#(they all soak dave whenever he tries to sit out)

[nintendont2502]

do u reckon dave can at least float?

honestly i dont think he can - he tries! he definitely does! but its like when you try to get a little kid to float on their back and they just *cant* keep their legs up, so they just end up getting dragged underwater unless you're actively holding them up and then he gets all embarrassed and pretends hes doing it on purpose because who needs this lame ass baby skill anyway fuck all of you

#source: i was one of those kids #also smth smth associated classical element is fire idk man i just think its funny #that boy Cannot Swim #me.txt #on the total opposite end i think john can definitely swim #his dad definitely put him in lessons #jade im not sure on. probably not pregame? #but shed probably pick it up quickly #rose also cant swim but unlike dave she doesnt make a big deal about it #she just claims she prefers staying to the side #and her aura is so intimidating that no one tries to splash her #(they all soak dave whenever he tries to sit out) #(or just pull him in)

[sequinsmile-x]

No One Else

Emily and Aaron are on a well deserved vacation before their baby arrives.

When someone flirts with her on the beach, Emily refuses to let it ruin the rest of their stay.

-x-

Hi friends!

Just some good old jealous/insecure Aaron content that leads to smut. Please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 4.7k (this really got away from me we all know i can't help myself with the world building)

Warnings: Pregnancy, Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“Mama don’t go!”

Emily feels her heart ache as her little boy snuggles deeper into her side where they are cuddling on the couch, the two-year-old’s face buried in her chest as she holds him close. Even after all this time, almost five years since she’d stepped into a maternal role in Jack’s life, she still wasn’t used to the specific kind of guilt that came with being a mother. A heavy weight on her chest whenever she made a decision, even something as simple as going on a well-needed vacation with her husband. 

“Sammy, honey, it’s just for a few days,” she says, pushing his dark hair out of his face, smiling when it flops back onto his forehead, “And you’ll have so much fun with Jack and Aunt Jessie.” 

Samuel frowns as he pulls back, the expression making him look so much like Aaron she finds herself having to suppress a smile, “Baby sissy’s going.” 

Emily presses her lips together as she looks at her son, her other hand drifting to her rounded stomach, “That’s because your sister lives inside of me sweet boy,” she says, her smile finally breaking free, “She has to go wherever I go.”

Her pregnancy was one of the main reasons she and Aaron had decided to go away on vacation, both of them well aware their life was only going to get even busier in three months when their daughter was born. She was excited to spend some time with her husband, to soak up alone time with him and have a few days where they were just Emily and Aaron, not Mom and Dad or Prentiss and Hotch.

It also didn’t hurt that they’d chosen to go to Barbados, the chance to soak up some winter sun almost as appealing to her as spending the next several days watching her husband walk around in swim shorts. 

Samuel sighs and snuggles in closer to her again, making sure he’s as close to her as he can be with her bump in the way, “Miss Mama.”

She presses a kiss to the top of his head and holds him tightly, burying her face in the top of his head and smelling the scent of his shampoo, “I’ll miss you too, baby,” she says,” kissing the top of his head again, “But we’ll call every day.”

Any further conversation is cut off as Jack comes bounding into the room, the sound of Aaron dragging suitcases through the hallway following shortly behind him.

“We’re ready!” Jack says as he sits next to Emily on her other side, his smile wide, “I helped Dad pack.”

Emily smiles as she wraps an arm around him, tugging him closer. She knew his keenness to help out often outweighed how helpful he was, but he was insistent on helping to get the bags packed, especially since Aaron had refused to let Emily help.

He liked to claim it was because she was six months pregnant and needed to rest, but she distinctly remembered him refusing her help for their honeymoon too and she wasn’t pregnant then. He often said she couldn’t pack to save her life, something even she could admit was true, and he’d pack her go-bag for cases too back when she was still in the BAU before she switched departments when Samuel was born. Dave always joked that the first inkling he had that something was going on between them was the lack of wrinkles in her clothes, the fact they’d clearly been packed with a level of care she rarely had the energy for as she stuffed her go-bag whenever they got a call. 

“Thanks for being so helpful, sweetie,” she says, kissing Jack’s temple and smiling when he tries to shift away from her, on the edge of being a pre-teen, the first signs of finding his parents embarrassing starting to make themselves known. She winks at him as she pulls back, “I was just telling Sammy how much fun you’ll have with Aunt Jessie whilst Dad and I are on vacation.” 

Jack smiles, catching on to the fact that she wants his help to convince his little brother that everything will be fine. He leans forward to look at Samuel, a look on his face that Aaron would say was all her. 

“Sammy it’s going to be so fun,” he says enthusiastically, “And Aunt Jess will make cookies for us.” 

Samuel’s eyes light up for the first time since she’d sat down with him on the couch, “I love cookies.” 

Emily hears a chuckle from the doorway and turns to find her husband standing there looking at him, a smile on his face that never failed to make her stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with their daughter rolling her belly. 

“First smile all morning and it’s because of the thought of cookies,” he says, winking at her as he walks over, leaning over the back of the couch to press a kiss to her lips, “He really is all you.” 

She playfully narrows her eyes at him, fighting a smile as Jack laughs and Samuel joins in, even though he doesn’t understand, “Careful, honey. You’ve got to be nice to me or I won’t be nice to you.” 

His smile only gets wider as he stamps another kiss to her lips before he stands up straight, “Ready to go, sweetheart?” 

She nods, pulling her sons closer for a moment, enjoying the feeling of them against her for the last time in a few days. 

“So ready.”

___

Emily sighs contentedly as she settles onto the sun lounger, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin and the shift of her daughter in her belly. She places her hand on her bump and rubs a circle over it, the soft material of her black swimsuit warm against her palm. 

“This is much better than the freezing cold at home, huh sweet girl?” She says, her smile widening when she feels a kick in response. She looks up, pressing her lips together as she watches Aaron walk back towards her from the shoreline, water glistening on his skin from where he’d taken a dip in the ocean to cool off, “The view is much better here too.” 

Aaron smiles at her as their eyes meet and he starts to walk quicker, kicking up some sand as he makes it to her side, always keen to be as close to her as possible. He can’t help but let his eyes trail over her, his gaze lingering on her bump and curves accentuated by pregnancy. He knew she was somewhat self-conscious of her appearance these days, somehow more aware of it this time around than she had been when she was pregnant with Samuel. She always rolled her eyes when he said she looked beautiful, or when he stared at her a little too long, but he didn’t think he’d ever loved her more. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, raising her eyebrow at him as his eyes meet hers. 

“I can’t help myself,” he replies, leaning down to kiss her, smiling into it when she hooks her hand around the back of his head, holding him closer as she tastes the salt water on his lips. He pulls back, “You know you in a bathing suit is my weakness,” he says, sitting on the edge of her sun lounger, careful not to overbalance it. He places his hand on her thigh and squeezes, barely hiding a smirk when she shivers, something they both know has nothing to do with the cool water transferring from his skin to hers, “You remember our honeymoon right? We had Sammy 9 months later.” 

She shakes her head and laughs at him, “I remember I wore a lot of barely-there bikinis in our private villa,” she says, sighing as she looks at her bump, running her hand over it again, scrunching her nose up at the sight of her one piece, “Not this…tarp of a one piece.” 

He’s careful not to laugh, clearing his throat to stop the sound from escaping as he shifts his hand to her stomach, smiling as he feels their daughter move.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, leaning down to kiss her bump, both of them laughing when the baby kicks a little harder than usual, “You’re beautiful too princess, don’t worry,” he says to the bump before he sits back up, smiling at his wife as their eyes meet, “Do you need me to go get you anything?” 

She hums as she thinks about it, her mind drifting to the delicious, but sadly alcohol-free, cocktail she’d had when they first arrived at the beach. It was frozen and sweet and exactly the kind of thing she was currently craving. 

“Maybe a drink?”

He smiles and leans down to kiss her before he stands up straight, “That overpriced juice they put in a blender and have the nerve to call a cocktail?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at her. 

She smiles and reaches out for his hand, squeezing it tightly, “You’re the best baby daddy.” 

He rolls his eyes lovingly as she lets go of his hand, “Don’t call me that, I’m your husband.” 

She chuckles as he walks away, her enjoyment at winding him up never dulling even for a second. She lays there, eyes closed as she idly thinks about how they’ll need to top up their sunscreen soon, when she senses a shadow loom over her, blocking the sun. 

“That didn’t take long…” she trails off as she opens her eyes and sees a man who definitely isn’t her husband standing over her, a smile on his face. He’s tall and blonde, and his smile lets her know he’s far too sure of himself. She sits up a little, her band against her bump protectively as she does so, “Can I help you?” 

He sits down on Aaron’s sun lounger, clearly not picking up on her immediate defensiveness, “Hi, I’m Dan.” 

She presses her lips into a firm line, “Hi Dan. Can I help you?” 

He smirks and she raises an eyebrow at him, “You can start by telling me your name.” 

It’s one of the rare occasions when she’s grateful for how she was raised, how she can control her facial expressions, how she can stop herself from scrunching her nose up in disgust at this man who was flirting with her. Not only was she visibly pregnant, but she and Aaron hadn’t exactly been shy in their affection for each other since they’d arrived at the beach a few hours ago. They rarely had the opportunity to be this affectionate with each other outside of their home, both of them so intensely private that they wanted to keep them for themselves. Largely out of view from their friends who still found their relationship fascinating even after all this time. 

Here it didn’t matter. No one knew them. They were just a couple on the beach like so many other people, taking the opportunity to seek out the sun in winter. 

She forces a polite smile on her face, “Look, Dan. I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but I’m really not interested.” 

His smile doesn’t falter his he runs his hands through his hair “Come on, I’m sure you’d have a lot more fun with me than with Mr Serious who you’re here with.” 

Her polite smile fades, and she glares at him, her shackles rising at the way he was, admittedly gently, making fun of her husband. She liked to point out how serious Aaron was sometimes, softly smiling at him when he was particularly stern, but he was her person to make fun of, no one else’s - something that Derek and Dave had come up against more than once. 

They still brought up the time she’d locked them in a supply closet for joking that Aaron needed to lighten up after a prank gone wrong.

“Firstly, that man is my husband,” she says, raising her left hand so he can see her rings, her bump clearly not enough for this man to leave her alone, “Secondly, he’s an FBI agent. We both are actually.” 

She watches as Dan’s eyes go slightly wide, his smile slipping away slightly, but before she can say anything else they are interrupted.

“Thirdly, he’s standing right here.” 

She turns to see Aaron standing just a few feet away from them, his glare nowhere near diminished by the fact he has a brightly coloured cocktail in each hand, the tiny umbrellas sticking out of them almost shrinking under his sternness. She can tell by his expression that he’d heard more than she would have wanted him to, a flicker of hurt in his eyes that makes her even more irritated at the man who had decided to interrupt their afternoon. 

Dan stands up, all of his confidence gone as he clears his throat, muttering an apology under his breath as he stalks away without looking back. 

Emily looks at Aaron again and watches carefully as he stands frozen in place. She gives him a second to move and when he doesn’t, she gently prompts him, “Please tell me one of those drinks is for me?” 

He looks at her and nods, smiling tightly as he passes her the drink intended for her, “I decided to get one too,” he says, sitting down on his sun lounger, his eyes drifting back to where Dan had wandered off, “Although mine has tequila in it.” 

She groans, enjoying a taste of the frozen drink as she smiles at him, “Lucky,” she blows out a breath, desperate to relieve some of the tension, “It’s good you arrived when you did, he really didn’t take a hint,” she has another sip of her drink, “Who hits on someone who is not only visibly quite pregnant, but also obviously here with someone?”

He smiles tightly at the incredulous tone of her voice as he looks back at her, “What did I tell you, sweetheart,” he says softly, “You’re beautiful.” 

Despite the compliment, she can see the sadness still lingering in his eyes, and she has half a mind to find Dan on the beach and give him a piece of her mind.

___

Despite his attempt to hide it from her, he’s grumpy for the rest of the day. 

Not with her, never with her. He’s soft and kind and loving as he always his, his hand on her lower back as he guides her into the hotel’s restaurant, his smile soft as he pulls her chair out for her. 

He’s grumpy with everyone else. An edge to every look he throws to anyone who interacts with her, a tone in his voice when the waiter who has served them the last couple of nights brings the drink she always orders without asking. 

She lets it go, deciding not to mention it until they get back to their suite. Her final straw is when she shows him a picture of the boys playing in the snow in Jessica’s yard on her phone and it fails to lift his mood. Emily sighs as she sits next to him on the couch, her hand on his thigh as she squeezes it.

“Okay, honey. Talk to me,” she says, raising her eyebrow at him when he frowns, turning to look at her with confusion in his eyes. “Look, I’m usually happy to let you wallow as long as you need to, but we’re only here for another couple of days and I’d like to enjoy the rest of our time here without you glaring at anyone who interacts with me.” 

Aaron sighs and he closes his eyes, shaking his head at himself as he gives himself a second. He places his hand on hers on his leg and links their fingers together. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, opening his eyes and looking at her, guilt licking at his insides at the concern that was shining in her eyes, “I just can’t stop thinking about the guy on the beach.” 

She has to stop herself from rolling her eyes and she actively ignores how she feels her cheeks start to heat up. They were both prone to jealousy from time to time, and she knew she wasn’t completely innocent, but it feels even more ridiculous than usual. 

“Aaron,” she says softly, cupping his cheek and making him look at her, her thumb tracing back and forth on his sun-kissed skin, “You have nothing to be jealous of,” she says, “Nothing at all. Your third kid is currently using my organs as punching bags,” she smiles at him, “I think that should count for something.” 

He turns his face and kisses her palm, “It’s not that I’m jealous,” he says, and she raises both brows at him, her disbelief painted across her face and it makes him choke out a laugh, “Okay, it’s not only that. I…it’s just you could do so much better than me. That’s all.” 

It was something he’d grappled with since they got together. Emily was everything. She was beautiful, smart, kind and for a reason he’d never quite been able to figure out - completely in love with him. It wasn’t that he doubted, not for a second, but he didn’t understand why. 

She could do better than him, and everyone knew it. 

She frowns, choking on a disbelieving laugh as she shakes her head at him, “Honey, that’s not true.” 

“That guy was right. I’m too serious, even when I don’t mean to be. We were on the beach on vacation and a stranger was still able to pick up on it.”

Emily stares at him and she leans forward, resting her forehead against his, “I love that you’re serious. I love that the boys are too,” she pulls back to look at him and she moves their joint hands to her bump, “I hope she’s serious too, something is going to have to be to counteract the fact she’s half me.” 

He huffs out a laugh, “Em.”

“I mean it,” she says, stamping her lips against his, “I love you,” she kisses him again, firmer this time, smiling into it when she feels his hand shift to grab at her hip, “I’m all yours.” 

He groans, tightening his hold on her hip, “All mine.” 

“All yours,” she whispers, kissing him again, licking her tongue over the seam of his lips, sighing contentedly when he gives her access, pulling her closer as he deepens the kiss. They lose themselves in each other, hands drifting under clothes, grasping at familiar skin. She pulls back breathlessly, her teeth digging into his lower lip as she pulls at it gently. She smirks as she puts some space between them. She stands up, her smile turning soft as he immediately stands with her, his hands on her hips as he guides her up. She links a hand through his and tugs him towards the bedroom. “Come with me.”

He kisses her as they walk, paying close attention to her throat, his hands drifting down her sides as they go, “So beautiful,” he says, any insecurities seemingly gone for now as he grasps at her skin through the floating material of her dress, “All mine.” 

She turns in his arms when they reach the foot of the bed and she kisses him fiercely. Her hand drifts down his abdomen, and she smiles when she palms him through his pants, tasting his groan as he subconsciously thrusts towards her, half hard and already straining. 

She pulls back to look at him, gazing up at him through her long lashes, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she unbuckles his belt, “Usually I’d get down on my knees for you,” she says, stamping her lips against hers, her bump pressed between them, “But I think I’d never get back up,” she lets his belt fall open and then unzips his pants, stepping backwards to sit on the edge of the bed, her face level with him as she pushes his pants and boxers down past his hips, “So this will have to do.” 

Aaron grunts as she wraps her hand around him, pumping him up and down a few times, her thumb spreading a bead of pre-cum over the tip of him, “Em-”

Anything else he was going to say is cut off as she leans forward, taking him into her mouth. He grunts, his hands automatically finding her hair and threading his fingers through it, thrusting slightly against her face. 

“Jesus, baby,” he says, closing his eyes as she swallows around him, her nose against his pubic bone before she pulls back, sucking in a breath as she looks up. Her eyes are shining and a trail of spit is connecting her lower lip to the tip of him, and she’s never looked so beautiful, so his, “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

She smiles and sucks in another breath, leaning in again and taking him back down her throat. She bobs her head up and down, using her hands to pump him in tandem, as familiar with his body as he was with hers. His grunts and grip on her hair spurs her on, his words strained as they fill the air around them. 

“Em. Fuck. Mine.”

She can feel him start to lose control, his grip on her tighter, his thrusts stronger. He pulls back from her, leaning down to kiss her, smirking at the disappointment he tastes on her tongue, only partially masked by the taste of himself. 

“I was having fun,” she grumbles breathlessly, and he chuckles, kissing her again before he pulls back, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Take off your clothes,” he demands, and she nods, shedding herself of her dress and underwear as quickly as she can, watching him as he gets rid of his pants entirely. When he's done he looks at her, barely suppressing a growl at the sight of her. She was gorgeous, her eyes wide and hazy with arousal as she stares back at him, her stomach rounded with their child, her breasts bigger than they usually were, “Turn around.” 

She smiles, the wave of arousal that floods through her at the instruction making her shiver as she does as he’s told her to. She turns and rests on her hands and knees, one of her hands briefly on her stomach as she tries to get comfortable, desperate to ease some of the pressure on her back. Before she can think about it any further Aaron is there, a pillow that he’s somehow grabbed from the top of the bed in his hands as he slides it underneath her, allowing it to take the weight of her belly. He kisses her cheek, the action tender, soft. Intimate in a way she’d never experienced with anyone other than him. She turns her head to kiss him, capturing his lips against hers, and she smiles softly when he pulls back. 

“You okay?” He asks, voice rough with want as he controls himself for a moment, her comfort always his priority, and she nods, stamping her lips against his for a moment. 

“Yes,” she replies, “Please, Aaron. I need you.” 

He kisses her, fiercer this time as the brief moment of tenderness disappears, and then he’s gone, his warmth shifting from her side to behind her. She grasps the sheets in her fists as she waits, the anticipation making her blood fizz under her skin. She almost screams when he licks through her from behind, her fists impossibly tighter around the sheets as her head falls forward. 

“Fuck, Aaron,” she says, her hips twitching as he pulls back, a chuckle pressed against her lower back as he kisses it. 

“So wet for me already, sweetheart,” he says, lining himself up with her, trailing his tip through her teasingly, “And I’ve barely touched you.” 

“Please,” she repeats, on edge already, her heightened hormones making her usual desire for him almost ridiculous, her body almost shaking with it. 

When he pushes forward they both moan, the familar stretch of him enough to make them both pause, taking a desperately needed moment to try and gain back some control. He presses his body against hers, his chest draped over her back and his hands over hers, his fingers locking with hers on the mattress.

“You feel so good, Em,” he mutters, his forehead against the top of her head, “Like you were made for me.” 

She grunts, clenching around him as he stays maddeningly still, every nerve in her body poised to catch fire as she tries to encourage him to move. She tilts her head upwards, his forehead now against hers, his harsh breath skipping across her face, and she smiles at him. 

“Show me,” she says, pushing her hips back into his, “Show me how I’m all yours.”

It works just like she knew it would, pushing him to start moving his hips against hers, any teasing forgotten as he does exactly what she’d asked of him. It’s hard and fast and everything she wanted, driving her embarrassingly close to the edge already. 

“You’re mine,” he grunts, his skin slapping against hers as he continues to push his hips into her. He moves one of his hands between them, circling her clit, smirking against her as she gets impossibly tighter around him, her hips stuttering as she gets closer, “Come for me sweetheart,” he mutters, his touch getting firmer, “Cum for me and then I’ll fill you with even more of me.” 

His words, combined with his palm on her belly, tip her over the edge. She comes with a scream, something she tries and fails to muffle as she collapses forward her arms giving out from under her as she presses her face into the bedding. 

He comes seconds later, both of them groaning as he does so, and he slows his hips against hers, dropping a kiss to her temple as he tries to catch his breath. He stays there, still leaning over her for a second before he kisses her cheek, then her jaw, before he pulls back. 

“Wait there a second,” he says, walking towards the ensuite bathroom. 

He makes quick work of cleaning himself off and then reaching for a fresh towel before he walks back into the bedroom. He smiles to himself when he sees she’s still lying exactly as he left her, and he sits next to her on the bed, his smile turning into a smirk when she jumps slightly as he cleans her off, a smugness to his expression that has her rolling her eyes as she turns to look at him. 

“You okay?” He asks again, throwing the towel across the room before he lays down next to her, helping her adjust the pillow so she can lay on her side and he can curl up behind her. 

She hums and nods, tilting her head to kiss him, “I’m perfect,” she says, kissing him again, “So are you.” 

Aaron shakes his head lovingly at her and places his hand on her bump, smiling against his wife’s cheek as he feels the baby moving, “She’s kicking a lot.”

Emily smiles as he looks at him over her shoulder, placing her hand over his on her stomach, “She always moves like crazy after you make me cu-”

“Em, please,” he says, cutting her off, his eyes wide, “You know how I feel when you say that.” 

She giggles, capturing his lips in a kiss, “This is the second time I’ve been pregnant,” she says, squeezing her hand in his, “When will this stop freaking you out?” 

He kisses her, content to have her in his arms, pressed up against her like this. Any concerns he’d had earlier, that he knew would return again, as they always did, were gone. Vanquished because of her, his balm for any worries like she always would be. 

“I guess we’ll just have to keep going until we find out.” 

She smiles as she kisses him, and they forget about everything other than each other. 

-x-

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[jetaime-jespere]

Affirmations

In response to a request, set in the WSNE universe shortly after Nora is born. TW for some references to postpartum anxiety.

word count: 1,380

Emily thought the pregnancy would be the hardest part.

The fatigue in the first trimester, coupled with near-constant nausea hit hard and fast, rendering it nearly impossible for her to work a case for almost eight weeks. Despite Aaron’s protests, Emily insisted on coming to the BAU whenever she could gather the energy to get down the stairs and into the car. She would pace into the bullpen at his side, a plastic bucket never too far away. The team would take turns telling her to go home, we can do this without you for a few weeks - but to no avail. She couldn’t be persuaded, even if most afternoons ended with her curled in a ball on the leather sofa in Aaron’s office, her hand under her cheek and a blanket tossed over her legs. The food aversions came soon after that - coffee was the first to go. She glared at Aaron before promptly vomiting one morning as he brewed a fresh pot, and threatened to toss the brand new Nespresso machine out the window in between dry heaves. Jack’s chicken nuggets followed shortly after; Aaron’s patience explaining to him just why they couldn’t get a fresh bag of dinosaur nuggets after he’d tossed the old ones nearly broke the seven year old’s heart. But Aaron explained it was to help Emily feel better, and he obliged with an innocent smile, albeit disappointed. Crackers were the only thing she could stomach until the middle of her second trimester. The body changes were a mental hurdle - her hips widened until only yoga pants felt comfortable, the varicose veins made her cringe. She adored the bump that grew underneath her shirt but loathed the heartburn and breathlessness that soon came with it.

She learned the hard way that was just the beginning.

Nora came into the world dramatically, during a snowstorm in February, and while VDOT plowed the roads and restored powerlines, Emily and Aaron spent blissful days soaking up baby snuggles, completely oblivious to everything except the tiny bundle in her arms and Jack nestled between them. The visitors came after that - an endless parade of friends - mostly the team, coming after work or on weekends, bringing meals and conversation. JJ held Nora while Emily took blissful hot showers, Penelope cleaned the kitchen and brought groceries while Morgan carried Jack around on his shoulders. Dave brought whiskey and cigars, shared with Aaron on the porch, and Emily never quite got tired of seeing their baby daughter nestled in her Godfather’s arms.

It was when things settled into what should have been a new normal, about a week after Nora’s birth, that Aaron sensed something was wrong. It started with irritability - snapping at him immediately when he brought her coffee as she finished nursing Nora. She had a short fuse with Jack, sometimes having zero patience for his persistent questions about his baby sister.

“Does Emily not like me anymore, Daddy? Now that Nora is here?” Jack tearfully wept in his lap, reminiscent of earlier years, and Aaron’s throat tightened with empathy for not only his son, but his wife too, undoubtedly struggling with more emotions than she knew what to do with. “No buddy,” he soothed. “Emily loves you very much.”

Jack wasn’t exactly convinced, but a crisis was temporarily averted.

In Aaron’s opinion, she was a natural. Breastfeeding took a few tries but Emily was a pro by now; Nora was a decent sleeper. She fed her and changed her, sang to her. Watching her with their daughter was something he’d never tire of; it gave him an inordinate sense of pride. He knew she would be a wonderful mother. He wished Emily saw it that way too. He was determined to show her that.

But there were other signs. Her appetite vanished - uncharacteristically Emily - and on more than one occasion, he watched her scrape a half-eaten plate of food into the trash can. “You’re breast-feeding, Emily,” Aaron said gently, later that night, wondering if it was worth the argument, partially concealed by the depths of his closet as he got ready for bed. “You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“I’m doing the best I can, Aaron.” Emily looked exhausted as she lifted a helplessly crying Nora into her arms. “Sometimes I don’t know I’m cut out for this.” And she swore under her breath, the baby against her shoulder, face pale as the final straw broke. “I don’t know what she wants.” Her voice cracked, the exhaustion bleeding through. “I’m failing at this.” And then she seemingly crumpled before him, sinking onto their bed with Nora in her arms. For a moment Aaron stood helpless, staring between his sobbing wife and wailing daughter, unsure of who to help first.

But then he’s across their bedroom in three strides, taking Nora out of her arms and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “Emily, sweetheart, please listen to me. Just listen to my voice.” He somehow gets her attention while bouncing Nora enough to settle her. “Go take a shower while I get her settled. We’ll be okay for a few minutes.”

He gets Nora settled in a record amount of time. The baby is sound asleep in the bassinet next to Emily’s bed before he nudges the bathroom door open. A thick cloud of steam greets him; Emily sits perched on the sink wrapped in a towel. Wet hair drips down her back, her head sits in her hands. It’s clear she hasn’t exactly stopped crying, either. His chest is cleaved in half as he wraps both arms around her, gently pulls her down to her feet. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you dried off.”

Once the towel has been replaced with a set of nursing-friendly pajamas, Aaron tucks her against his chest in their bed. Emily is almost lifeless in his arms, her body succumbing to the blinding exhaustion that comes along with caring for a newborn. Aaron rocks her gently, like he’s done many times before. “Talk to me, Emily. Please.”

She buries her face in his neck, curling into herself. He shakes his head, swipes his finger under her chin and tilts her head up to meet his gaze. “Nothing you say will make me love you any less, you know that, right?”

Her breaths come erratically, an aftereffect of the tears. When she finally finds words, they come as a whisper. “For so long, all I wanted was to be a mother. And I’m failing at it.”

“No,” he says immediately, dragging his knuckles across her cheekbone, cupping her chin in his hand. “How can you think that? What could ever give you that idea?”

“I never thought it would be this hard.” She finally admits. Her teeth sink into her lower lip; she struggles to meet his eyes once again. “What if I’m not cut out for this?”

How long has she felt like this? How long has she struggled to keep it together?

“You are not failing.” Aaron holds her his chest, brushes his lips over her forehead and rubs her back in slow, sweeping circles. “Never. Not in any way, shape, or form.” His words are firm, a contrast to the gentleness of his touch. “You could never.”

“I feel like one,” she sniffles. “It seems like nothing I do is right. The house is a mess. I’m a mess. JJ made this look so easy.” Emily swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I thought once she was here, it would be different but … I don’t even know. I’m so tired, Aaron.”

“We have a newborn, sweetheart. We’re supposed to be tired.” He shifts them so they’re seated more upright, but doesn’t let her pull away. He smiles when she laughs a little, the tension in her body starting to fade. “But we’re going to do it together. You and me. We’re a team.”

For the first time in what feels like days Emily finally relaxes against him as his words sink in, beaming as her eyes flutter closed. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too. More than you would ever know. And I will tell you every day just what a wonderful mother you are.”

It’s the last thing she hears before she falls asleep in his arms.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #hotch x Prentiss #wsne universe #drabble #fluffy #domestic hotchniss #hotchniss fanfic #prompts

[v-lustrious]

Compromises

On his morning bike ride, he does as he always does. He stops at the nearby park, gets his bag of seeds out of the purse, and he is greeted by them. The best company he has. A little murder of crows emerges from the trees. Hungry, smart, cheeky little buggers. Some days, he tries to give them individual names. But most days he can’t even tell them apart. Who knows if the Dave today is actually the same Dave tomorrow. They’re all the same.

Appreciating caws whenever he’s there. All of them pecking away happily at the seeds. Every day for the past 2 months, they’ve grown more comfortable. Now, they sit next to him on the park bench, strutting around proudly. No frightened twitching when he moves. They just co-exist. He provides food. They provide company. They’re all the same.

When no seeds remain, he waits another few minutes, and gets back on his bike. He always makes sure to wake up early to have that hour. An hour to himself, in his own universe. An hour where he’s the only person that exists. Where he can forget that there are others dragging about like shades rising and sinking into the ground. They’re all the same.

He’s not the same. He’s not a lifeless dreg of grey slumping around. A soulless creature acting on autopilot. Not one of them. Colourless, lanky suits floating through the city. An illusion of life. Busy, yes. But not alive. That’s what his hour of freedom is for. An hour of nothing. Of existing in inexistence. Stagnant, a step away from the ever-changing stream of life preying to drown him. He can escape. If only an hour. Not like them. He’s not the same.

He arrives at work all the same. The faint traces of colour he soaked in fade. He becomes one with the dregs. His little triumph over the illusion of life fades away. Faceless drones staring back at him. He won’t let them be mirrors. He won’t let their eyes be a reflection of his. Blank, glazed over stares. No life. No pain. Numb. They’re all the same. He won’t be the same.

Work ends, and he rides back home. The little park, his safe space in the foggy morning now overrun by noise. Buzzing. Disturbing. Poor crows. He can’t see them. They must be hiding. From the deception. From the unrest. He rides past, through shades of grey. He speeds up, feeling them leave their mark on him. Grey. Monotone. Slivers of his soul peeling away and sticking to the ground, dispersing in the air. He goes faster. Stomach tightening, heart aching, arms flexing. Trying to keep his soul together. He’s like them.

They’re all the same.

#creative writing #short fiction #sennys writings

[iknowthekoolaidflavor]

Game Night

Prompt: Daveed and the reader invite a couple friends over for game night and things take a turn...for Daveed. This takes place in the pegging AU. 

READ TAKE HIM DOWN A COUPLE PEGS HERE

READ FOUR’S COMPANY (WITH OAK) HERE

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Daveed x reader (with some voyeurism from Rafa and Oak)

A/N: I saw this photo and with a little encouragement from @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs​ here we are!

Every Friday night, whenever your friends were in town, you hosted game night with Daveed. This week, the only friends that were around were Rafa and Oak. You didn’t mind the small, intimate setting. It’s been a while since you had the chance to hang out with them after your last escapade. 

After a couple of drinks and a few rounds of UNO, Rafa turned on his speaker and Daveed spun you around the room. Rafa smiled as your giggles filled the cozy space. 

Oak spent his time watching you with Daveed. You two made being in a relationship look effortless. Seeing his friends happy, certainly made him happy too. Rafa soon stepped in and asked you for a dance. 

“What time is your flight again?”, Daveed asked as he took a seat next to Oak

“Relax. It’s not until late afternoon. I’ll be home in no time”

“I know you miss it. Even though you’ve only been gone for three weeks”

“I wish you truly understood that visiting California is like visiting another planet. Everything is so different here”, Oak mused

“It’s not that different”

“Sure. You just say that because you live here”, he countered as he finally turned to Daveed, “But I will miss it here and I’ll miss y’all too”

“So will we”, Daveed grinned

The music was turned down as Rafa kissed your cheek and brought you to the couch. 

“Ready for the next game?”, Rafa asked

The four of you sat around the coffee table with Mr. Tophat’s hat sitting in the middle of the table. You smirked at the memory of Rafa bringing it home. Daveed was convinced that someone from Nickelodeon's studio would come find him at some point. 

The hat contained slips of paper with various questions and activities written on them. Everyone had four shots and would take turns picking out a piece of paper. If they failed to answer the question or complete the task, they would have to take a shot. The last person with the most shots left wins the game. 

The game started off simple. 

Now, Daveed was shirtless, Rafa had given Oak a lap dance, and you were down one shot because you wouldn’t answer who fucked you the best. 

It was a mess. A fun mess.

“This one is for everyone”, Rafa stated, “What is one thing you learned about someone in this group that has shocked you the most?”

“(Y/N)’s breeding kink”, Oak admitted, “And how much I liked it”

“No shame there”, Rafa grinned, “Mine is Daveed enjoying being watched while he gets fucked”

Oak nearly choked as he turned to his blushing friend. His shock brought you insurmountable joy. 

“You what?”

“Don’t kink shame me”, Daveed answered as he looked away

Oak suppressed a laugh and shook his head. He placed his hand on Daveed’s thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. It was enough to make Daveed look back him and smile softly.   

“He didn’t tell you that’s how it all got started?”, you chimed in

“(Y/N) has a breeding kink. I like to get pegged and I like when people watch. Who knew?”

“Certainly not me”, Oak smirked

It grew quiet before you all burst out laughing. Oak was a new addition to your group, so he didn’t know everything just yet. Yet, you all enjoyed having him there. 

“It’s a shame that I don’t get to experience it before I go home”

Daveed’s breath hitched in his throat. He squirmed in his spot at the thought of you doing whatever you wanted to him while his friends watched. It’s been a while for him and he’s been itching for it. 

When he looked up he got his wish. You, Oak, and Rafa watched him squirm as he tried to keep himself together. 

“If we keep playing, we’ll definitely get there”, Rafa said with an all knowing smile

It was your turn again. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips after reading the paper with Rafa’s handwriting written neatly in the center. They asked what it said, but you balled it up and tossed it over your shoulder. 

“You are a dangerous man Casal”, you admonished before turning to Daveed

Daveed didn’t know where the night would take him, but judging by the look in your eye, you would have him on his knees in a matter of moments. 

“Pull your pants down and get on your back”

As Rafa moved the coffee table out the way, Daveed did as he was told. His half hard cock was stirring in his boxers. You placed your hands behind your back and winked at Rafa who gave you a knowing smirk. Your short dress was already bunched around your thighs. 

“Do I need to take off my boxers?”, Daveed asked

He was already feeling breathless, but he was full of excitement while his mind thought of the possibilities for how the night could end. 

“No baby. We’re going to give Oak a show, but we’re going to make sure he has something to miss when he gets back home”

You grinned at Oak as you positioned yourself over Daveed’s cock, not quite touching him yet. Your lips met Daveed neck, gently sucking the spot just under his ear. Rafa simpered as Daveed already began to squirm under you. It didn’t take much to get him started. 

Wet kisses were placed all over the side of his neck while you stared at Oak. Oak starred back, not daring to take his eyes off the two of you. A small smile started to spread across his face. Daveed lifted himself to press his cock against you. You immediately moved your lips from his neck to his ear.

“Keep still”, you chastised

Daveed whined as you went back to attacking his neck, but the second your lips were on him, he pressed himself against you again. You soft kisses turned into punishing bites. He froze against you. As much as he liked to tell you he didn’t enjoy getting bit, he knew he loved it.

“Since you want to act like a fuckin brat”, you scoffed while sitting up, “I’m not fucking you tonight”

“Wait”, he gasped, “(Y/N)--”

“We’re going back to dry humping since you love it so much”

Rafa tried to hold back a laugh. You both knew he hated dry humping more than anything. Not being able to actually feel you against him drove him insane. Having your pussy squeezing around him was one of the greatest feelings in the world to him. 

“Please, Miss--”

“You’re not getting out of this one. Being a brat catches up to you from time to time. Now you have to take your punishment”, Rafa asserted, enjoying the sound of Daveed’s whines

Daveed already knew he was beat.

“No cumming until I do. No touching me. Understood?”, you added

“Yes, mistress”

You finally lowered you body, pressing yourself against his hard cock. A moan escaped your lips while you moved your hips. The pace was slow, but it was enough to get a moan out of Daveed, who struggled to keep his hips still.

“You’re doing good baby”, you cooed at his restraint

You heard him curse under his breath. Oak and Rafa watched the scene unfold in front of them. Oak’s hand was already in his pants stroking his cock. He’s was already hard when he heard you say you would put on a show for him. Rafa refused to touch himself. He was going to get his turn with you when this was all over. 

“Daveed only likes to act like he doesn’t like his punishments”, Rafa told Oak

“I bet he does”, Oak affirmed as he heard the moan that came from Daveed, “But he enjoys being a brat, right?”

“He sure does”, you groaned, “Likes to test the boundaries”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time you’re staying with me in New York”, Oak pondered as he squeezed his cock

“Seems like we’re learning new things about you too”, Rafa quipped, “Oak the brat tamer”

You looked down at your boyfriend, a soft laugh leaving your lips. Daveed turned his face from you, trying to hide his blush. You increased your pace and pressure, loving the way his moans filled the room.

“I would loved to see it”, you stated

“I’ll make sure I set up the camera. Maybe we can put on a show for y’all too”, Oak grinned as his voice faltered, “Is that what you want Daveed?”

Daveed, too enthralled with you against him and the talk of taming him, barely missed the question. He was so close, but he was trying his best to concentrate on not disobeying you again. He was just realizing that Oak’s cock was out and he had moved closer to him. 

“Yes”, he moaned, “God, yes”

Daveed’s eyes met yours once more. You knew that sweet look all too well. Eyes filled with lust and mouth parted, yet he couldn’t bring himself to ask for what he needed. You were close too. You kept thrusting against his cock, feeling your soaked panties rubbing your clit. 

To everyone’s surprise, you pulled your dress and bra off. Daveed bit his lip watching you massage your breast, then freeze against him as you pinched your nipples. He wanted to touch you so bad. 

“Are you ready baby?”

“Yes. Please. I’m so close”, he managed to choke out

You would never admit to him in the moment the effect his voice had on you. You kept going until you were nearly screaming as you came. It didn’t take long after for Daveed to follow after you. His body shook as he finally found his release. 

As Daveed came down from his high, Oak released a sigh as he came. Warm shots of cum landed on Daveed from his lips to his chest. 

Daveed’s eyes widened as he licked his lips. You kissed up his chest until you met his lips for a kiss getting your own taste of Oak. With the scene over, Daveed wrapped his arms around you to pull you closer. 

“I have to change”, Daveed admitted sheepishly

“I’ll go with him”, Oak stated

“You were so good for me tonight”, you whispered in his ear before climbing off of him

He quietly thanks you as he got off the floor. He nearly stumbled, but Oak was there to catch him. 

You went to pick up the rest of the papers off the floor when you felt Rafa’s hand around your waist. 

“You didn’t think you were going to get away with bending over in front of me in nothing but your underwear, right?”, Rafa hissed as he squeezed you

“I didn’t expect to”

Rafa pushed you on the couch, then pulled you into a kiss. Daveed shook his head as he made his way up the steps. 

As Oak got up to follow Daveed upstairs, he found the paper balled up on the floor. Curiosity got the best of him as he unraveled it. He couldn’t help but laugh. Rafa sure knew how to get a party started. 

Sexy times ahead! How good are you without your hands? Make the person to your right moan without using them.

#pegging miniseries #pegging au #daveed diggs x reader #daveed x reader #daveed x oak x rafa x reader #rafael casal x reader #rafa x reader #okieriete onaodowan x reader #oak x reader

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Who's Better

Summary: ___ and Steve ended their friends with benefits arrangement months ago. They both move on, but Steve wants to make sure she knows who she belongs to.

Warnings: smut, daddy kink, dub/con, breeding, hair pulling, dirty talk, swearing, jealous Steve

A/N: This is the first story I’m posting to Tumblr. Feedback welcome.

Word count:  2738

They’d stopped messing around a few months ago after a dumb fight over a mission. They were both hard-headed and as much as he wanted at that moment to bend her over in his lap to spank her and let that be over, all it did was escalate her anger. So, despite everything she thought of herself she was the one that ended up dumping Captain America. She’d been kicking herself ever since.

She was trying to move on, though. There was no point in pining from someone who had definitely found himself back in the arms of Sharon Carter aka his ex-girlfriend almost the next day just to piss her off. He thought it would get her to be jealous enough to act on her urges, but all it did was make her pull away from him more and more. He’d always been an idiot when it came to women and when it came to her he was especially stupid.

Tony was still obsessed with throwing these parties, though. Now that she was dating someone new it was driving Steve even more crazy. Sharon was okay sometimes, but she wasn’t ___. She didn’t moan like her from a simple touch. Sharon didn’t suck him off in a teasing way ___ could. Sharon didn’t like being spanked. Or being fucked raw. Or dirty talk.

He didn’t know she was kind of in the same boat, though. She liked Dave enough, but she couldn’t be kinky like she could with Steve. It was driving her insane. No one would have expected America’s golden boy to be such a kinky freak and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss it. She’d done an okay job of avoiding her ex unless it was in regards to work.

Now there she was at another one of Tony’s parties, a red dress so tight it might as well have been painted on her body. Dave’s arms were wrapped around her from behind as they talked with Natasha, Wanda, and Vision. Sharon was in Berlin for work so that was one down and another to go. ___ was his girl. Tonight he planned on reminding her of such.

“Everything okay?” ­­­­___ asked Dave, head tilted up at him as he typed into his phone. The two were now out on the balcony away from where the party took place. As they both had highly stressful jobs, it wasn’t that out of character for them to be buried into their phones when something came up.

“It’s work,” he said, in an almost dismissive tone. “They need me to come by there was a security breach.”

She frowned at that, notably concerned. “Okay, well what are you gonna do?”

“I have to go,” he said, with a sharp intake of air, clearly irritated. “I’m sorry,” he said, matching her face with a frown before leaning down to swipe his lips across hers. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. We’ll get dinner tomorrow or something.” She smiled and placed her head on his chest. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She sighed as she grabbed a beer, taking a sip from the bottle. Steve, trying to come off as nonchalant inched closer to her.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the bar.

“Hey…” she felt awkward as she returned the greeting before taking another sip.

“How are you?” He asked, folding his arms across his body, looking down at her. Her hair was up in what she always called a fineapple. It used to make him laugh whenever she said it. It was little things like that, that made him miss her the most. He was getting lost in her curls, remembering the way the soft coils felt against his naked chest as the pillow talked. 

She clenched her jaw already feeling annoyed at his presence. What probably irritated her the most about him was how hard it was for her to stay mad at his stupid face. Which only made her want to forget their fight and take him back. It was a vicious cycle.

“What do you want, Steven?”

He chuckled. He’d expected the hostility. It wouldn’t stop him from getting what he wants, though. “To talk? I miss talking to you. Is that a crime?”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She hated that he had that effect on her so damn easily. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Still have a filthy mouth I see.”

She repeated her previous gesture, but now turning to face him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He glanced down at her, but that quick look as dangerous as he felt himself drinking her in like she was going to be his next meal. Her figure, her hair, those lips. “Really? Because I think you know exactly what I mean.”

“Ste-”

“What happened to your, wait, what’s his name is?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and the way he was playing dumb. “Dave.”

“Oh, right. Dave…”

“He seemed to be in a hurry.”

“Work stuff,” she replied. “No biggie. I have to go to the bathroom.” She hurried off not being able to think of anything else to get out of this conversation.

Instead of waiting in the long line for the bathroom, ___ decided to go to her own. As she was finishing up and walking out the door she yelped seeing Steve sitting on her bed. “What the fuck, Steve!”

He smirked, standing up. “Sorry.”

“What are you doing here?”

That’s when she found herself with her back against the wall, him pressing himself into her. “Do you think it’s funny to tease me? Prance around here with your pathetic little boyfriend? You don’t even like him. I can tell.”

“I don’t know wh-” he covered her mouth with his hand.

“I didn’t say you could speak, Little Girl. I know what you’re doing. Dressing like this. Like, a little slut. Provoking me.”

“Steve, stop!” She said even though it came out muffled by his hand. Her breathing was heavy as she tried to fight against him. Suddenly everything Natasha had taught her was out of her brain. All of that training apparently meant nothing when she was faced with Steve Rogers.

“Do you like making me angry?” He put his forehead against hers. “Making me jealous.” He lifted the hem of her dress up, the lifted her leg so it hooked around his waist. “This is what you’ve been wanting me to do, huh. You’ve practically been begging for it.” He finally took his hand from her mouth as he lifted her up to drop her on the bed.

“You’re the one that got with Sharon right away!” She said, trying to kick him off of her. 

“Don’t be stupid right now, ___.”

“But, it’s true. We get into a fight and you practically throw me away for her!”

He rolled his eyes, grabbing her by her curly ponytail and bringing her to her knees in front of him. Within a minute his belt was undone and his pants were undone then his cock. If she wasn’t so focused on being mad at him she would have appreciated the sight of it more. It was so big. Thick. Long. Angry looking. Fucking perfect.

“Be a good girl, Baby. For once.”

She glared at him as he brought it to her lips forcing them open. As soon as her lips went around the head it was like instinct. Her tongue going over the tip, savoring the saltiness of him. He was never going to get enough of seeing her pouty lips wrapped around him. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praised her, hissing. “I bet your boyfriend isn’t as big as me.”

“Hey! Don’t-” she was once again cut off, but this time by him thrusting his cock down her throat. 

“You know how I feel about you talking back to me. Now be a good little slut and suck Daddy’s dick.”

She moaned. It was almost like she was in a trance at how easy it was for her to forget all inhibition in order to pleasure him. With a grip in her hair, all he wanted to focus on was fucking her face.

He moaned as she gagged on his dick. She reached up to use her hand to take away from the assault on her throat. “No hands, Baby. Only your mouth,” he ordered. “So, good, Baby. God, you always look so pretty with my dick in your mouth.” Her spit was running out of her mouth suddenly feeling like she would do whatever it took to please him. Tears running down her face. She couldn’t help it, it was like he brought the slut out in her.

He pulled her up, leaning down to grab her cheeks in his as he rubbed his cock against her face. “Steve,” she started, but he smacked her on the cheek with his cock.

“What did you just call me?”

“Daddy! I meant to say, Daddy!”

“That’s what I thought. Take your clothes off and get on the bed. Leave those heels on.”

She did as she was told as he watched her obey him as he undressed. As her head rested against her pillows he finally stalked over to her, grabbing her hair again to bring her in for a kiss. When they first started messing around, it was hard as hell for him to not just walk up to her and start making out with her in the middle of the kitchen. They wanted to keep whatever the hell they had going on private even away from the team. Not wanting to draw much attention or being forced to define the relationship as she called it. 

When they ended things, it became even harder for him to stop himself. This was his breaking point. Where he could no longer sit back and not remind her who she belonged to.

With his lips on hers, his tongue dancing with hers, his fingers trailed down her body until they were are her center. She was dripping wet. Already making a mess on the bed as her pussy juices soaked the covers underneath. “Please,” she whimpered.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me. I need it.”

“You need it? What is your boyfriend not satisfying you.”

“Please….” she trailed off.

“No. I wanna hear you say it.”

She groaned softly, nose wrinkling. God, Steve Rogers could be an annoying little brat sometimes. “He’s not… he’s not satisfying me…”

“Really? Oh, no don’t tell me I fuck you better than he does.”

“Fine! Is that what you want? You fuck me better than him! Happy!” She felt so low as she said it, but the humiliation was only leading to her pussy wanting him even more.

“Remember who you’re talking to,” he growled, grabbing her face. She felt herself tearing up again, but all he did was roll his eyes as he climbed on the bed. He spread her legs apart wide, almost to where she was being forced to do the splits with her legs in the air. Finally, he brought his dick to her entrance pressing it to his tip teasingly. 

“Look at you,” he said. “Making such a big mess.”

She yelped as he slammed into her, not giving her time to adjust as he started fucking her hard. “Daddy!” She moaned, eyes already rolling to the back of her head. Her nails scratched at his back, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck,” she moaned. “Fuck me.”

“That’s it, Baby.”

“You’re right he doesn’t fuck me like you do!” She squealed, moving her hips up to meet his thrusts. Her pussy was clenching around him.

“That’s right, ­­­___. You’re my little slut. This is my pussy." 

She found herself shuddering. His words trigging her orgasm already. He pulled out rubbing the tip of his dick on her clit to prolong it, watching as it squirted out of her.  "Yes!” She screamed, hips still moving. He grabbed her hair again forcing her to look down at the mess she was making. It was a beautiful sight to him to see her like this and he couldn’t help himself as he entered her again, not even giving her time to adjust. 

“That’s it, Baby. Take it. Take this dick.”

He brought her legs up, holding her by the back of her thighs as he fucked into her. It didn’t take long for his pleasure to catch up to him. Feeling his own orgasm starting to erupt from him. 

“I’m gonna cum in you,” he announced through gritted teeth.

“No!” She protested. “I’m not on birth control anymore. Pull out.”

“No.” He didn’t let up, feeling his release was so fucking close. “I need to make sure you know who you belong to. Even if it means getting you fucking pregnant.”

“Steve!”

“You know you want it,” he hissed. “You want my babies.”

She moaned at his words. She hated how she couldn’t control herself with him. It was like she was putty in his hands. “Please…” she was closing to cumming once more partly because of what he was doing to her, but his words were obviously helping. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Don’t worry, Baby. I’ll take good care of you.�� He moaned. “I’m gonna love seeing you all round with my babies.”

“Please, Daddy,” she moaned. “I want it. I wanna have your babies.” This orgasm came just as full force as the last one. “Steve, give me your babies.”

That did it as he started to cum inside of her, not stopping it as he fucked it into her deep making sure he filled her up just the way he wanted. His hips not stopping until he was sure he’d not wasted a single drop as it all belonged inside of her.

She was breathing heavily, tears still in her eyes. “You’re such an asshole,” she whimpered, trying to move away from him. It proved to be difficult, though, after the way he’d manhandled her.

“Shhh, Baby, it’s okay. I’m sorry.” He kissed her forehead. “You make me so jealous, though. I needed to remind you who you belong to.”

She sniffled, rolling her eyes. “Whatever, Steve.”

“C'mon, let’s go take a bath. I’ll take care of you.”

It hadn’t taken her long to start feeling sick. Her breasts were sore, she was even more exhausted all the time, and it was like no matter how much she ate she was starving. Steve had been waiting on her hand and foot, which drew a lot of attention from everyone, though no one -except Bucky of course - really knew why.

Her legs jittered as they all went through their stacks of mail. It was two months in now and ___ was a ball of nerves, but Steve was beside her keeping it all calm, cool, and collected holding onto her hand under the table. “Wait, did we all get matching cards?” Sam asked as he began to open his. Everyone except Bruce who they needed to tell for the sake of a check-up to make sure the serum wasn’t having negative effects in her system.

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t open them, it could be a bomb or something,” Natasha said.

“God, you’re paranoid,” Tony said, with a smirk. Morgan was in his lap, opening her own letter. The only one who was missing was Pepper because she had to take care of business at Stark Industries. 

It was a rare sight for everyone to be home at the Avengers Compound and they were taking advantage of it. “There is no weapon inside, Miss Romanoff,” Friday assured her.

“What the fuck!” Bucky said, being the first one to open his, looking up at two of his best friends. “Is this real?”

“I knew it!” Wanda screamed, jumping up to hug ___. Tears were going down her face as she started weeping. 

The rest of them hadn’t even finished opening there’s so they just stared at the witch in shock while Bucky’s mouth hung open. Thor was next to finish. “Oh my god…” The god of thunder looked up at them and then back at the paper and then back at them. 

“Dad, what does this say?” Morgan asked, handing Tony the piece of paper.

“You’ve been promoted to… cousin!” He gasped. “What!”

“Surprise!”___ exclaimed. “I’m having twins. It’s all Steve’s fault. ”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x black!reader #jealous!steve rogers #dubcon!steve rogers #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #chris evans smut #daddy!steve rogers

[igottoomuchwriting]

Paint Brushes

Jack was so happy to have David as his boyfriend. They met senior year of high school when David’s family had moved to Manhattan from Meadville. David had been struggling with trying to make new friends, as well as the added stress of different graduation requirements from New York state.

Jack was in the Arabic 3 class, as he was interested in the language and was hoping that if he became fluent, he would be able to help immigrants and non-English speaking citizens feel more comfortable and at peace. Everyone told him Spanish would have been better, but he never listened. David was a TA in that class, and even though Jack was in a relationship with Katherine at the time, he still admired how handsome David was.

To Jack’s surprise, David was fluent in Arabic. When Jack was struggling with pronouncing a sentence, David sat next to him and walked him through the syllables. After that, Jack knew he wanted to be this boy’s friend.

They started hanging out at lunch, with Jack introducing him to all of his friends. It was a slow process, as David seemed to have a hard time opening up, but slowly he started talking more to them. Eventually he and Jack started hanging out by themselves outside of school, and Jack couldn’t help but glow whenever they got a chance to.

“I’m 100% Israeli,” David had said when Jack asked why he knew Arabic. “My parents came to the US when they were 25 years old. They met in a English class, and three years later, they had me and my sister.”

“Wait, ain’t Hebrew the most spoken language in Israel?”

“Yeah. My parents were from a part that spoke primarily Arabic. I know some Hebrew, seeing as I’m Jewish and it's one of my parent's main languages and all that. They decided to teach us Arabic over Hebrew.”

David was there for Jack through everything, from when he and Katherine broke up to when people would make fun of him for being a foster kid. Jack tried to be there for David too, when some nice people would yell and harass David for wearing a kippah* in public, or when he didn’t know how to tell his friends that he can go to the Christmas party, but he really didn’t have the money to buy them all gifts.

They both decided to go to the same college, though they did not room together. Over the first two years, Jack started realizing that he had fell for his best friend. This caused panic and avoidance from the man until finally, one night when they were at a party, David got mad at him while he was drunk and kissed him.

Jack never let David live it down that he was both an angry and horny drunk.

Their relationship took off from there, and it was the best thing Jack could ever want. David was so smart and kind to Jack, and he never got mad when Jack wanted to talk over the phone or talk all the time.

David had said that Jack was the first boyfriend he had that 100% respected his boundaries. Jack was a very touchy person, and he loved to have at least some body part touching his significant other, whether it be holding hands, touching knees, or a simple hand on the lower part of his back. David liked the comfort too, but sometimes he would just not be feeling the touch, and Jack would step back and allow that. They would just walk side by side, or sit close enough where they would still be close but comfortable. Sometimes David would initiate the touch if he was feeling okay with it, and would tell Jack when he wasn’t.

In short, they worked great together. They cared for each other in ways that Jack never thought another person could care for him in his life. David would pamper him just as much as Jack would, but in his own way.

Jack is great at pampering people with touch and gifts. He will buy flowers, hold hands, buy that thing that David said he wanted three months ago. That’s how he showed affection.

David showed it in a different way. He usually did things for people, and was better at verbalizing it than Jack. When Jack would miss breakfast, David would take him out to lunch. If they were walking into a building together, David would sometimes hold the door open for him and let Jack go in first. He would carry Jack’s books, even if Jack could carry them all by himself, and he would give him his coat if he really wanted it. He would constantly tell Jack that he was doing well, or when they went on a date he would praise him none stop on how good he looked.

It was all very new for Jack, but he didn’t mind it.

Sometimes, Jack would have a really bad day. It could be that he got in a fight with Spot, class was bothering him, or he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He would text David that he was having a rough day, and David would talk to him and try to make him feel better as much as he could. It helped him get through the day before he could go home and paint to get out all of his emotions.

Now usually, he left his paint in a cup of water, or left out if he was mixing paint and then got distracted. He knew that he would have to leave the paint to soak and dry before he could start painting and that always put him in even more of a bad mood. At some point, he started noticing his paint would be clean. All of his paint brushes would be where they were, all clean and ready to use. Jack just assumed that he had done it the night or week before and didn’t remember cleaning them. He never found it odd when he was having a bad day and when he got home, all of his stuff was there for him to use. He never noticed that it was all clean when he specifically remembers leaving all his brushes out the night before from painting really late.

It wasn’t until he came home early one day when he finally noticed.

---

Jack’s day was shit. He failed his chemistry test, Spot and Race got in a fight and Spot decided to take his frustration out on Jack, and it had started raining, ruining the lab report that he had typed up the night before.

In short, he was fuming.

There seemed to be at least one god looking down on him that day, as he last class of the day was canceled by the teacher. He just wanted to go home and either invite David over to take a nap or paint until late hours of the night. He hasn’t quite decided yet.

When Jack reached his door, he heard noise coming from inside. He looked down at his phone to any text from David. If David was coming over and waiting for Jack, he would usually text him.

With the absence of a text on his phone, Jack became concerned. Only two people have the key to his apartment, he and his boyfriend. Jack slowly opened the door and stepped in, trying to be as quiet as possible as to not alert the surprise guest.

He heard the sink running in the kitchen and saw a figure moving about. Jack recognized the figure as David, which continued to confuse him. Why was he here if he hadn’t texted Jack?

Jack dropped his stuff off and walked over to the entrance of his kitchen. There stood David at the sink, headphones in, paint brushes in his hand. He was oblivious to the world.

Jack watched in awe as his boyfriend grabbed another paint brush, poured some soap on it, and ran it across the palm of his hand. No one has ever washed his paint for him before. It has always been him.

“Dave?” he finally called out. The boy didn’t hear him, so he tried again. “Davey!”

David’s head snapped in his direction, frozen. He looked like he was a child that was caught in the middle of stealing a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Jack!” he exclaimed. He quickly turned off the water and dried his hands. As he turned towards Jack, he pulled out his headphones. “What are you doing here?”

“I think I should be askin’ you that question,” he laughed. “You washin’ my brushes?” David looked down at the ground, blush on his cheeks.

“I-Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Why?” Jack took a step forward and grabbed a paint brush that he had set on a towel to dry, checking out the bristles. It almost looked like he had just taken it out of a package.

“Well, you said you were having a bad day, and I know that you like to paint to relieve stress, so I came to clean your brushes so you don’t have to deal with waiting.” David rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the ground. “In hindsight, this is really weird. Sorry.”

“No!” Jack exclaimed. David shot him a confused look. Jack tried again. “No, it’s not weird. It’s actually really sweet.”

“Even though I basically break into your house when you’re not here?”

“Davey,” Jack cooed, “I gave ya a key. It ain’t breakin’ in when you have a key.”

“Debatable,” David mumbled. Jack smiled and pulled him into a hug, burying his face into the crook of his neck. David wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist and sighed. “You’re not mad?”

“Of course not, Dave,” Jack mumbled. “I’m real touched that you did this. No one has eve’ thought of doin’ this for me.”

“How stupid are they.” Jack just let out a laugh. David has always been bitter about how Jack’s past relationships have treated him--except for Katherine, but that’s besides the point.

“How ‘bout we go lay down? I’m too tired to paint and I just really wanna be laid on.”

“I will never understand how you don’t feel like you aren’t being crushed,” David mumbled. Jack placed a kiss on his neck before pulling back, moving his arms to go around David’s waist.

“I told ya, the pressure feels nice.”

“Alrighty, you weirdo.”

#Newsies The Musical #newsies #davey jacobs #jack kelly #israeli davey jacobs #jack kelly x davey jacobs #javid #sunwriting

[ambiencespectrum]

Rococo Kids

Fandom: Homestuck. Pairing: Dave Strider <> Rose Lalonde. Words: 5,060. Additional Tags: One Shot, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Hurt/Comfort. Cuddling & Snuggling. Trigger Warnings: temporary character death, suicide attempt, past child abuse.

AO3 version.

A/N: i haven’t written for these two in ages, let alone ever actually posted on tumblr for them. guess it’s time to try it.

He finds her floating there, suspended and pale. The full-length lavender dress she’s wearing is drifting like smoke around her form, loose as the pale hair haloing her head. The black of her lips stand out stark against her ivory skin, smudged on the left side like a bleeding ink stain.

Like this, Dave unwillingly thinks of how some people would describe his sister as unearthly and beautiful. Mostly, he just thinks this is sad.

“Dammnit, Rose,” He mutters, and lets his sneaker skim the surface of the pool. The one Rose has drowned herself in. “We talked about this shit.”

She remains as still and lifeless as she has for the past five minutes- exactly that, as Dave has that thought- and he sighs. Sometimes Rose has the sense to let resurrection do its thing and get back up on her own, and sometimes it’s like this.

Rose floats along the aqua green bottom of her pool, encased in water that is clearer than glass. The only disturbance of the surface comes from Dave’s brief toeing of it, adding to that impression.

Dave kinda really hates looking at her like this, even if he gets it. Kanaya is away with Karkat and won't be back for at least another few days; special moirail retreat from the public eye. Like Rose clearly has, Dave has also been getting away with things while his partner is absent. He only came by to see Rose because... he's not sure. Maybe because he wanted her to talk him out of stuff, or maybe because he somehow sensed he needed to talk her out of stuff.

Looks like he's too late to, fuck.

He captchalogues his sneakers, socks, and hoodie, and lets himself fall out of the air above the water. The pool is practically frigid as he splashes into it, and Dave is even less impressed with how his night is going. He swims downwards in long strokes, descending towards his sister. His aviators stay on his face probably from sheer force of will.

Rose is limp and colder than ice as he grabs her; the dress’s long folds tangling them both as Dave kicks around for a moment, remembers he can just fly them out, and does so. Pulling her out of the water takes away the effect of weightlessness, and Rose nearly drags him off balance as her stupidly heavy dress acts like deadweight.

Not that Rose isn’t literal deadweight, hanging in his arms like giant stiff porcelain doll. It’s only a little less disturbing than it could be, since this isn’t the first time.

Dave’s hair sticks to his sunglasses as he flies them to the edge, water dripping everywhere from them both. He sets his sister down gently on the tiles, sitting back a few feet and waiting for the rebound to start.

Only a Just or Heroic death can kill a god. Rose dunking herself in the nearest waterbody, for whatever reason it is tonight, hardly counts.

Rose jerks a few minutes later- two and twenty-six seconds, she’s resisting only a little now- and gaudy multicolor light covers her body. It’s blinding, and then fades to reveal that life has colored Rose’s cheeks again. Of course, Rose also starts choking on the residual water in her throat.

Dave rolls Rose on her side as she coughs violently, rubbing her bare back as she spits chlorine filled water onto the pool deck. The backless dress remains wet despite the resurrection because God Tier shit only extends to their game clothes. This is probably a lovely number Kanaya made for her wife, and while Dave knows shit all about fabrics, he thinks his sister has ruined it thoroughly.

Rose shivers and keeps taking gasping breaths, recovering from being dead for- Dave checks the history around Rose, and finds she’s been down for five hours and twelve minutes.

And she didn’t even text him before she did it. That hurts in a weird, uncomfortable way, and Dave doesn’t appreciate the feeling.

He’s mad at her, because they promised each other, but he’s also got no leg to stand on right now.

So Dave doesn’t point out that Rose broke their promise. He just slides an arm under her side as she settles from the coughing fit and helps her to sit up. Her dress sticks to her everywhere, revealing quite clearly Rose Lalonde, co-queen of a kingdom, goddess of insight and luck and light, saw fit to discard her bra tonight and wear a dress that goes sheer when wet.

Dave knows more than he’d like to know about Rose’s body, considering the years between them, and the years they spent on the meteor, so only the faint impression of old earth’s oh shit boobsattitude lingers. This is nothing compared to other shit they got up to as young and depressed teenagers. He just brushes the lank white hair out of Rose’s face and focuses on her strikingly purple eyes.

“You’re lucky some poor chess guy didn’t find you,” Dave informs Rose. “Would’ve given them trauma induced nightmares for the rest of their life, finding their god queen biting the big one in her own pool.”

“Which is why we got rid of the staff months ago, you know that,” She informs him right back, twice as hoarse in voice. She’s haughty in tone, but that’s just her default state. It would be more worrisome if she were to apologize.

Dave pulls his soaked t-shirt away from his chest, grimacing as it peels off his skin. Rose doesn’t even bother with her own clothes, just drawing her legs to herself and wrapping her arms around them. They sit in their joint puddle of unhappy feelings for a while, letting the chill creep into their bones until it’s more unbearable than the silence.

“You look like shit,” Dave comments eventually. Rose is back to full health, no longer corpse colored, but she still looks like something… drowned. Yeah.

“In the sanctity of my own home, I would think I am permitted to be less than stunning,” Rose replies derisively. “The double standards for gender roles were left behind three universes ago, Dave. A woman is allowed to look like shit rather than the epitome of beauty whenever she pleases.”

Dave tilts his head down, lips a thin line. “Wear a wet dress and ditch the undergarments if you want, but I’m pretty sure suicide is still illegal, Rose.”

Rose sniffs. “We’re gods, Dave. We can’t die unless we meet the qualifications of a nonsensical and interpretive set of rules.”

“You’re heart wasn’t beating for over five fucking hours,” Dave says, somewhat harshly. Rose goes quiet. “I’m not trained in any kind of medical expertise, but shit, Rose. That’s pretty dead.”

His hands twitch in his lap and Dave curls them into fists to avoid shaking. It gets easier but it doesn’t, handling someone being dead. Handling Rose being dead. Dave’s eyes sting dryly and he resists the urge to rub them. He’s too tired for this shit.

Rose runs a hand through her hair, dragging it backwards into a messy slick. It leaves her face exposed and reveals her long lashes, which stand out under the light from above them as she blinks once, twice. She shuts her eyes, sighing.

“I have no excuse,” She says softly, after a long beat. Dave grunts.

“What was it this time?” He asks.

“Kanaya is turning forty- ah, no. Nineteen sweeps. She’ll be nineteen sweeps this year,” Rose says, and looks so tired as she does. “I scarcely look eleven.”

Dave does a few calculations in his head- Rose tries hard to use Alternian chronology for Kanaya, but Dave is a little stuck on human earth calendars, given his powers and all- and comes up with forty and some months for Kanaya, and twenty-five for Rose.

“Midlife crisis, then,” Dave summarizes. Rose titters tightly.

“If only it were that.”

He shrugs. “Not like we’re in different boats here.”

Rose slides a violet iris to him, and reaches across the short space between them. With her thin little fingers, Rose slides his sunglasses off. Only she and Karkat are allowed to do that, and it’s only because of that fact he lets her.

Rose hooks his glasses on his shirt collar, lifting her hand back up to delicately trace the black circles under his eyes.

“And you deal with it in such a comparably stellar manner,” She responds finally, cupping his cheek and examining the sallowness Dave knows is in his cheeks. “How long has it been?”

Dave doesn’t answer.

“Dave.” Rose’s eyes glint. “How long.”

He relents. “One hundred and fifty-two hours, thirty-nine minutes, four seconds and counting.” Gods can go longer than the average schmuck before hallucinating, and even longer before they die.

Rose frowns at him, and her eyes show how much the number hurts her. She rubs his cheek with her thumb, biting her smudged black lips. “You didn’t tell me you stopped sleeping again.”

“You didn’t tell me you were looking to literally drown your sorrows, either,” Dave shoots back, and dislikes it when Rose’s hand drops from his face. He misses its presence, even if he’s a knot of frustration and hurt right now.

“Communication, for all our lengthy conversations, was never our strong point, was it?” Rose observes softly. She curls around herself again, looking at anything other than Dave.

“Nah,” Dave says, dropping his eyes to his soaking jeans. “Kind of a shitty irony.”

Rose doesn’t respond, and they sit like the emotionally stunted, uncommunicable assholes they are in the puddle of misery they made themselves. They’re supposed to support each other, look after one another and make sure they don’t do stupid self-destructive shit like this. Some moirails they are.

“We’re fucking awful at this,” Dave mutters, tired in a lot of ways he’d rather not be.

“An apt assessment,” Rose agrees. He hears the nearly hidden regret in her words, because even now they’re cagey about how they feel when they’re upset. Especially when they’re caught in a downward spiral of self-loathing.

Actions are a little easier, though. Like reaching out and pulling on the hem of Rose’s dress, silently asking. Her hand slips around Dave’s almost immediately, their fingers sliding together and holding tight.

A moment later, and Dave and Rose are winding around each other in a wet, desperate hug. He puts his face in her damp shoulder, smelling pool and his sister’s skin. Against his ear he feels her pulse, hears the air going in and out of her throat, and hugs her tighter to press the sensations into himself.

She’s alive, she’s alive and neither of them can die. Neither of them can die and as much as that terrifies them sometimes, it’s a god damn blessing here and now.

They can’t die, but without Rose Dave knows he’d find a way. She’s told him she’d do the same if it were reversed.

Rose’s sharp nails dig into his back as she holds onto him, a shuddery breath moving through her thin body and coming out hoarse. Dave’s eyes aren’t just stinging from lack of sleep anymore, and they’re considerably wetter as Rose makes a quiet little sound by his ear. Something close to a cry, but too short and dainty to be.

Sometimes she sobs for hours, sometimes he does. Tonight they just hold onto each other and blink tears away until they can breathe right again. It’s not so bad they breakdown completely, or maybe it’s so bad they’ve relapsed too far into old habits to do so. Dave can’t tell.

He doesn’t really care.

They’re both shivering, chilled by the air and by the mass of self-inflicted feelings inside themselves. It’s a lot less cold with Rose halfway into his lap and keeping her arms locked around his shoulders.

Dave rubs one hand up and down her back, feeling the bumps of her spine and ribs. He feels her hands find one scar he’s got on the back of his neck, a particularly nasty one from a strife when he tried turning his back on Bro to run away- her fingers run along it, icy to the touch, and different enough from the agony of steel and hot blood that Dave barely thinks on the memory longer than a second.

“I told you why I fell off the wagon, Dave,” Rose says in a hushed voice, leaving the scar be and moving to tangle her fingers in his wet hair. “Tell me why you did.”

Dave shrugs, keeping his world dark as he hides in his sister’s neck. “Nothing really. Dumb shit.” She waits, massaging his scalp, and Dave continues after he wrangles his own feelings into submission again. “It’s his birthday next month.”

Rose hums; the sound warm and full in Dave’s ear. She doesn’t ask who the person is, because she knows. “And?”

“And I made a dumb mistake by getting lost in my head,” Dave continues. He can usually handle the weird hang up he has on Bro’s birthday- they never even did much for it, it makes no sense- but he fucked up this year. “Ended up wandering around the city, headphones on and everything- and I just, forgot to pay attention to where I was headed. There’s too many parks in trolltopia, you know? I can’t tell them all apart even when I’m on the ball, and fuck if I know west from east when I’m full on dissociating.”

Rose keeps massaging his scalp, patient.

“Strife hobbyist group,” Dave finally explains, voice dropping low despite his attempts to keep it level. “There were swords involved. I wasn’t even all that near, Jesus, but I just- got stuck, and it’s fucking stupid but I couldn’t move until they stopped strifing and noticed their local godly ruler was having a stroll right by their weekend sparring field.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. They might look young but he’s a grown man. He hates being unable to handle this, even now. “Should’ve just walked away instead of staring into space like a braindead tool.”

“And I should have confided in you that I was being drawn back into a spiral of fear and self-loathing again,” Rose comforts. She presses her lips to his neck, sighing through her nose. It’s warmer than either of them are. “We both made some bad judgements as of late.”

Dave draws back, partly reluctant to. Rose watches him through her lashes, and like always, it feels like she’s seeing way deeper than most people ever will into him. Dave kinda wonders why it feels like that, when really, there’s not that much depth to him at all.

People (Rose, Karkat) tell him otherwise. He still doesn’t quite believe them.

Dave looks over his sister, who is pale as ever and resembles strongly a white cat dunked in water. Almost too thin everywhere she isn’t gently curvy, and built out of somewhat vicious tendencies, meticulously kept aloofness, and an impulsive streak ten miles long.

She’s beautiful, even if she’s as much a mess as Dave is.

Because they’re alone and it feels right, he leans close again and presses his lips to her forehead; then tilting his chin down and putting their heads together. Her eyes are close enough they blur into whites and purples, and Dave counts the nearly invisible freckles under them.

“I think we need to actually read one of those handbooks Karkat gave us,” Dave says wryly. His partner used to unsubtly leave moirallegiance handbooks out everywhere when he and Rose first started figuring this out. Dave never actually read one, since he’d thought it can’t be that different from just being friends/estranged siblings, right?

“I already have,” Rose says, because of course she has. “I can’t say I’ve been all that good about following the advisory tips, unfortunately.”

“I live with the guy who’s favorite hobby is dissecting romcom relationship dynamics. Loudly. I thought I could get by with just osmosis.”

“Perhaps relationship counselling?” She suggest.

Dave makes a please no noise, grimacing deeply. Rose huffs. “I take that as a no.” She pauses, and then says softly, “Dave, I’m sorry.”

“Oh shit, a sincere and straightforward apology from Rose Lalonde? I think the world’s ending again,” Dave doesn’t flinch when Rose draws away from him to give a flat stare, but he does feel a little bad for interrupting. “Sorry, go on.”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “I attempt to apologize like a civil, non-complex afflicted individual, and you mock me for it. My therapist will be in tears of frustration at my lost progress.”

“The day you actually set foot in a real therapist’s office will be the day you give up overanalyzing every Freudian slip our friends make. And you have so much fun with John’s dickups. I mean slipups.”

Rose smiles faintly. “No you don’t.”

“Nah, definitely do not,” Dave smiles back. “But seriously, say what you need to. I, uh, I’ll keep things mature until you’re done.”

Rose’s shoulders rise, and then fall. She still looks tired, if less suicidal. “I’m sorry, Dave. We both may have been keeping our rough patches from one another, but I am the one who took the most direct action of self-destruction.”

Dave quirks an eyebrow. “It’s not like I wouldn’t have dropped in a few more days.”

“There’s a difference between keeping yourself awake until sheer exhaustion knocks you out, and holding yourself underwater until you drown.”

“Not much. Exhaustion kills you when it gets to a point.”

“A watery asphyxiation by my own hand is still more severe than that.”

“So’s drugging yourself with enough energy shots to give your heart an arrhythmia.”

Rose purses her lips. “Let’s agree to disagree. Competitive comparisons of mental health failings helps no one. Anyway,” She says before Dave can butt in. “I offer you my apology for what I did, whether you accept it or not.”

Dave doesn’t hesitate in his response. “Course I do, Lalonde. But you gotta listen to mine, too, if you’re going to get all pale like that.” He smirks at her. Rose gives him an exasperated look. “I’m sorry, too. We literally had an in writing accord that when we get bad, we fucking talk to each other about it. I spent way too long an afternoon on that thing with you to ignore its existence now. We both broke it, not just you. So… I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Rose replies, taking his hands into hers as he reaches for them. His are a little bigger, now that puberty is long done, and they’ve got scars in a hundred different spots hers don’t. But they’re still close enough in resemblance he sees their relation.

It’s a comfort, to know that however badly they fuck themselves up, lie and keep secrets from each other- genetics ensures they’ve got a connection that won’t break by any means.

Maybe they can’t die, and will have to watch the people they love age in ways they won’t- Jane and Dave together can rewind their ages, regenerate youth, but it’s just not the same as being a God Tier- but at least through all that, they’ll have each other no matter how long time stretches on.

Dave feels he’s still riding the unfortunate bump of fresh trauma from earlier, the way his thoughts keep getting mushy with his consent. It’s not something that really bothers him in the moment, wrapping himself back around Rose and sinking into the mutual apology and acceptance. Alone on the pool deck together, they sit and just mend themselves in the presence of their twin, not talking for a length of time.

  “Kanaya will be so disappointed,” Rose mourns, once they try to stand again. Her dress still sticks to her in places, and otherwise hangs heavy everywhere else. “I think this was a birthday gift.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Dave snorts. “You can’t just toss yourself in the drink and be done with it. Nah, you need to be a twelve out of ten and ready for the president’s cocktail party before you’re fit to drink your poison.”

“Last I checked, we have no presidents to speak of anymore.”

“Eh, old world government tiers still work if it’s in the presence of in-the-know individuals.”

“Hispter.”

“Cauldron calling the kettle black. Don’t think your Sappho collection ever got forgotten.”

Rose sniffs. “Classic lesbian literature is quite different from an outdated patriarchy based power system, thank you.”

“Fair, but you’re a hipster in your own ways, Rose.”

She doesn’t respond beyond a dismissive hum. They’ve had this conversation nine times already and it’s gone in loops for hours if they let it. Best to wait until they’re dry to start it up properly.

Rose leaves the ground, stepping into thin air and flying out across the pool towards the exit. Dave follows slowly, and watches as her dress trails against the water. The ripples they leave disturb the mirror perfect surface a third time since he found her.

Dave hooks an arm around Rose’s waist, and she returns the gesture. He banishes the memory of her lifeless body under that rippling surface, even though he knows it’ll come back to haunt him at least a few times before this can be processed completely.

Because carapaciens have only one mode when it comes to their gods- undying adoration is the least extravagant way to say it- the veritable mansion Rose and Kanaya ended up in is barely not a castle. The swimming pool on the middle level isn’t even the most lavish thing.

They pass by the bigger rooms, headed for the one they always use when it’s been a Night for them. It’s on the eastern side, where the sun will rise tomorrow and shine through the curtains to burn their sleep deprived retinas out of their skulls and force them into the land of the living. A full-proof plan that usually works if one of them doesn’t shut the curtains and pull the other back under the thick comforter.

There’s an ensuite bathroom attached to the wide bedroom, big enough that it makes the tiny closet washroom in Dave’s old Houston apartment look even smaller than it had been. The whole set up might just be larger than that old place; thick carpets and actual drapes and furniture that’s fit for royalty. Dave drops onto the first loveseat he passes, dampening the rich purple fabric with his soaked clothes.

Rose bends briefly near him, turning her back and gesturing vaguely at the straps holding her dress up. Dave obliges her and unhooks the clips. As she stands and walks away, he decaptchalogues his phone to start mindlessly scrolling social media while she takes first shower. He doesn’t even glance over as she drops her dress at the door, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

When Rose emerges again, wrapped in a wide and thick towel, she looks better all around. Dave stands and takes his turn, dropping a kiss to her temple as they pass each other and then dropping his itchy, half dried clothes on top of Rose’s. He shuts the door as she starts getting changed in the bedroom, and walks right into the still running shower. It’s hot enough it burns a little, chasing the chill out of his system.

Dave shuts it off when he no longer feels the itch of dried chlorine on his skin. There are still plenty of big warm towels for him on the rack, and he wraps one around his waist. Another smaller one goes around his head, just for the hell of it.

Rose is on the bed already when he walks out; dressed in a baggy old t-shirt proclaiming Foxy Grandpa she probably alchemized years ago, and soft pajama pants. Her hair is still a mess, and her black lipstick has been wiped clean. She’s brought out her laptop and is probably scrolling through whatever her video library has to offer.

Rose slides her eyes from the screen to Dave’s face, and she gives a faint smile. He decaptchalogues his own pajamas into his arms, smiling back at her before he starts changing. They’ve been around the Harley-Englishs way too long to be bothered by nudity, let alone each other’s. The tenth time Dave wandered into Jade’s personal garden and she was sans shirt under the hot sun, he’d gotten over it. Mostly.

It’s different with Rose, versus Jade who is twice their size in a lot of ways and not his sister. It’s mostly like glancing at a reflection of himself, really. Just with slightly different parts and heights.

Dave slides onto the cloudlike mattress once his undershirt and shorts are on, scooting to the middle of the bed where Rose is. With a mountain of pillows propping them up, they settle into the position they want to have tonight.

Dave opts to put his head on her chest, listening to the steady tempo of her heart for definitely trauma related reasons. Rose’s cheek rests on the top of his skull, arm under his neck and holding him close. Their legs end up tangling together as they rest their hipbones against one another; sharing residual warmth of their showers. Rose sets the laptop to the side Dave isn’t on, screen angled so they can both see as she presses play.

Her hand paps his cheek only once, and he returns the favor. It’s mostly just a formal recognition thing for them, rather than the soppy calm-down switch like it is for trolls. Cuddling like octopi works just fine on its own for their informal piling.

“Can’t believe troll Jaden Smith got an anime before I did,” Dave mumbles as the pastel opening credits begin. It’s considered a classic now days, and Dave feels weirdly old since he remembers when it first came out. “Still haven’t gotten one either, damn. I need to get on that shit.”

“What genre will you be classifying it as?” Rose asks, tangling her fingers in his hair for the umpteenth time.

“Maybe sci-fi or something, but I’m also still leaning towards maid café.”

“And the story?”

“Underground government revolution, duh.”

“Excellent choice, brother dear. Keeping to what our family knows best, are we?”

“Roxy and Dirk are too good a material source to waste.”

“As is our alternate selves’s history as resistors.”

“Obviously.”

They run through the first half of the episode before Dave starts to really wind down. He’s gone days without sleep, out of some kind of fear/self-punishment reasoning, and he’s beyond absolutely exhausted despite his pretending to be otherwise. Rose’s nails are gentle against his scalp and her body warmly pressed to his, so Dave’s mind is relaxing out of its sleep resistant anxiety without his prompt. Even if he has nightmares- and inevitably he will- Dave will wake up right next to his sister and moirail. He’s safe.

If he wakes up thrashing, fighting against spectres of his past or trying to rescue his drowning sister, Rose will just hold his face and make him focus on her, on the present. She’s the god of clarity in a manner of speaking; she’s the only one who can snap him out of an attack besides Karkat. And not just because of her powers.

If and when Dave will wake up, surfacing from a nightmare that sends his heart beating painfully fast in his chest and leaves him breathless, she’ll be right there to talk him down, kiss his temples and cheeks and keep holding him until the shakes fade. And if and when Rose wakes up like that, stifling cries about what she’s lost and may yet lose, shivering from images of things that’ve been in her head and the way her wife’s eyes gain wrinkles as years past- Dave will take a turn holding her close until she breathes evenly again, regaining sense of where she is and who she’s with. He’ll look her in the eye and make her look back, cupping her cheek gently and pressing his lips to her forehead, and they’ll tangle themselves up until everything passes and its morning again.

They’re not picture perfect moirails, but they’re there for each other as much as they can be. It works majority of the time, and they make up for it later when they falter. And that’s good enough.

Dave sinks into the heavy exhaustion inside him, not quite as afraid any longer while he’s wrapped around Rose. She cuddles him as close as he does her, and Dave drifts off to the sound of her breathing.

When morning- afternoon, nearly- rolls around, they’ve only woken each other once in the night, and Dave feels considerably less like he’s dying slowly. Rose, in turn, seems considerably less like she really did die the night prior.

Before they haul themselves upright again, to check in with their friends and partners and put real food into their stomachs, they lie around in the enormous and soft bed. Talking quietly and touching intimately, just enjoying the calmness that comes from being together and around no one else. They’ve become better practiced over the years, opening up around their friends and loved ones- but it’s still hard, and sometimes they can only manage it with each other.

It’s good, just lying together and talking in circles. It’s what they should do more often, so weeks and nights they’ve been having don’t happen.

When they do sit up from the covers and pillows, Dave watches his sister pull open fully the heavy drapes, pushing outwards the panes and letting the afternoon sun inside. It illuminates the pale white of her everything, and makes her shine gold.

Standing in the open sunlight, lavender eyed and glowing bright, Dave finds again he will always strongly prefer her like this. Sleep rumpled and sunlit as the open window blows her short hair, rather than elegantly dressed and still like an empty shell against the bottom of a pool.

That preference is an easily guessed one, seeing as the smile Rose turns on him says she knows exactly what he’s thinking of her at the moment.

“We’ll talk next time,” She promises him, and that’s enough for Dave.

#daverose #dave strider #rose lalonde #fanfic #homestuck #moiraillegiance #my writing #tw: abuse #tw: sucide mention #she's fine obviously #just a little dead at first #(a/n: been feeling really down lately so i projected strongly onto these two #feel better now that i have.) #dave #rose

[ivorydice]

Here, have some small boring thing I typed up on my phone this morning while I was lying in bed ahahaha. SUPER first draft warning. Also warning for some violence, COS YOU KNOW ME. Also, how the hell do some people write their fics on their phones??? I can barely get any proper descriptions out, meanwhile on a computer I’m typing paragraphs so long I have to split them up ahahaha what. I’m actually super stoked to work on this fic lol, I’ve been planning it for a little while. It’ll end up as a huge disappointment, I know it will fuuuuuuuuck.

It was raining again. It would have been refreshing, relaxing almost, with the way it ran through his hair and down his face, cool against his heated cheeks, and with the way it soaked into his t-shirt, made it cling to his skin, far better than the sweat from before. It would have been nice, except for the way it turned the dirt beneath him into mush, had his sneakers squelching in it, his feet sometimes sticking into place, other times slipping. His feet slipped in it this time, and he tried to brace himself as best as he could. He landed on his knees and arms, shocks of pain rushing up through his elbows. His tied wrists landed straight in the mud, splashing bits up to land on his face. The rope around his neck jerked slightly, pulling at his skin, making him wince. Around him, the men laughed. “Fuckin’ disgrace!” one yelled, and he slammed his boot into Noctis’s side, sending pain shooting through his ribs and nearly knocking him over. “Look at the prince now,” another smirked. “Not so high and fucking mighty now, are ya?” Noctis glared up at them, but he said nothing as he scrambled back to his feet, all too aware of the rope around his neck, the other end of it tied to the back of the truck in front of him. It had halted when he fell, thank the gods for that, but the driver might not be so kind next time. He hadn't been before, after all. Damn it, but where had they gone wrong? How had it ended up like this? Surely he and his friends were better at reading people than this? It had started out with the three hunters, Rex, Jesse and Lenny. Three hunters that had requested their help specifically for a hunt, said the reward would be more than enough for all of them to split, and that they'd heard good things from Dave. Except it had been a setup. They had practically thrown his friends to too many enemies and had knocked him on the back of the head, had made away with him before anyone could properly react. Now Noctis had no idea if his friends were even alive or not, and he was stuck here, in some small encampment, more hunters surrounding him and downing alcohol as if it was water, laughing at him and shining their spotlights on him, cheering on as he was led around with the rope tied around his neck. They even stepped in every now and then, to kick at his ribs or his stomach, to stomp on his hands and fingers whenever he fell. “All hail the Prince of Lucis!” Jesse yelled, sitting on the flatbed part of the truck, holding his bottle up as the rest of the men cheered. It was personal. Whatever this was about, whatever this was to them, it was personal. The way they stared at him with such disdain, the way they loved to see him hurt, it was obvious how much they hated him for being him. Like he had ever done anything to them, like he even knew who any of them were, the assholes. He could only hope that his friends were okay.

#hurt noct hurt noct hurt noct hurt noct #ohhhh boy the caffeine is kicking in sir #fic previews #my fics #i might end up deleting this later lol

[definitelydiggs-blog]

Fill Up My Cup (Part 1?)

I’m really nervous about posting, but what the hell? Why not?

Word count: 1621

Warnings: cursing, domestic violence

I hope you enjoy! 

The dripping of water echoed through the house. All you could hear was the soft drips, splashing against the marble sink. That was the only sign of noise, or movement, or anything in the empty apartment.

So this is what it feels like to be alone, you thought bitterly. You had screamed at Logan to pack up his bags last night, screaming that you hated every ounce of him. Shouting that he had ruined you, you snatched anything you could get your hands on, sending vases, lamps, and pillows alike hurling across the room.

Rolling out of bed and running a hand through the hair knotted atop your head, a product of a sleepless night and too many tears for a lifetime, you cursed as a piece of glass embedded itself in the bottom of your foot. Scowling at the small trickle of blood leaving the wound, you hobbled to the bathroom, not sure if you were more concerned about the blood or the goddamn drip-drop of the sink that didn’t seem to stop. You slammed the palm of your hand on the handle of the sink, ceasing the noise and then settled atop the toilet lid to examine the massacre that had amassed on the bottom of your foot. As you reached to your right to grab a washcloth to begin cleaning up, a shrill ringing sounded from what sounded like the living room.

You dropped your head, groaning. I thought I turned that shit off last night before he even came home. You tried to remember how your phone escaped your wrath last night as it continued to ring, stopping only for a brief second before starting again. Snatching the glass out of your foot with a pair of tweezers sitting on the counter and wiping the bottom of your bloodied foot after dampening the washcloth, the phone ceased ringing just as you got to your feet.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Stupid ass motherfucking phone. I fucking hate this-” The words trailed off after reaching the living room, seeing a note sitting next to your phone.

It was addressed to you. But just because he placed right where you could see it did not at all mean you would read it. Sure, he took the time to write it, but that in no way excused everything that happened. A letter meant jack shit when every word he spoke was laced with lies, his promises soaked in poisons. Tossing it in the trashcan did nothing but cause anger to swell in you as you saw the re-stained shirt and towels sitting on top, a reminder the night that had ended just hours ago.

Shaking your head to disperse the thoughts from the previous night, you crossed the room back to your phone. Picking it up you glanced at the screen seeing the battery had drained over night and finding all the notifications, starting at 8:13 last night and stretching to the most recent one from ten minutes ago, reading 6:02 AM. A number of people had texted you: your sister, a few coworkers, one from Lin, another few from Pippa, and then 37 texts from Daveed, followed by four phone calls. Deciding you would call them all back later, you stepped around the remaining glass on the floor and climbed back into bed, plugging in your phone before getting comfortable, wrapping yourself in blankets. Determined to stay in bed for the foreseeable future, you rolled over just as your phone began ringing again.

Grasping at the the nightstand, you closed a grip on the shrieking device, swiping to answer before bringing it to rest on your cheek.

“I swear to god this better be important, it is six a-fucking-m and I would like to go back to sle-”

“Oh thank god you’re okay! I was so worried. (Y/N), please tell me you’re at home.” Daveed’s panicked voice screamed through the phone. Confusion coated your tone as you answered.

“Yes, I am home. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I was so stressed all night and then you didn’t answer my texts and then Logan texted me saying you needed space, which sounded like bullshit. And anything coming out of his mouth is total bullshit, so I knew something was wrong.”

“I’m fine, Daveed. I just want to sleep.” It wasn’t difficult to sound tired, but sounding fine posed more of a problem, especially once your voice cracked at the end.

“I can hear it in your voice. Why are you crying?”

“I’m not, I just don’t feel great after last night. Long night and all,” you offered weakly, hoping he wouldn’t ask for details.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go too well then, huh?” He laughed humorlessly.

“Yeah,” you answered softly. More words sat at the back of your throat, but you couldn’t force them out. Last night took all the strength you had and left you with loneliness, tossing a three year relationship down the drain, leaving you with little else.

“Do you want me to come over? I can bring you soup from the Thai place, or bagels, or whatever you want actually,” Daveed offered.

“I think I’m just going to sleep, but thank you.”

“Okay, I’ll drop it off then and it’ll be there whenever you feel like you can eat.”

You winced at his words. He needed to stay away. He couldn’t see you like this, a total wreck still in pajamas and covered in a coating of sadness you couldn’t shake.

“I swear I’m fine, Daveed. I just need to rest.” Your voice cracked again. Cursing at yourself internally, you knew you gave yourself away.

“Now I’m definitely coming. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m all good.”

“Can you just stop lying to me, (Y/N)? Please. You had me worried sick because you didn’t answer and then Logan was saying…” He trailed off.

“What did he say?” You demanded, sitting up.

“Forget it. I know you aren’t okay so can you please tell me what’s wrong before I get there. I’d like to prepare myself before I get to your apartment and I’m surprised.” He rushed out the words and you could hear the faint honking of horns, signalling he was already hailing a cab and on his way to find out what the hell you were hiding.

“You can’t not tell me. What did he say?” Exiting your bed for the second time that morning, you ripped open the dresser drawer and quickly found a new pair of sweatpants and one of Daveed’s old shirts buried at the bottom of the drawer. You knew you needed to try and fix yourself a little bit. Daveed had already gotten in the taxi, meaning you only had about ten minutes to look presentable. Well, you thought caustically, as presentable as I can get.

“Forget I said anything. I just need to check on you. Fuck, (Y/N), I know you’re upset but if I find out he said anything, or did anything… I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He whispered into the phone, trying not to alert the taxi driver.

You rolled your eyes.

“Whatever, just use your key when you get here. I’ll be in the shower.”

The next question struck you with a sense of fear you never knew Daveed could incite. His tone was nothing but calm, but you could sense the ice underlying the words.

“Did he touch you?”

You almost dropped the phone. Your blood ran cold, but your face felt hot. Anger, embarrassment, and shame bubbled in your veins.

Looking into the mirror for the first time since Logan had slammed the door last night, you felt the tears come on, hot and quick. You closed your eyes after glancing for just a second, unable to even look.

Hearing the sharp intake of breath, Daveed inhaled deeply from the other end of the call.

“Did. He. Hit. You?” He broke down the sentence, pausing after every word.

“Please don’t make me answer that,” you choked out. Finally, you looked up and studied your own features.

Bruises adorned your cheeks, a multitude of purples, reds, and pinks melding together to form a web of color. Rosy red skin circled your eyes, and you couldn’t tell if it was extension from the bruises that stretched up your temple, or if they were still red from all the crying. Dried blood rested along your lip, crusted from both the swollen skin and the cut extending on the left side of your top lip to the edge of the bottom lip. The bruised showed faint yellowing around the edges, proving they were hours old.

You set the phone on the counter as acid welled at the base of your throat. Unable to move, you simply hunched over the sink and emptied everything resting in your stomach. You could hear Daveed panicking as the phone rested beside you, but all you could focus on was the bile erupting from your stomach.

Catching your breath, you hung your head, refusing to make eye contact with the battered woman trying to catch your eye in the mirror. That’s not me, is it?

“Jesus fucking christ, (Y/N), are you okay?” Daveed continued yelling from the phone next to you.

“Can you please get me there any faster?” You could hear him pleading with the cab driver.

“Daveed,” your breath caught in your throat.

“Were you throwing up? What the hell did he do to you?” He was demanding answers, unsatisfied with your lack of response.

“Daveed,” you whispered again, so quietly you weren’t even sure if you had actually said anything at all.

“What happened, sweetheart?” His voice softened now, trying to ease you.

“He fucked me up.”

thoughts?

#Hamilton imagine #rpf #daveed x reader #Hamilton fanfic #hamilcast #hamilcast x reader #Hamilton fanfiction #hamilton x reader #my trash

[clonerightsagenda]

I scribbled this out several months ago and forgot about it so anyway here’s some half-baked postgame Prospit siblings stargazing

“The stars are different,” Jade says.

She’s sitting out in the backyard, arms clasped around her knees, head tilted up at the sky. There’s nothing wrong with that, but a certain droop in her ears had prompted you to head outside and check up on her. Everyone has their moments, when the game or whatever came before it catches up with them, but Jade’s one of the few whose previous moments led to homicide, so people are less likely to drag her out of a funk. But it’s practically your job to try. You’re her brother, after all, and you’ve both let each other down before. If that means losing some internal organs to the evil werewolf, that’s how it has to be.

(That’s a joke, mostly, but you never can tell for sure.)

Now you settle into the grass and look up with her, staring at the darkness studded with lights you could see up close, if you wanted to. She’s right. No Orion’s belt, no Cassiopeia. No North Star to guide you. You live under a different sky now.

Jade knows – or knew? is it past tense if the things themselves are gone, even if your knowledge of them isn’t? -  a lot more constellations than you did. Once on the battleship, before you all stopped doing things together, you’d stretched out on your backs and she’d tossed golf balls into the air, arranging them into shapes and giving them names. A bunch of them came from Greek myths, and you remembered some from the Percy Jackson books that had been a hit at your middle school. (Roxy said the movies were terrible; at least the world ended before Hollywood could ruin yet another perfectly decent story.) You’d recognized a few of the shapes from squinting through your telescope, although the streetlights made it hard to see. Dave sprite, living in a city full of bright lights, had almost never caught a clear glimpse of stars.

“On my island you could actually see part of the Milky Way,” she’d told you, and the golf balls clustered together into a long white band. “Looking up at it always made me feel so small, in a good way. It’s amazing.”

It’s amazing. You all use present tense when you shouldn’t – about galaxies, or your dad, or the corner store Dave sprite quipped he could find Milky Ways at, if he wanted them. Sometimes language takes a while to catch up with reality.  Sometimes reality takes a while to catch up with you. That’s when you find yourselves sitting in your rooms, or on the roof, or in the damp grass of the backyard, staring at nothing.

In the present, she sighs. “Whenever I look up, it reminds me… We’re a long way from home.”

“This is home now,” you point out, and she turns her head to the side, not quite either a shake or a nod.

“You know what I mean.”

“Would you rather be back there?” You miss your old life sometimes, especially your dad, and how simple it all was, but what Jade has admitted of her childhood doesn’t sound great. At first it did – no school? no supervision? – but you’ve endured enough loneliness to spot the dark side. Of all of you, you’re the one who’d had the most to lose.

“No. Definitely not. But we lost a lot.” She peers up at the sky, shoulders slumped. “Galaxies.”

Back when she’d tried to teach you astronomy, you’d stared up at the greenish-blackish blur pretending to be the sky and suggested, “Hey, the trolls said they got to make the stars. Do you think we’ll be able to?”

“I doubt they made them personally,” Jade said with the caution of someone still trying to hang on to a few of the scientific theories about the universe. You’d caught her frowning at physics books a few times, taking it as a personal insult that she broke a few theories of basic time and space.

“They function, so not likely,” Dave sprite added. Although you think he holds more of a grudge against the trolls than he needs to, he had a point. All of them were too busy arguing and getting into trouble to make a cosmos that didn’t look haphazard and partly unfinished.

You waved your hand, unconsciously summoning a gust that sent the golf balls scattering and bouncing off each other. “Ok, sure, but they influenced them, right? Maybe we’ll get our own personal parts of the new solar system. I wonder what that’ll be like.” You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to pretend you were really outside somewhere instead of trapped on a tiny vessel zooming between realities. “I can’t wait to finally get off this stupid ship and see what the world looks like outside this game once we’ve won. Won’t it be great?”

Dave sprite had mumbled something about being tired and left then, leaving you propped up on your elbow looking after him. “What did I say this time?” you demanded.

Jade had looked tired, but only for a moment. Then the expression cleared, like she’d hit the reset button on her face, and she’d smiled and reassembled the golf balls with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t worry about it. Hey, have I told you the stories about the Pleiades?”

She’d been trying to take care of you, you know now, not something any thirteen year old should have to do. Thirteen year olds can’t even take care of themselves. Sure, some of you tried, but it’s not like it ever ended well.

Sixteen year olds can’t do much better. But here you are, feeling dampness soaking into the seat of your pants, because you can’t help trying to look after each other. And after the last three years, you owe it to her.  

“You have to get used to the new stars,” you say. “Then it won’t be so bad, looking up at them. We can do that by naming them.”

“Naming them?” She raises her eyebrows. “Do you know how many there are?”

“A lot?” you hazard. She rolls her eyes. “Bluh, whatever. We do have forever, you know. But I meant naming groups, like constellations.” You point to a cluster almost directly overhead. “We can base them on us, like the trolls and the Zodiac.” You turn to give her a good view of your profile. “Do you think that one looks like me?”

She snorts, as you’d hoped she would, and bats your hand away. “The constellations were based on their symbols, not their faces, and I never thought they were good matches anyway.”

“Fine then. That blobby group could be my knockoff Slimer.” You touch your chest, even though that shirt has long since been retired. “That trademark-infringing artwork is going way further than the artist intended. Do you think white dwarfs listen to DMCA takedown notices?”

“I guess that one kind of looks like a dog,” she concedes, gesturing to the right. Lines of green fire follow her fingertip, sketching out the shape like a connect-the-dots.

You grab her wrist, drawing out your own patterns in the sky. “I know you said we weren’t doing faces, but those kind of look like Karkat, with a big mouth for yelling and everything.”

She laughs, putting the finishing touches on your drawing herself. “Thanks. Now I can’t not see it.”

“So next time you look up at the stars, you’ll want to laugh.” You nudge her shoulder with your own. “See, I can be smart sometimes too.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

And the stars do look friendlier now. Next time you catch yourself looking up, wondering what else might be out there, you’ll see your friends. “Let’s go inside,” you say. “I can make hot chocolate.”

“With too much sugar?”

“With the exact right amount,” you correct her. “It’s not my fault you being a demidog or whatever messes up your sense of taste.”

“Let’s get someone else to be the judge.”

“You’re on,” you say, and pull her to her feet.

#kat writes fic #homestuck// #postgame #tlc compliant i guess even though you can't really tell #except for mentions of sitting on the roof #everyone sits on the roof #it's top tier brooding territory and the competition is fierce #after all it's hard to mope if someone else is moping five feet away from you

[callieharding]

WILLINGS, REAGAN:

Reagan moved her hand into her best friend’s, and her lips curled into a smile only Callie was capable of putting on her face. “Your hand fits in mine like it’s made just for me,” she sang, before recalling a period of her life. “Remember how my part of the room looked when we first met? All those One Direction posters.” The brunette grimaced at the memories of her past obsession. “I now understand why my family was so shocked when I told them I wanted to major in physics and chemistry,” she laughed.

Reagan’s attention was drew by the brown haired girl’s features. Whenever she glanced towards Callie and discovered a smile present on her face, her heart would start to beat faster. Happiness would invade her brain and the impulse of kissing her became stronger. Reagan would often experience these thoughts, but she was unable of confessing her true feelings to her friend. Her mind would form a mix of different fears, where rejection and heartbreak were the most noticeable ones.

“Shit.” The swear word left her mouth mechanically, when she felt the water of the clouds fall down on her skin. Reagan started running again, dragging Callie with her. After three minutes, her clothes and hair were soaked. Two minutes later when they arrived to their room, the brunette was shivering from head to toe. “I guess the world is trying to teach me a lesson.” She took some clean clothes from a drawer and entered the bathroom. Undressing herself, she let the warm shower water wash her body.

When her system stopped protesting with shivers, her mind continued its thinking. She would never admit to Callie, but she did not believe her boyfriend was fit for her. She knew her best friend better than anyone, and because of that she was aware of how outstanding she was— Reagan thought he did not deserve her. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks at the thought of them, together. It broke her heart that Callie will never have the same feelings for her, but she did not wish to show her how much she was suffering.

She washed her face and made sure that there was no sign left of her misery. She dressed with her pajamas and joined the other girl in their room. “It is almost two in the morning, we should probably go to sleep. Tomorrow I have that important test and I don’t want to fail it,” she said. “Good night baby.” She gave Callie a good night hug and tucked herself under her blanket, her mind thinking about everything except the actual test.

"How did I manage to look past those damn posters?” Callie joked, her cheeks round and rosy as she flashed her best friend a smile. Just as the words left her lips, water began to pour from the sky above. Instinctively, Callie’s hand shot up in an act to protect her hair, causing her to stop in her tracks behind Reagan. A goofy laugh poured out from Callie as she felt a tug on her arm. Her legs moved as fast as they could as the rain pouring onto the concrete of the campus’ parking lots and roofs drowned out the sound of her continuous laugh. Manholes and gutters flooded with a surplus of downpour while Callie became completely engulfed in the moment the two were sharing. Her heart pitter-pattered viciously against her rib cage. The euphoria she was experiencing urged violently to showcase itself in other ways besides the loud noises of laughter being emitted from Callie the entire time she watched the back of her best friend’s head leading the way to the residence building, hand fit perfectly in her’s like it was made for her. It was a good thing she wasn’t facing Reagan otherwise she might have acted on the impulses she’d been feeling for the better half of the school year thus far. 

Callie struggled to catch her breath as the two marched into their dorm. The quiet air of the residence lobby interrupted by the sounds of more laughter. The walk to their room would have been the same if Callie had no need to regain composure, sucking in deep breaths of air. As soon as Reagan disappeared off into the washroom, Callie stripped from her wet clothing. Unhinging her bra and sliding out of her underwear and all. She pulled on a new pair of underwear, and a loose tank to sleep; nothing out of the ordinary. In a full length mirror on one of her wardrobe doors was, as expected, a wavy-haired Callie Harding. So much for straightening it, she thought to herself as her hands worked on pulling it up into a messy ponytail. It was still dripping wet, but she couldn’t bother to dry it before climbing into her bed. Eager to warm her toes that had managed to become icicles in the short time of being in their air conditioned dorm. Her breathing finally settled.

Reagan came out in her pajamas not long after Callie had got settled into bed. Her eyes peeked out from the back of her phone screen. It chimed with a text message just as she clicked it off to wrap her arms around Reagan in a goodnight hug. “You’re gonna ace it,” Callie told her reassuringly as she pressed a kiss to the shoulder her head laid on for a moment. “Night.” She gave her one last smile before the lights went out.

Awaiting her on her phone was a text from Dave: where you at cal?? im lonely. can you come make my night babe? Callie drew a breath as she glanced over at the silhouette of her best friend. If she left, she wouldn’t be able to wish Reagan luck on her test the following morning. Or see her at all. One of Callie’s favourite times to be with her best friend was in the mornings, when Reagan’s hair was untamed, and her voice laced with remnants of sleep. Callie loved to hop into her bed and try her hardest to get her up and out of bed. Showering her with kisses to her forehead and cheeks, constantly repeating the words good and morning in the most chipper voice she could put on; purely to irritate her. That was what she anticipated waking up to tomorrow—not a cranky, naked Dave Villa. Her phone’s screened dimmed into a sleep mode as Callie’s eyes stayed glued on the outline of Reagan in her bed. No matter how hard she tried to rack up a list of cons of staying in for the night, she just couldn’t. She knew that going to Dave’s apartment meant hungry kisses, sex, cuddling, then sleeping. And she wanted all of those. She really did. But they didn’t compare to the satisfaction waking her best friend up in the morning brought her.

Callie exhaled through her nose as she swiveled her body around to face the wall her bed was against, letting her phone fall to her bed. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift off. Immediately, a familiar face with soft, delicate features came to her. A face Callie was sure she could never get enough of. The curvature of the girl’s lips, without fail, ignited a common flame of allure from within her. She wanted nothing more than to be able to run her thumb across them, and press her own lips to them in an effort of catching herself both a feel and a taste. She wanted to lace her fingers into her glossy hair as her other hand rubbed slow, gentle circles into her jaw. Callie shifted in her bed, urging herself not to turn back over to try to find the face she was envisioning, but ultimately failed. She turned back over to her side to catch only the silhouette of Reagan once again. Through the sheet of darkness, there was no way of being able to see anything more than just that from the distance she was from her. The face her body craved to see was engulfed by the darkness, and Callie wasn’t sure she could go much longer without getting a peak of it once more.

“Reagan?” Callie’s voice was a soft whisper, careful to make sure not to wake her if she was sleeping. “Are you awake?” her voice rang out again as she dangled her bare legs off the side of her bed and brought herself up into a sitting position. Silently praying she would be awake, or stir awake, as selfish as that might have made Callie. She brought her knees up to her chin, peering into the dimness. 

#p: one

[flauntpage]

The Cowboys Are the Papa John's of the NFL

There was never a better marriage between a sport and a sponsor than the NFL and Papa John's, two products that are far more popular than their overwhelmingly intense mediocrity would suggest. You shove both into your body out of habit even though there are better options available, and you don't even really enjoy it. You'd be better off with a book or a salad but that's not how you spend your Sundays, damn it.

As you already know, last week John "Papa" Johnson (I don't care what his real name is) blamed his company's declining revenue on the NFL's poor leadership in handling national anthem, as opposed to the urine-soaked cardboard he calls pizza that is only tolerable if you dip it into a plastic cup of garlic mixed with spit and sugar. Is Papa John's losing money because its "pizza" is heated by the breath of people with halitosis inside highway rest stops used solely by people with IBS? Or is it because football men are protesting? No one can ever know for sure, I guess.

But this controversy, plus a slice of pizza I was eating a minute ago, got me thinking: What pizza chains best exemplify NFL teams?

(Really, I'd write about how the Jacksonville Jaguars are rocketing toward a playoff spot, but that's a thing I was already right about, so no need to be right again.)

(Please ignore my take that the New England Patriots were done, thank you.)

Anyway, which NFL teams are which chain pizza places? Glad you asked.

The Los Angeles Rams are California Pizza Kitchen. The Rams are 6-2 and have a great chance at a first-round bye in the playoffs, yet it seems like nobody talks about how great they are because they're not available everywhere like more popular franchises. You see the name and you're like, "Why is there so much yellow in the logo?" But then you try it and you're all, "Wow, this is so good, I need more of this." Cooper Kupp is the thai kitchen pizza of receivers—just give it a chance once in a while and you won't be sorry.

The New York Jets are Sbarro. It's bad. It's so bad. And yet, there are people who for some reason, even in New York, will tell you they like this pizza even though there is authentic, delicious New York pizza (or literally any other sports franchise) available everywhere. As a matter of fact, you don't even know why it exists in New York. People talk themselves into thinking it's good when deep down they know it's bad. Josh McCown is that slice of Sbarro that's been sitting under a heat lamp for days but when you're desperate, you will take it.

The Buffalo Bills are Uno Pizzeria & Grill. So you want something a little different than the standard fare? There's nothing that says "team that tries to win without completing passes to wide receivers" than "let's get some deep dish but not the good kind." Whenever the Bills try to win with six-yard passes to [whoever the Bills' third-string tight end is], that's you trying to satisfy your appetite with mass-produced lasagna cake. Hitching your wagon to either will give you diarrhea and won't get you invited to any playoff parties.

The Cleveland Browns are Chuck E. Cheese. Did you know that Chuck E. Cheese is considered a pizza chain? It is! Did you know the Cleveland Browns are considered a football team? They are! Although while Chuck E. Cheese recently removed its barely functioning and out-of-date robots designed to enhance entertainment for fans, the Browns have no plans to relocate again.

The San Francisco 49ers are Pizza Hut. Both were great in the 1980s but are now the worst in the business.

The Detroit Lions are Little Caesar's. No city's pizza and football team match up so well. If you welcome either into your life, it brings you pain, but it does just enough to keep you coming back. If Little Caesar's actually were an NFL team, it would go 8-8 every year.

The New York Giants are Boston Pizza. New York Giants: based in New Jersey. Boston Pizza: based in Canada. They lie about who they are and it taints everything they do. Ben McAdoo's NFL Coach Makeover in the off-season makes him the Boston Pizza of head coaches.

The New England Patriots are Domino's. In a land of mediocrity, the slightly above average is king. While the Patriots refuse to admit they've cheated, at least Domino's had the character to admit its pizza was trash and attempted to remedy the problem. Much the same way the Patriots would be 9-7 in a fair world but instead beat up on the trash in the AFC East to make themselves seem great, Domino's does the same with its chain competition. I don't know if any high-ranking Domino's executive ever dumped their pregnant girlfriend to get a job at DiGiorno, but the comparison still applies.

The Dallas Cowboys are Papa John's. Papa John's is the official pizza of the NFL. The Cowboys are America's team, the flagship franchise of the NFL. If you live in a certain part of the country, you think they are the end-all, be-all of their fields, when really, they're the perfect overrated piles of blah fed upon by people who don't know better. Papa John's is glorified microwave pizza, the Cowboys are its football counterpart. The Cowboys have two playoff wins since 1996, which is exactly how many good slices of pizza Papa John has made in the same amount of time. Both could disappear forever and nobody would miss them. Considering Tony Romo's most memorable career moment featured him screwing up while on a knee, he should be a Papa John's spokesman by the end of the month.

Follow Dave on Twitter @davelozo.

The Cowboys Are the Papa John's of the NFL published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

The Cowboys Are the Papa John’s of the NFL

There was never a better marriage between a sport and a sponsor than the NFL and Papa John’s, two products that are far more popular than their overwhelmingly intense mediocrity would suggest. You shove both into your body out of habit even though there are better options available, and you don’t even really enjoy it. You’d be better off with a book or a salad but that’s not how you spend your Sundays, damn it.

As you already know, last week John “Papa” Johnson (I don’t care what his real name is) blamed his company’s declining revenue on the NFL’s poor leadership in handling national anthem, as opposed to the urine-soaked cardboard he calls pizza that is only tolerable if you dip it into a plastic cup of garlic mixed with spit and sugar. Is Papa John’s losing money because its “pizza” is heated by the breath of people with halitosis inside highway rest stops used solely by people with IBS? Or is it because football men are protesting? No one can ever know for sure, I guess.

But this controversy, plus a slice of pizza I was eating a minute ago, got me thinking: What pizza chains best exemplify NFL teams?

(Really, I’d write about how the Jacksonville Jaguars are rocketing toward a playoff spot, but that’s a thing I was already right about, so no need to be right again.)

(Please ignore my take that the New England Patriots were done, thank you.)

Anyway, which NFL teams are which chain pizza places? Glad you asked.

The Los Angeles Rams are California Pizza Kitchen. The Rams are 6-2 and have a great chance at a first-round bye in the playoffs, yet it seems like nobody talks about how great they are because they’re not available everywhere like more popular franchises. You see the name and you’re like, “Why is there so much yellow in the logo?” But then you try it and you’re all, “Wow, this is so good, I need more of this.” Cooper Kupp is the thai kitchen pizza of receivers—just give it a chance once in a while and you won’t be sorry.

The New York Jets are Sbarro. It’s bad. It’s so bad. And yet, there are people who for some reason, even in New York, will tell you they like this pizza even though there is authentic, delicious New York pizza (or literally any other sports franchise) available everywhere. As a matter of fact, you don’t even know why it exists in New York. People talk themselves into thinking it’s good when deep down they know it’s bad. Josh McCown is that slice of Sbarro that’s been sitting under a heat lamp for days but when you’re desperate, you will take it.

The Buffalo Bills are Uno Pizzeria & Grill. So you want something a little different than the standard fare? There’s nothing that says “team that tries to win without completing passes to wide receivers” than “let’s get some deep dish but not the good kind.” Whenever the Bills try to win with six-yard passes to [whoever the Bills’ third-string tight end is], that’s you trying to satisfy your appetite with mass-produced lasagna cake. Hitching your wagon to either will give you diarrhea and won’t get you invited to any playoff parties.

The Cleveland Browns are Chuck E. Cheese. Did you know that Chuck E. Cheese is considered a pizza chain? It is! Did you know the Cleveland Browns are considered a football team? They are! Although while Chuck E. Cheese recently removed its barely functioning and out-of-date robots designed to enhance entertainment for fans, the Browns have no plans to relocate again.

The San Francisco 49ers are Pizza Hut. Both were great in the 1980s but are now the worst in the business.

The Detroit Lions are Little Caesar’s. No city’s pizza and football team match up so well. If you welcome either into your life, it brings you pain, but it does just enough to keep you coming back. If Little Caesar’s actually were an NFL team, it would go 8-8 every year.

The New York Giants are Boston Pizza. New York Giants: based in New Jersey. Boston Pizza: based in Canada. They lie about who they are and it taints everything they do. Ben McAdoo’s NFL Coach Makeover in the off-season makes him the Boston Pizza of head coaches.

The New England Patriots are Domino’s. In a land of mediocrity, the slightly above average is king. While the Patriots refuse to admit they’ve cheated, at least Domino’s had the character to admit its pizza was trash and attempted to remedy the problem. Much the same way the Patriots would be 9-7 in a fair world but instead beat up on the trash in the AFC East to make themselves seem great, Domino’s does the same with its chain competition. I don’t know if any high-ranking Domino’s executive ever dumped their pregnant girlfriend to get a job at DiGiorno, but the comparison still applies.

The Dallas Cowboys are Papa John’s. Papa John’s is the official pizza of the NFL. The Cowboys are America’s team, the flagship franchise of the NFL. If you live in a certain part of the country, you think they are the end-all, be-all of their fields, when really, they’re the perfect overrated piles of blah fed upon by people who don’t know better. Papa John’s is glorified microwave pizza, the Cowboys are its football counterpart. The Cowboys have two playoff wins since 1996, which is exactly how many good slices of pizza Papa John has made in the same amount of time. Both could disappear forever and nobody would miss them. Considering Tony Romo’s most memorable career moment featured him screwing up while on a knee, he should be a Papa John’s spokesman by the end of the month.

Follow Dave on Twitter @davelozo.

The Cowboys Are the Papa John’s of the NFL syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

[flauntpage]

The Cowboys Are the Papa John's of the NFL

There was never a better marriage between a sport and a sponsor than the NFL and Papa John's, two products that are far more popular than their overwhelmingly intense mediocrity would suggest. You shove both into your body out of habit even though there are better options available, and you don't even really enjoy it. You'd be better off with a book or a salad but that's not how you spend your Sundays, damn it.

As you already know, last week John "Papa" Johnson (I don't care what his real name is) blamed his company's declining revenue on the NFL's poor leadership in handling national anthem, as opposed to the urine-soaked cardboard he calls pizza that is only tolerable if you dip it into a plastic cup of garlic mixed with spit and sugar. Is Papa John's losing money because its "pizza" is heated by the breath of people with halitosis inside highway rest stops used solely by people with IBS? Or is it because football men are protesting? No one can ever know for sure, I guess.

But this controversy, plus a slice of pizza I was eating a minute ago, got me thinking: What pizza chains best exemplify NFL teams?

(Really, I'd write about how the Jacksonville Jaguars are rocketing toward a playoff spot, but that's a thing I was already right about, so no need to be right again.)

(Please ignore my take that the New England Patriots were done, thank you.)

Anyway, which NFL teams are which chain pizza places? Glad you asked.

The Los Angeles Rams are California Pizza Kitchen. The Rams are 6-2 and have a great chance at a first-round bye in the playoffs, yet it seems like nobody talks about how great they are because they're not available everywhere like more popular franchises. You see the name and you're like, "Why is there so much yellow in the logo?" But then you try it and you're all, "Wow, this is so good, I need more of this." Cooper Kupp is the thai kitchen pizza of receivers—just give it a chance once in a while and you won't be sorry.

The New York Jets are Sbarro. It's bad. It's so bad. And yet, there are people who for some reason, even in New York, will tell you they like this pizza even though there is authentic, delicious New York pizza (or literally any other sports franchise) available everywhere. As a matter of fact, you don't even know why it exists in New York. People talk themselves into thinking it's good when deep down they know it's bad. Josh McCown is that slice of Sbarro that's been sitting under a heat lamp for days but when you're desperate, you will take it.

The Buffalo Bills are Uno Pizzeria & Grill. So you want something a little different than the standard fare? There's nothing that says "team that tries to win without completing passes to wide receivers" than "let's get some deep dish but not the good kind." Whenever the Bills try to win with six-yard passes to [whoever the Bills' third-string tight end is], that's you trying to satisfy your appetite with mass-produced lasagna cake. Hitching your wagon to either will give you diarrhea and won't get you invited to any playoff parties.

The Cleveland Browns are Chuck E. Cheese. Did you know that Chuck E. Cheese is considered a pizza chain? It is! Did you know the Cleveland Browns are considered a football team? They are! Although while Chuck E. Cheese recently removed its barely functioning and out-of-date robots designed to enhance entertainment for fans, the Browns have no plans to relocate again.

The San Francisco 49ers are Pizza Hut. Both were great in the 1980s but are now the worst in the business.

The Detroit Lions are Little Caesar's. No city's pizza and football team match up so well. If you welcome either into your life, it brings you pain, but it does just enough to keep you coming back. If Little Caesar's actually were an NFL team, it would go 8-8 every year.

The New York Giants are Boston Pizza. New York Giants: based in New Jersey. Boston Pizza: based in Canada. They lie about who they are and it taints everything they do. Ben McAdoo's NFL Coach Makeover in the off-season makes him the Boston Pizza of head coaches.

The New England Patriots are Domino's. In a land of mediocrity, the slightly above average is king. While the Patriots refuse to admit they've cheated, at least Domino's had the character to admit its pizza was trash and attempted to remedy the problem. Much the same way the Patriots would be 9-7 in a fair world but instead beat up on the trash in the AFC East to make themselves seem great, Domino's does the same with its chain competition. I don't know if any high-ranking Domino's executive ever dumped their pregnant girlfriend to get a job at DiGiorno, but the comparison still applies.

The Dallas Cowboys are Papa John's. Papa John's is the official pizza of the NFL. The Cowboys are America's team, the flagship franchise of the NFL. If you live in a certain part of the country, you think they are the end-all, be-all of their fields, when really, they're the perfect overrated piles of blah fed upon by people who don't know better. Papa John's is glorified microwave pizza, the Cowboys are its football counterpart. The Cowboys have two playoff wins since 1996, which is exactly how many good slices of pizza Papa John has made in the same amount of time. Both could disappear forever and nobody would miss them. Considering Tony Romo's most memorable career moment featured him screwing up while on a knee, he should be a Papa John's spokesman by the end of the month.

Follow Dave on Twitter @davelozo.

The Cowboys Are the Papa John's of the NFL published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv