they make up 🤭

Pairing: Stray Kids Bang Chan x Reader

Genre: Angst (with a happy ending)

Your finger tapped helplessly on the down arrow of your keyboard as you looked to the bottom of the discussion question and then back up to read the initial prompt. A familiar hollow feeling nestled itself just behind your ribcage and its mere presence made your brain start to spin. You could hardly even read the question anymore, let alone answer it. The panic spiral had already begun, and you knew there was nothing left to do but ride it out.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you flipped to a new page in your notebook and began scribbling. Maybe if you could start some sort of thought process on paper, you'd find your way to an answer.

It was hard to ignore Chan's presence as he stared just over his own computer screen in your direction. The two of you often worked in tandem, you on classwork and he on genius producer things. Taking his headphones off and setting them around his neck, he focused solely on you. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," you ground out. You obviously weren't annoyed with him, but by simply addressing you, he had caused your sensitivities to prickle. In situations like this, it was best if no one talked to you and just let you handle your own feelings. You were like a powder keg waiting for anything even slightly flammable to set you off.

Chan nodded to himself and bit his lip. "Want to take a break and grab some lunch?"

You knew he was trying to diffuse the tension coursing through your mind in his own little Chan way. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to soften your bad mood.

"I can't even begin to tell you want I want to eat," you huffed. Your mind switched from the homework question and quickly flipped through your mental rolodex of dining options. Nothing sounded especially appetizing.

"We can get anything you want," he said with a sweet smile. He was trying to accommodate you, but all your brain could scream about was the thought of making another decision.

"Why can't you decide?" you muttered, switching back to your problem and beginning to scribble again.

"Okay," he hummed, looking toward the ceiling in thought. "Sushi? Ramen? I could get those little sausage things you like from-"

"You know what," you sighed, looking up at him briefly. "Why don't you just grab something? I'll eat when I'm feeling up to it."

"Y/N," he said quietly, obviously disappointed in your response. "You have to eat something. That's likely most of your problem right now."

"I don't have a problem," you huffed.

He was right. You definitely had a problem, and that wasn't even including the problem with your attitude.

"You know what I mean," he cooed. "You're hungry and overworked. You need a break."

"Is it that easy to say to others but not yourself?" you said quickly. Chan was just as bad when it came to his own needs.

He remained silent, narrowing his eyes at you. You could see him talking himself down before he tried again. "School is really stressful for you right now. I just want to help."

"Take care of yourself for once!" you said abruptly. The anger had reached a numbing level. All you wanted was to lash out and get him to leave you alone. "I don't need to be babysat. Last time I checked, I'm an adult."

"Then maybe you should start acting like it, yeah?" Chan snapped back. His words felt like a bucket of ice water thrown at your face. You instantly looked up, caught off guard by his well-hidden temper.

His eyebrows were furrowed, head tilted slightly, and his mouth made a thin line. It wasn't often that you saw him irritated with you, but when he was, it knocked something loose in your chest.

Trying your hardest not to cry at the situation you had orchestrated, you decided it was safer to look back down at your notebook. "I am acting like it. It's my responsibility to get this done and it has to come first."

"Wrong," he chuckled indignantly. "You come first. Always. Anything else can catch up."

"Do you even hear yourself when you speak?" you gasped. "You are literally the worst person in the world to give me this advice."

He lifted his brows. "I can admit to that, but at least I don't take out my frustrations on people just trying to help."

"You can't help, Chris," you hissed. "So maybe it's time for you to leave."

You regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. Chan let out a little huff of disbelief before springing quickly to his feet. Licking his lips, he stared you down. "If that's what you want."

Rather than accepting defeat and starting your groveling, you stared back. Chan smiled bitterly before beginning to pack away his laptop. After several minutes of tense silence, he finally swung his bag over his shoulder and levelled you with a look. Without another word, he walked toward the door and quietly let himself out.

"Overbearing," you clucked to yourself, trying to validate your words. "I have one father already; I don't need another."

You looked back helplessly to your computer screen and your vision immediately began to swim.

"Why did I do that?"

Letting a few hiccups bubble out of your mouth, you finally submitted to the tears trying to escape your eyes. You had really made a mess out of that one, hadn't you?

You knew that even if Chan was mad at you, he'd still pick up when you called. You wanted to actually apologize in person though, so first, you had to allow yourself to calm down. It was time to abandon the schoolwork at the table and take a long shower to clear your thoughts. Once that was complete, the next step of your plan was to actually attain food and use it as a peace offering.

After picking up a few things at several food places, you made your way toward the JYP building. Knowing him, he was probably locked away, pouring his emotions out into a song. He tended to be a recluse in general when it came to his music, let alone when you had given him a reason to want to escape.

Trudging up the steps and through the door, you went through security clearance before making your way into the elevator. Your palms were growing more and more sweaty, and you tried to think of a good starting point for your penance.

Before coming up with anything that was any good, the elevator doors were already sliding open and spitting you out where you needed to be. Taking a deep breath, you slowly made your way toward the familiar fogged glass of Chan's studio. Knocking lightly on the door, you waited only a few seconds before he pulled it open. His expression was still icy as he shifted his attention from you to the bags in your hands. "What's this?"

"Food," you cringed. "Can I come in?"

Giving a curt nod, he stepped backwards and cleared a path for you. He shut the door after you walked through and leaned against it, simply watching as you began to pull things out of bags.

"I got the rice cakes-" you started, but immediately paused as you looked in his direction. You expected to find some type of warmth in his eyes, but he was still very obviously mad.

You shouldn't have been surprised. Ignoring the issue wasn't going to get you anywhere.

"Chris," you began, standing up straight and wandering a little closer to him. You nervously shuffled your weight from one foot to the other. "I wanted to say...I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

That stung, but you deserved it.

"I said so many things that I didn't really mean," you said quietly, feeling those traitorous tears begin to gather again. "Well, I did mean some of them, but not in the way they came out."

He lifted his brows, remaining silent.

"You taking care of yourself is something really important to me too. It wasn't kind or helpful to throw your own challenges back in your face," you whispered. "I know you said it all out of concern for my well-being and I was just an overstimulated ass trying to let out the pressure of my own frustration."

Chan nodded, still not offering up a word. You would wait as long as he needed to formulate a response. Instead, you were surprised as he sprung toward you and crushed you in his arms. Letting out a light squeak, you grabbed for purchase.

"Thank God," he whispered into your hair.

"For?" you croaked. He was squeezing the air out of you, but it would be a content death if it were to happen.

"I really couldn't stand the thought of being upset with you any longer," he groaned. Kissing the top of your head, he then leaned back so he could look into your eyes. "I hate it when we fight."

"This one was all my bad," you sighed. "I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry for escalating it when I could have just left it alone," he nodded, a sad smile on his face. "But you have to know something, baby. I'm always going to protect you, even if it's from yourself."

You leaned your forehead against his chest and sniffed. You didn't know what you had done to deserve him, but you must have been a martyr in your past life.

"Hey," he cooed, stepping backwards. He lifted your chin so you would look at him. "It's okay. We're okay."

"You promise?" you questioned, already knowing the answer.

"I promise," he smiled easily.

It didn't take much to close the gap and plant your lips over Chan's. His arms already wrapped around your waist tugged you closer, making your chest flush against his. He reached up, clutching the side of your face in one hand. Pulling away what could only have been a few centimeters, he whispered against your lips "Just let me take care of you next time, yeah?"

You nodded, pressing another kiss to his mouth. You could feel the smile behind his lips as he continued to kiss you back, really driving home just how okay you both were. When it came to making you feel comfortable again, you were pretty certain that Chan would kiss you until the end of time.

"Aren't you hungry?" you finally managed in between shared breaths. You weren't sure why that was your chief concern when you had a whole Bang Chan in your grip.

"Respectfully," he grinned. "I'll eat when I'm feeling up to it."

"Jerk," you laughed, slapping playfully at his chest.

"I'm not done," he purred, kissing the corner of your mouth. "But let's eat, then we can worry about all of the making up we have left to do."

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soapskneebrace · 1 year

Note

Obviously if your asks aren’t open then feel free to disregard this- (love your work btw I just- I cant- 🥰)

Do you think they keep the dog tags *ON* during sex? How do you think they’d wear them during it? Would they have you wear them?

You don’t HAVE to answer for each individual character obviously if you would rather just do it as a whole or just one that’s fine! Whatever works for you 💕

*cracks knuckles* I’ll do ‘em all. (Sorry for the long post, I’ll put it under a readmore when I get home 🙏)

Do the Tags Stay on in Bed?

Ghost wears his tags because, like the mask, they just don't ever come off. He is two people when he is with you--Ghost is the creature that can protect you, that can do the things Simon Riley would have been too weak for when it comes to your safety. But Simon is the man that could have loved you properly. Simon is the man Ghost believes could make you coffee in the morning, could rub your neck at the end of a long day.

It isn't initially why he wears his tags when he fucks you, but it is now--Ghost holds you in an iron grip, looms over you as he thrusts into you hard enough to bang the headboard against the wall, and feels the tags with a dead man's name clink against his chest. They remind him that you deserve whatever is left of the man who would have been far better for you than Ghost ever could be.

Soap wears his tags fully out of pride. The SAS is his life, is a massive part of his identity, and while he knows not every mission he's sent on is wholly for the good, he holds onto his conviction to act with integrity and compassion no matter what. The SAS might not always do good, but he will, as much as he can.

He wants you to be proud of him, too--he's really doing it all for you, after all. When those tags hang between you as your legs are wrapped around his waist, as they come to rest on your chest when he leans down to kiss you, he wants you to know that when he wears them he's thinking of you.

Gaz has no preference, but more often than not they stay on because he forgets to take them off. Usually, it's because the moment you're both free with enough time to actually have sex, he isn't going to bother with silly things like getting completely undressed--he wants you, now.

So, they've whacked you in the face a couple times as the two of you have gone at it. It's too funny to get mad at, and Gaz always uses it as an excuse to "make it up to you." Sometimes he'll take them off, too, and put them around your neck instead. "Keep 'em safe for me, eh?" he says with a grin.

Price takes his tags off. Over 20 years of service have left him wanting something that exists apart from violence and bloodshed, and every moment he spends with you is that something. He doesn't want to be the Captain with you, not unless he has to be--putting his tags aside gives him permission to just be John with you.

Besides, they'd get in the way. John does his very, very best to please you, to satisfy you beyond any expectation you may have of him, and sometimes that leaves you needing to bite down on his neck to keep from screaming. You’d probably not prefer to break a tooth on the tags’ chain.

Alejandro also takes his tags off, although it’s less about keeping work and pleasure separate and more about the annoyance they can be. When he is with you, Alejo is focused wholly on you, and does not appreciate distractions of any sort. He doesn’t want to have to fling his tags around to get them out of the way, or let them hang to be caught on an errant foot or wrist.

He does, however, love to see you wear them. It’s totally a possessive thing, but in the best way—Alejo worships the ground you walk on, and seeing his name around your neck inspires the same awe usually reserved for the divine. He thinks you could have anyone you wanted, and is humbled daily that you continue to choose him.

Rudy doesn’t care either way if the tags are on or off, and if the topic ever comes up he leaves that up to you. It’s an attitude that is very in-character—Rudy’s satisfaction comes from ensuring that you are satisfied, no matter what. Rudy’s love language, hands down, is acts of service.

Similarly to Alejo, however, he does enjoy seeing you wear his tags. “They belong to you anyway, mi vida,” he’ll tell you, lining your neck with gentle kisses. “All of me does.” (He has been known, however, to forget where he puts them if they do come off. So it’s probably better if they stay on.)

Bonus: Valeria gave hers to you a long time ago. She asks very frequently to see them, to make sure you keep them with you at all times. She promised herself she would never, ever carry their weight again, but she also can’t quite bear to throw them away, so now they stay with the only person in the world that she trusts.

If you wear them to bed, it will inspire a frenzy in her that will leave you limping the next morning. Those tags are a past version of her, a version she emerged from like a snake shedding its skin. While she is never sure how to feel about that previous self, seeing you take care its vestiges satisfies an ache in Valeria that she will never acknowledge.

Bonus: Graves has mixed feelings about his tags overall, being that he is technically not required to wear them anymore. They don’t mean the same thing to him now that they used to. That doesn’t mean they aren’t always on him, of course—he keeps them tucked into his boots. So you never see them.

If you were to ever find them, bring them into the bedroom? It could go one of two ways. On the one hand, you could end up benefitting short-term from the frustrated agitation those tags inspire, with Graves using your body to relieve an old, invisible hurt you never knew about. He will withdraw from you afterwords, though, too caught up in himself to really connect with. On the other, he could just withdraw immediately, recede from you, and the tension of that encounter will linger for days. It’s best not to involve his tags at all.

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faux-ecrivain · 4 months

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Will there be a second part of Yan Bully Victim? I really liked Thomas

(Yes, there will be. Right now!) (Name’s Thomas Road) (Enjoy this long post!) (Trigger Warning; Mentions of violence, negligence, masochism, and other triggering topics.)

(Thirtieth Official Post)

(I Hope You like this Anon and I’m happy to hear that you favor Thomas! Though, I’d say that Thomas is far happier than me.) ———————————————————— Yan Bully Victim that follows you everywhere, so often that it’s beginning to annoy you.

At first, it was so pathetic, it was cute, but now you just want to change schools, and you almost succeeded, but you thought there was too much paperwork and you’re an impatient person. So, you decided to just deal with it in the same way you deal with everything. Violence! Yan Bully Victim that has no idea why you’re suddenly so much more aggressive and confrontational towards him, it almost scares him. But, his twisted mind thought about the alternative (You ignoring him) and decided that all that pain was worth it. Yan Bully Victim that did not leave you alone, much to your chagrin, and instead latched onto you like there’s no tomorrow. Yan Bully Victim that now spends every single minute next to you, despite the continuous beatings you give him. Eventually, you realize that your anger is doing absolutely nothing to deter him, and he’s getting in your way (he’s already cost you a dumb test, you don’t need him messing up your chance at winning that championship trophy) Yan bully Victim that notices you pulling away from him, pulling your punches and avoiding him. He’s quick to try to alleviate the situation. Thomas decides that getting closer to you will definitely salvage your relationship. (It won’t) Yan bully victim that becomes way more annoying the more you ignore him, seriously, it’s like he has nothing better to do than bother you. Yan bully Victim that begins to panic when his plan isn’t working, you aren’t returning to his side, and instead you’re ignoring him. It’s so similar to his family, he’s scared that his life will go back to the way it as before. That’ll you’ll ignore him, and he’ll just fade into the background. (something he experiences too often at home) He can’t have that, he won’t have that.

Thomas doesn’t like being ignored, so he does whatever he can to get your attention. He shouts your name, calls you endlessly (when did he get your number?), causing you to break your phone, and he’s even started to bother your friends. Eventually, you get tired of him and his meddling ways and you corner him. (Much to Thomas’s joy, he can’t help the creepy smile that crawls onto his face the moment you start paying attention to him.) Yan bully victim that isn’t even listening to whatever you’re saying and keeps interrupting you, going on about how awesome you are and how much he loves you.

You don’t have any interest in dating this creep, so you violently reaffirm that with a few punches to the gut. He doubles over, and you force him on the ground with your foot. Thomas is so happy that you’re paying attention to him again, now he has to think of a way to keep you with him. Yan bully victim who decides the best way to keep you with him is to play hot and cold, when you start to pull away, so will he. When you’ve been gone too long, he starts to bug you and your friends again. Unfortunately, you aren’t bright enough to see through it, but you know he’s playing a one sort of game with you, and you’re intent on winning whatever game he’s trapped you in. But, you’re probably going to be stuck with him for a long time.

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all-mirth-no-matter · 3 months

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Time After Time | Chapter Seventeen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You meet the new Inspector and have a heart to heart with Tommy.

Warning: language

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 17: Change on the Rise

What good’s a man, who’s lost his soul? Can’t take a stand, mmm when his flame’s gone cold. Mmm fend off the enemy, sing out the jubilee. WIth all the fire we can breathe, we’re singing all day, and you can’t tame it. — Change on the Rise, Avi Kaplan

There were a few things you were still getting used to about the 1910s. The smell. The smoke. The actual shit on the ground. The misogyny. The cold water. The lack of knowledge of what was toxic for your body and what wasn’t.

You thought about the last one every morning as you got ready for work, trying to stay away from any unsafe words you knew, but slightly frightful of a lot of the stuff you didn’t recognize.

Typically, you tried to remain as natural as you could. And if you were honest with yourself, you only really wore make-up or did a double check on your hair when you knew you’d be seeing Tommy — it was only slightly pathetic, you tried to convince yourself when you realized what you were doing.

What was mostly pathetic was recently, when you noticed you started putting in more effort after Grace began working in the pub full time. The woman looked like a movie star from your time, and you hated how insecure it made you feel about your own appearance.

And then there was the singing.

There was a moment, the night of her first shift, when she’d begun to sing in an attempt to distract a fight breaking out. She stood on the table and began to sing something you definitely didn’t recognize, though the rest of the room obviously did. The whole pub had joined in by the time she was nearing the end of her third song (that you still didn’t know), when the first of the Peaky boys entered the pub.

You hated yourself for how envious of Grace’s ability you were in that moment. Just a month ago, you and Tommy had been in this spot, alone, you singing him a song from your own time. It’d been your thing, it felt. And now, he was captivated along with the rest of the bar with Grace’s siren voice. Soon though, everyone finally noticed his entrance and slowly lowered their voices, save for Grace who ended the verse properly despite her confusion of the sudden end. When Harry approached him to comment on how there hadn’t been any singing in the pub since before the war, Tommy met your eyes. For a moment, you thought he was going to tell them to stop — but instead, he said a soft “carry on” before moving into the snug and shutting the door.

But your insecurities with Grace were your problem, and you tried to keep it from affecting you in any significant way, especially in how you treated her. You’d worked in bars long enough to push down the green monster that came with the territory sometimes, which luckily got easier the more you spent time with her. Grace continued to be nice and polite, but she was soft spoken and sort of skittish, innocent almost – something you warned her wouldn’t mix well with the company they maintained at the Garrison. Finally though, you seemed to manage to break her reserve and loosen up during the slower periods of the day, and she was quite funny when she wanted to be.

But still, no matter how well you seemed to get along, you just couldn’t shake the weird feeling you got from her. There was something in the way she over explained herself, like she was trying to convince the room of her place in it. It was an unease you saw in yourself, but mirrored – you often felt like you under-explained, or kept quiet, in an attempt to blend in with your surroundings.

Despite your own reservations of the girl, there was one thing you knew for certain. She definitely lied about her previous experience. She was clumsy with the bottles, needed remindings on drink orders, and thought far too hard on her pours. It made training much more taxing than you’d originally anticipated.

The good news was that she was smart – smart enough to handle money and inventory, at least – which was an area you thought you’d have to overcompensate for.

Still, due to the amount of time you’d been spending training Grace, you started coming into the pub early on the mornings you didn’t have to be at the Shelby’s to catch up on the books.

You heard a loud crash and some shouting outside, causing you to jump up from your seat in the back room of the pub. You rushed to the main room to find a tall man standing in the doorway, a bowler hat on his head. He was significantly taller than you, his long jacket giving him a looming presence as he took up the majority of the entryway.

“Morning,” he greeted in a heavy Irish accent. “We haven’t had the pleasure.”

You crossed your arms, “We’re closed–”

“I’m not here for drinks.”

Behind him, through the closed doors, you heard more shouting. The man noticed your eyes drift around him, and smiled.

“Oh, don’t worry. My Specials have been told not to touch the Garrison. You’re safe,” his eyes giving you a once over, “for now.”

Specials, you thought, looking at him more closely. “You’re the Inspector from Belfast.”

His right cheek pulled up into a smirk. “You’ve heard of me?”

You gestured around the room, trying to convey an air of indifference. “I work in a pub. Your presence has been a big topic lately.” A loud crash came from outside followed by more shouting. “What are they doing out there?”

“Routine inspection,” he shrugged. “I’m here to clean up this town.”

“And that includes ransacking innocent families?” you asked, your face doing nothing to hide your disapproval.

He chuckled. “Innocent. As if you can’t see the degradation and sin that lies beyond these walls.”

Your mouth snapped shut at that. He wasn’t exactly wrong. You’d noticed a drastic change over the last couple months in the town. The high of the war's end was beginning to wane – and the streets of Small Heath were slowly eating away at itself. Veterans were scrounging for jobs, widows were desperate for stability, and children ran wild throughout the city. Brawls broke out in the middle of the streets at least once a night, crowds of men betting on outcomes. Men had women pressed against the walls, not even bothering to make into the alleyways. When you saw some girls who couldn’t even be in their teens, you felt your chest clinch even tighter, the dread and disgust building higher for this place. Every day you felt even more hardened by the harsh realities of the world and your place in it.

Despite this, you’d come to know a good majority of the families who lived on Watery Lane, and regardless of the badness out there, you knew there was good that didn’t deserve whatever was happening just outside of your establishment.

“What do you want, Inspector?” you said, your voice stronger. You gestured around you, “If you’re here to inspect, feel free. You’ll find nothing here but alcohol and cigarettes.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” he took another step toward you, tilting his head as he rose his brow, the sly smirk still tight at his cheek. “You’ve heard of me, well, I’ve heard of you as well. Though oddly enough, no papers on ya.”

Your back straightened at that and he continued his walk closer. You tried not to let it show, but truthfully, that’d been a fear of yours after you’d come to terms with your new timeline. You didn’t have any identification or historical papers, nor did you have any bank accounts (not that you would have been able to have one of your own anyhow, since you were unmarried and essentially orphaned). You’d even masterminded a big story about there being deaths and a fire that burnt whatever record you would have had that said you were a citizen. But after a while of no one asking or no one caring, you let the story fade and your fear along with it. Now, you were wondering how much trouble exactly you would get in, and if there was a way you could acquire some new papers.

Seemingly happy with the threat settling in, the Inspector shrugged. “Lucky for you, I don’t have time to worry about runaways or travelers at the moment. What I am interested in is the company you keep. As I understand it, you’re quite close with the Shelbys, are you not?”

“My friendship with Ada is no secret–”

“And what of the brothers?

You shrugged, “What of them?”

“Are you friendly with them as well?” he rose a brow suggestively, your own furrowing at the implication. Ignoring your reaction, he continued, “If so, you should know that Arthur agreed his people would help us.”

You thought about Arthur’s face, how this man in front of you had beaten a man then asked for his cooperation. You weren’t foolish enough to believe he wouldn’t do the same to you if you were to give off any hint of what you knew. Knowing this, you kept your composure. “As I said, Inspector. I can help you with a drink or a smoke. But if you’re not here for either, then I’m afraid there’s nothing else here I can offer you.”

He hummed amused, finally stopping a hair closer than socially appropriate in what you interpreted as an act of intimidation. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? You will cooperate, one way or another.”

Throwing a coin on the bar counter, he turned and left the pub.

When the doors shut fully, you ran toward them and latched the locks. Despite the Inspector’s promise that his men wouldn’t be coming into the Garrison, you knew you needed to take whatever precautions you could to keep yourself safe. You moved to the snug and peeked through the window, seeing the streets covered with men in uniforms and people pushed and beaten against the side of the building.

After some time, when the final copper rode off, you joined the people outside and began to help tidy the streets. Harry showed up soon to help you open the pub, many of the patrons coming in gripling about the incident.

“They let em do it!” one of the men slurred. “The fuckin’ Shelbys! Copper told me ‘imself. Why do you ‘hink this is the only pub not knackered?”

You and Harry shared a confused look, not sure yourselves why the Specials had hit the other local pubs, but not the Garrison.You suspected it was a power play, intent on this very reaction from the townspeople, since this pub was the favorite amongst the brothers. The fact that the Inspector had paid you a visit was something you kept to yourself, even from Harry. You didn’t say a word about it until you arrived at the Shelbys.

“Jeremiah said he saw the Inspector walk out of the Garrison when the lane was getting turned over,” Polly had said immediately when you walked into the house after your shift. “What’d he say to ya?”

You shrugged off your jacket and took a seat at the table, recollecting your conversation. “That’s not true, right?” you asked when you got to him saying Arthur had agreed to helping.

“‘Course not,” Polly blew out some smoke from her cigarette. “But that copper wants to turn the town against us. The boys are out now paying off the landlords and cleaning up. Showing their faces, and all that. Well, except Tommy. He’s preoccupied with the bloody horse he won against the Lees this morning.”

You weren’t surprised, having been privy to his goal of starting a fight with the Lees. You’d asked him the day before if he really thought it was smart to continue with his Kimber plan now that he had the guns to deal with. Tommy had been adamant that this would only further benefit his efforts, and concluded that not taking advantage would be a waste of an opportunity. You’d given up any argument, mostly because deep down you knew he was right.

But now, after seeing the extent this Investigator would go to, you worried that Tommy may be in over his head.

“Best to stay in tonight,” Polly said, interrupting your thoughts. “Tommy has a plan to push back, get the people back on our side.”

That night, you did as Polly instructed. Close to midnight, you saw the flames through your apartment window. In the street, a bonfire was lit, with what looked like portraits being thrown in. In the middle of the crowd stood Tommy, his face illuminated by the flames as he smoked his cigarette and talked to the men around him.

After finally making out the subject of the paintings, you chuckled. “God, the balls on this guy.”

That was on Sunday. On Monday, Ada had determined she was pregnant. On Tuesday, Tommy confronted her and found out it was Freddie’s, who’d disappeared during the copper raid. On Wednesday, your Monaghan Boy finally lost his first race, earning the gambling den more money than you’d ever seen. On Thursday, Polly tried to convince Ada to terminate the pregnancy.

It was now Friday night. You were walking out of the pub, leaving Grace to her first closing shift, when you ran into a rain soaked Tommy.

“Y/N,” he greeted you, though you could tell there wasn’t something right. “Going home?”

“Yeah,” you answered cautiously, turning back to the locked door. “Did you want to go in?”

“S’it empty?” You shook your head no. “Do you have whiskey at your place?”

Still confused, you nodded, “Um, yeah. I snagged a bottle last week after the raid.”

“Then no,” he confirmed, walking instead toward your flat.

You stood there for a moment, before he turned back around and asked if you were coming.

By the time he settled into one of your dining chairs, you handed him a double shot, grabbing the bottle and another glass before joining him in the second chair.

He threw back the drink, poured himself another finger, then threw that one back as well. “The Lee bastards cursed my horse.”

It was the first words uttered by either of you since you’d left the Garrison, so his choice of conversation starter was a surprise. “Wha– How do you know?”

“‘Cause I started a war, and this bullet with my name on it wasn’t enough,” he pulled out said bullet and set it on the table. As he poured another drink, you lifted it up carefully, running your thumb against the scratched letters, the meaning behind the literal token causing your chest to tighten. “She wouldn’t have been able to stand by sunrise.”

Wouldn’t have, you caught the past tense of his phrase and knew the beautiful white horse you’d met just a few days ago was not alive anymore. “Poor girl,” you said softly as you watched Tommy wipe his hand across his face.

“You know, in France…” his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, instead staring off to the side. “In France, I got used to seeing men die. Never got used to seeing the horses die. They die badly.”

He blinked, shaking his head as he reached into his jacket and pulled out the cigarette case. He ran his thumb across the silver casing for a moment, before opening and pulling out a stick.

“You knew about Freddie, didn’t ya?”

Ada had sought you out after her confrontation with Tommy in the movie theater and told you everything. You’d been both surprised and not surprised by her news, knowing that she’d been sneaking away to be with him any chance she got, and guessing that the birth control of the time was lacking. She was determined that Freddie would return for her, that the Inspector couldn’t keep him hiding away forever.

“Yes,” you answered.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“No.”

He sighed, “Why not?”

Your brow furrowed genuinely surprised. “You of all people should appreciate my aptitude for secrecy.”

“Aye. It’s the secrets you hide from me that I don’t appreciate.”

You let out a breath, feeling the hint of passive aggression in his statement. “It wasn’t my information to share, Tommy. It’s as simple as that.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette. “Fine.”

Guilt began to creep in as your eyes moved to the dresser drawer where the box Madam Desponia still lived. The leaves and vial were gone, but you kept the box as a token. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t told Tommy yet that you’d dranken the tea. Part of you wanted to keep the experience a secret for personal reasons — it was your dead mother, after all. The other part of you was still insecure about Tommy finding the whole thing crazy. You were finally beginning to gain his acceptance with his surlier world, you hadn’t wanted to push it by throwing in talking to dead people.

“I met with the Inspector today,” he finally said, breaking the silence and pulling you out of your own thoughts. “I told him I had the guns.”

Your mouth dropped in surprise. “Tommy—”

“I struck a deal. No interfering with my business, or future business with Kimber.”

Your mouth hardened into a tight line. “And you think he’ll hold up his end of the deal?”

“I warned him of what will happen if I’m taken into custody. The last thing that man wants is for these guns to land into the hands of the IRA back in Belfast, undoing all his hard work.” He took another long drag of his cigarette. “Campbell didn’t serve; reserved occupation. I anticipate he would do anything to keep his reputation among Mr. Churchill. As long as he doesn’t find out where the guns are hidden, my plan with Kimber remains.”

Happily, you didn’t know where the guns had been moved to after Curly and Charlie lifted them from the stables. And you didn’t want to know who knew either — hell, you weren’t even sure yet if his own brothers knew Tommy even had the guns in the first place. The less you knew the better, in your opinion. You anticipated that your meeting with the Inspector wouldn’t be your last, especially now that he knew Tommy definitely had the guns. You wondered if he’d approach you again, or instead have you watched.

“Just in time for Cheltenham,” he continued. “Which reminds me, you’ll need to pick out a nice dress.”

Your brow creased. “Another race?”

“Not just another race. It’s where we’ll show our strength against the Lees, convince Kimber of our partnership. Monaghan Boy’s win finally caught his attention — I’m told he’ll be paying us a visit soon.”

He poured himself another glass, then yours.

“I didn’t mean to attack you,” he said after taking a deep breath. “The weeks just been—”

“I understand,” you reassured, meaning it. You couldn’t imagine the mental hoops he must be going through trying to juggle everything he had going on.

You shared another glass of whiskey before he ran his hand across his face.

“I don’t know what to do about Ada and Freddie. She has no life with a man on the run.”

You licked your lips, resisting weighing in. Instead, you took a sip of your drink.

Tommy rolled his eyes, but his smirk remained. “That was an invitation. You should know better by now.”

Your cheek flinched at the comment, but you sobered it to match your response.

“I think she’d follow him wherever he goes,” you said plainly, shrugging your shoulders. “Your sister and Freddie seem to have real, deep feelings for each other. He may be gone for now, but I do believe he’ll be back for her.”

He let out a breath, “I think you’re right. Why’d he have to turn into such a fuckin’ menace.”

Your cheek flinched again, knowing he was referring to his communist strikes. “He deserves to know about Ada. Give him the chance to do the right thing.”

“You sound like Pol.” He took another sip of his drink. “Fine. I’ll get him a message. Maybe he’ll actually bloody listen to me and stay gone.”

On Saturday, Billy Kimber and his men paid a visit to the Garrison, just as Tommy had predicted.

“You’re what?” your voice giving away more than you intended.

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette. “It’ll be an advantage.”

“Yeah, but–”

“But what?” Tommy asked, rising his brow. “It’s a good plan. Kimber took a liking to her, I saw it on his face. I can use her to sweeten the deal.”

Apparently it’d all gone according to plan. It’d been your night off, just Harry and Grace tending to the packed pub, when Kimber’s car arrived.

He’d come to punish them for fixing races without his permission, but began to sway when Tommy proposed an alliance in exchange for help combatting the Lees. Tommy mentioned that Kimber’s accountant and advisor seemed to be the brains of the operation, and felt like he was already warming up to him. They left the pub with a promise to speak again at the races.

What Tommy hadn’t expected was Kimber’s lustful intrigue with Grace.

“Do you trust her?”

You met his eyes. Your default was to be nice, give her the benefit of the doubt. But you wouldn’t lie to Tommy. “No.”

“I looked into her–”

“You did? Why?” you asked, quicker than you wished you had. Tommy didn’t need to know of your insecurity.

“I look into all of the branches of my business associates. I had someone ask around about the pub she used to work at. No one’s heard of her. She lied.” You must have shown a knowing look on your face, because he chuckled sardonically. “But you knew that too, didn’t you?”

“I guessed, but I didn’t know for certain,” you answered honestly. “I just knew she wasn’t as experienced as she’d claimed to be. At least not with the bartending side of things. I didn’t think she was a threat, just a little green, I guess.”

He hummed, “I’d agree. And it seems the town likes her songs.”

You waited a beat, conflicted with the topic opportunity dangling in front of you. But you’d spent too much of your life not saying something or asking questions because of some arbitrary anxiety. Since you’d met Tommy, you’d adopted a certain ‘fuck it’ bravado when it came to awkward conversations.

“You know, for a second, I thought you were going to tell them all to stop singing.”

He took a puff of his cigarette. “I was.”

Your brow creased, “What changed your mind?”

“You,” he answered simply, his eyes meeting yours again. For the first time that night, his gaze began to soften. “How can I disallow what I’d specifically asked from you in that very pub?” After a moment, his brow creased. “Why don’t you ever sing?”

“I can’t sing to crowds,” you said with an embarrassed shake of your head at the mere thought. “I don’t have near the range that Grace does, or half the confidence. I love music — me singing is just my way of hearing the songs I miss.”

“Good.” You rose your brow at his response. He offered you a rise of the corner of his mouth, “I enjoy being one of few who get to hear you sing.”

You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks. God, you were so far gone.

“Well,” you deflected, “since you have Grace, I guess you won’t need me at Cheltenham as well.”

He chuckled softly, “On the contrary. I have a job for you. One week, and we’re off to the races.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #time after time #mine #fanfic #fanfiction

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onyourowndaisymae · 5 months

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a/n: is it too late to submit a piece for the #9DaysofSolomon event run by @impish-ivy? hope not! i was inspired to write something for prompt 1: stars to celebrate the end of the event. enjoy!

the devildom is a place of brilliance.

you've been here long enough to love its usual sights. city lights spotted from a bridge on the outskirts of town, detailed architecture from eras past lining your work to RAD every day-- it's a sort of beauty you get used to, breathtaking as it is. but there's always something new to surprise you when you least expect it.

tonight, the stars are shining bright in the darkened skies, opalescent and twinkling overhead. you watch from the safety of a blanket on the ground, but even from there, it feels like the stars are almost on top of you, reaching out with cosmic fingers of stardust and twilight. they're innumerable. truly, the sky is overtaken with light.

"beautiful, isn't it?"

solomon's voice rings clear behind you. you crane your neck to look back towards the sound of his footsteps. his snowy locks and the golden adornments on his cloak keep him from fading entirely into the night. a moment passes before he settles in next to you on the blanket.

"i've never seen anything like it," you murmur, breathless and awestruck.

"i've been alive for a long time, and even now... the sight still takes me by surprise. you can't see this sort of thing in any other realm."

the enormity of it all makes you feel like a little kid again. you're just a human on a cliffside, a tiny piece in the large scheme of time and space, utterly insignificant and gone within an instant. these stars in your eyes are ancient. you heard the brothers discuss their last sighting millennia ago-- yet here you are, somehow alive to see them yourself. your head spins at the thought. what are you doing here? who even are you, anyways?

"is everything alright?" his voice breaks through your racing thoughts.

you feel the warmth of solomon beside you, and everything feels okay.

"sometimes... i get overwhelmed by it all. the devildom, being human... do you ever feel that way?"

he chuckles softly. "i used to. it's been awhile. is that how you're feeling right now?"

"a little."

solomon takes your hand softly, carefully. you peek over at his face-- he's watching you with a gentle expression, steely eyes drinking in your features like you'll slip away any second. he often looks at you with reverence, but this feels... different. more intimate, somehow.

"i'm right here," he murmurs. "and i'm not going anywhere. we can go back if you're too overwhelmed, or we can talk about it all if you'd like. whatever you need, i'm here for you."

you don't doubt his intentions, nor his devotion. solomon intends to stay by your side no matter what you decide-- and throughout it all, he'll look at you like you put those very stars in the sky tonight.

#apologies this is short #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me solomon #obey me x reader #obey me solomon x reader #9daysofsolomon

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eldritch-spouse · 11 months

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I need a threesome with Comie(?) and Pebble. Just I need to be knotted as I suck off honeyboi.

P. S Love you Pinnie. Thank you for your hard work 🙏

[It's "Colmei", but you got it basically. You didn't really specify, so I'm putting you in the "Admin" role. Love you too! <3 Fem reader.]

TW: Knotting; Food cum (as in, it's literal honey); Slight cultish themes.

The bug monster always intrigued you.

He wasn't made by The Clergy's Eye. Your lord didn't weave him into existence either.

That you know of, this... Man? Male. He just showed up. Installed himself in the garden. A ridiculous notion, it really reminds you of Fank-e.

You recall the initial commotion.

Krulu had been alerted to the entity's prolonged presence and effectively wanted to remove said unknown monster from his grounds. Because, after all, if he wasn't there to make some sort of exchange and be sapped at like the rest, then he was a waste of space and resources- Especially when the uncivilized monster decided to station his colony in the garden.

What stopped your lord from rightfully removing the witless intruder from his domain were the desperate plights of Patches and Nebul, both undead monsters exhibiting great fascination with the likes of Colmei, as he's come to be called. You don't even remember which of the two baptized him anymore... When push came to shove, you chose to voice an opinion, siding with your coworkers. Not to spite Krulu, never. You truly just shared their fascination with the bee man. Besides, the garden actively benefits from the actions of his well-coordinated bees, that can't be denied.

And he was left alone, begrudgingly.

"Bee man" is a misleading term. From what little of his body you've seen, he's nothing like a bee-based monster at all. If anything, you'd liken him more to a parasitic entity inhabiting the garbs of a medieval beekeeper, like a snail's shell. His sleeves are always long and down, like Nebul's. His mask is usually always in place, and although many people would wonder about the monster's ability to see, you know better. You've learned a lot in your time working here. Masks and lack of visible ocular organs means nothing. You know Colmei can see his surroundings the same way you can- And even if you didn't, Patches' extensive research on the specimen more than proves it. He can circumvent objects in his path without scent or palping, he can differentiate colors, he has depth and perception like a human's, a field of vision standard in your species. He's a little wonder, you've combed -Pun intended- through reports on him more than once.

And, although he's not officially recognized as a "garden anomaly" by anyone here, you lump information about him next to Hellion and Pebble's cases. In fact, now that you recall things, didn't Pebble form after Colmei's arrival? Probably, you'll have to check later. The two get along well enough, which already can't be said about Hellion's relationship with the bee caretaker. Then again, Hellion has a strong personality, to say the least...

Speaking of, you're sacrificing some of your free time this morning to satisfy one of Patches' requests. He needs a sample from Colmei. Saliva was easy enough to get, the monster does eat, and with those three slobbering tongues you've caught glimpses of, it was hard to miss a chance to get a swab of his drool. The problem came when Patches attempted to get a "seed sample". You've long since stopped questioning why he wants to work with reproductive fluids, and considering the stunts you've seen this dullahan pull using a variety of organic elements, you have to at least admit there's some merit to what superficially comes off as pure depravity. Even if you'd like it if he stopped obsessing over homunculi...

Patches is old, he knows what he's doing sometimes.

Point being, whenever the undead tries to get handsy with Colmei, the bug monster blatantly rejects him, buzzing angrily. He doesn't often fall for traps either. Relatively speaking, you'd assume Colmei would be very receptive to sexual attention ever since he discovered ejaculation is harmless, in much the same way Belo underwent a somewhat prolonged lustful fever the moment he was bedded by you and lord Krulu. And, effectively, Colmei spends an inordinate amount of time stimulating himself, perhaps in an effort to make up for all the times he was left frustrated and hopelessly libidinous for no reason. Although he frequently brings himself to completion, the garden inhabitant doesn't allow people to approach him sexually often. Santi was briefly allowed to stroke him through his garb, but the moment the demon attempted to get a better feel, he was quickly hissed and buzzed at.

You think the incubus is still a little sore over that. Heh.

Nevertheless, you've decided you'll get this over and done with it today. Because you're not just anybody, you're the Administrator of this establishment, and what needs to be done will get done, so help you.

It's all a matter of waiting. Colmei's going to get bothered at any moment, you know he has nothing better to do in the mornings, because his hive has adapted to The Clergy's Eye's schedule. His army of bees all remain mostly dormant within early mornings, because the garden's flowers too are dormant, meaning there's no pollen to collect. That's just how this tilted world is. Cleverly, they rest and save energy for the evenings and nights. Colmei wakes from slumber much earlier however, has to, acting as a guard for his smaller colony elements.

You've been sitting on a lonely bench (who, miraculously, isn't Sybastian) for a while now, bidding your time. Occasionally, you'll make conversation with your currently busy higher, other times you'll catch Hellion shift in his sleep atop a tree's fat branch. Generally, you don't have much trouble sitting placidly, rolling the tube-like vial in-between your gloved fingers. Some people get maddened by the waiting game, Krulu has taught you better.

Your first plan of action is simple, coaxing. If that fails, which it just might, there's no doubt in you something can be schemed. This is far from the most daunting of challenges you've taken on.

Time passes, the fog hugging your home's dark walls recedes ever so gently, some of the plant life sways and plumps, as if the building is yawning, waking itself up. The fountain comes alive, sprinkling water in all the wrong directions, as usual. Today, it sports a curious, hourglass shape, adorned with well-sculped crows seemingly flocking around it. Lord-Master would enjoy the sight of it if he was paying attention to your whereabouts right now.

From then on, it's fairly soon when you hear a more pronounced buzz coming from the sides of the establishment. Seeing as it's usually quite silent this time of day, it can only be the beekeeper. You smile knowingly, aware of what he'll most likely be doing in a little while.

Rising, measured, slow and muted footsteps carry you closer to the source of the sound. You trail the edges of your establishment, ears almost twitching with the way they're perked at every insect-like noise. When those sounds dip into a slightly familiar rhythm, strong but interspersed with breaks of abrupt silence, like gasping, your pace quickens.

Turning around the front left edge of the building, you see him there, predictably. Colmei leans against the dark brick walls of The Clergy, some fair distance away from the oversized colony structure attached to it. Monochrome robes pool messily around his hips, held there by pitch black arms that dip between full thighs and grasp a humanoid appendage with fervor.

It's a silly thing to say, but being that you've witnessed so many foreign genital configurations, it's become a novelty to find a "proper" set on monsters these days. You'd expect something as bizarre as Colmei to sport a wet and curling thing moving this way and that, but no- There it sits, humanoid balls beneath a humanoid shaft. Very odd indeed.

He's doing exactly what you predicted he would, somewhat clumsily palming and squeezing himself, grip on the base of his cock but mostly static. He may have learned to bring himself to fruition, but he's not practiced at it, perhaps that's why he spends so much time agonizing like this. Once more, you'd think masturbatory motions would come near instinctively to the parasitic entity, yet that doesn't seem to be the case. The head of his already slick cock drips something incredibly viscous to the ground, this darkened orange-ish string that, if seen from afar, could almost be mistaken for something else.

You've seen traces of it on the garden at times, spattered messily atop flowerbeds. Patches could just collect one of those and use it, but he insists they're not appropriate, have been tainted. Frankly, you think he just wants an excuse to make someone touch the garden monster.

Amused, you observe Colmei clumsily paw at himself, throbbing against nothing, chest filling out as he tries to angle his legs in a better position. He almost figures out how to cant them well, then gives up. It's as endearing as it is aggravating to watch. You think he made an odd droning cry at some point. You're getting as frustrated as he is just watching him try to find a good method. Part of you only wants to rush there and hold those meaty hands over his length properly, pump him decently, make him curl his grasp here and there, grab his full balls and slap his ass when he finally gets the gist of it. One would assume Colmei would get the hang of it by watching the drunk stragglers that stumble into the garden and beat off in their highs. Then again, usually something ends up happening to them.

Stepping into the very corner of Colmei's field of vision -Well, assuming his vision isn't totally tunneled, which it might be- You make a soft coo at the monster.

He heard it. Heard it very well. You commend his alertness even in a state distracted by arousal.

For a second, you wondered if the unknowable monster man was going to jump out of his robes, face swinging immediately in your direction and pitifully small wings spreading. It reminds you of Belo when he's upset, minus the parakeet fluffing. Whatever angry noise was beginning to rattle in his abdomen is halted when he realizes who's standing in front of him.

Garden anomalies have a primal, inherent understanding of the dynamics of The Clergy. They know who your lord is, can feel his work and his presence everywhere. They know to respect him, and they understand who his vessel is. As such, you're very often treated with less mischievous intent and never shown a wink of genuine hostility unless they're deeply aggravated by an exterior agent. Colmei isn't a garden anomaly however, which makes his similar reactions all the more interesting. He learned from the others that you're a figure to be cautiously regarded, to be mildly subservient to.

Maybe he can sense Krulu, maybe he can't- It's still hilarious that he treats you like an untouchable figure just because others are doing it.

Which is to say, your hypothesis here is that he won't deny your advances because he thinks more of you than he does the rest of the staff.

Colmei's buzzing is now muted and soft, uncertain. Incredibly enough, his static hand is still wrapped around a neglected member. Though you can clearly gouge he's extremely tense right now.

" Colmei. "

He reacts to the word, perking, knowing that's what he's called in these grounds.

" Come here. "

There's a communication barrier between you and the beekeeper, sure. But he's been learning the language ever since his stay here. He knows what those words mean, especially when you do a curt beckoning gesture. If your lord were available now, he'd facilitate the conversation, but alas. You're no baby, you'll get this done on your own.

When the beekeeper doesn't move a muscle, your first step forward is measured, the two of you watching each other like hawks in a standstill. That's definitely not the energy you're going for, so you put on a smile, glancing from his covered complexion to the treat he clutches and licking your lips. Come on...

Colmei's wings flutter, though stubbornly, he doesn't meet you.

Cautious steps turn to confident struts, unbothered by his evident turmoil. You halt right up close to Colmei, seeing the way he breathes faster, the noise of something wet shifting behind that grayed mask. Knowing he's clearly deliberating, you don't reach for the goal immediately, in fact, you just stare at him with a soft expression.

The pressure cracks him.

Colmei ultimately leans down, the bottom of his head garbs brushing barely on the crook of your neck. Whether it was done just to have contact or to somehow smell you, is irrelevant. Smiling, you gently crane your head, shifting to push cloth away, such so that the monster can see more of your neck. There's a sound by your ears, something being dislodged, pushed aside by a slimy protrusion that eagerly splays itself on bare skin, laving, relishing.

The noise you make in response is only a little bit hammed up. It does feel nice, but riling him up is more important right now. When the monster makes a strange rolling croon, soft and high, you inch closer to trail gloved fingertips on his right inner thigh, a teasing back and forth that might frustrate another male, but he seems content with it. Progress is made when the beekeeper's previously static hand jolts to life, stroking over himself more avidly than before, though still as clumsy. Another gross extremity comes to slobber on your neck, the two twining occasionally in the monster's enthusiasm. Drool is seeping into your clothes. Although your digits creep upwards just a tiny bit more with every to and fro, you bide your time.

He parts his legs further, almost imperceptibly so, and paired with his erratic wing flicking, you take it as an invitation. Colmei stiffens, in many ways, the moment you follow the curve of his balls and trace the root of him, hand venturing to join his and stroke his girth in tandem. It was sensuous, scrupulous, lazy.

But it was still too much.

The beekeeper jars, jumping away from your touch and presence in surprising speeds for such a large body. Monochrome robes are pushed down and he makes a distinctly hostile buzz much like the roar of an engine. Though, as quickly as it reverbs through the garden, Colmei appears to get a flash of self-awareness and strangles the rest of the cry into a high-pitched squeal. You raise an unamused eyebrow at him, watching incredulously when the hive guardian merely recedes into the distance, turning around the edge of the building to avoid you.

Hm.

Well that's a mission failed, for sure.

A bitter taste settles on your tongue. The defeat of sexual rejection is something you haven't had to deal with in a long time, although, Colmei's evident fear of being stimulated by another is amusing enough to wave that frustration away as you snicker to yourself. What is he doing now? Just sulking in the corner with a throbbing cock and tightened nuts? If he jerks off now and ruins your chance to get that sample, you're going to be so livid. What a pussbag.

...

Speaking of cowards...

A depraved little lightbulb dawns over your head.

You're going to lure Colmei into letting you touch him, by making him want to participate. But, for this next stunt, you need a volunteer. Not just anyone will do, criteria dictates said third element needs to have a moderately positive bond with the beekeeper.

You're not going to bother staff while they prepare for the day. Hellion is like a pest to Colmei, a nuisance in a good day. That leaves dear old Pebble.

Workable.

The fog that seems to poise over this infrastructure, shielding it, bathing the premises in properties you can't exactly comprehend, also affects plenty of the beings that inhabit this space. Naturally. The flock of gargoyles that's settled on the roof, the standard ones that is, seldom ever turns to stone in plain daylight.

You and Patches have conversed about this, it's likely due to the way the fog mutes some of the sunlight's qualities. Whatever sort of biological signals determine a gargoyle should enter "stone sleep" are filtered out. That's not to deny that there exist days where the sun is so potent it still manages to turn most into statues.

Pebble is odd. Of course he is, he's a mutant of the garden -Your sweet spawn of Krulu- But it seems he only partially turns to stone for a very brief span of time. You've caught him in states that weren't quite sleep nor consciousness, body shifting in jerky motions as he instinctively tried to stretch, looking around, but not able to move much aside from a step or two in ambiguous directions.

This half-awake half-asleep state appears to bother the gargoyle, so he's cleverly taken to nesting in spots that provide shade during the day, keeping himself mostly shielded and avoiding having his body paralyzed. In fact, you bet you won't have to search too much for him at all! Venturing to the opposite side of The Clergy's exterior, there's a flattish roof area there he tends to pick often. Although you could scale the building with your lord's arms, that likely won't be necessary.

" Pebble. " You call softly.

A few moments of silence pass.

" ... Pebble! " Comes out slightly more forcefully.

It's always a bit tricky with him. You don't want to raise your voice and make him accidentally interpret that you're angry at him. Having one monster run off is enough.

There's a sigh. " Damn it. Pebb- "

With a soft sort of click click clack of clawtips on darkened tiles, a paperbag clad head peeks out from the edge, followed by its twin.

The mutant offers you a confused, nervous glance, pinprick eye blinking tiredly before darting every which way. Yes yes, no one really likes getting woken from their beauty sleep. You understand him perfectly.

" Hi lovely. " Gentle gentle, he stares at you, still as quizzical as before. " Wanna come down here for a second? I need your help. "

The gargoyle hesitates. He always does, though you take no offense to it. That's just how he is. A good deal of time has passed ever since Pebble was welcomed into The Clergy, and the anomaly has come to trust some of the staff, you being one of them. If you didn't know better, you'd say he feels safe around you at times.

Making a brief come hither gesture, you wink cheekily at the blue mutant. " I promise it'll be fine. You can go back to sleep when I'm done. "

Another long pause settles, his arms steadying the monster on the roof. Patience is affordable today, you can't rush this plan, after all. So you merely stand there, silently and passively exerting pressure on the garden anomaly. It always works.

In a moment, robust wings stretch and flap, as if waking themselves up as well, and Pebble gets into position, leaping from the tall roof, down onto several sections, finally landing a small distance beside you with this ground-shaking-

THUNK

Yes, being made of solid, compact stone is quite perilous... Between him and the robot, you wonder which one's mass is more destructive.

Nevertheless, with the gargoyle now approachable, you calmly stroll over and smile, taking a rough blue hand onto yours. Pebble's fingers twitch a little and he makes a curious chuff, ruby eye ever trained on you. Twin tails lash behind him when you bring the stone to your lips for a chaste kiss, his breath hitches timidly.

" Thank you. " You start, softly leading the comparatively large monster back to where you were when Colmei rejected you. The longer you walk, the more antsy your friend seems to get. " I promise I don't want anything weird. "

Lord knows the dullahan and the wraith massacred poor Pebble for details when he was formed. Just as they did Hellion, though that aptly named scoundrel has always had a lot more swipe and bite in him.

As you halt, you sadly confirm that the beekeeper is nowhere to be seen. Something that won't matter in the long run, yet still manages to peeve you a tad.

" Pebble- " You turn to the gargoyle. " Do you want to fuck me? "

For all the gentleness you had been sparing him thus far, that was quite the bold invitation.

When that red pinprick turns into an even smaller little dot in the pitch black, jagged hole of his bag, it's hard to resist cackling. He was most definitely caught off-guard, hunching, letting out a breath he had been holding. Silence ensues, though he's not stepping away, so you'll assume his libido will overpower that cowardice today. There's something almost suspicious about the way he regards you. As if he can't quite bring himself to believe you've woken him from a dead sleep... Just to fuck him.

And he's right.

You have ulterior motives, but, even if he can't tell, there are virtually no downsides to it. So you might as well have just woken him for a romp, yes.

Pebble eventually makes an unintelligible garble and twiddles his thumbs, sparing you quick glances. A sort of "Are you sure I can?" if there ever was one.

Hah, cute.

Unable to hide the mirth in your smirk, you giggle and loop your arms around the monster's hard waist, observing the fascinating way an unholy union of stone and flesh mold when his chest heaves in surprise. He's gruesome and pretty all at once, the garden did exceptionally well when it created Pebble.

" Is that a 'yes' I see? " You mock, receiving shy, unsynchronized nodding from both heads. " Good, then let's not waste any time. "

You pull the gargoyle along while taking several steps backwards, until your outfit brushes against the building's wall. Although clearly interested, Pebble never usually takes much of an initiative. Not because he doesn't want to, you can see it in the way his extremities twitch and his tails impatiently sway, it's always that unknowable fear keeping him at bay, that insecurity. It's far from a turn off though, and such is seen when you slide your work dress up, hearing him chuff at the sight of your laced panties when the fabric gathers at your hips.

Poor little baby, getting bothered already.

You do like these panties, they've been a favorite pair of yours because of how transparent they are, and many of the staff members have admired them already. You don't think Pebble has though, so you drink in his witless arousal like an impeccable wine. A gloved digit unceremoniously peels your panties to the side, and you're sure he can smell the very first hints of wetness gathering on your pussylips, because he does that distinct sort of shnort that a lot of monsters do when they sense an easy hole.

Grabbing his hand once more, you first take care to bring those clawed fingers to your mouth. Sure, it's not exactly the softest sensation gliding on your tongue, but that doesn't matter. What you want to do is get him as slippery as possible to facilitate things, and rile rouse him further. It works wonderfully in your favor, the mutant huffing and making an odd sort of impatient whimper. Your motions are lazy, making sure you have some eye contact as you intentionally let yourself drool heavily on him, strings of it already coating your chin when you make a quiet moan around his digits.

Pebble showcases a rare display of assertiveness when he ever so subtly slides more of his two fingers into your mouth, and you bob to accompany him, flustering the anomaly to stillness again. You know he'd rather have something else in there. The look of mild awe that crosses his face when you release his now soaked fingers is borderline hilarious. He plays with the drool around his digits sheepishly and you only titter quietly as you lead that very same hand to the main prize.

The gargoyle grunts, more than enjoying the softness of your already mildly interested pussy against himself. Sometimes you wonder what he thinks of others, who are so much softer than him. Does he enjoy that, their comparative warmth? Is it something he wishes he could have? You bet it feels really nice for him to lean onto his partners, sink into plush, giving bodies such as yours.

With a soft pat to the back of his palm, Pebble grasps the signal that he's meant to move, though only tentatively strokes over the length of your entrance, afraid it'll bite or something. Your patience wavers, gripping him and making harsher motions, letting him know you like to get your clit rolled hard. The mutant purrs when you let out pleased sighs, dipping into soft moans. Finally, he starts moving that big hand on his own, offering as much pleasure as he can in a slightly clumsy but very eager to please way. There's another frantic growl-keen when you buck against him. Humorously, when Pebble sinks one of his fingers into you, knuckle deep, he makes a sound as if he had sunk his whole cock into your walls, shuddering and everything.

This time, your laughter is loud and hearty, startling the mutant. " No no- " You stress when it feels as if he's going to pull away. " You're doing so well, please keep going. I can take more. "

Praise, ever the fuel for the hearts of the devoted, gets him to resume, curling his finger slightly and delighting in the unflattering wet noise that follows, before squeezing a saliva-soaked twin inside as well. You fear he's going to melt, at this rate. The small stretch has you groaning and squeezing, encouraging him to plunge into your cunt to his heart's content.

" Fuck yeah, open me up for your fat cock. "

That one apparently sent him wild, because he does just that. The haze of sleep vanishes off his body instantly, and the monster curves to be closer, watching his own blue digits get swallowed by your sweet hole, coating him in slick the harder he gives it to you. It's always a treat when Pebble's brave enough to be remotely dominant, because his natural density adds a weight to his every motion that easily rocks those subjected to them. Your head leans back and you fully give into the stings of pleasure that pierce you every so often, mouth open in a satisfied expression he's likely eating up right now.

When the gargoyle's noises become frequent and louder, you have the wherewithal to glance down, seeing the growth throbbing between his legs, dripping precum along its length and almost twitching in tandem with every clench of your cunt. He's beyond needy, and in a short span of time, which is ideal. Reeling at your own filthy little ideas, you shove his hand out of your opening and pull the monster closer. It takes a little bit for Pebble to get it, but he eventually hunches enough to make up for the height difference, such so that you can grab the head of his red, knub-adorned cock and press it to your soaked pussy.

Pebble groans incomprehensibly, immediately starting to hump, gliding that hot length across you in a way that allows you to feel every slight protrusion. You cry out and grind against each other for a couple of disgraceful, horny little moments, with you mischievously tugging at the roots of his tails just to feel the gargoyle's ass flex briefly. He's adorable.

The moment the winged monster tries to angle himself differently, obviously seeking to penetrate, you lightly push him off. Don't want to ruin the best part of the plan just yet now, do you?

Pebble whines, the spare head growls.

" Oh shush. "

You don't want to do this here, in the pavement. You're sure Pebble won't give two shits about how hard the ground is, but you'd rather not ruin your outfit or scrape yourself right now. Instead, you lead him to the closest flowerbed. As much as you'd like to playfully throw Pebble onto it, he's pretty immovable in his default state, so you can only push and ineffectively try to tickle your winged lover boy until he gets the message.

Twisted, misshapen and teeth-clad flowers unroot, scattering on strange hidden limbs with startled squeaks when the gargoyle lays on his back, wings spread and member pointing upwards. You're quick to jump onto him, and even if you spare the mutant some loving moments full of pecks to his chest and belly, even allowing him to feel your tits when you begin undoing the top part of your dress, you very quickly turn around on his lower abdomen.

He gets a fantastic view of your full ass as you grind generously over his girth, teasing the two of you further. When trembling hands scheme the globes of your behind and settle on plushy hips, you let the gargoyle ground himself, rising slightly to line yourself up with him. A tongue flicks over dry lips, eyeing the not yet fattened knot at the base of his length.

You make sure every soul in this establishment hears it when you slam yourself onto Pebble's cock.

" HNN OHHN- "

It rings out just as loudly as you wanted it to, followed by Pebble's strangled garble before he audibly gulps and seems to pause from the reaction he ripped out of you. The silence around you becomes bashful, like you rattled the building and its residents to stillness. If Santi was here, he'd commend you for the pornstar moan.

You've no doubt you've roused a couple of peepers. There's a faint tingle in the back of your mind, Krulu now tangentially paying attention to what's happening. You suppose hearing his vessel cry out like a bitch in heat out of nowhere is more than a little curious.

After that little break where you watch Pebble disappear almost entirely into you, squeezing around his hardness, feeling him buck his hips softly in desperation, you smile and let yourself go, riding him to your heart's content.

Leaning forward, hands planted firmly on his legs, you use as much force as you need to make each pound downward really count. You're not afraid of being too rough, Pebble's sturdy, he can deal with the slap of your ass on his body, with the mad squeeze of your spasming pussy around those perfect bumps, stopping periodically just to grind and rip more filthy noises out of yourself.

He tries, boy does he try to do anything, but you're too much for him. Too confident, too hot, too wet and welcoming. Pebble can only whimper out nonsensical pleas, heaving and panting hard enough you can hear his paper bags crumple when his teeth accidentally catch them. He groans and drools, not that you can see the small pool of it between his tits as he watches your gorgeous form bounce, fruitlessly attempting to feed into your merciless rhythm but getting completely overpowered in seconds.

You almost wish you could see his fucked out state for yourself, the mental images accompanying each frantic little noise of his having you gasping and crying out.

" Fffuck yes, you're such a good boy for me, aren't you? " You coo in-between pants of slight effort. " You'll let me ride you anywhere, won't you, sweetheart? Anything to get your cock wet, huh? "

Pebble's responding sound is like a slurred, low moan, legs jerking and tails spasming while the dick inside you throbs so hard you thought he was going to cum for a second there. In fact, for a couple of completely lust-drunk moments, you totally forget what you're doing. Sure, you're ridding the lights out of this gargoyle, but what for anymore...?

As if fate heard said thought, a soft buzz jolts your memory.

In the very same corner he had once disappeared to, stands none other than Colmei, watching like a little voyeur. And you don't doubt he's not the only one right now, but he's the peeping Tom you were specifically looking forward to.

The beekeeper stands warily, wings moving rapidly behind his back in what must only equate to excitement, claws tugging anxiously at his own garbs, which happen to be hilariously tented where his engorged cock bulges with need, already staining those ash-colored robes into a depraved wet mess.

Although you can't tell for sure, you'd bet that mask-clad gaze is fixed on the sway of your tits and the sight of your hungry cunt swallowing Pebble without rest. You make it a point to sit up slightly so he can see better.

Good, perfect, watch and drool, little freak. This is what he declined. It could be him beneath you now, if he wasn't such a dumbass earlier. It could be him twisting and arching like Pebble on the ground, warbling for more and more and harder-

You force yourself to think clearly, halting things to a crawl.

The gargoyle's infuriated snarl dies into a miserable sob, one of his arms leaving you to punch down on the grass beside him. He makes another distressed bray, and while you understand his pain perfectly, you need to focus now.

" Quiet. Patience. " It was an order. And, admittedly, he's very obedient about it, murmuring his displeasure when you slap his thigh softly. Ouch.

Your previous hammering becomes a slow, luscious roll of the hips, gloves removed so you can feel yourself up for the peeper's viewing pleasure. He takes a small step forward, clearly wanting to approach, but still held back by something that is honestly starting to infuriate you.

" Colmei... " You moan at the next surge of pleasure.

The beekeeper shivers and seems to wake at the call. You don't miss Pebble's confused grunt at you calling out someone else's name.

In a vaguely childish gesture, you pout and make grabby hands at the darker monster, stopping to play with your breasts, rolling them together just to thrill, casting Colmei the most needful look you can muster.

His resolve visibly falters, the clear invitation having him frozen mid-step.

" Please... Comei. "

Oh, nothing can curb the Cheshire grin that spreads so eagerly on your cheeks, splitting them, when the insectoid monster caves.

He does the walk of shame over to you, as he should, arm over his blatant erection and posture like that of a bashful mutt getting caught in the trash can. Only now does Pebble, still impatiently trying to get some friction started, realize someone else is getting closer. The gargoyle lifts his heads behind you, offering a strange sort of snort-chuff at Colmei.

" Hey now. " You warn.

The two of them have gotten along on several occasions, though the mutant is clearly interpreting the beekeeper's presence as that of a challenger. As if Colmei's going to yank you off him and dash away. You suppose this can be new for them both.

" I'm not going anywhere. " You assure Pebble, tossing him a look. The gargoyle murmurs, slightly placated.

When Colmei halts in front of you, it's not too hard to get him to roll his robes up, his pretty pitch black cock bobbing in anticipation, the male's breath clipped. Before even so much as reaching for him, you offer a skeptical, challenging glance.

Are you going to be difficult now?

Colmei appears to interpret the basic gist of it well-enough, buzzing quietly and bending big legs slightly so his offering is properly reachable. If that's not a pathetic beg, then you don't know what is.

" Mmm, are you sure? "

He makes another droning noise, this one climbing to high sputtering, almost like an apology, regret. Good. In his desperation, Colmei allows his tip to poise on your lips, spreading a bead of something so sweet your eyes widen when you swipe your tongue across it. Huh. You pat the small pocket on the side of your bunched up dress, finding the small vial still secured there.

Beneath you, Pebble seems about ready to burst out crying, hips starting to buck uselessly even if he's been told to behave. Poor thing, you figure you've tortured him enough. Knowing it's going to take a bit of coordination, you reach around to find the blue monster's hands, urging him to bend slightly so he can grab your waist, moving them, letting the gargoyle know he should use you however he pleases. Immediately, he starts bouncing you quickly, little rabbit thrusts that have you rocking slightly and laughing amidst the jolts of sensation now reawakening.

Redirecting your attention to Colmei, you make sure he's watching when you lace both hands on his length, motions a lot more practiced than his, letting him know that ambiguous pawing won't get him anywhere. The beekeeper's whole body rattles in a visceral shiver, you're able to see the muscles of his legs tense and his lower abdomen tighten as he discovers a brand new world of pleasure. Hopefully, he'll learn from this. The monster coos something in a fast staccato, a lot more active than Pebble, thrusting into your grip and huffing every time you stop to circle cruelly over his tip.

With so much curiosity biting at you, it doesn't take long before you're putting soft lips against him again, trailing a stripe from the root of his dick to the head, marveling at the slightly musky taste of his skin. The beekeeper instinctually holds onto your head, making a low, shocked sort of hum the second you take him in properly- Treated to the view of you slowly sinking more of him into your mouth, a playful tongue feeling around as he gets into your throat.

Thank Krulu for his training and body modifications. You'd be a little upset if you couldn't take him all in.

Colmei rattles with pleasure the moment he's fully enveloped by the warmth of your gulping maw, twitching inside you, shuddering when his balls brush your chin. Speaking of, might as well play around while you can. One hand grabs his leg for support, the other thumbs and rolls his nuts, if only just to hear his breath hitch again. Pebble, who unbeknownst to you has been watching the entire exchange, finally starts fucking you onto him properly- Perhaps out of jealousy that his neighbor is getting twofold your attention.

It's very easy for him to lift you, most monsters find the majority of humans easy to maneuver, though being made of such hard material definitely helps. The pleasant surprise of getting hammered onto his length has you moaning gleefully around Colmei, who begins moving as well, careful enough not to let you slip off him. While the gargoyle seems to be quickly recovering that previously lost climb, making self-satisfied noises at the vocalizations he elicits from you, Colmei is only starting to get into what might be his first oral servicing, snapping angrily at the blue mutant whenever he gets rowdy enough to nearly displace you.

" Hahh... Getting close? " You call to Pebble, able to slip off Colmei's cock for a moment to catch your breath.

Strings of drool mixed with excessively viscous precum cling to your jaw, the beekeeper's too restless to stay still, rubbing his wet cock on your cheek while you wait for a response. Your stone-hard sybian nods feverishly, a guilty noise echoing.

" That's fine, sweetie, don't hold back. "

You can barely finish the sentence before Colmei's trying to angle himself into your mouth again, throwing a glare at the beekeeper. Nonetheless, Pebble understands, and he rumbles out in delight, now pounding you from below with a vengeance that has you comically bobbing and gagging onto the insectoid without much work. Between the slap of your ass on him, the wetness of your cunt getting bred and the slurp of your lips around the other's cock- You don't even know which is more obscene.

It's easy to slip into a pleasured trance, skin erupting into goosebumps as you're used and loved on by the two, hands dropping to feel your own breasts and glide down your inner thighs, rolling your clit appeasingly. There are many, many benefits to your job, the best of them of course being fulfilling Lord Krulu's will- But sometimes, you think getting to service and show love to those sworn to him is up there in terms of reward. The rush of your approaching orgasm has you mewling sweetly, clenching increasingly hard around Pebble in an attempt to keep him snug inside you, kissing all the deepest parts of your core.

Apparently, that does the trick for the gargoyle.

Because he strangles out a snarl of rapture and sinks you fully onto him, claws tightening on your skin in pure instinct, keeping you screwed onto his fattening cock as that delicious knot begins to swell to its full potential. The stretch is harsh, unforgiving and burning hot but so, so worth it just to have it crush your most sensitive spots, pressuring, throbbing. You come hard the moment a burst of thick steaming gargoyle seed paints your walls, coating you, claiming you, filling you so nicely. The weight settles on your lower abdomen and you drool on Colmei's thick cock in glee, pussy pulsing for more. Pebble purrs loudly, previously clenched claws now stroking lovingly over your sides, tails swatting as he relaxes, with his still weakly spurting shaft lodged firmly within you.

" Good boy! Good job, you did so well! " You praise him, feeling his thighs flex briefly while he murrs and croons his gratitude.

That leaves the bee collector, who you can now focus fully on, lavishing him from top to bottom like the sweetest lollipop out there. And, admittedly, he is quite sugary to the taste. There's a playful perking of your lips as you teasingly mouth around his head again, flirting with his hole, leaning away when Colmei tries to push more into you. The male grunts, then makes a sound like a dying keen, cock jumping and balls tightening.

It seems maybe he does have a thing for edging. Perhaps that's why he takes so long to bring himself to orgasm, he does it deliberately, the little pervert. And now he's loving it when someone else does it to him. Hah.

Now that Pebble's down for the count and you've had your fun, you can afford to play with Colmei like he's no more than an interesting toy. He'll twitch and beg in that ceaseless humming, but all you ever do is lick, kiss and nudge at him, occasionally dipping to take some of his length down- You make the beekeeper belive that you'll swallow him to the base anew only to pop lewdly off him not even halfway there and chuckle.

He pulses so hard you're impressed he didn't climax right then and there.

Enough is enough however, you're starting to get sore from having your knees bent for so long. In a gluttonous fit, you suck Colmei down like he's the last male on Earth, ripping a grunt-hiss of shock out of him before he grabs your head sternly and fucks into your face with enough strength to hurt your nose briefly.

The hive guardian begins cumming down your throat alarmingly quick. The resulting substance is extremely thick and hard to swallow, sticking to your throat in a way that forces you to instinctively cough and sputter globs of his own jizz back around his member. Colmei only appears to thrill further at the sight.

With a couple of sharp jerks and warning sounds, you're finally able to rip your head off the beekeeper's grasp, tasting his seed for the first time. And even though the distinct flavor of what can only be honey is quite surprising -If not ironically hilarious- You're hurriedly fishing the vial out so you can collect a fair amount of Colmei's seed. A somewhat contaminated sample, sure, but it's better than nothing.

In his post-nut bliss, the monster doesn't really care as to why you're gathering his fluids, merely buzzing pleasantly, wings erratically flicking. His last few shots drip down your neck and coat your exposed tits. The cheeky fuck has the gall to try to wipe his cock on your face, met with a cautionary pinch from your part.

It must be some kind of honey. It tastes exactly like it. Even the color is that of a rich, glazed hue. Maybe this can even be profitable!

The vial is lowered to the ground, all three of you relaxing in the relative silence of the garden under a satisfying haze. Colmei pulls his robes down and squats before you, mask set aside safely so three roving tongues can weasel across your skin, licking the side of your neck and chin, cleaning you of his own savory mess. Behind you, the gargoyle rises as well, with a slight wince from the jostling of his sensitive cock in you, a fatter and less slimy muscle laving at your shoulder and dipping between your stained tits.

You sigh happily, slumping onto Pebble and letting the two sweethearts take care of your tired figure.

Mission accomplished.

#Beekeeper boie #Pebble oc #monsterfucker #terato #monster x reader #monster smut #terat0philliac #monster boyfriend #MINORS DNI #not sfw

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namis-gf · 4 months

Note

Just saw that you’re open for one piece requests and thought I’d drop by.

Would you consider writing back rub and back kisses hcs for katakuri or marco please? And best of luck with the come back ^^

anon ur so insane how did u KNOW i was thinking obsessively about katakuri for the past two weeks straight... ur too good. i meant to stick closer to the prompt but the plot kinda got away from me, sorry!

summary: strawhat!reader x katakuri meet again after many years apart during the whole cake island arc. luffy has been trying to convince him to join his crew with no success, but maybe he might listen to you?

word count: 969 words / 0.9k

cw: none? i think?

whoever said katakuri was 48 year-old eldest daughter syndrome is absolutely correct. he has so many hangups when it comes to both physical and verbal affection, most of the time preferring to passively sit by and let people bother him. case in point, your captain. instead of immediately setting sail for zou to meet up with everyone, luffy has taken it upon himself to convince the minister of flour that his presence is desperately needed on his crew. permanently.

and, if you're going to be polite about it: things aren't going well. you've watched for two days straight, luffy yelling either to the gentle giant's face (which is still quite a distance from the ground), or attempting to scale the walls of katakuri's home. neither of those particularly difficult for the rubber boy, considering the house slash castle itself seems to be basically falling apart.

you wait. nami often sits by your side, either grouching about the time, plotting your captain's demise, or napping on your shoulder. chopper and brook have taken to an almost betting ring of sorts, getting the remaining residents of komugi island to guess whether their leader will stay or go. so far, the odds aren't in luffy's favour. as usual, you might add.

at the end of their fourth extra night, luffy returns to the sunny. he looks a little downtrodden, yawning, but has somehow gotten a hold of a handful of mochi. "i think katakuri was trying to kill me again, but he lost. the food he makes is really yummy though, shishishi!"

with a sigh of your own, you offer, "let me talk to him, i have an idea."

"you do?" luffy replies, mouth full of sweets, "go ahead!"

"call if you need anything!" chopper chimes in.

nami only shakes her head. "if you don't come back, we'll assume you got trampled to death or something. so don't do that please."

"don't even worry about it, i'm basically a pro social hustler," you tell them, and begin the walk to the castle.

"so you are not a bard, or a songstress, or a very small jester. your presence here confuses me, you did not seem like someone who would ever become a pirate," katakuri tells you, his tone as solemn as ever.

"is this a roundabout way of saying i don't have any talents?" you mock-gasp with flair, "oh you wound me so!"

he stares at you wordlessly. okay, it looks like jokes are off the table.

"but you missed me right?" you try instead, putting on your biggest smile. "you missed me so bad, must be why you look so grumpy all the time."

"is your captain aware of..." he pauses, considers, "does the strawhat know of your past?"

"sort of?" you shrug your shoulders, shifting forward to adjust like you aren't already lying on one of his legs (truly the world's largest couch). "there was never exactly a good time to bring it up, ya know? like how was i supposed to say 'uh hey guys, i used to work here as the world's worst gardener before i got fired'."

"hm, that does seem difficult," katakuri nods. "i could not tell how much they knew, but you are lucky that none of my siblings happened to remember you well enough to say anything."

"small blessings for sure," you do your best to contain a laugh, however the echoing chambers of an empty castle only make it louder. "anyways, cut the bullshit. you're gonna come with me, right?"

his neutral expression shifts into something like a frown, and yet you can tell he isn't exactly angry at your presumptuousness either. "i would like to accompany you. but my duties to my... mother and the family take precedence."

"and if you left, she'd send the whole gang after you."

he sighs again. "yes, that is the most probable outcome. and i would not wish to put the strawhat crew in danger."

"that's charming," you reply, "but also really stupid. and i know you aren't a dummy, right? you've been hanging around this dreary archipelago for your whole life! don't you want to, i don't know, do something? go on an adventure?"

he doesn't respond immediately, but a large hand clumsily pats your head with his pointer finger. you grin, knowing victory must be in sight. "your totally evil mom doesn't even leave her place that often, so she won't even notice that you're gone! and tell me right now that you don't think luffy would be chomping at the bit to fight her again? be serious, mochi-mochi."

all of a sudden the ground shifts under you, and you make an embarrassing yelp as you're dragged up and up and up. katakuri holds your body by the back of your shirt, and you're only partially worried that he could drop you. death by splat on marble floor isn't appealing in the slightest. you're suspended by a shirt pinched between fingers as he squints slightly, as though looking for a secret in your expression.

"fine," he eventually says, "i will go. but if something goes wrong, do not say i didn't warn you."

"ah, you're bringing me back to old times!" you hum, making a familiar grabby hand motion for him to drop you on his shoulder. "except i think uh, the last time you warned me-"

"you got fired, yes," he says amicably, but acquiesces to your request. "left or right?"

"right! i wanna look like a really mean parrot, mr. pirate," you exclaim, laughing as he drops you gently where you'd asked. feeling mischievous, you press a kiss against his neck and watch as his face goes pink. "we should probably go make sure that you won't sink the sunny, though!"

"... and you somehow did not think to check something like that before?"

FIN (FOR NOW)

#one piece #one piece x reader #charlotte katakuri #charlotte katakuri x reader #gn!reader #requests open

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synthetickitsune · 11 months

Note

can i please request how svt would make up with their s/o after an argument? if you can't write for all the members then i would like to ask for either 95 or 97 line. thank you so much in advance! <3

angst, my beloved <3 thank you for requesting this!

svt + making up after argument //gn!reader

S.Coups ❧ He hates fighting with you for many reasons. It gets too heated, and it’s too important, too close. And he doesn’t have any sort of authority to use as a leverage. Not that he usually does or uses it, but it helps ground him with fake confidence. He doesn’t have that luxury here. As a result, every argument with you shakes him to the core. Afterwards he trails after you, and it’s so annoying sometimes that it almost leads to another fight. But by then he’s too unsure about anything that isn’t his love for you to keep it up and he closes off. He won’t meet your eyes because he can’t have this right now, he’ll give you an easy victory that leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. This is not a battle, something to win or lose, but he doesn’t like the feeling all the same. He swears the pout on his lips isn’t on purpose. It certainly works in his favor, though. As annoying as his constant hovering is, seeing Seungcheol lose confidence in his own kitchen is the most heartbreaking thing. You motion for him to come closer and he comes into your arms easily. He grows more comfortable. He apologizes again, and so do you. It’s endearing, his curious glances any time he wants to follow you. He needs to know you’re okay, and this time you let him. It’s easier to talk things out in the buzz of going about your day. He listens to your rant about what really upset you as you wash the dishes, and he opens up about why he’s been so snappy with you lately while he folds the laundry. To keep the mood going, you keep cleaning and talking. There’s nothing like doing chores to remind you you’re in this together and to get the house in order. Maybe you should fight more often.

Jeonghan ❧ In the silence and invisible distance after, he knows what caused the rift. He doesn't like giving space when it already feels like there's too much of it between you and him, but he knows when it's necessary to take a step back. It might be a weakness or a strength but his emotions are his own responsibility that he alone takes care of. Jeonghan needs to sit down and analyze; put things into perspective and create a mental model and draw parallels. Complex understanding of a problem is what he excels at, after all. He sorts out the mess in his head, thinks about what hurt you and comes up with the best way to explain himself - not to make an excuse, but to show his intention and apologize. He tells himself how to navigate through this next time. The other half, what hurt him, he sorts out as well. He is understanding. He can't let what you don't mean or you're right about to get under his skin. He can set his ego aside for a while. When he approaches you, it’s difficult for you. It feels like you’re chasing after someone miles ahead. You also want to deal with your feelings so efficiently. Maybe it's just hard because you long for him so much after arguments. Because you know the fight wasn’t worth it. You talk and you listen and you apologize to each other. While his apology flows like a river, yours is more like a mountain stream, rushed and crashing against your mental blocks, hurdles in communication you can't get over. But he still listens and he nods, holds your hand and helps you get your point through. You know he understands without you speaking and you’re grateful. Even if it breaks your heart you can never truly meet him in the middle, Jeonghan always being one step ahead, doing much of the work for both of you.

Joshua ❧ It's all about timing. Arguments are rare, and so the way away from them is all the more tricky. It's hard to get Joshua riled up like this, enough for a fight to take place, and it just so happens that he lets his other little frustrations slip into the arguments. The aftermath is both of you on edge still long after apologies were said. You want to make up, he wants to make up, but if you try too early, you'll snap at each other all over again without meaning to. Leave it alone for too long and the hurt will deepen. From an onlooker’s perspective, you could be a pair of naughty students, exchanging notes during class and waiting for each other's reaction. Joshua keeps stealing glances at you, you try to glance at him. It's all to see if it's safe to approach the other already. In an ideal world, you'd always get it right and end the day over cups of warm drinks, talking about the problem, resolving it, coming up with suggestions what to do differently to avoid this happening again. But you're only people. So sometimes it’s snark met with sarcasm, riling each other up again instead - only this time, the venom slowly disappears and you push each other’s buttons on purpose. You like that he can meet your level of sass, he likes how clever your comebacks are, and vice versa. You don't notice how close you've inched to each other until your lips all but brush against his. It's a wake up call for both of you. Sometimes the conversation takes place over coffee at the table, sometimes it happens in the bed as you bask in the afterglow. Either way, your fingers are intertwined and your voices are soft. You make up with kisses just as tender.

Jun ❧ This is why he always carefully considers whether the issue at hand is worth arguing about. Oftentimes he rather backs out, gives in simply to avoid the fight - or more accurately, to avoid the fallout. It’s awkward. Even after everything’s been said and settled, there’s tension between the two of you that he’s unused to. He can’t come up to you and act like nothing happened. It’d feel too inappropriate, even if that’s what he’d love to do. There’s nothing else to say, though. Words are pointless if you know how he feels and he knows how you feel. Everything is settled - only the emotions linger. What he does is on the line between his usual kindness and a love language. A bowl of cut fruit, watching the episode of your show first, or him picking only the whole, unbroken chips to feed you. It's all for you, to show that he cares, if you're ready to accept that. It melts your heart even if you’re still wound up from the argument. You take the fork and stab the fruit, not him. You don't roll your eyes and stop yourself from getting annoyed that he wants to appease you. You open your mouth and you don't bite his fingers. But sometimes you wish he would just apologize. It's not like either of you was wrong. It was mostly just an exchange of opinions. But still, sometimes the simplest solution is the best one - you apologized too. It's three damned words. That's not gonna kill him. But then you see Jun cut the fruit with the star-shaped cutter, or he hums the opening of the show, or he chuckles at the one chip that kind of looks like a heart. You can only sigh and smile and let go of it all. This is who you picked. This is who you're gonna stick beside.

Hoshi ❧ He might not follow you around, but his eyes do. Soonyoung is long past the stage of being shy around you, but he reverts back to it after arguments. His eyes never leave your figure unless you look at him. It's pointless, he knows it's obvious he's staring. Yet he can't help it, a part of him is worried about you leaving if only for a second. And it's not fair. It's cheating because he looks so small and vulnerable, and you know he is - know that you are too. How could you ignore him? You sigh, half exasperated, half fond, as you close the distance between you and sit down next to him. He has the decency to look sheepish when you do. He's moving ridiculously slowly when his arms reach out to hug you to give you a chance to refuse, sometimes it makes you angry that he acts like you’re the only one whose emotions matter or like you’re gonna refuse his affection. As if you could live with the heartbroken expression he'd make if you pulled away. Not that you want to. He tucks you under his chin, cushioning your head on his chest. His arms are wrapped securely around you and the muscles on his legs flex with your every move, ready to use all his limbs to keep you trapped. You'd almost think you did try to run away and he only just caught you. He murmurs into your hair about how much he loves you, the dates, wildly unrealistic, he'd love to take you on. He promises you stars, moon, and the sun, he promises you forever. He'd do anything to keep you happy and laughing as you are now. You know he's as serious as he can be. What you also know is that the only way to shut him up now is with a kiss. So you do.

Wonwoo ❧ You're both trying too hard and that might also, eventually, become a problem. Trying too hard to be mindful of the other to the point you ignore your own needs and feelings is never a way. When the argument happens, it feels inevitable. It leaves you both feeling defeated. So you agree to give each other space before discussing things further. And you both think pretty much the same thing - what is the other thinking? You're circling back to where the problem started but with the result of that fresh in your minds, you don't make the same mistake. Somehow you end up in the same room, on the same bed, lying on your backs and staring at the ceiling as you talk. Telling each other what conclusions you came up with, what you think the other wanted to say and felt, you learn a lot about each other. Wonwoo takes advantage of the situation. He's opening up anyway, he’s already showing vulnerability, he might as well compensate for struggling with it otherwise. So he does. He uses the mellow atmosphere after an argument to show you his heart, to explain a little about how he thinks, gaining confidence with each of your reassuring nods and the way you really listen and care. You don’t judge and neither does he. He tells you all the things he wanted to say but didn’t before, throws in a tiny thing or two that he secretly loves about you. He lets you in, comforted enough by the safe bubble enveloping the two of you to do so. Each fight is a step forward to never fighting again, he said once. No matter who it is, being honest without holding back is hard and takes a lot of courage. With your hand in his and his knee bumping against yours, however, even conquering the world seems possible.

Woozi ❧ Arguments are never easy on Jihoon. It's enough that he has to deal with them at work - because really, the negotiations he's gotta do sometimes are nothing more than pointless fights. Therefore at home, he tries to be as efficient as possible dealing with any issues that come up. Partly because yes, he's tired, but for the most part because he knows how patient and tolerant you are towards him and he wants to give back. Which doesn't mean he doesn't snap occasionally and full on arguments don't happen, and then he's quick to apologize. You talk about it more, get over it, and then it's up to you and Jihoon to each decompress and process everything. You might busy yourself or leave to get some space, but he stays right where he is. He leans his head back on the couch and closes his eyes. He lets time wash over him as he thinks and takes in the silence, finally indulging in the absence of sound. When he's had his fill, though, he thinks about how it must seem to you for him to tell you that things are alright, and then he makes no effort to move or approach you. So he does so now. It feels awkward when he finds you - should he apologize again? Will you understand? Isn't it too late? You notice him hesitating and call him over. He relaxes seeing your smile, and he leans down to kiss the top of your head. He mumbles something that vaguely resembles a sorry. He asks what you've been doing, and he lets you get away with it if you pull him with you to show him or glue yourself to his side. He listens too intently and thinks hard about questions to ask to really mind any skinship you're doing even if he'd grumble any other time.

The8 ❧ His first step is always to assess the situation. He tries to feel out if it’s space or his presence that you want. Either way, it’s not far from the truth to say he approaches you as if you were a stray cat. Once it's safe to assume you'd welcome him being in the same room, he still keeps his wary distance. He lets you lead. But Minghao's also only a human and the tension where there should be peace upsets him more than the argument itself. He creeps towards you slowly, and at first it's only brushing his fingers against yours or bumping his leg with yours as he sits down next to you. Like a flowing water, he slowly envelops you without you noticing. Soon enough, his arms are around your waist and his head is on your shoulder, planting a gentle kiss to your skin, nuzzling into you, asking for forgiveness and reconciliation. He's not opposed to talking things out, he prefers it, actually, but only after everything is settled and you're okay and back to being partners, not angry lovers sharing a home. He likes to have his hands on you while you talk it out after some time. He brushes your hair back, his thumb caresses the back of your land and draws reassuring circles on your skin. It's as nice as it is distracting. After arguments, he always feels the need to reassure and be reassured. They leave a sense of unease inside him that unsettles him as much as the fact that he lost control and fought with you - it's inevitable, he knows, but he's a fighter and if the opponent is the human nature, so be it. There is no rock that can withstand the flow of a river, after all. But until then, he makes sure to hold you tighter and cling while he has an excuse.

Mingyu ❧ He really is a shadow of you and you have to bite your tongue to keep quiet. Sometimes it makes you snap at him, other times you've gotten over the argument and it's just cute. His hesitant steps and the second of questioning warmth as his hands hover over your waist before they make contact. His chin on your shoulder while he asks if there's anything he can help you with - anything he can do to make it right again. And sometimes you're still upset, and you want to tell him to go to hell, but how could you - with his voice so soft and low, so gentle, and his hands slowly encircling your waist until he's hugging you. He pulls you close and sways with you a little, he apologizes again, with a kiss to the top of your head. He really is willing to do anything - take on your share of chores, go over the argument again, anything but leaving you alone. And it's not fair because his puppy eyes and dejected look anytime you try to ignore him always wear you down in the end. He promises to do better, he whispers the words into your hair through a pout at being denied your gaze meeting his. He is well-aware of his shortcomings and where you were right, and where he was, and it means everything to him that you, too, understand and without promises, without empty excuses, you silently acknowledge what was said and work with it. The little steps forward are appreciated, he tries to take notice of them, and puffs out his chest with pride whenever you smile when you notice his own efforts. Making up with Mingyu is whining and pouting and clinging, but it's also understanding and making an effort to make sharing a home, sharing your lives, easier.

DK ❧ He’s shaking - his entire existence is. His hands are trembling, he’s taking shallow, shaky breaths, and his eyes keep darting all over your figure, trying to see if you will flinch away if he touches you now. It’s only been a couple of silent minutes since the argument; call him weak and clingy, but he can’t take it anymore. He calls your name quietly, pleading for you to look at him, and he can’t help the primal instinct to pull you close once you do. Seokmin holds you like you’ll slip through his fingers if he doesn’t, and he feels like he lets go of all the built up tension with the long exhale that slips past his lips once your arms wrap around him and hold him just as tight. He murmurs apologies, he stumbles over his words trying to explain, but after all the effort, he knows it pointless. You understand, and he understands too when you kiss his jaw and snuggle closer. After you part, he keeps babbling to keep the silence away. He hates it, he can’t stand it right now, but he stops talking so fast as soon as he sees you opening your mouth to say something too. He pays so much attention to you it almost feels overbearing, but you let him, because you analyze his every move too, trying to guess how he feels. Even if you talk things out, there’s this uneasiness that lingers and that makes him overcompensate for what happened, to prove that he’s worthy of you - he just kind of messed up. But that might lead to you feeling the same way, and it’s a downward spiral until it reaches a critical point where it hits you both how much this seems like farce, and you laugh, and you love each other nonetheless. You’re still smiling when you kiss.

Seungkwan ❧ He needs a good long time to cool down. At first, he hopes you know he didn't mean half the things he said. It's ridiculous, right? You know better than to trust him when he gets upset. As much as his pride and stubbornness hold him back though, his love for you eventually pushes him forward. Seungkwan approaches you and tries (and fails) to pretend like nothing happened. He tries to strike a conversation but he himself is too awkward - not to mention you, still hurt and shaken by the argument. You’re trying your best too, both of you miserably trying to get over the argument simply through relying on the strong foundation of your relationship alone. But when were you known for not holding grudges, a vice that you both share? He sighs and he takes your hands in his. A quick look into his eyes is enough to know he's dropping the charade. You drop it too and listen to him patiently explain his point of view. This time when he puts on a mask, it fits better. He tries to make it fun - he hates confrontation with you, and he finds reassurance in making you laugh. He holds your hand throughout and listens carefully when you speak, laughs when you insert jokes of your own. He finds it hard to let go of your hand. It's necessary sometimes but as soon as he can, he holds you again. Your hand in his, arm thrown around your shoulders, around your waist and pulling you close to himself. He makes you laugh in any way he can, he reminds you how much he loves you so there's no room for doubt in your mind about his feelings. He gets shy when you do the same, but it means more to him than he could ever explain.

Vernon ❧ At the end of the fight, both of you apologize. It's a habit at this point really, because it's what always happens. As justified as the reason for the argument might’ve been, nothing is as important as your relationship and nothing could ever warrant losing your temper at each other. Vernon asks if you're okay when you go through things again, calmly this time, and you know he means the two of you, and yeah, you've worked it out, things are alright again. And perhaps that's enough for him. He goes about the rest of his day as usual, though maybe his smiles are a little wider. You appreciate that and it's nice to fall into your routines, to return to normalcy of everyday life in your household. Then again, you can't help but wonder - is everything alright? Would he tell you if it wasn't? Maybe the way he closed the cupboard was a little louder than usual, maybe there's more to the tension in his shoulder than exhaustion from his morning workout. You call out his name and it's enough to alert him that something’s wrong. You explain, and he chuckles - you know he'd be more distant if something was bothering him, he reminds you. He told you he's fine, so he's fine - simple as that. He's warm and reassuring when he hugs you tightly and rocks you from side to side. You might even get a kiss. Just to make sure you have no doubts that he’s truly over the argument, he makes the time to spend some extra quality time with you. You tell him it’s not necessary, that his reassurance was enough, but you'll never say no if he wants to hold you. It’s nothing special, just a couple hours spent much like they would be on a day you’re both free. And that’s all you need, after all.

Dino ❧ He feels at loss after you fight. Apologizing and talking things through can only get him so far. The tension in the air lingers and he doesn't like it. His first impulse is to go buy flowers, maybe some sweets, but then he'd have to leave and that's out of the question right now. Part of him is irrationally afraid you'd take him leaving the wrong way and he'll do anything not to make things worse. He could tell you, ask if there’s anything you’re craving right now - and maybe that's not a bad idea at all. He brings it up to you and blushes a nice shade of red when you laugh. You end up coming with him, because the air is clearer outside, not as stifling. It's easier to remember the good times as you walk through the familiar neighborhood. Your hand finds his on instinct and he knows it made you as surprised as he was when he felt your touch. You don't pull away though. In the shop, he lets you go to grab yourself some treats while he does the shopping for necessities. He finds you at the snack isle when he’s done and follows your requests, throws into the basket even the things you're hesitant about trying - you said things are okay between you, so it’s alright to have adventures again. But then you need to compensate for the snacks, so you pick up some of the fruits you've never tried, and maybe also the cereal... Needless to say this wasn't the cheapest grocery shopping but the fun and having the comfortable atmosphere between you back is well worth it in Chan's eyes. He doesn’t forget the flowers - even if he has to run to the shop again without you so it’s a surprise. As he closes the door, he smiles. You’ll be there when he returns, and you’re as eager for him to come back as he is.

#seventeen reactions #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #svt scenarios #svt reactions #requested

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