#and then the guilty human desperately trying to get into the good graces of a person small enough to sit in the palm of their hand

[fromthewoes]

can’t decide which is better:

terrified tiny saved by empathetic human who gently saves them and then lets them go despite their curiosity

or

terrified tiny caught by scientist human who is curious as FUCK and just wants to talk to the tiny person for a bit but never quite clarifies the tiny that they are in fact planning on letting them go

#g/t #most heart wrenching g/t scenes for me have to be #human just trying to help: what’s wrong #tiny who did not get the memo: oh god please don’t kill me #and then the guilty human desperately trying to get into the good graces of a person small enough to sit in the palm of their hand #g/t community

[dangermousie]

Farscape rewatch: 2x05 The Way We Weren’t

One of the best eps and so wonderfully Aeryn-centric.

If I didn’t love Pilot already. I would have fallen in love with him after this ep. The scene where he says ‘but I so desperately wanted to see the stars’ to justify to himself his prior course of action, really breaks my heart. You know, one of the biggest reasons I wouldn’t try Farscape for years, not until S4 in fact, was the ‘muppets.’ No way could I watch a scifi show with puppets. But that’s the thing. I forget Rygel and Pilot are puppets. They are complicated characters, like the rest and their arcs and their emotional heft is no less than that of human characters.

Another thing that I was thinking about with this ep, is how Farscapian. There are no true innocents here. Not really. Farscapian universe won’t let them be. Anyone who starts out innocent is forced to lose it, sooner or later. Crichton and Pilot are both innocents we see lose it. Pilot’s actions led to the death of the previous Pilot, he compromised to serve Peacekeepers. Crichton started the show out as a wide-eyed idealistic pacifist and look what he became end of S4, strapping a nuclear bomb on himself, offering the Universe to Scorpius for a mere chance to get Aeryn back. Pretty much everyone has some breaking point, some driving obsession that can override morality (I mean, Pilot wanted to fly badly enough he agreed to work for evil, in s4 John promises to give wormholes to Scorpius and thus bring war and destruction to untold innocents, to save Aeryn.)

No one starts out evil, or damaged, or guilty in FS. Even Scorpius, much as I loathe him, we really find out later what made him who he became. But (and that is why I love Farscape), not only does the show stick to “an explanation is not an excuse” belief, but there is always a possibility of grace. Of moving on, damaged and tarnished, and making new happiness and actively trying to find peace and goodness. Aeryn gets a chance to rediscover herself away from the brutality of PKs. She gets a chance to be a full-fledged human being (but also how much do I love that her deadliness does not diminish one bit.) Pilot gets the bond with Moya. Crichton, messed up beyond any recognition by the end, gets a chance at family, peace, and rediscovering innocence through his child.

So much of this ep is about choices and past and that’s another thing I love about the show. It’s not big on ‘fate.’ Aeryn and Crichton is my huge, huge, unrivaled OTP but they are not ‘destined,’ ‘fated,’ or any of that junk. They met at the time there was a possibility and their relationships developed from there. If Crichton did propose to Alex and she accepted and they stayed on Earth, I can see him being happy. He’d never have hit his full potential for feeling (or for suffering) but he would have been a happy guy. And for Aeryn, the moment was right. She loved Velorek but she couldn’t really allow herself to express it or to feel it fully, in PK society. Ironically, it’s her experience with Velorek, combined with her experience with her mother telling her she is special, that was that little push that prompted her to take to Crichton’s words of ‘you can be more’ in the Premiere. It’s actually so interesting to me btw that Aeryn has a type - techie with a core of steel but a soft soul and someone willing to buck all norms for what he thinks is right (Velorek, even Larraq to a degree) and John is basically the apotheosis of the type, but that Aeryn is so far from John’s default type prior to her - blond, easy going, chill. 

I really love the scene where he comforts her after she’s had an exercise session and her hands are raw from the punching bag. He just holds her, as she cries. And she cries messily, unprettily, very real. 

I love that so consistently, no matter how deadly he gets, he is the soft one in the relationship, the emotionally more open one, the one who wants to talk. She started out as a machine and discovers the beauty of vulnerability and humanity as the show progresses and he starts out as a vulnerable soft sweetheart who has to armor himself to survive - being with him restores to her, oh so gradually, the humanity that he society stole from her but later on having her is what keeps in him the humanity that is being so brutally and thoroughly ripped from him. He restores her soul and she restores him after the universe does its best to destroy that in them. They meet somewhere in the scarred middle and the equality of it is beautiful. (But also, achieving their full potential is riven with loss - John would have never shown all this drive and devotion and capability as a scientist on earth but he would have also not been tortured and driven to madness; Aeryn paid for her soul by loss of everything she knew.)

And that shot of them sitting across the PK symbol from each other, as she quietly tells him about the past, and they are not touching (I love that he knows it’s not the time for cuddling, that she needs her space to collect herself) and it’s so symbolic: that red stripe between them.

One of my favorite quotes occurs there, actually:

It’s just the way they say it. Quiet.

This is a gender reversal in their relationship, isn’t it? She is the one who has problems opening up (Crichton is the only one she allows herself to be vulnerable with and it’s been a long hard process to earn it, for him). He is the one who comforts her, who wants her to talk.

He is the emotional one, the one with the heart like a carpet for her to walk on. She prefers action and it’s hard for her to navigate the emotional landscape. And yet, Crichton is never weak. He is never diminished because of caring, or being the emotional one. I like it.

I also love the attitude everyone has on discovering Aeryn has been aboard Moya before (which looks grey and dull, not the gorgeous colors of now). I love that the show doesn’t shy away either from confronting that no, she did have an ugly past, it’s not just the words, and the fact that ultimately what she is now wins over for her shipmates from what she was then. China is 100% on point when she asks did they all think she did nice things while the rest of Peacekeepers tortured and murdered; this is a question not just for the characters but for the audience - it would be so easy to sweep her past under the rug but the show won’t do so. And so Aeryn did horrible stuff and she has to live with it.

The thing with Velorek, the betrayal. I think the scene with her Mother when she was a child was so crucial for her actions post-Velorek. If she didn’t have that ‘differentness’ implanted, she could have become even more martinet like after Velorek. But instead, it gave her a sliver of an opening…And again. I love the show for going there - for giving Aeryn a horrific betrayal in her past - perpetrated by her to advance her career against a man who loved her and who she loved and who was doing something good - and showing she is not just a victim, she is a perpetrator and that if you live in a monstrous regime, are brainwashed by a monstrous regime, you have no chance but become a monster.

The grace and the hope is that when given a chance to take a new path she does (and it’s even more stark with Crais - who was many more times a monster but even he is shown to be warped by the regime and after enough time on his own he becomes if not good per se, then at least a real human being capable of doing good things.)

To get back to the Velorek thing - it is also such a theme that being good does not guarantee reward or a happy ending. There is no easy grace - Aeryn betrayed a good man, a man she loved (as much out of panic because she felt herself deviating from prescribed path as to get advancement - I don’t think she’d have become “more” even with her capability for it if her choice to return to default was not taken from her until she had some chance to reflect and transform, and that is so realistic, brainwashing and societal conditioning are pervasive) and he was executed and she has to live with it.

And how do I love that so much of this ep is turning defaults on their heads - from reminding us that Aeryn was a perpetrator not a victim but also with Velorek who first seems a peacekeeper psycho and then we realizes keeps his humanity as much as he can in that mad place. It’s like their sex scene where it starts and we assume he will try to rape her and then we watch and realize they are lovers, in love (and Aeryn is as always in charge, heee :P) and it basically screams at us - don’t go for easy defaults, look behind the assumptions.

Btw I love this show for allowing Aeryn romantic agency and history - she loved someone before John even if she was not ready to fully commit. And there is no jealousy in John, just a little wonder and just the fraughtness of discussing love with her.

Also - very true to the whole story that for Aeryn physical is easier than emotional and comes first (as Chiana points out to John in s3 because that girl gets relationships.) She is from a society where sex is easy and meaningless but emotions are terrifying and forbidden so of course. For her to admit that she loved Velorek shows how far she’s come; she’d have never been able to realize it in the peacekeepers (and the story of her mother in s3 shows how even people with capacity for love will eventually have it brutalized out of them so safest not to love, it’s self-preservation.)

Also, we see how far the characters have come from the pilot episode but also how far they have yet to go. Look at Zhaan here and yet less than a season later, she will give her life to bring Aeryn back, not just because of her love for John but because of Aeryn herself. (And also, the show is A+ for calling Zhaan out for hypocrisy but also the continuity was always so good!)

I could go on and on and on forever, but I’ll just mention two little things here. One is, I love the shot when Aeryn and John drop from the ceiling into Pilot’s den in unison. Two? The tag. First time I saw it, it killed me dead. When Aeryn and John are talking and she tells him that he reminded her of Velorek and he asks ‘And you say you loved that man?’ and they stare at each other and away with all the questions and answers they are afraid of saying, in their eyes. 

#farscape

[lost-between-letters]

I'm Not Mad

Pairing: Jack & Reader (she/her) - platonic

Requested by: @justagirlinafandomworld

Written for: my 200 follower celebration (open)

Word Count: 911

Warnings: general spoilers for season 13, lil bit of Jack being insecure

Summary: Jack was still a child. Some things proved that more than others. Pure fluff

A/N: this was originally planned as maybe 300 words but I love Jack and can't shut up about him so here have me writing some comfort for the boy. Prompt in bold

The bunker was awfully quiet when Y/N descended from the stairs. Living with two hunters, an angel and a new nephilim proved to be a noisier life than you would expect. Someone was always talking or working off their energy in the practice rooms. Naturally, she was immediately suspicious of the absolute absence of busy clatter.

Gun aimed forward, Y/N rounded the table in the war room and prepared for the worst.

Steps echoed through the silent room. Y/N breathed in once, steadied her hand and banned all other thoughts from her mind. Her complete focus was needed to save her reckless idiots.

Then, Sam emerged from the corridor, carrying something wrapped in a bunch of towels - he was uninjured if a little hurried. And froze like a deer in headlights when he noticed Y/N standing in the middle of the room. “Uhm.”

She lowered the gun. Breathed out controlled and crossed her arms instead. Y/N knew what a guilty face looked like. And Sam’s current expression was the mother of all guilty faces. The towel wrapped bundle was losing drops of liquid. Oh, this was going to be interesting. “Spit it out.”

“There’s been a little, uh, incident,” Sam confessed and fiddled with a corner of the fabric. Unfortunately, it didn’t reveal its contents.

Y/N sighed, longsuffering. Lately, she heard these words enough for two life times ("Oh, Y/N it’ll be so much better when you live here as well! Father said Sam and Dean would do good with another hunter around and you can teach me about humanity!" And it was nice to live here but damn, these guys were a handful).

Now, it was just a question of who they were going to help smooth over the tides. “What did they break this time?”

“Sam! Father says I’d have to get it whole again before Y/N-” Jack came around the corner, a broom in hand. His open face was filled with worry but when he saw Y/N standing there as well, it completely fell. “Oh”

One thing Y/N had learned about Jack pretty fast, was that his powers weren’t the greatest danger. No, the boy was perfectly capable of taking up residence in her heart with no intention of leaving without ever having to tap into his grace. And that bought him almost every privilege in her books. Apparently including breaking her stuff without having to face the consequences.

But Jack didn’t know that yet. It was heartbreaking to watch how his entire posture fell at the expectation of a punishment. He started to apologise immediately. “I didn’t mean to, I swear! Dean told me to be careful and I was trying to but then the glass fell and-”

“Jack, hey,” Y/N interrupted him gently, the gun and her bag were discarded on the table in an instant and she walked up the few steps to the corridor to hug the poor boy. “It’s okay, I’m not mad. There’s nothing we couldn’t fix.”

“Especially if it’s only a couple of wet books and a cracked laptop screen,” Sam added, suddenly a lot braver now that he wasn’t facing Y/N’s wrath either.

And she had just bought a new one… Y/N sighed again, this time inwardly.

While she was mourning her shiny new laptop, Jack was relaxing into the hug. His head came to rest on her shoulder and his fingers clamped into the back of her shirt. It was a testament to his true age, with what desperation Jack was holding onto physical touches every time he got them. The simple action tugged at her heartstrings once more and Y/N promised herself that she would arrange more casual hugs in their household. Tough shit for the emotionally constipated men she was living with but they would just have to deal with it. Jack was still a child.

His next words proved that all too well. “So you're really not mad? Not even a little bit?"

"Not even a little bit," Y/N confirmed and stroked his head reassuringly.

A soft 'okay' was mumbled into the fabric of her jacket and the arms around her tightened a little more. Y/N was fine with that. She would give Jack all the hugs he needed.

"Now let's get a look at my stuff, huh?" Y/N pulled away gently to get a proper look at Jack's face.

It was as open as always, a tint of worry clouding his eyes. But he nodded anyway. "I can try to fix it."

"You don't have to, Love. It's okay."

"But-"

Silently, Y/N wondered how someone could ever think that Jack could be evil. The poor boy was close to a breakdown over a spilled glass of water. "Jack, it's just junk, nothing important. You don't have to beat yourself up over it. What can be fixed, will be fixed and what can't be, will be replaced."

He mulled that over for a moment. Then, the familiar smile returned and Y/N couldn't help but smile back.

"Okay," Jack took her wrist and pulled her towards the library, determined to get it right.

Y/N followed with a few more bandaid taped cracks in her heart.

General Taglist: @immrbrightsideeee , @fandomfoodiedancer , @lovesfandoms , @nyotamalfoy , @stixnstripesworld , @foxyjwls007 , @amythedoctor

If you want to be tagged as well, click here or drop an ask/DM

#jack kline fanfiction #jack kline & reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #jack kline #platonic relationships #fluff #season 13

[eldritchcircus]

edgy ask meme for OCs GO: 2, 4, 5, 17 GRIIIIIIM

2. something about my OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at him : hmm I think probably the biggest surprise, when people meet this sweet cuddly outgoing eldritch abomination clown, is finding out that he's incredibly insecure and suffers from debilitating depression and anxiety on a regular basis. like if the biggest surprise isn't "this man is either a dead guy resurrected by bizarre alien creatures, or bizarre alien creatures that collectively believe they're this dead guy" then it's "oh no he genuinely needs intense therapy and nobody's sure if he has enough of a brain, physically, to be able to be medicated, but god if he does he needs it."

4. when scared, does he fight, flee, freeze, or fawn: that kind of depends on the situation! When Grim was alive he was afraid of 2 things: being abandoned/alone, and coming to physical harm at the hands of people who often did hurt him. as a child he fled. as an adult he tended to fawn in the face of people who used his desperate need to not be alone against him, and he tended to freeze in the face of physical harm. now that he's an undead monster clown with a family, he still fawns when he is afraid that people might spontaneously forget him or abandon him, and he's almost never in physical danger anymore (due to being a shapeshifting undead monster clown) but when it does happen he still freezes. being afraid of someone hurting his family puts him instantly into fight, though. he was like that before, but he never had anyone in his life long enough as a living adult to find out how he responds to a loved one in danger.

5. how far is he willing to go to get what he wants: I MEAN... that's a really complicated question partly because his wants are incredibly simple and easy to fulfill now. he just wants to be in a family that cares about him (which they would have done regardless, because they adopted him as an unhatched fungal egg full of alien baja blast goo) and to make people happy as a performer (which his family readily, happily supported as soon as he was brave enough to tell them, because they love and support him.) When he was alive, of course, he pretty much had none of that. He ran away as a 12 year old in the 1920s to become a vaudeville performer to try to achieve the second goal, and when the depression hit he became a desperate, petty criminal and occasional mob enforcer in a failed attempt to achieve the first one. He's hurt people in an attempt to buy his way into someone's good graces, just to have someone who would care if he lived or died or disappeared forever. (And no, nobody did care that he died, that he disappeared forever.) He knows deep down that he felt miserably guilty for having done a lot of objectively bad shit just to be liked, and that it didn't even work, but he's so unsure of whether he'd do the shit he's ashamed of nowadays that he will sometimes preemptively punish himself for it, because he's (wrongly) sure that Good People Know If They'd Do Bad Things Or Not.

17. what is the WORST thing I have put Grim through: well, it's pretty much just the outline stage and is a long ways away, but at one point Grim is going to wake up human, a twenty-seven year old high school dropout living with his living human parents who still insist on calling him Angelica, and trudge to his job at starbucks where he's too shy to make friends with his coworkers. he's going to only vaguely remember the beautiful dream he had of having had friends and loved ones and his dream job running a circus, and the thought of being loved is going to hurt so much that he won't want to think about it any more than that, and this is going to happen because the creator/mother of the things that make him is a petty, vengeful god. (but somewhere else, his brother and sisters and cousins and mom and uncle are all desperately trying to figure out where he is, and why they can't quite remember his name even though they know they're missing him.)

#grim the clown #jonah grimaldi #horror #oc ask meme

[hxdrostorms]

@amalgamatus has sent: Phantom of the Opera, The Mummy, The Wolf Man

universal classic monster headcanon asks!  [Accepting, SPECIFY MUSE]

The Phantom of the Opera:

what aspect of your muse do they think is hardest for people to accept?do they try to keep it secret / are they afraid of being ostracized if it’s found out?

// The fact that Milo took up the role of a physicist of sorts, for other saints. That's a very unconventional role for a saint, of his caliber and patent within Athena's army. It might even get him a few odd eyes, from much older people who are used to hearing stories, about gold saints sticking to more "normal" duties for them. To say that gold saints are almost venerated as deities on Earth, would be an understatement.

He doesn't hide this fact from others, it just feels natural for him to do this for those in need.

It is interesting to note that Milo was originally, only interested in seeking out more knowledge about the human body. He wanted to be able to land his attacks, in the most vulnerable and weakspots on anyone's bodies. And he came out of it moved, by the poor state and conditions warriors and apprentices, were left at. Milo isn't ignorant to it, after all he also went through his own personal hell in the hands, of his former master.

The Mummy:

what is something your muse has lost and desperately wants to get back? what would they be willing to do to achieve this?

// Milo kinda of blames himself for his friend's death, after allowing Hyoga to make past his house. On one hand he knows what he did was, in Athena's favor. That was the "right" option to do so. And he is also certain that Camus would only allow himself to perish, by the hands of his pride and joy, one of his apprentices. So, that battle was the proper send off to him. It is this sentiment, that pushes him to want to oversee and help Hyoga out. He doesn't want to be a Camus replacement, just someone to pick up from where he left out.

But it doesn't damper the feeling of how much, he misses Camus. He wished his death hadn't been so sudden, like the way it was. Milo knows very well there isn't anything he can do, to get him back. Bringing Camus back wouldn't just fix the pain away, as seen by the way he badly reacted to seeing his friend, on the enemy's side. He understands and it is very clear to him, how that is just wistful thinking.

Although, he will admit, he doesn't complain about the new life he is given by Athena. Thus, in a way making all of his inner turmoil, pointless by the end of everything. Everything is truly good, in the end.

The Wolf Man:

has your muse ever made a mistake that had lasting repercussions? what was it / were they? do they still regret their actions, or have they moved on?

// Milo was admitedly, a little too eager to join in the Aiolia's harrassment bandwagon, following his brother's fall from grace.

Of course, young kids/teens (this is what they were at the time) would be all too quick to fall into the idea of "guilty by association", as well as "guilty until proven innocent". That's unfortunately, to be expected from them. However, the main takeaway here is that, the harrassment was being weaponized by Saga.

The only thing that prevented them from getting physical, or taking it to another level were specific rules in their conduct. Saints are forbidden from fighting for personal matters, if two gold gold saints fight one another an '100 days war would begin' So, for 13 years they skirted around the boundaries and limits, of these rules. By G's events, Milo seemed to have developed a knack, for specifically picking on Aiolia in a moment of feeling morally superior over someone else.

However, he wouldn't maintain that for long. His views on Aiolia's worth shifted over the course of G's events, suddenly he wasn't sure if he were supposed to view the Leo saint as the really awful person, they have been painting him as.

It wouldn't be until the main serie's events, Milo and Aiolia would be able to properly turn this page.

#ooc / #« scorpio milo : hc » #thank you for the ask! #amalgamatus

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Ch 6

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter summary: Connor gets his new assignment. He's not thrilled.

AO3

Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​

Chapter 5 art by @semains​ (18+ only)

November 6th, 2038

Saturday 09:56AM

There was a time when Connor didn’t have to come in on Saturdays. He remembered the days when mandatory overtime was few and far between.

Not anymore. 2038 seemed to be the year shit just kept happening, and now that he thought about it, quite a few of it seemed to be because of androids. Ones gone missing. Disobeying orders. And now, homicidal.

Connor rubbed the bridge of his nose after putting his car into park, regretting how enthusiastically he’d hit the bottle last night. It wasn’t too bad this time, just an annoying throbbing behind his eyes, but it made it more difficult to see and he’d had to squint through his windshield.

Whatever. The reason for his shame-drinking was no longer relevant. Connor just had to survive until lunchtime, and if he were lucky, Hank would let him go early. He tried not to itch at the butterfly bandages on his cheek, applied himself after he’d woken up in a haze with blood on his pillow having completely forgotten the injury existed.

Connor kept his head down as he walked through the lobby of the station and through the security checkpoint to the bullpen proper. He tried not to be completely antisocial, however, and sent weak smiles at the coworkers who bothered to notice he was there.

Helen, Alexander, and Rupert all acknowledged him with various degrees of warmth, some colder than others, and all pretty much deserved. Ralph gave Connor a nervous smile from his chair, though it quickly faded as his eyes flickered to something across the room.

Frowning, he followed Ralph’s eye line across the bullpen and scowled when he spotted Colin leaning casually against Connor’s desk, talking to… someone. He couldn’t see who, Colin’s figure blocking them from view.

Against his better judgement, Connor drew closer, pressure building at the back of his neck, an uneasy feeling of dread that increased with each step.

“Con’s just gonna love this. But seriously, if he bitches about it too much, or gives you a hard time, you can always partner up with me. I won’t mind one bit, promise.”

Connor would have rolled his eyes at his brother’s typical cocksure demeanor, but instead, he went stock still at the familiar voice that answered.

“While the offer is appreciated, Lieutenant, my instructions stipulate that I must assist Detective Anderson with his new, specialized caseload. I’m sure you can understand that CyberLife only wishes to cooperate with the DPD and does not want to interfere with police procedure—“

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The YN800 model blinked and turned its head to meet Connor’s eye, its little blue light blinking for a moment before solidifying again.

It was sitting in Connor’s chair.

“It’s good to see you again, Detective,” it answered, chipper as ever as a fake smile graced its features.

Connor looked the prototype over, his nose crinkling at its appearance. The suit must have been brand new, there were no stains or bullet holes, and her—its hair was once again pinned upwards into a perfect knot.

He felt his insides churn at the near slip, at thinking for even a split second that this thing was a person. Shoving down the crude thoughts of the night before, Connor gave the order through gritted teeth.

“Get. Up.”

The prototype did as it was told, for once. It rose out of his chair, not even having the decency to look chagrined as it straightened its jacket of nonexistent wrinkles.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I tried to call your phone and left you a message. It was not my intention to surprise you—“

“Oh, no, it’s never your intention to do anything, is it?” Connor snarled back. His headache was in full force now, and he swore he could see the bright lights of the station brighten in time with his heartbeat.

“Aw, c’mon!” Colin slapped him on the shoulder. “Be nice to the temp.”

“Temp?” Connor answered, voice pulled as taut as a wire.

“Yeah, you know. The temporary assistant. The new girl. The—“

He shoved Colin’s hand off his shoulder, leveling a glare at both of them. Colin merely shot him a shit-eating grin while the YN800 stood there, hands clasped behind its back at parade rest, polite and perfect as ever.

“Connor!”

All three of them turned toward the voice booming across the room.

“Get in here!”

Connor glared at the android, as if Hank’s shouting were its fault, which was probably the case.

He turned without a word and stalked to the captain’s office, shoulders hunched as his heart raced and his hands shook at his sides. He let the glass door fall shut behind him, but when he didn’t hear the whoosh of it close, he glanced over his shoulder to see the YN800 had followed him inside.

Great.

Connor stood in front of the desk with his arms crossed.

Hank sat down in his chair, pointedly looking at the chairs in front of his desk. Connor remained standing.

The older man glared, answering Connor’s attitude with a look and a heavy sigh.

“Bet you’re wondering what that’s about.” Hank jerked his chin over Connor’s shoulder. The prototype had taken a spot at the back of the office, observing politely with its hands clasped in front of its hips.

“Yeah, I am.” Connor was a little too cranky this morning to try a more diplomatic approach. “What the hell is it doing here?”

“I’ll get to that. First on the docket, I got a shit ton of android-related cases filling up our database every day and I’m at wit’s end.” Hank took a deep breath, bracing himself as he met Connor’s eye. “Which is why I’m assigning all of these cases to you.”

“You’re what?”

Connor stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You think that case last night was a one-off? We’ve got more android-related crimes rolling in, including assaults and homicides just as bad as the Ortiz case, and right now, you’re the one with the most experience.” Hank leaned his elbows on his desk as he leveled a formidable glare his way. “Is that going to be a problem, Connor?”

 “Yeah, it is a problem, Hank! Why the hell do I have to do this? What about Colin? He was with me at the crime scene and was there for the interrogation!” Connor shoved a finger at the glass wall to prove his point.

Hank’s jaw tightened. Connor had seen that behavior enough times to recognize how he was pushing his luck.

“CyberLife asked for you specifically.”

“What?” Connor blinked, dumbfounded once again, racking his brain but coming up empty. “Why?”

“The hell if I know!” Hank barked back, rising to his feet as he pointed a finger at Connor, “and frankly, I don’t give a damn. Colin’s got enough on his plate—“

“—and I don’t?” Connor interrupted, scowling. Hank sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, and Connor almost felt guilty for his outburst.

Almost.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you implied.” He tried not to sound like a hurt child, but, well, that’s exactly what he sounded like.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor! There are more people that are gonna start dying from this!”

“Yeah, I know, but—“

Hank lifted his hand, palm forward, effectively shutting Connor up.

“You saw what one of those deviants was capable of last night, and that was with three of you and another android trying to get it under control! You think the average person stands a chance against one of these fucks? That a little ol’ grandma can defend herself against the murderous robot gardener coming at her with a pair of shears? What the hell happens when a nanny bot decides to take a human kid for itself? Oh, wait, that’s already happened, and you would know that if you checked the goddamn case files I sent you!”

Connor was silent as Hank deflated. The older man leaned back against his desk as he looked through his glass wall out over the bullpen. His voice was rough but much quieter for the next round.

“We’re totally in the dark, Connor. We don’t know how bad this is gonna get and how many androids we’re dealing with. This has the potential to turn into a fucking nightmare with Detroit as ground zero.” Hank’s gaze drifted over Connor’s shoulder to the elephant, or the machine, in the room. “CyberLife was gracious enough to send us a state-of-the-art prototype until this issue is contained. It’s gonna be your partner until such a time that these androids are no longer a threat, and then you’re free to go back to being a misanthropic son-of-a-bitch as much as you like.”

Connor was thoroughly shamed by the end of Hank’s speech, that old familiar feeling of disappointment making his gut roil with nausea, but his anger hadn’t entirely flagged. He clenched his hands tightly to his thighs, fingers desperate for either his coin or his cigarettes.

Connor hadn’t felt the need for one in months. This was bad.

“Hank,” he tried again, his voice soft and pleading in that way he knew Hank couldn’t ignore. “I’m not saying this just to be a pain in your ass. I understand the stakes, but I genuinely believe I’m not qualified for these types of cases. I’m not a CyberLife technician, or an AI specialist, or a computer engineer. I’ve never even owned an android.”

That last one was technically true but only in the barest sense, and Hank gave him a knowing look. It wasn’t without sympathy, and his own answer was given with more kindness than he probably deserved.

“I know, Connor. I also know you’re the sharpest pair of eyes on the force, not to mention the quickest brain and the best instinct. You see shit other people don’t, even Colin, and you’ve got this creepy knack for taking one look at a person and knowing what makes ‘em tick. I’d say you’re almost like an android yourself, but I know how much that’d piss you off.”

Connor gave him another narrow-eyed scowl, and Hank immediately put up his hands as a sign of surrender even as a smirk played on his lips.

“My point is, I need you on this, son. I know it’s not ideal, hell, it downright sucks, but I know you can do this. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

And there it was. As effective as Connor’s pleading expressions could be, they were nothing in comparison to his need for Hank’s praise. The old geezer knew it, too.

And throwing a “son” into the mix was a goddamn dirty move, but Connor couldn’t even muster up annoyance. He just sighed, gave Hank the smallest hint of a smile, and said, “All right. But only until these cases are solved. Once the deviancy issue is addressed, the prototype is going back to CyberLife and you never give me an android case again.”

“I’ll pay for the postage to ship it back myself,” Hank said, smile wide and pleased as he patted Connor on the shoulder before returning to his desk. “And I want daily reports on the progress you and your new partner are making. Gotta make sure CyberLife’s best is pulling its weight.”

“I can assure you, Captain Anderson, I am worth every penny. And considering it took a small fortune to build me, I—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank interrupted the prototype, using that catchphrase that Connor and all of his brothers had picked up years ago. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The android blinked almost comically before giving a slow nod. It then turned to face Connor, straightening its back at attention, and he rolled his eyes. He was still being handed the shit end of the stick, but he couldn’t deny that the cases were piling up and Hank really did need the extra help.

But why, out of all the androids in the world, did it have to be one like that.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Connor turned and left Hank’s office, not waiting to see if the android would follow, knowing with a sinking feeling, it would.

Next Chapter

#connor x reader #human!connor x reader #human!connor x android!reader #connor x android!reader #inside your wires #my fanfiction #my writing

[httpnxtt]

Wallpaper - Reid x Reader

A/N: Hello Lovelies! I attempted some pure fluff this time to show my love to my bby, @spencer-reid-in-a-pool​ ! I wanted to shower her with love and this was the only way I could think how, so I hope you enjoy! Shoutout to @imagining-in-the-margins​ for the adorable prompt! You’re amazing and ily! 

Also shout out to my amazing beta buddies, @sunlight-moonrise​ , @clean-bands-dirty-stories​ , and @definitelynotkatesblog​ !

Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: FLUFFY FLUFF

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 4.2k

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the world of darkness that surrounds our lives, it’s important to find the light in the world. Luckily for me, our paperwork days meant being sat across from my best friend, Spencer Reid. The man whose smile lit the entire room, who could drop everything in an instant for someone he loves; who makes my days brighter at the simplest, “Hi.” The curly-haired genius spends his days surrounded by the worst humans in existence, using his brain to help the world before helping himself. With his IQ of 187, his mind works a million miles a minute, but sometimes he still needs help. That’s where my job comes in. 

I joined the BAU a year ago, and was instantly drawn to the resident genius. He was timid when I first met him, as if scared the world would break him with everything it decided to throw at the sweet man. Slowly, I captured the heart of our resident genius, who was now my best friend. Over the course of the years, he became my favorite person. On cases, I would make sure he took time to drink water and rest when possible, bringing him snacks when his brain was wrapped in his geological profile. I made it my mission to teach the genius to love himself as much as he loves others. 

Paperwork days were when I really got to see his bright smile and soft laughter. It became a running joke between us. Whenever Spencer would get up to grab us coffee from the kitchen, I would steal his phone to change the wallpaper to something silly. Every time he would check his phone for updates, he would see a new silly picture and grace me with a shining smile and chuckle. Even for these split moments in time, I knew I had distracted him from the morbid things littering our desks. His smile lit up the bullpen, leaving butterflies fluttering around in my stomach, my own smile gracing my lips. He would always shake his head before changing it back, already knowing he would find a new wallpaper later that day. Luckily for me, today was a long, dragging paperday which means I had plenty of time to meet my Spencer-Smile quota for the day. 

First thing this morning, I got my hands on his cell. Pre-coffee brain, the only thing I could think of was the most ridiculous picture of our own Derek Morgan. The image was one Penelope graced me with, a photo he attached when shamelessly flirting with her during our downtime. As quickly as I could, I set the lockscreen and gently placed the device back on his desk, almost in the right spot although I’m sure Spencer would notice it had been moved. I sit back in my chair, slowly starting to spin as I see Spencer make his way back to our desks, two mugs in hand as his glasses begin to slide down the bridge of his nose. I shoot up to wrap my hands around the steaming mug, the warmth like a warm hug. I pull the mug up to my face, smelling the delicious scent of coffee created perfectly to my specifications. Sometimes boy genius’ memory has its perks. Settling back at my desk, I sort through the mound of files for the day in anticipation. 

Looking up from my own cases, I look across to Spencer who has his face buried in a file, his finger trailing down the pages taking my mind into places it shouldn’t go. After an hour he still hasn’t seen his wallpaper, plastering a frown on my face. I pull out my own device, immediately texting a gif of Stitch saying hi to “Pretty Boy”, hearing his phone ding almost immediately. Looking across to Spencer, he almost spits out his coffee seeing the ever flirtatious Derek Morgan gracing his screen. The reaction sent me into a whirlwind of laughter, my head thrown back, almost cackling at the poor man. 

As I calm down, wiping the tears from under my eyes, I see Spencer looking at me with his signature smile, making my heart flutter. 

“That was a good one, Y/N. You really got me this time.” He chuckles, looking at this screen again before looking back at me. “Might have been your best one yet,” he says as he works to change it back. The poor technophobe had to learn because of me how to change his wallpaper since he realized I wouldn’t stop anytime soon. He’s still a tad slow but watching him try to work through it makes my heart happy as I return to my own files. 

As I try to work through my own files, an IM from the tech queen herself pings my computer. 

P.Garcia: “Changed Boy Wonder’s wallpaper again? When are you going to tell him?! Your puppy eyes give you away, darling. You can’t lie to me.”

Y/N: “Darling Penelope, I would never lie to you. Alas, you continue shipping something that will never sail..” I reply to her, hoping she gets the gist.

Although Spencer lives in my thoughts rent free, that’s where he’ll stay. As much as I wanted him in my arms instead, it simply wasn’t going to happen. I close my messages before trying to actually get some work done. I’d rather not stay late yet again due to my tendency to be a bit scatterbrained. 

***

Coffee break number two rolls around and I already have the perfect picture planned. Reid scurries into the kitchen desperate for more coffee and I rush to his desk. Pulling out his phone, I send an image to it before saving it. It is one of my all time favorites. A movie night Spencer and I shared. I convinced him to let me pamper him under the reasoning of some well deserved self-care. Surprisingly, the man went along with my antics, although fighting me on this gem. The image is a sneaky one that Reid doesn’t even know exists. During our self-care night, I tried to take pictures of him looking as cute as ever, but he kept blocking me. Luckily, Spencer fell asleep before his mask came off leaving the perfect opportunity to snap the evidence. There is Spencer in all his glory, curled up on my couch in the light blue robe I saved for him that was covered in little clouds, a purple face-mask clinging to his cheeks, trying to avoid his eyebrows.To top it all off, he wore a bright pink headband to push his hair back decorated with bunny ears. The picture shows the soft side of our boy, a side I wished he would show more. 

Throwing his phone back on his pile of files, I sit back at my desk, nonchalantly sipping my now cold coffee. Seeing Reid shuffle back to his desk, I wait for him to pick up his phone with my mug resting against my mouth. Spencer readjusts his frames as he settles in his chair, looking me in the eyes before looking at his phone. Instead of his normal chuckle, a pout graces his plush lips. Although his lips are normally a favorite of mine to stare at, the pout twists my gut. 

“I thought you didn’t get any pictures of me that night,” he mumbles, giving me puppy eyes that could give mine a run for their money. 

Despite my pride in the picture, his tone makes me feel just a little guilty. “I’m sorry, Spence, I thought you were so cute when you were napping. I didn’t want to make you upset.” I pout, the butterflies disintegrating as the moments pass. Rummaging through my drawer, I find my sack of trail mix and toss it to the dark-eyed man. “Here, take my trail mix, I know it’s your favorite,” I offer, a small smile painted on my face. Spencer’s eyes land on me, lips turning up once more into the smile that never fails to take my breath away. 

“I appreciate it, but I can’t take it. I know it’s basically the only thing you eat on your lunch break.” His call out causes heat to rise into my face. 

I stay insistent though. “I want you to have it. I don’t like making you sad.” I shoot back, giving him my infamous puppy eyes. Even Aaron Hotchner falls for them, there is no way the doctor could resist. 

“Okay,” he starts, automatically having me rush across to his desk to give him the snack. “On one condition,” He finishes, making my face fall once more. Spencer never lets people just give him a present, he always does more for others. “Since you’re giving me your snack, you come with me to get a proper lunch since you need food and I could use the hour away from these files.” He smiles at me, already munching on the trail mix so I have no choice but to agree. 

“Deal. BUT, I want pancakes if we’re going,” I reason with him, plopping back in my chair. 

“IHOP it is.” He chuckles, the sound resonating in my brain as we both hurry through our respective files. 

***

At coffee break number three, Reid stands from his desk, scrunching his nose to fix his glasses as he reaches across to snatch my mug from my desk. Hiding my face in the file until he walks away, I turn to see him shaking his head, knowing I’m about to change his wallpaper yet again. 

Once I see him turn the corner, I stretch over to grab his phone he conveniently left square in the middle of his desk, giving the man yet another excuse to talk to her. Flipping through the camera roll, I hear a chuckle from the desk a few feet away. Looking over, I find the one and only, Derek Morgan shaking his head at me. 

“What’s so funny, Thunder? Sad the attention isn’t on you anymore?” I tease him while trying to find the perfect picture. 

“I just find the pining that goes on between two supposedly brilliant people entertaining.” He chuckles as my jaw drops, turning to him. “Come on, Princess. You don’t think we don’t all know you and Pretty Boy fancy each other, do you? It’s obvious to everyone except the boy himself.”

I shake my head. “He’d never see me that way, Morgan. This is just for shits and giggles.” I breathe out, settling on an image of our feet in front of the TV screen, mismatched socks adorning our feet while “Beauty and the Beast” plays in the background. He sports a neon pink sock along with a navy blue sock covered in planets, while my feet claimed one sock covered in different moon phases, the other covered in little alien creatures. Placing his phone on his desk, I settle back at my own, shooting Morgan a closing, “You’re just seeing things, Morgan.” before burying myself back in the file at hand. 

Moments later, my mug is sat directly in front of me before Reid sits at his own desk. Automatically picking up his phone to check, my tummy flutters at the smile he releases while staring at the screen for a moment before looking at me. Making eye contact, I notice a slight pink tint to his cheeks, before he looks back at the image.

“This might be my favorite one yet,” he murmurs, adjusting his glasses without looking away from the screen. I feel my cheeks heat up, getting warmer by the second, but I cannot tear my eyes from the man who holds my heart without even knowing it. 

***

“Hey Y/N. Ready for lunch?” Spencer asks, tearing my eyes from the IMs Garcia floods me with daily. 

“Ready when you are!” I reply, jumping at the opportunity to get away from the files scattered on my desk. You’d think serial killers would take a day off sometimes. Shuffling to my feet, I grab my keys from my desk and grab Spencer’s hand, dragging him to the elevator with me.

“Seems like it’s more ready when Y/N is.” He chuckles, straightening his glasses once he comes to a stop in front of the silver doors. As we step in, Garcia frantically waves at us, before sprinting into the bullpen as the doors close.

“Well, you’re in luck, Pretty Boy. You get me as your personal chauffeur to lunch.” I beam at him as he goes bug-eyed.

“Lucky? In your death trap, Y/N?” He chuckles, putting a flabbergasted look on my face.

“Hey!” I yell at him, playfully elbowing him in the ribs. “My car has lasted 15 long years I’ll have you know, and she runs as smooth as ever,” I shoot back, immediately leaving him behind when the doors open. “Maybe I’ll just go get pancakes without you then.” It’s playful when I lock all the car doors except for mine, and he knows it.

That doesn’t stop him from playing along. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry Y/N! Will you ever forgive my poor soul?” he jokes, holding both his hands over his heart as he begs for forgiveness. Unlocking the doors, I giggle at his antics before heading to the restaurant. 

***

“Y’all ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?” The server returns to the table with our coffees, along with an apple juice for my inner child. 

“Yes ma’am. Can I get the plain pancakes with eggs, as well as a side of bacon and sausage?” Spencer asks while gathering both our menus for her. “Of course, sugar. What about you darlin’?” she turns to me as Spencer dumps almost the entire sugar container into his mug. 

“I’ll just have the chocolate chip pancake, please!” I smile at her as I steal what’s left of the sugar from the man across from me. 

“No problem, that’ll be right out for y’all.” She smiles at us before heading off to the kitchen. 

“Did you know chocolate chips were invented by Ruth Wakefield because she decided to chop up a chocolate bar and add it to her cookie batter?” Spencer looks to me as he starts with factoids. “And white chocolate isn’t even truly chocolate! White chocolate is made with a blend of sugar, cocoa butter, milk products, vanilla, and a fatty substance called lecithin. Not that it’s a surprise, considering it doesn’t even taste like chocolate. Probably because it doesn't contain chocolate solids.” he rambles as I stare at him with stars in my eyes. “However, dark chocolate is loaded with organic compounds that are biologically active and function as antioxidants. These include polyphenols, flavanols and catechins, among others. Dark chocolate also has a list of different benefits proven from consumption.” He finishes, taking a sip of his coffee as I continue staring at the man.

“What ever would I do without you, Boy Wonder?” I say, seeing Spencer’s face heat up at my remark as he hides behind his mug. 

“M-me?” He asks, as if he couldn’t believe it. He shakes his head in disbelief before I could respond, showering me with many more factoids while waiting for our food rather than accept my compliment.

“Alright, here’s your food darlin’. Let me know if there’s anything else I could do for y’all.” The server tells us, shooting us a smile before moving onto another table. Spencer takes his time cutting up his food, dousing his plate in more syrup than pancake. Meanwhile, I dig into my pancakes as if it’s the last thing I will ever eat. 

Halfway through my own pancakes, I look up to see Spencer looking directly at me with a look I couldn’t quite distinguish. 

“Why are you staring at me?” I ask him, almost seeming to pull him from a trance before responding. 

“Oh. Uh, you have chocolate on your face.” He tells me, seeing my face flush at the information. I grab my napkin and quickly wipe my lips making sure not to miss a spot. Little did I know, there wasn’t a single speck on my face. 

“Is it gone?” I ask him, hoping not to embarrass myself further. 

“Oh, yeah it’s gone.” he smiles, returning his focus onto his own plate. 

Going back to eating, I keep sneaking pieces of the bacon off Spencer’s plate, causing him to smile each time. 

“Hey Spence. I have a question for you.” I tell him, shoving a piece of bacon in my mouth. 

“And what would that be, Y/N?” He asks me, sipping his coffee. 

“Why is it every time we come here you order sausage and bacon, if you never touch the bacon?” I ask him, looking at him with a puzzled expression. 

“Would you like my honest answer?” He pushes back, as if I would want anything else from him. I nod with a mouth full of pancakes, earning a smile while he responds. “Because I know you’ll always steal the bacon from my plate but will never actually order it yourself.” He smiles at me, returning to his own food leaving me speechless and even more red.

Finishing up our plates, Spencer takes initiative to organize all of the empty dishes so our server has less work. Giggling at his antics, I pull out my phone to check the time, seeing we still have plenty of time before our break is over. 

“Are we getting milkshakes?” he asks me, sipping the last of his coffee before adding the mug to his carefully organized dish-pile. 

“Of course we’re getting milkshakes, what kind of question is that, Spencer?” I look at him, almost appalled he would assume we weren’t. “We each have a sweet tooth I’ve ever seen matched by anyone else, why would you ever assume I would say no to a milkshake?”

“I wasn’t sure if we had the time, I didn’t want to make us late.” He explains, shaking his head yet again at my child-like antics. 

When the server returns, we both order the largest mint-chip shakes they had before returning to our usual banter in waiting. Not long after, the server returned with a single shake. 

“I’m so sorry sugar, apparently we only had enough ingredients for one mint-chip. Can I get y’all something else?” The server asks us, feeling bad she couldn’t fulfill our order. 

“You take the mint-chip, Spence. I’ll order something else.” I push the shake toward him as he blocks it from getting to him. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’m not worried about it.” He replies, fighting me over a milkshake. 

“Spence-” I begin to argue before he abruptly cuts me off. 

“Would you like to share the shake with me, Y/N?” he asks me, looking me directly in the eye. I froze for a moment, taken aback at the offer from the germaphobe in front of me.

“If that’s okay with you, Spence. Then, sure!” I respond, checking if it was okay with him. 

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t okay, Y/N.” He shoots back, chuckling at me before asking the server for two straws. The man in front of me steals more and more of my heart with every passing moment.

***

Going up the elevator to the BAU was a constant battle between us. Spencer secretly gave the server his card so I wouldn’t even have a chance to fight him on paying. 

“You gave me your trail mix, Y/N! That’s the whole reason I asked you to get lunch in the first place! Why would I let you pay when I extended the invitation?” He shoots at me as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Shooting him a look of discontent, we both sit back at our desks, feeling 2 pairs of eyes staring at us from a few desks over. 

“Don’t look now, but I think Tweedledee and Tweedledum are staring at us.” I lean over to whisper. Reid tries his best to look up at them, nonchalant as possible. Despite the boy being a genius, he is anything but sly, looking just in time to see Derek and Penelope snap their heads to whatever was on his desk. Giving them a smile, Reid picks up his own file to return to his own tasks for the day. However, the task only lasted so long before the genius needed yet another cup of coffee for the day. Heading off to the kitchen, I quickly grab the phone he left on his desk on his break, trying to plan the perfect image. 

Before I could get far, I was abruptly stopped in my tracks. Staring at the homescreen on his phone, I couldn’t understand how I hadn’t noticed this before. Had this been in front of my face the entire time? Staring at the screen, I see myself and Spencer from our weekly movie nights. I had all of our silly photos, yet I had never seen this one. I see myself, puffed out cheeks with my eyes crossed, pulling at my ears to make myself look like a monkey, but my eyes can only look at Spencer. He hadn’t made his silly face. Instead, the man before me is staring directly at me, the sweetest smile across his lips. His little nose scrunch in full effect, his beautiful hazel eyes creased in the corner from his smile. That smile that could melt my heart in two seconds flat. Staring at the screen for what felt like centuries, I refocus on my surroundings when I hear his soft voice behind me. 

“Wow, Y/N. Getting a little slow with the changes now, are we?” He laughs, before noticing the look on my face. Stopping dead in his tracks, he looks at me confused more than ever. Not being able to form words, I raise my hand to show him the wallpaper, the perfect image of us. His eyes go wide, his mug almost slipping through his fingers.

“Y/N, I-” He starts. 

“Spence… Where did this picture come from?” I ask him, looking back at the screen before me. “I’ve never seen this one before,” I whisper, before Spencer puts his hands over mine, the mug now living on his desk. 

“I, uh. I took this one before making a face, I just couldn’t resist.” He whispers, pulling my chin up gently between his two fingers, looking me dead in the eye. “Y/N…” He starts, glancing down before gazing back at me with the same look I saw at the restaurant. “I couldn’t resist because I wanted to keep a physical copy of one of the happiest moments of my life. And I care about you... More than care about you! You make my days so much brighter when you’re around. You’re the only person to ever know me, the real me. And I..” he trails off, working his confidence up to finish his thought. “I love you, Y/N. And that picture was saved, locked away on my phone so I could be reminded how much you mean to me, and how much you care on some of my darkest days. I love you, Y/N. It’s the only thing I have locked away because it’s the moment I knew I was in love with you.” He finishes, breathing out as he waits for me to react. Stunned into silence, I stand there looking at the man, seeing his face turn to panic. “It’s okay if you do-” He starts, stunned when he is cut off by his plush lips being covered by my own. He slides his hand onto my cheek, holding my face as he returns the affection. 

Pulling away, I look him dead in the eye, I pull out of his embrace to my own desk, grabbing my phone. Returning to his side, I unlock my phone to show him my own hidden homescreen, a grin spreading on my cheeks from the flood of emotion. From our self-care night, it is quite possibly my favorite image of the man. He was in his robe, bunny headband and mask, but he was trying to block the images from being taken. His hand was raised in an attempt, but I could hear the laughter radiate from the image, the smile making my heart swoon at every glance. Looking between me and the image, Spencer’s jaw drops at my own revelation, before pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. Burying my face in his neck, I murmur my own “I love you.” Before a whistle from the peanut gallery beside us breaks it up. 

Shooting a look to Penelope, I see she has the biggest smile plastered on her own face, her rosy cheeks probably stinging from the sheer joy painted on. Morgan sitting beside her lounges back in his own chair, shooting a wink our way. 

Returning to our respective seats, I can’t help but steal glances at the man beside me. When he catches me, I can’t help but giggle.

“Hey Spence. How long was I oblivious to your homescreen?” I ask him, curious as to how much of a dumbass I truly was. Seeing his cheeks flush pink, he turns to me with guilt in his eyes, 

“Y/N.. as much as I would love to take the credit, I don’t know where the wallpaper came from. I can barely change it back after you mess with it.” He confesses, a shy smile on his face. Laughing at his technophobe ways, it finally registers that he didn’t actually set the wallpaper. 

“Wait, then who changed it?” I ask him, before hearing stilettos and boots scurrying down the hall, laughter trailing behind them. Looking back at my boy, those eyes stole all my words away, and that smile… the smile I had seen so many times before but never knew the intention, the smile I fell in love with, I knew he would forever be my always.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @spencer-reid-in-a-pool​  @redbullchick​  @samanddeanstolethetardis221b​   @reidetic​ @gretaamyk​ @sunlight-moonrise​ @prettyricky187​ @rileysann​ @itslatinamagia​ @timey-wimey-lovi​  @pinkdiamond1016​

#httpnxtt #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fluff #fluff

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

all gone, all gone, all gone

part 3: it will not be at all or any better

CW: kidnapping, suicidal thoughts, manipulation, descriptions of bullying, child abuse, and toxic relationship

as a disclaimer (and acknowledgement), some of the dialogue is from what I remember of the book, and some of it is based on takes i've seen on tumblr that I agreed with!

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 | Masterlist

Thomas never made it to the Devil Tavern that night. His throat burned when he woke, a mixture of dehydration and whatever drug had been used to incapacitate him.

“There you are,” a familiar voice drawled. “Finally. I was worried I’d perhaps gotten the dosage incorrect and killed you.”

Alastair. “You were worried about me?”

“Ha, I suppose not. Would have been a lot more work if you’d died, though. Belial surely wouldn’t’ve been happy if I killed you before he got his hands on you.” He approached Thomas with a glass of water. “Drink,” he ordered.

Thomas wanted to refuse, but he was so thirsty that he could not stop to worry about whatever Alastair may have snuck into the drink. When Alastair finally took the glass away, he attempted to regain his composure. “What do you want from me?”

Alastair shrugged. “I’m sure Belial has his uses for you. Until then… I am to get as much information from you as I can.” He picked up a knife from a table and spun it around with a flourish. “Whilst leaving you in one piece.”

“Why are you doing this?” He hadn’t entirely intended to ask the question out loud, but it hung in the air anyways.

Alastair rolled his eyes. “What, you expect me to hold some sort of loyalty to you? What’ve you ever done to earn it? You truly expect the world to be handed to you, still? You despise me, Thomas. You send me rude letters and threaten me at large gatherings. Give me one reason why I should ever choose your side instead of Belial’s.”

A wave of guilt crashed over Thomas. He knew he’d made mistakes. He was simply angry. He was never trying to hurt Alastair. Thomas wondered whether he would have treated him differently if he’d known what he was hiding. “Cordelia. What about your sister?”

He shook his head. “Before, I had all of these ideas about what I owed her and the world and what I deserved myself. I felt it sensible to give all of myself to others, to give endless compassion and protection and patience to the people I cared about and accept when they gave me nothing in return. Belial helped me to see clearly.”

“What did he do to you?”

Alastair flung the knife, it soaring right past Thomas’ head. He braced himself but never felt an impact. The blade splinted the wood behind him. “Belial made me strong,” Alastair said coolly. Thomas could tell his outburst was not out of anger; he was making a play at intimidation. Thomas would not show him just how terrified he truly was.

“You were already strong.” Thomas’ heart ached for the boy beneath this creature that Belial had created. Though that wasn’t entirely true, was it? It had not just been Belial, it had been Elias, it had been every cut and lash that had led Alastair to the bridge that night. Perhaps some inflicted by Thomas himself.

“I was weak. Love is weakness. Perhaps it is not for everyone, but in my family? In my family, the cost of love is hopelessness. All of us are destined to love those who will never truly care for us.” Thomas thought of Cordelia. Did he know the marriage had been false?

“What did you think I couldn’t see how deeply my sister felt for James? How he disregarded her over and over again for Grace Blackthorn? I understand now that the situation was more complex, but my sister did not marry him thinking that he did not love her back because of a bracelet, she believed he did not love her at all. Such seems to be our curse. So when Belial came to me, when he offered me our deal, I thought, wouldn’t it be nice to not care, too?”

“Love makes us human, Alastair.”

“Good thing, then, that you and your friends already thought me a heartless monster.”

Thomas bit at the inside of his cheek. It was true. He’d spent months, years convincing himself that Alastair was cruel and uncaring. He wanted desperately to know how he could have confused hurting for heartlessness. A thought creeped into his mind, one that had been pestering him ever since he learned of Cordelia’s letter. Had Thomas been one of those people? One of the ones Alastair gave himself to and received nothing in return? He studied his expression, but could read nothing. “It was you, wasn’t it? The person who was following me when I went out at night? You- You were protecting me.”

Alastair didn’t waver. “Perhaps I was.”

“But… why?” He was correct, Thomas had treated him more than poorly the past few months. Why would he risk his life to protect him? Why would he do it all in secret, not even leaving behind a trace of his true intentions in his letter to his sister? In fact, he was fairly certain that if Alastair had been killed, if it were not immediately apparent that he had been following Thomas, he would have assumed that Alastair had some completely separate business that he was taking care of, and they merely happened to be in similar places at the same time. Why would he do that? Perhaps he did not want to risk exposing what Thomas was doing? Or… perhaps he wanted to save him from the guilt?

Alastair approached him non-threateningly, but he could not forget the dagger in his hand. “Because you have shown me kindness in the past, and there are not many people in this world who have done so. I thought it would be most unfortunate for you to die alone, recklessly trying to repair your guilt over not saving your sister.”

“I- I wasn’t- I was just trying to find the killer. So that no one else would get hurt. I had to go alone; going in pairs or groups… it’s too obvious. He would hear you coming.”

“Is that what you told your friends?”

Admittedly, his friends hadn’t asked very many questions about his whereabouts and his actions, so he hadn’t explained it to them. He didn’t answer.

“There may be an element of truth to that, but you and I both know that’s not the whole of it. You couldn’t save your sister. The killer may not have been responsible for her death, but it didn’t matter. Evil is evil, whatever form it takes. You went alone because you knew the risk you were taking, you knew the danger you were putting yourself in, and you didn’t want anyone going down with you.”

“How- How do you know that?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not the only one who can be observant, Thomas.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

“Just another piece of evidence, proving human weakness. You were never going to save Barbara. You’re guilty over nothing. You risked your life for nothing.”

Thomas felt his anger rising again. “That’s not- If we had-”

“Did you think it was a coincidence that her and Oliver both got so much sicker so much faster than the others? That they were simply unlucky? There was nothing unintentional about her death. Oliver was unlucky, certainly. Unlucky to have loved her, perhaps. But your sister was dead the moment Belial marked her.”

“The welcome ball,” Thomas realized. “But why?”

“Tatiana,” Alastair answered without hesitation. “She has quite the grudge against your father. You’re the icing on the cake, of course. When your family learns of your death, when your father finally realizes why… The guilt will consume him. He will never forgive himself. Tatiana will finally have her revenge.”

“You- you said you weren’t going to kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you, no, but only time will tell what Belial plans on doing with you.”

Thomas could find no words, only stare at him in fear and shock. That was what he wanted wasn’t it? Alastair placed his fingers against his cheek, and he flinched away. After a long pause, Alastair sighed. “Do you want to know what my favorite memory from Paris was?”

“No.”

“It was you.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why is that? I would never tell you lies, Thomas.”

Thomas swallowed hard. Alastair’s voice was soft, filled with longing. It’s not real, he told himself. “All you have done is tell me lies! From the very beginning. I know you were in Paris with Charles Fairchild, anyways. I’ve seen the ways you look at each other. When we were together, your eyes lit up every time you mentioned him.”

Alastair hesitated for the briefest moment at the mention of Charles. Thomas cursed himself for still feeling the slightest pang of jealousy. “Pathetic, isn’t it? But no. My favorite memory,” his voice softened again, a sickly sweet melody in Thomas’ ears, “was taking you to see that film. I’d fallen in love with moving pictures during my stay in Paris. I’d fretted all night over it, worried that you would find it silly, or worse, you would mock me for it. But I wanted so desperately for someone to share it with. Charles never had an appreciation for art, not that he would have ever dared to go somewhere that public with me anyways. Afterwards, looking into your eyes, I thought… in another life... in another life, I could have been here with him.”

Thomas hated how his heart ached in his chest. He hated Alastair, even before this whole deal with Belial. That’s what he told himself, anyways. In another life… These are lies. He’s using you. “No chance we could go now then? I hear it’s beautiful during the holidays.”

Alastair smirked. He ran the cool blade lightly against the skin of Thomas’ throat. “Don’t you feel guilty, Thomas? You couldn’t have saved your sister, but you could have saved me.”

He hoped Alastair could not feel how hard his heart was beating. “No- no, that’s not true. There’s no saving someone like you.” He knew they were lies.

“No, not someone like me. Someone like him.” Alastair leaned forward so that Thomas could feel the breath on his neck as Alastair hissed, “He loved you. He would have died for you, in secret, even knowing how openly you disdained him. You gave him hope last summer. You helped him realize he deserved more than a lover who lied every time he claimed to love him, who never cared for him more than a Clave meeting and always left before the sun rose.” He frowned. “You could have saved him, if you wanted to. But you didn’t think he was worth it.”

“I- That’s not- I-” Thomas tugged at his bindings, suddenly filled with rage. “Shut up! I hate you! You now and you before! You’re cruel and callous! You never cared for anyone but yourself! Why were you even so mean to us at school? We never gave you any reason for it! Your family is friends with the Herondales; you could have at least been kinder to James.”

Alastair looked away wistfully. Thomas loathed it, how easily he replicated emotions. He felt none of them. “If you wanted an apology, Thomas, you should have asked for it two weeks ago.”

“Just explain it to me. You wish for me to feel something for the person you once were? Explain it.”

“When I arrived at school, talk about my family preceded me. The rumors about my father’s drinking, the speculation about why we moved so much. The fact that my family couldn’t afford tutors for us. I looked different than them; talked different than them. Shadowhunters like to pretend that such prejudices don’t touch them, but it’s only to make themselves feel better. I had no friends; I knew no one when I arrived. Who better to beat up than the Persian boy whose father would never show up when he was injured?”

“So you were jealous, that day after the prank. I thought you might-”

“No. I wasn’t jealous. I was angry. I was put in the infirmary for two weeks, I nearly died, would have were I a mundane, and all my father did was lecture me when I came home for the holidays about how I needed to be more careful and how much of a burden I was to him. You, James, your friends, you had everything. You had pretty homes with nice parents, parents who loved you, who cared for you. You arrived at the Academy expecting the world to embrace you, as it never had me.”

“So, what? You needed to even the scores?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There are no scores, and if there were, I would never be able to even them. It had to be someone. It was the only way to keep them from hurting me. I had nothing, no one, but I had my tongue, and when I cut some poor student down to size, the other boys were so amused that they forgot about ever hurting me. I never hit anyone, never got my hands dirty, but it didn’t matter, did it? I was one of them. It had to be someone, so I chose you. I chose James.” He paused. “So, what about now?”

“What?” Thomas’ throat ached from holding back tears.

“Do you think I could have been saved?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was just above a whisper, more of an echo. It was the truth. He understood what Alastair was telling him. The decision he’d come to was not a rash, impulsive decision. It was one that was built up over many, many years. And with that was the knowledge that time after time, year after year, someone, anyone, could have helped, could have saved him, like Thomas’ own father had been saved when breaking free of his father, but no one did. No one noticed, and the ones that did didn’t care. “You deserved better.” A still silence fell on them. “You’re stalling.”

“How do you figure?”

“You’re meant to torture me, but you can’t do it. You never physically hurt anyone at school, and you can’t now. Maybe it’s morals, maybe your mind is still caught in your past, maybe some part of you still cares for me. It doesn’t matter; you can’t do it.”

“That’s quite the gamble.”

It was. There was no telling whether his speculation was correct or whether Alastair was about to place him on a skewer. He was simply trusting his intuition. “Prove me wrong. Hurt me or let me go.”

Alastair moved closer to him, essentially on top of him, but Thomas kept his eyes locked with his, not showing a flicker of fear. When Alastair’s arms dug in, however, he felt no stab of pain. His wrists came free. He watched as he slashed the binds at his ankles. Alastair kept his eyes on him as he left, his expression never swaying. I’ll free you next, Thomas thought.

* * *

"You let the Lightwood go?"

"He esc-"

"Don't lie to me! What, do you think you're special now? Do you fancy yourself human? Redeemable? You think yourself better, more moral, than I? You would betray me for them? You are exactly what I make you. If you wish to be sentimental so badly, you need only ask." With that Belial disappeared. The doors to the room slammed shut and Alastair nearly stumbled to ground. It felt like he couldn't breathe. It felt like- It felt like heartache.

He ran first to the doors, but he knew they wouldn't budge. There were no windows to this room and only one vent that would not move no matter how hard he tried to pry it open.

He gasped for breath, knowing there was no escape. Belial would not let him go free. Not after Thomas. He’d had a lapse in judgement, and he would not make the same one again. Alastair was trapped here, alone. Alone with nothing but the feeling of the world crumbling around him, of his guilt crushing his chest. Finally, he was all the things other people believed him to be: evil and heartless and cruel. Finally, he was all the things his father and Charles had called him: pathetic and weak and useless. Finally, he was the monster he’d always feared becoming.

There was no redemption for him, not anymore. Not after Belial. Not after betraying Cordelia. Not after kidnapping Thomas.

He looked to his blades laid out on the table. He could not leave the warehouse physically, but… He lifted one, and it felt oddly heavy in his hands. His grasp shook and he sunk to his knees. He gripped it tighter and he realized that Belial would never let him.

He had not let him die the first time, and he would not now. Belial wanted this, he wanted him to give up. It made him much easier to control. Belial wanted him to have no motivations, no loyalties, no reason to betray him. If he wanted him dead, he would be dead. Belial still had uses for him, and the only thing Alastair knew was that he could not let him win.

thanks for reading! we're almost done actually! taglist (lmk to be +/-): @jem-nasium @littlx-songbxrd @fortheloveofthecarstairs @cant-think-of-anything @vampireeugenia-deactivated20210

Part 4

#alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #tlh #the last hours #fanfic #fanfiction #all gone fic #cw suicide #cw kidnapping #cw manipulation

[suntrastar]

sink or swim

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

summary: you first meet ransom when meg drags you along to a party. everything somehow spirals from there.

warnings: swearing, smut (but like very vague smut, nothing super explicit), ransom’s general assholery

word count: 9.3k

author’s note: i hate ransom drysdale! he is a shit character! if he existed irl i would whoop his ass with NO hesitation. but i still wrote this fic because ... a bitch gets thirsty okay?? okay. and ik this is very long BUT a lot of it is dialogue so it should flow pretty fast!!! likes and reblogs are always appreciated!!! ily now enjoy!!! you can also read this on ao3 :)

There’s something fun about being somewhere where no one wants you, and then something shameful. 

Meg isn’t touching you, but as she drags you around her famous grandfather’s mansion in search of people to bother, it feels like she has you on an invisible leash, fastened tight over your neck. To keep you tethered to her- like a fucking dog. 

The leash hurts like it is not made of plastic or metal but instead two hands squeezing tight, wringing you dry, choking you harder and harder and bruising you purple with no remorse.

Now, she’s debating political theory with her douchebag fuck of an uncle, who almost hits you once- almost hits you twice with his cane while waving it around as he quotes Fox News-

Their voices rise. You’re the only one that flinches.

Standing awkwardly on the edge, you wonder why you are the only guest at this terrible party that looks so lost. Meg gives you a covert this-is-total-bullshit glance, and a small, pained, rehearsed smile, both of which you have to return- that’s the real reason you’re here, after all- and her uncle rants on, wholly oblivious.

You look past them both, to where one man stands by himself.

He’s leaning against the far wall, and while Meg retaliates with some of her favorite words, including audacity and bigoted and problematic, you take a sudden, intense interest in the wallpaper pattern, sweeping your eyes over the span of it, looking over the man just once.

He is staring right back at you.

All it takes is his eyes- he’s just staring, but you’re absolutely embarrassed. 

He looks rich, with too much product in his hair and a coat that looks like it cost more than your rent, with loafers that expose an uncomfortable amount of ankle and an expression that morphs into something wolfish as he starts towards you-

Before you can think, he’s joined your little circle- Meg prefers standing, so of course, everyone stands- and smiles when she glares at him. 

He isn’t looking at you anymore.

“So,” he interrupts, and his voice is so dark, “what riveting political topic are we debating tonight?”

You should call an Uber. Why did you accept Meg’s offer of a ride?

“Ransom,” Meg says sweetly, “could you just, like, fucking not?”

This is supposed to be a Christmas party, but none of these people seem to be in the Christmas spirit. Including her uncle, with his stuffy sweater set and clunky-as-hell shoes. He sputters something about young people and their profanity, and then hastily leaves. 

Without thinking, you breathe out a heavy sigh of relief. 

The man smiles wider. Unfortunately, it makes him look very handsome.

”Ouch,” he says lightly, to Meg, and turns to you.

A shiver runs down your spine. 

You hate him immediately. 

“Who are you?” he asks.

For whatever reason, the question makes Meg scoff. She shakes her head at you- a warning. Her hair flounces with the movement.

Because she doesn’t want you to, you give him your name. And then add, because your name alone seems like a title too stripped down, “I’m Meg’s friend.”

It’s hard to convince yourself to be polite, when you don’t like how he’s been looking at you- with his eyes narrowed and brown furrowed and lips parted. He gives an insufferable nod.

“Right,” he says. “The one she’s been showing off all evening.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Ransom-” Meg starts, and suddenly you are so angry, at this man for confirming what you thought was all in your head, at Meg for suddenly swooping in to save you, like she’s been waiting for it-

“I guess,” you say, and smile a little, and regret everything.

“That’s pathetic,” he says, and looks at you kindly.

 Apparently, Meg is the only one allowed to be self-righteous in her annoyance, or anger, or any other mildly passionate emotion. She doesn’t return your covert this-is-total-bullshit glance. 

So you fend for yourself.

“Well, so is this fucking party, so-”

He interrupts you with a laugh. 

It’s loud and arrogant and mirthless, and you’ll climb out of a window, find a way to walk through the walls, if it means that you’ll escape it.

“I’m just joking,” he says, pursing his lips, and the hands on your neck, ever-present, nearly crush the breath out of you. “Don’t get your panties all in a twist.”

“So funny I forgot to laugh,” you say, and instead of replying, he just looks at you.

He looks at you slowly, like he has nothing better to do, like he has time to waste. You can smell him- some cologne that’s spicy, and expensive, and Meg is staring at you in shock, like you’ve committed a crime. 

But she’s quiet.

“I’m Ransom,” he says, and raises his hands to make little air quotes, which is weirdly adorable in a way that you hate, “Meg’s ‘asshole cousin’”

“Weird name,” you say. 

You’ve changed your mind- you’re not even going to attempt to be nice.

For a second, he looks furious.

It’s attractive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Anyways, I’m about to ditch. Do you want a ride?”

How does he know you came here with Meg?

He was staring at you from the wall-

From his butterscotch-colored coat with its awful, ostensible lapels, he pulls out his car keys. The BMW logo flashes silver and blue, clashing against the gold of his pinky ring, clinking against the metal as he twirls the key ring around his finger-

For a second, you think that he’s about to toss the keys across the room and command you to fetch.

“Um,” you say, uncertainly, irritated with your own restraint, “Thanks, but Meg will-”

“Meg will what?”

He’s mocking you, and there is no one to come to your rescue. 

Hesitantly, like she has to think twice about it, Meg opens her mouth to say something. What is her problem? What is your problem? Why are you treating her like she is your saving grace? 

You talk before she gets the chance. “Okay, yeah. A ride would be great.”

***

Ransom offers because he likes your face.

You’re better-looking than the girls that Meg usually brings along to these parties, or maybe his standards have fallen- he isn't sure. Does it really matter? Even though he’s been looking at you all night, even though he’s positively thrilled to have you in his car, he’s not going to try anything.

There’s something desperate in your eyes that compels him against it.

You inhale sharply when he turns left. 

“You forgot your turn signal,” you say, and he kind of likes how you chastise him, not angrily or even upset, but just exasperated-

How is someone like you friends with someone like Meg?

“Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly, and the tired glare you give him is enough to make his entire week.

Now that he thinks about it, his mother is always on his case about things like this- compassion and civility and basic human decency, and how he lacks it all, but what about now? He’s taking a miserable girl to her home, simply from the goodness of his own heart, with no strings attached. 

This is such a good deed- this is like charity.

His mother is also always telling him that he’s severely, almost clinically narcissistic.

He definitely is, but again, does it matter?

“So, what do you think about my family?” he asks, making a big, dramatic show of using his turn signal before swerving right, feeling too pleased when you smile. 

He steals a glance at your knees and somehow feels guilty.

He’ll have to do something about that.

“They’re pretty... lively,” you say hesitantly, and he’s suddenly hating the dark, this stupid fucking night- he’d like to see you better.

“Lively,” he repeats, and barks out a laugh. “They’re fucking crazy.”

You laugh, too, a real one- off-kilter, and too loud- none of that artificial shit he heard at the party. Nothing meant to please.

“I was definitely thinking that,” you say. He catches you looking at his hands, but boldly, you don’t look away. “I just didn’t want to be rude.”

“Now you’re worried about being rude?”

“I’m in a car with a strange guy I’ve never met before, so yeah.”

You’re smiling but look uncomfortable, and then afraid.

All bark and no bite- you’ve been talking all this talk, when really, he realizes, you’re so washed-out, so faint, like the bare sliver of moon out in the sky, the same weak moon he’s been cursing out. The same stars, too- you are just as scattered.

You look pretty.

“Are you scared?”

He keeps his eyes on the road because he thinks you’ll snap at him if he doesn’t. Not like anyone drives out here anyway- not like he can’t pay off a ticket or two or five-

“Should I be?”

There is something so delicious about this moment, with you starting to worry- he can’t look at the road anymore, not when he can watch your throat bob as you swallow instead, and it still feels so violating, but so good. 

“Nope,” he says, and you startle when you hear him say it, and he has to bite his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “No need.”

“Great,” you say, and go quiet. 

When he pulls up to your apartment complex, not too far from where he lives, he holds his mouth in check. He could say so many things right now, but for you, he restrains himself.

You have your bag in hand, seatbelt off. From the streetlight, the planes of your face look waxy yellow.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say. 

Your hand is on the door handle, nails glittering. He can’t make out the color of the polish.

While looking at it, a sudden urge overcomes him.

And he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he wants to, so bad. It’s borderline frantic, the desire- it’s necessary and all-important and crucial, for him and his basic peace of mind, and maybe for you, too-

Who is he to deny himself?

“Wait,” he says, even though the door is open and you have half of yourself out the door. 

The cold is slowly seeping in, bone-chilling.

You wait.

“Let me just,” he says, and can’t bring himself to say anything else.

He reaches out for your waxen face with one hand and presses it firmly against your cheek.

Under his touch, you shiver. He fans out his fingers to hold you better. 

Your eyes are wide. He thinks you look a bit horrified- horrified with yourself for not resisting, maybe.

But he closes his eyes as he leans in, so it doesn’t matter.

He turns your head for you, a bit forcefully. You don’t protest.

He kisses your cheek.

When he pulls back and opens his eyes, you’re staring at him with your mouth in a perfect circle.

“Uh,” you say, and suddenly look away and out into the night, and it makes him angry, even though it should be flattering, “Merry Christmas.”

*** 

You don’t think about Ransom as much as he probably would have wanted- life picks up too fast.

In the last days of the year, Meg calls you and texts you and even goes so far as to send a few emails, but finally, you seem to have found the self-respect to not respond- consider that ridiculously wealthy bridge burned. 

In January, your brother leaves to study for a semester abroad. All the walls in your small apartment are suddenly looming, standing high over you, standing empty. You try to shove off the loneliness by studying harder, by staying distracted.

In February, you have the same dream nearly every night- you’re sitting outside on a porch in the sun and for some reason there’s a bird on your head, and in your lap there’s a clock whose hands don’t work, and you’re wearing a heavy necklace made of gold links that jingle, and you’re so happy. 

Does the bird count as company?

In early March, while you’re watering your plants, your phone rings with an unknown number. 

You shouldn’t pick up unknown numbers.

You pick up.

“Hello?”

“Remember me?” 

His voice nearly gives you whiplash.

It’s dark and harsh, faceless and yet as arrogant as ever. 

“Hi, Ransom,” you say, and think of the night in the car for the first time since, think of how he gripped your face so hard that his ring left an imprint. “How the hell do you have my number?”

“Meg gave it to me,” he says smugly. “She says hi.”

You wonder what Meg thinks you did to her. It’s obviously something bad, something terrible, if she so willingly gave your number to this pretty-faced, pretty-voiced, ugly-coat-wearing asshole-

“Awesome,” you say plainly. You don’t want to talk about her. “Do you, like, need something, or-”

“I want to take you out,” he says.

You laugh and your grip on your pitcher slips, sloshing water over the edge.

“You’re joking.”

He is, right? 

He takes an impatient breath that, for some reason, sounds inappropriate. “I’m serious.”

“Ransom,” you say, slowly, “I don’t even know you.”

“Then get to know me,” he says testily, and you can perfectly picture him, sitting in some colossal brownstone his parents bought him, while a butler daintily dabs the sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief. “Tonight.”

You’ve overwatered your marigolds. 

Has his voice really swept you this far away?

“No,” you say, and shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “No fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “You have anything better to do?”

You don’t, but you take a deep breath and prepare yourself to lie-

“I’ll treat you good,” he suddenly says, and his voice is low and sticky-sweet, dripping with honey. “I promise.”

He says it in a way that makes your knees weak.

You physically have to sit down- he knows how to get what he wants.

Could you actually do this?

Could you go out on a date with a crude, pretentious, trust-fund piece of trash, who probably thinks you’re easy, who’s only calling you because he’s bored, who has already subtly insulted you twice in this conversation alone-

-who got your number from his cousin that you both decidedly dislike, who kissed your cheek like you were pretty in the dark of the night, in his cold car?

“Fine,” you say. “Take me out.”

***

He doesn’t tell you that you look nice- he just stares.

There is something predatory in his eyes.

You’re out on a Wednesday night with a bad man, wasting your time, trying to get something out of nothing, smiling a fake smile when he orders you a drink you don’t like, already irritated with him, and trying too hard to stop looking at his face.

How are you actually interested?

You tell him that you’re in medical school.

“Really,” he says, like he doesn’t believe you. “You don’t strike me as that kind of girl.”

Underneath the table, you clench your hands for some sense of control, but still feel like you’re spinning. “What kind of girl?”

“Smart,” he says, and picks up his drink. The glass sweats beads of condensation, wetting the tips of his fingers. “I didn’t know you were smart.”

You shouldn’t dignify his flimsy insult with a response- he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, trying to make you roll your eyes or scowl or shiver. He wants you unsettled. 

But the moral high ground is, unfortunately, too high.

“And I didn’t know that you’re such a terrible date.”

His teeth gleam white when he smiles. He knows.

He knows that he can say whatever the hell he wants, because he has money, and those eyes, and that insufferably nice rich-boy hair, and that sweater with its charmingly frayed hems, and that voice- he has everything, and then some, and he’s about to have you, too, if he keeps on looking at you like he already does.

“You’re so sweet,” he says. 

“Fuck off.”

He winks and you could cry, you’re so fucking bothered-

You’re not usually this uptight, but he has you so drastically wound up that every little thing he does, even how he’s sitting- body sprawled, manspreading- is fire licking up on your skin, scorching-hot and ruining you with no remorse, like you have done something to deserve it.

When his eyes trail down, from your eyes to your mouth to your neck to below, you are so acutely aware of wanting him that you feel guilty. Like it’s a crime.

***

You don’t seem like the type of girl to fuck on the first date. 

So, of course, Ransom tries to fuck on the first date.

As you stand outside the restaurant, in your dress and strappy sandals, you look so tense that he wants to laugh.

 He can’t help it, because this whole thing you have going on- this weariness you approach everything with, this attitude- is so funny. Maybe, in any other situation, it would be irritating, but he’s been so bored lately that it’s stirring.

“Do you want to go back to my place?” he asks, quietly, taking a step closer to you so that at this very moment, under the waning sun, you should be able to just lean up and kiss him-

You blink slowly and keep your silence.

This is fucking tedious.

This should be so easy- all he has to do is settle his hands somewhere soft and let time pass, and then before he knows it you’re there and under and begging. But he can’t bring himself to touch you just yet, not when his head is calling you pathetic, and his heart calls you-

His heart just calls you.

You start to answer, and then hesitate. All five stages of grief flicker over your face at once- denial to acceptance in the same breath. 

“Sure,” you say, unevenly, desperately-

When you step inside his house, your eyes go wide. As you take it in- the decor, the windows, the excess, he locks the door behind him and takes you in.

You step further inside, and he thinks of where it would be best, but then your eyes crease as you smile- it’s impossible to wait when your smile looks like that- and so he backs you right into the closest wall, cups your face with both of his hands and kisses you.

He kisses you and you curl your hands over his shoulders and immediately kiss back, and he is taken aback and delighted. 

And he knew- the entire time at dinner when you were making eyes at him like you couldn’t believe that you were actually sitting there, present in that moment- he knew that secretly, you’re a freak. He knew it- he knows it.

He hopes it.

“Let me fuck you,” he whispers, right into your mouth, when your heart has been beating right into his for a while, “Let me fuck you right here.”

You bite his lip.

He takes a hand away from your face and reaches under your dress fast, rucking it all the way up your thighs, trailing up to touch you-

“Fuck,” you gasp, and arch your back up against the wall, and he grips you a little tighter-

He presses a finger into you- pushing aside your underwear and, good grief, you’re already wet- harshly, and pulls away from your mouth, so he can watch your face. 

The lines creasing your forehead look like poetry.

He thinks he likes you. It’s a shame he had to meet you through Meg- it would be nice if he had met you somewhere else, on his own. 

That way, he’d be able to waltz in one day, to another insipid family gathering, with you tucked under his arm. You, with your promise of a medical degree and your strappy sandals, and your iron grip on his shoulders and your drawn out breath of a moan-

The looks on their faces would be priceless.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, and he’s a little irritated at how cracked his voice sounds, but it’s the right thing to say- you swear again and he picks up his pace, pressing hard on your clit. “If you’ll be good to me.”

“I’ll-” you say, and you’re actually stuttering, and breaking out into a lovely sweat, still forced back into the wall with his hand and body. He leans closer, so he can’t tell where you and him and the wall start and end. “I’ll be- fuck, Ransom-”

You still have your arms wrapped around him, like an embrace. He keeps one hand between your thighs, your dress pooling over his arm like water, and uses his other to work at his belt buckle.

This is also funny- you stay exactly how you are, even though at that moment, there is nothing holding you back.

***

The world is begging for you to consider your actions.

But you don’t. You know that when he offers, you’ll meet him again.

It should be too late. You’re exhausted, from a day full of lectures and an evening spent in a lab, working as a professor’s research assistant, and then studying for a few hours in the library- all you really want to do is sleep. 

But then he calls.

The night is suddenly brimming with possibility, and you’ve never been more awake.

On a whim, Ransom suggests ice cream, and because you can’t bring yourself to deny him, you end up at a place that you would never go for- where everything is handmade and served in thick paper cups with multicolored plastic spoons, but he pays, because of his stupid ego or fragile masculinity or whatever the hell, so you don’t care.

He stands next to you as you order, and his shoulder keeps on brushing into yours. You can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. In the glass shield that the tubs of ice cream sit behind, you’re both reflected, your body warped and tall, his body warped and taller. In the glass, his eyes meet yours.

The tension is strong- it’s only a matter of time.

Your heart flutters.

When you sit, he bumps his knees against yours- you’re sure it’s on purpose, now, but you don’t say anything. What even is there to say? 

That you like it? 

When he digs into his ice cream, the plastic spoon- a green one- snaps in his hand.

 And because you’re so caught up in your own ridiculous thoughts, before he can go back up to get another, you pull your own from your mouth- a pink one- and offer it to him.

The proposition makes him smile.

Why does he smile like that? Each movement, each twitch of muscle is so perfectly detached and coordinated- it’s violent. 

But he still takes the spoon from you gently, with a soft hand. 

He’s too pretty to be mean, you think, but against any type of judgement- not just the better kind- you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You let yourself laugh and he scowls. 

“This place sucks,” he says, like he isn’t the one who chose it.

He adjusts the womens’ scarf he’s always wearing, carefully arranging it over himself so it looks like it was carelessly thrown on. The blue in the paisley print brings out his eyes- it makes him look so stupidly hot that you start to get angry.

You just shrug. “Suck it up, buttercup.”

He puts your spoon in his mouth and looks at you.

Again, the night ends at his place- this time on an actual bed, because you ask for it, and you think he likes how you look when you ask for things in the current state state you’re in-

He fucks you in the dark, and swears into your ear, and is not kind or soft in any way, but after he finishes, he takes the time to kiss the spot in between your breasts, and you think that maybe he isn’t entirely horrible. The bedsheets are cool against your skin, and his mouth is always hot.

You leave without a word.

***

He takes you out this time, in a real, urgent show of wealth- he picks you up in his fancy car, takes you to a fancy restaurant where the numbers next to the fancy menu items are all appalling, where he spends the whole time making these awful, unfunny innuendos that still manage to rile you up, because they’re coming from his mouth-

On the way back, while waiting at a stoplight, you take a deep breath and brace yourself before looking at him.

He really is gorgeous- all lazy grace and harsh angles. The light colors his face red, red in his eyes and in the plane of his cheekbone and in the slope of his mouth- like a beautiful warning sign. His hands are carelessly draped over the steering wheel and, despite the warning, you reach out and trace a finger over his knuckles. 

His whole body jerks.

You quickly draw your hand back.

“What?” he asks sharply. He’s staring at you like you’re crazy.

You don’t know why this is suddenly so fucking embarrassing, all you did was touch him- but you suddenly feel terrible, and-

“Nothing,” you say, with the same tone, and whip your head away from him to the window, where you smolder in the dark and furiously stare at nothing.

The light turns green. He takes his foot off the break and all but slams it on the gas pedal, driving as atrociously as ever, looking over at you for a split second when you don’t protest. The blood rushing in your ears is too loud for you to think- you can’t form any words.

Once it subsides, marginally, you add, “Sorry.”

His jaw tenses.

You look back over at him, at his ring, and imagine it pressing into your neck.

“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?” he suddenly asks- suddenly demands, with a blazing authority that makes your stomach do flips.

You don’t know what answer he wants. “Um, one time I snuck out of-“

“Let’s do something crazier.”

On an abandoned road, he pulls over, and then you’re under him in the backseat- doing something crazier. 

You might have some type of psychic tendencies, because his ring presses heavy into your neck as he pushes himself inside you, starting at a bruising pace, and then he says your name in the dark, and he looks so beautifully flushed, startling when you grab his hair, laughing when your hand accidentally skims his thigh, smiling when you come-

You wish you had the resolve to put an end to this.

You wish you could stay when it’s over.

***

You don’t like his house.

It’s not the brownstone you imagined, but rather a huge, minimalistic box, with too many windows and spotless paint and modern wood fixtures. Ransom has all of these customary rich-person things, including stately furniture and eclectic art pieces and tall shelves stuffed with books, but owning any actual personality has escaped him.

Standing in his house feels like standing in an empty room- it’s all so apathetic.

Still, you show up when he calls.

You haven’t done anything this bad before. 

But there’s a first time for everything, right? First time for enjoying bruises and biting and an unwavering grip on your neck or hips or waist or thighs, first time leaving something so intense so awkwardly.

Each time is worse than the last, with the awkwardness spiraling, accruing beyond reason, and each time you struggle with what to say- even now, you just do your best to stay quiet as you start to get up, reaching for your clothes-

Ransom drapes a heavy arm over you before you have the chance.

“You can stay,” he says flippantly, and then shifts to pull you close to him, so that you are suddenly lying bare-backed against his chest, so that his sweat-slick body and heartbeat imprints itself on your skin.

Is he asking?

You crane your head over your shoulder to get a look at him.

He returns your stare like he’s been waiting for it. 

His face is still flushed pink and a lock of hair hangs low over his forehead, and if you were any braver, you would comb a hand through it, gently, with no real intentions. He’s breathtaking. Even the new, foreign purple under his eyes is a sight- pretty like something you would want to kiss.

“You want me to stay?”

He rolls his eyes and tilts his head back. You would lick the sweat from the divots of his neck, if he asked you to.

“Or leave, if you want. I could care less.”

He cares

You know it because his grip is unwavering, because the terseness in his eyes is enough to make you look away.

Eventually, you settle a hand over his arm and try your best not to tremble. Ransom mumbles something under your breath- you can’t make any of it out, but you don’t ask him to repeat it, for the fear that it’ll upset this fragile bedroom balance you’ve so painstakingly built yourself into-

He wants you to stay. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, because you don’t think he is.

He inhales. You feel his chest against you; it’s shaky. You wonder, for a second, about who he might actually be, underneath the arrogance and egotism and constant need to be an asshole- is he someone you could like without feeling bad about it?

“Yeah,” he says, and throws his other arm over you, so that he is holding you. “Why?”

There isn’t a genuine bone in this man’s body, but he genuinely sounds confused.

It’s possible that you’re the one who isn’t okay.

“Because,” you say, and take a great leap of faith- holding your bare heart in your hands, you turn to face him.

You’re fully exposed and subjected to his gaze- it’s nearly eviscerating. His eyes dip down to your chest and something like insecurity flares in your chest. It’s awful and terrible and you urgently want to kiss him on the lips.

He always kisses you first. You don’t know if you have it in you to kiss him yet. 

You wouldn’t ever try, in case you don’t.

“You look kind of tired,” you say, and his eyes bore into you with a sinking weight, threatening to drown. One of his hands finds a blooming bruise on your skin and lightly presses. He doesn’t react when you wince. The action is still kind- almost tender.

He sighs, and it is such a delicate breath, fanning hot over your skin. 

“I’m not tired,” he says, almost childishly.

You might be overstepping. But you don’t even know where the lines have been drawn. 

“Okay,” you say, and because you would not dare kiss his lips, you lean close and kiss his jaw instead.

He startles and then gives you a crooked, lazy smile. He is everything good, you think- for this one moment. Pretty and soft-handed and made of glass and honey and all other lovely things.

You tuck your head in the crook of his neck and wrap an arm over his, tight, so he knows you are there, and hope for the best.

***

In your spare moments, you’re always thinking.

Ransom knows this because of how you look when you do it- your brow furrows and your eyes go glassy, and you frown with an intensity that he has never seen on anyone else.

It happens when you finish a sentence, when you have no response for him, when he is still talking but you’ve stopped listening. When you think it’s quiet.

It never happens during sex- is it pathetic to take pride in that?

As he stands in your apartment for the first time ever, you look like you’re in near-despair, like your thoughts are wreaking havoc on your mind, destructive and distressing. You wear basketball shorts and a college sweatshirt and glasses.

He didn’t know you wore glasses, and that you looked like this in them- he’s been missing out.

“Hi,” you say, and stare at him with troubled eyes.

Your apartment is so small. He almost feels claustrophobic, standing in here. When was the last time he willingly stood somewhere so small?

The lengths he’ll go to, for… 

For you, he supposes.

“Hi,” he says, and wonders, also for the first time ever, what it is that you’re always thinking. “Why do you have so many plants?”

On the windowsill, with even spacing in between, sits an entire row of glass jars housing plants- all singular flower stems, some budding, some in bloom. The petals of a marigold brush against the window, orange against the grey outside. It’s cute, he absently thinks, in a struggling, shabby type of way.

“It’s just something I do for fun,” you say, sounding irritated. “Like, a hobby.” 

Infringing on the living room space is a small table, cluttered with textbooks and pens and an open laptop with its screen dark.

It still baffles him that you’re smart.

“So,” you start, and cross your arms over your chest. He feels kind of offended, because he’s just realized that he really only knows a handful of things about you, and even that handful is sparse, slipping through his fingers. “Why’d you want to see me?”

He called on impulse. 

He’s just- he’s in what someone could call a mood, where he hates everything and has the intense desire to ruin something, and while he was thinking of how to fix it- beyond just getting wasted- he thought of you.

And when he called, you were sounding so tired and so he even said he could just meet you here, so you wouldn’t have to drive, so you could squeeze in a few more minutes of studying before he inevitably invades your mind-

Easily, he deflects. Nearby, there’s a hallway with two doors, one of which is tightly closed shut.

“What’s in there?” he asks, and points towards it.

You relax, slightly.

He wants to gather you up in his arms, but he doesn’t know for whose sake- his or yours?

“That’s my brother’s room,” you say, and your shoulders slump, and he resists the urge to pull you upright, and the urge to gawk. Brother? “He lives with me. But he’s studying abroad this semester.”

“Where?”

“Prague.”

He nods. This is a stiff, perfect, shocking distraction. “Nice city.”

You nod distantly and head back to the table to put your things away.

“Yeah,” you say, after too long of a pause, as you start to cap pens and set them aside. You look at him as you do it, and so you miss a few times, accidentally drawing dark lines of ink all over your fingers. “I’m glad he got to go. When we were kids, he was obsessed with wanting to travel- he had this entire map in our room, and he would draw stars over every country he wanted to visit, and there were, like, a hundred of them, and he could list every single one, in the exact order he wanted to visit, and he could even list the capitals- I’m sorry. You probably don’t care about any of this.”

He doesn’t.

Or, he shouldn’t, but your eyes are clearer, and as you neatly stack your textbooks in an order only known to you, he is almost intrigued.

He’s longing for you- when you are right there.

He feels like a person outside of himself, when you look at him and smile tiredly.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

There’s a cheesy ‘90s horror movie you find after a few minutes of channel surfing, complete with terrible special effects and edited-out profanity. The days are longer, now, and to stop the sun from casting a glare over the screen, you close all the blinds. It adds to the atmosphere, you say lightly, fully phased out of whatever just possessed you, and his hands are so itchy- itching to do something.

He sits. Patience is a virtue, but he is not virtuous, and so when you sit next to him and bring your knees to your chest, making yourself small, he goes to-

Something in his stomach stops him. 

It’s butterflies- is he actually nervous?

This is so fucking infuriating.

You’ve got him trapped in some type of pain-and-power-play, some type of unassuming purgatory, and all he can bring himself to do is lightly brush a hand against your shoulder. You smile at his touch and his heart fucking breaks.

As the second boy in the friend group gets murdered onscreen, you close your eyes and duck your head into your knees.

“Tell me when it’s over,” you say, voice muffled.

“Scaredy-cat,” he says, even though this is no time for jokes. 

You crack one eye open, looking only at him, and give him the finger.

Come here, he almost demands. The butterflies protest- he holds his tongue.

The dance continues. When the sun sets, everything darkens, settling into a dim blue. You look like something out of a painting. Faintly sad, unusually serene. The skin around your eyes has smoothened- you’ve stopped thinking so hard and he can suddenly breathe easier because of it-

And then there’s a jumpscare, and he shouts, “Jesus!”

The murderer has broken down a door, and all of the remaining characters are screaming, and you burst out laughing.

He’s in the middle of a crisis, and you’re laughing.

You lean into him as you laugh, with your head turned away from the screen and your eyes open, looking at him so fondly that he suddenly feels violated, and you let your shoulder brush against his.

“Scaredy-cat” you tease, and it’s absolutely now or never-

You’re making him weak- it takes too much time and effort for him to draw an arm over you.

You don’t flinch, but he is sure that you can hear his heart beating dangerously fast, without abandon, like it's trying to break free of his ribcage. He almost gasps when you come even closer and lightly kiss his cheek, wrapping your arms around him, and his head is just saying yes yes yes-

Your mouth goes over his ear, lips ghosting over skin. He waits, more scared than he’s ever been in his entire life, for what you have to say. 

***

So this is Ransom’s deep, dark, ugly secret.

He likes to be cuddled.

If it were anyone else, you would laugh.

But it’s Ransom, and so you just take it in stride, as part of his extremely fucked-up psyche that is probably a result of a hundred things he’ll never tell you- childhood trauma and neglect and the consequences that come with having more money than you need or deserve.

He’s always talking, always talking shit, always talking over you and over everyone else, and you realize, one day, that he really only is treading water- he’s only focused on staying afloat, speaking whatever he wants, but never actually saying anything.

He’s responsible for his faults, of course. But still, when he smiles in low light or curls his hands over yours so viciously, you don’t know if you should leave, or if you should just stay and pity him quietly.

You’re starting to like him too much to even care.

He starts coming around more. And he actually stays, and starts leaving pieces of himself behind. He has a toothbrush next to yours and a phone charger on his side of the bed and imported, undoubtedly expensive snacks in the kitchen.

He leaves clothes, too- you wash them with yours and keep them, neatly folded, in your closet.

On a warm day in May, he meets you at a cafe.

He does most of the talking, like always. It’s been months, already, but you still find it difficult to start conversations.

You still have trouble telling him certain things without feeling like you have to defend yourself, and he still rarely deviates from being a total dick, even when you hold him or have his head in your lap, when you make him laugh or when you kiss him.

Or when you put your hands in the sleeves of his sweaters and rub your palms against his forearms, because he’s always running warm and your hands are always cold. 

He always acts like it annoys him, jumps when your hands meet his skin- but you know he secretly likes it, because whenever you’re done he pulls the hems all the way over his hands and looks at you with something amazed in his eyes.

With the weather warming up, he’s ditched the sweaters and taken to wearing these awful fucking short-sleeved button-downs, all unnecessarily tight and showing way too much collarbone. He’s making you sweat.

“You’re staring,” he says, and smiles, self-satisfied.

You bring your straw to your lips and shake your head. “I’m not.”

He knows that you can’t help it- he is always so gorgeous. He’s infuriatingly pretty.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, and nudges your foot under the table, voice suddenly low, and it’s like, holy shit-

You bring your drink down and lean over the table, careful to avoid knocking anything over, and kiss him quickly.

He tastes like bitter coffee.

You’re sad, all of a sudden.

When you settle back in your seat, you clear your throat like nothing happened. You want to lean in again and button up the rest of his shirt, and kiss him again. You want to come so close that your noses touch, and then yell at him, just for being him.

He looks appalled

“What was that for?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever done this.

“No reason,” you say. “I just felt like it.”

“You just felt like it,” he repeats, and it’s like the same reaction from the night at the stoplight, and you realize-

He’s dumbstruck.

Then, just as quickly as it came, it disappears. He sets his jaw like he’s about to get up and leave. You try not to scowl, even though you feel like you’re drifting, tide carrying you away, sand clean and smooth on where your body once was-

It gets to you.

“Can I not just kiss you?” you snap harshly, glaring at him with a ferocity you don’t think he’s ever seen.

It’s inevitable- the result of months of frustration. You can only suppress yourself for so long. Why, you want to ask, why are you not entitled to him the way he is to you and everything else? Can you not ask for him so wholly?

He flinches.

Ransom Drysdale, asshole extraordinaire, flinches.

It brings a small sliver of satisfaction with it. There’s some nerve you’ve struck, and the discontent on his face is steadily growing- 

You pay it no mind, drinking the rest of your iced coffee in calm silence. 

Outside, the day is vaguely summery, where the sun is out and strong, but still too cold in the shade. You stare past his head, towards the door. How quickly can you leave?

“You can,” he says quietly, when you’re rising to throw your cup in the trash. “Whenever you want.”

His eyelashes are so long- they command a moment of attention all on their own when he blinks- soft and slow and gazing at you from underneath them. You wonder if he is doing this for the same reason you are. If he’s lonely, too.

When was the last time you had the dream with the bird?

You smirk. “Whenever?”

He is forlorn. 

You like him better in the spring.

“Whenever.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you say, and make your voice low, since two can play at that game.

He considerably perks up. 

*** 

When you wake up, he’s still in your bed.

Lately, he’s been spending more time at your place than his. You think that all those windows are finally starting to get to him.

Ransom always holds you fiercely in his sleep. You break free as gently as you can and take him in for a brief moment- you like how he looks when he’s asleep. Unconcerned, chest rising slow with each breath, hair splayed over the pillow in nearly every direction. He almost looks innocent.

You get up quietly, even though there’s no chance he’ll stir- he sleeps like the dead.

Daylight filters through the blinds in white-yellow streams, dappling him golden. 

You almost take a picture, but regretfully leave the room for other tasks- you stretch and water your plants and check your email, and then sit down at the table to Skype your brother.

He picks up fast.

“Hey!” you say, and at once feel so much relief, to see his grainy, smiling face on your laptop screen.

Europe has done him good- he’s grown out his hair, and his skin is glowing, and he looks so happy.

He tells you about what he’s been doing lately, studying architecture. It makes you so proud, this fact alone- that unlike you, he can do whatever he wants and doesn’t have the looming promises of debt and academic burnout and crushing, ever-present stress hovering over his shoulders. It is so good to see him, and you are so grateful that he can be who he wants to be, do what he wants to do-

“Holy shit, who is that?”

He’s looking past you. You turn around and almost jump- 

Ransom stands in the kitchen, shirtless and rummaging through the cupboards. He waves at you.

You would think that someone like Ransom would exclusively sleep in, like, silk pajama sets, or something, but at least he’s in sweatpants- however low-rise they might be, however loosely knotted the drawstring is. It’s better than nothing, at least- what if he had walked out in nothing?

When you turn back to the screen, you catch a glimpse of yourself in your camera feed- you look absolutely mortified.

You are absolutely mortified. This is the start of what can only be a nightmare.

“Are you dating that guy?” your brother asks incredulously. He’s still staring at Ransom with his jaw hanging loose. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“No,” you say forcefully, without thinking. “That’s, um... “

Hopelessly, you gesture back towards him, trying to come up with the words. Nothing feels right in your mouth- every title you can come up with is too consequential, too heavy.

“...That’s Ransom.”

“Weird name,” your brother says, and grins.

You take a breath that feels more like a gasp. “I know.”

“Hey,” Ransom says, from the back, and continues to loudly open and close the cupboards- what the fuck is he even looking for? You don’t keep enough shit in there to warrant this much noise- he’s doing this for theatrics.

“I think I’m going to go,” you say loudly. “Love you.”

“Bye,” your brother says, and he’s grinning stupidly, like a madman.

You disconnect and feel like you might faint.

Not your boyfriend, right?

“Was that your brother?” Ransom asks, casually, finally finding what he was looking for- two mugs. There is no way that he didn’t come across them earlier. 

“Yeah- yes,” you say shakily. It feels like someone has filled your brain with fizzy water.

There’s a few boys your brother has met over the years, but you’ve always been careful. Because an introduction is like making a statement- it’s like saying that this person you’re with is important enough to you that they’re going to overlap, exist in more than just one part of your life.

But Ransom is a catastrophe of a person- you can barely handle him as he is. How could you ever have him as anything more?

He goes through the cupboards, again, and finds a box of teabags. “The one studying abroad?”

“I only have one brother,” you snap.

“Okay,” he says, totally unbothered, surprising you. He’s not a morning person in the slightest- why is he being so cordial? “Where do you keep your kettle?”

“Second cupboard on the right,” you say, and bury your head in your hands.

He looks at you. He is so many things, but never kind, until now. His hair, in its adorable bedhead, flops over his eyes. Before, it was only almost, but now, you think, he looks completely innocent, like the type of guy you could give kisses without feeling nervous, the type of guy you wouldn’t deny as your boyfriend.

What is wrong with him?

What is wrong with you?

At the end of the day, he’s always there- you’re exclusive, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough to deserve a title?

He finds the kettle, and then sifts through the box. He sorts through different flavors with a gentle precision you’ve never seen before- is this really him? Is he the type of person that is gentle and precise?

The uneven smattering of blue-black bruises on your thighs say no.

You’re so confused that your head hurts.

“None of these flavors are any good,” Ransom says, and shakes his head. His hair shines in the morning light. “Earl Grey- who the hell drinks Earl Grey?”

“Don’t insult my tea like that,” you say, and he looks back at you and gives you a brilliant flash of a smile.

If he’s bothered at all by your denial, he never brings it up.

*** He’s too far gone.

He’s in freefall, feeling weak- he’s fucking succumbed.

To you. To your comebacks and the world-weary gaze you have of everything, to your nonsensical collection of plants and your painfully unattractive basketball shorts, to the way you laugh too loud and too little, to the way you say his name, where he can never tell if you’re happy with him or exasperated-

It’s wrong. 

But, he thinks, so are all of these other things, like drugs and alcohol and blowing money on shit he doesn’t need- and you make him feel better than any of those things ever have, so why should anybody have a problem with it? A week goes by after you tell your brother that he isn’t your boyfriend- and it doesn’t bother him, because he’s never wanted that title in the first place, never has- but it obviously bothers you. 

You’re disappointed in yourself, because you think you’re supposed to be better than him, because you’re so smart and he is so terrible.

He hopes that that’s not how you actually think. It hurts him to0 much to even consider it, and so he doesn’t, and so he thinks of how to keep his hold on you, and then he thinks of why he even wants to-

The truth is too apparent to deny.

After a week, he calls.

***

He’s very slow.

Not tired- just consumed with the sudden need to savor things. When you let yourself into his arms, Ransom treats you like you’re fragile.

“What’s up with you?” you ask, and as he stares, your voice reduces to something small. You go timid when his eyes are on yours, he realizes, and the thought sends a thrill through his body- he slowly rocks you, to calm himself.

Your shirt is off and you wear a bra with a small lace trim- not racy, but very cute- and he just keeps on staring.  

Wow, he thinks. He fucked up good.

“Nothing,” he says, and moves one hand from your waist- he has you in his lap, straddling him- up to the top of your neck. He trails down and over to your collarbone, hooking a finger into your bra strap.

You laugh, breathy and indecent.

He lifts it, subtly, and you whine, and he bites back his own.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, and kisses your neck. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Ransom,” you gasp, with your hands splayed over his back. He slowly skims his hand over, to your back, feeling every little thing, dip and contour and curve, everything- and then unhooks it, and you are bared to him and he is breathless.

He takes you by the shoulders and twists, to bring you down, to pin you against the bed. Your comforter is dark blue, like ocean water.

Your eyes are endless, like ocean water.

“Are you upset about something?” 

Your chest rises and falls and he almost reaches for the waistband of your underwear, but stops himself. He presses a wet kiss to one of your breasts, and you arch into his mouth. He feels like you know every single secret of his, when he has told you none.

You know by accident that he’s ticklish. That’s it.

“I’m not,” he says. “I promise.”

He bends low to kiss down the length of your body, repositions his hands to hold your waist. He thinks that this is more intense- it is just his mouth and your skin and the sound of your breath hitching.

He still has it put together, remarkably well- unfathomably well.

“I feel like there’s something you’re- ah- not telling me, honey.”

That does it.

He grips your waist harder, in the way he knows you always like, so that tomorrow he will be able to retrace his steps, follow the blue-

“Say that again,” he says, and presses a soft kiss over you- even through your underwear, with its delicate lace trim, he can feel how wet and wanting and ready you are for him.

“Say- fuck- say what?”

Your hand flails, for a second, before you thread it through his hair, and yank. It hurts, pleasantly.

He hooks his fingers into your waistband and shimmies it down your thighs, and you instinctively spread your legs. He puts his mouth to your slit, slicker than he imagined, and the heady arousal rushing through his mind- and everywhere else- is nearly enough to make him forget what you even said-

He is quite possibly drunk off of you alone, and he wants to slap himself, and, like, press you so close into him that you forget your way out.

With the spare glow of one lamp, you look like you’re made of gold.

He breaks away from you for a terrible moment to strip, and with one hand he teases your clit, and with the other he pumps himself, hard, once, twice, three times in anticipation-

“Don’t make me ask again,” he says, and comes back up to cup your face once more, and slips his hand back down into you at the same time, with his cock hard against your thigh- this is all quite slippery- the game you’re playing at and the risk he’s trying to take-

“Honey,” you say, and you’re smiling deliriously, but shakily. “Honey honey honey.”

“You’re killing me,” he says, and his voice, in a moment of terrible, vulnerable, unspeakable betrayal, cracks. 

“Good,” you say, but your voice is all wobbly as he lines himself up and roughly pushes into you, holding you a little tighter to keep you steady. “You deserve it.”

He kisses you openmouthed, with his teeth scraping- it’s rough and jarring, the way you always take it. Against his mouth, you swear incoherently, stringing together a litany of curses with his name thrown in between, and goddamn him- it makes him smile.

He wastes no time- he can’t be patient any longer, not when he has you under him like this, and so he goes fast, snapping into you at a bruising pace and keeping his mouth close, and rubbing at your clit, to overstimulate you and make everything faster, harsher, more immediate-

When you come you always say his name, thickly with gravel in your voice, and gasp like the breath has been stolen from your lungs. This time, when you are so far gone that he thinks you’re beyond the realms of sound, and sight, too, with your eyes tightly screwed shut, he says it, for the sake of himself.

“I think I love you-”

#the amout of times i use the word fucking #as an adverb #in this fic #is unneccesary #but theres nothing i can do about it now! #i hate ransom drysdale #the entire time i wrote this #my head was singing that lil tecca song #i got black i got white #what u want #stream ransom for good vibes! #the title really has nothing to do with the fic #i just liked the vibe of it #ok back to normal tags #ransom drysdale #ransom x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale x y/n #fem!reader #ransom thrombey x reader #hugh ransom drysdale #ransom thrombey imagine #reader insert #ransom drysdale x you #knives out #chris evans #chris evans x reader #reader imagine #ransom thrombey x y/n

[darkheart-brightsmile]

You Called Me Sweet

Barson (pre-relationship kind of) drabble, very mild angst, slightly fluffy, using the prompt - "H-how long have you been standing there?"

WC: 1277

***

“H-how long have you been standing there?” he asked, his face burning when he turned to the look at the door and saw her stood in the doorway, leaning to one side, arms folded across her chest, a small smile on her face. She looked as lovely as she always did.

“Long enough.” she shrugged, stepping into his inner sanctum, “you really went to bat for me, huh?”

He threw his phone down violently on his desk, growling some Spanish words she didn’t catch under his breath before stalking back and forth, his mind racing.

“We’re partners, ‘Liv. I’m not going to let anyone threaten you like that. If Buchanan thinks he’s going to hold me to ransom he’s got another thing coming. Slimy arrogant bastard!” Rafael spat, his eyes burning, his fists clenched at his side.

“In all the years I’ve known him, he’s always been like that. It’s why he’s a defence attorney. He doesn’t care about anything except his own reputation and having his clients found not guilty - no matter the cost to others.” she replied, sounding exhausted and unsurprised at this antics.

“That’s not acceptable, I’m not allowing that to happen.” he said firmly, slamming a hand on the desk.

“Raf, I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” she sighed, shaking her head.

“That’s not the point. He can’t make wild accusations just to try and torpedo our case. And threatening you, there’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. Does he really think your squad isn’t loyal to you? And that you don’t conduct yourself without complete integrity?” replied Rafael, his voice getting angrier and louder, echoing through the room.

“I think he’s betting that he can distract enough from his client to win. It’s not a new strategy, Rafael. We’ve seen it a million times. And sometimes it works, Buchanan is bluffing but a cop has cut a corner, and he gets what he wants.” she shrugged, stepping towards his desk and resting her hands on the back of the chair positioned opposite it.

“It’s infuriating!” he spat, his eyes blazing bright.

“I know it is. But please don’t worry about me. Worry about Rachel, and this case, and getting her the justice that she deserves.” she smiled gently, secretly touched that Rafael was defending her so vigorously.

“I’m always going to worry about you, ‘Liv. That’s what best friends do.” he gave her that half grin that made her knees go weak if she was honest. This time there was also something about his tone of voice that made her breath catch.

“Would it make you feel better if I take a step back and let Fin and Amanda take over?” she asked quietly, focussing on her own hands, and not his face, “they’ve been just as involved as I have. If we did that, would it help your case?”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” replied Rafael sighing and shaking his head.

“Would it help the case?” she repeated more firmly, looking up quickly and staring him down.

“Probably. I know I’d feel a lot better if Buchanan isn’t anywhere near you. I trust you but I would rather not have this hanging over us.” he grumbled, running his hands through his hair – a trademark sign of his uncertainty about the situation.

“Then that’s what we’ll do. If you’re free tomorrow, we can all meet, make sure this case is a solid as it can be, and that we win. And I will keep well away from it.”

“Are you micromanaging me?” he chuckled, tilting his head to watch her more closely.

“Just a little. But it’s only for your own good.” she smiled.

“I thought I was the one who was protecting you?” he replied again, moving from behind his desk to perch on the side, arms folded across his chest.

“Who said we can’t protect each other? Isn’t that how partners work?” she asked gently, her eyes warm and fixed on his.

“Very true.” he chuckled.

“For the record I think it’s very sweet that you want to defend my honour.”

“I don’t think anyone has described me as anything remotely akin to ‘sweet’ before.” he snorted, resting his hands on the edge of the desk, gripping the surface tightly, hesitance filling him as he was sure if she complimented him anymore, he would lose his mind.

“Well, you are, Rafael Barba.” she said quietly, as she stepped forwards, a slight blush gracing her lovely cheeks, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” he replied as smoothly as he could when she was stood so close, practically between his legs, her perfume wafting through the tiny amount of air between them.

She moved to press a kiss to his cheek, her hand coming up to clutch his shoulder as she did. In response he moved a hand to her waist, savouring the warmth of her body detectable through her thin blouse, one finger slipped under the fabric, and he could touch her skin. He gulped and closed his eyes and breathed her in, the feel of her lips on his now rough cheek, her fingers delicately curled into his shirt, her scent – subtle and powerful all at once. She was heaven.

“You want to get a drink?” she whispered; her face impossibly close to his.

“No.” he murmured, his hand tightening on her waist, the other coming up to stroke her cheek.

She blushed and looked down, sighing, “Dinner?”

“No.” he shook his head, pulling her closer so her free hand landed on his chest to steady herself, his thumb now tracing the line of her jaw, his eyes nearly black as he refused to look away from her.

For a second, she knew this wasn’t a good idea, it was a terrible idea. They prided themselves that despite their close bond, they had never allowed it to go further than that. But as he caressed her skin and stared at her as if she was the only person in the world, she knew that there was a reason she wasn’t pulling away.

He saw the flicker in her eyes as she had her lightning bolt realisation, and suddenly, their lips were locked together. She had never been kissed like this, passionate but gentle, he was sweet; he was confident, and loving, and so fucking sexy. His hands had moved to her lower back, desperately trying to clutch her closer, as if he desired their bodies to meld into one. And then when she felt his groan vibrate through her body she smiled into the kiss, and he pulled back.

“I’m curious what Buchanan accused me of now.” she whispered across his cheek, her lips nuzzling his face, Rafael leaning into it, rejoicing that this phenomenal woman was finally this close to him.

“Ironically, he accused you of being romantically involved with someone in the NYPD and you not disclosing.” he murmured across her skin, his lips tasting the sweet curve of her throat now and she sank into his body.

She looked shocked for a second before she burst out laughing and rested her forehead to his, breathing in deeply and relishing this new intimacy between them.

“Think we all need some irony in our lives, don’t we? Besides, technically you don’t work for the NYPD.” she replied, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“A technicality that I’m incredibly thankful for right now. Honestly, Olivia, I can live without irony if I can have you.” he replied smoothly and she smiled brilliantly, before touching her lips to his again. It turned out Buchanan had been right, though neither of them ever told him that.

***

@igreg04 @mhargitay64 @tinyboxxtink @lauchasstuff @nippow @chasingeverybreakingwave @i-run-with-scissors39 @barsonlover2021 @michael-rooker @alwaysachorusgirl @storiesofsvu @chunex @klk1618 @simpforbarba @dubuforeveralone @zizzlekwum @tinyboxxtink @human––tragedy @a-queen-of-chaos @raulesparza4eva @thatesqcrush @boredhufflepuff @321pm @giveyouakidney @just-vibin21 @talk-to-me-babygirl

I don't think I've missed anyone on the tag list, charming daughter has hidden my phone and it was saved on there and I'm using my laptop to post! I've also started tagging anyone who has liked or reblogged previous drabbles - if you don't want to be included I won't take offence - just let me know! :D

#barson #barson fic #barson drabble #svu drabble #svu fanfic #rafael barba #olivia benson #fluff #mild angst #barson fanfic

[anarmorofwords]

here's my playlist for Alastair too

it overlaps with Artie's (check it out!) to some extent so I'm not gonna talk about the lyrics/songs they included

(some lyrics that are particularly Alastair™ below the cut)

I'll be good - My past has tasted bitter for years now// so I weild an iron fist// grace is just weakness// or so I've been told// i've been cold, I've been merciless

another love - and I wanna kiss you, make you feel alright// i'm just so tired to share my nights// i wanna cry and I wanna love// but all my tears have been used up

demons - when your dreams all fail and the ones we hail// are the worst of all, and the blood's run stale// I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you// When you feel my heat, look into my eyes// it's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide// don't get too close; it's dark inside

you don't even know me - I walk into a crowded room// everybody staring// what did I, what did I do wrong?// (...) oh, you see what you wanna see// but you don't even know me// (...) You don't know a thing at all// you don't know about the way I am when I am all alone// You don't know about the way I love so deeply to my bones

flares - did you find it hard to breathe?// did you cry so much that you could barely see?// you're in the darkness all alone// nd no one cares, there's no one there (...) did you break but never mend?// did it hurt so much you thought it was the end?// lose your heart but don't know when // and no one cares, there's no one there

requiem - Why should I play this game of pretend?// remembering through a secondhand sorrow? (...) Why should I play the grieving girl and lie// aying that I miss you// and that my world has gone dark without your light?// I will sing no requiem tonight

the village - feel the rumors follow you// from Monday all the way to Friday dinner (...) There's something wrong in the village// in the village, oh// they stare in the village// in the village, oh

heirloom - You try your hardest to leave the past alone// this crooked posture is all you've ever known (...) A million choices, though little on their own become the heirloom of the heaviness you've known // you are so much more than your father's son

broken - that you don't have to hurt, you don't have to hurt anymore?// you are broken on the floor// and you're crying, crying// he has done this all before// but you're lying, lying (...) will you leave or will you carry on? // is your love from before still strong?

in dreams - oh it's a big old place for me, yeah it's a big old world indeed// eeryone is killing me and everything conspires (...) Oh in dreams I have lain in sin// just to be the cracked and the cared for// how can I ask, ask for more?

bird set free - clipped wings, I was a broken thing// had a voice, had a voice but I could not sing (...) But there's a scream inside that we all try to hide// we hold on so tight, we cannot deny// eats us alive, oh it eats us alive, oh (...) I'll shout it out like a bird set free

fix it to break it - I've been pulling you close, but pushing me further/ i've been holding it back, that I see you different// sick of me remindin' you to love me like you say you do (...) and I've been hurting myself to keep you from leaving// i've been wonderin' whether we'll last the season// wish we could've made this work// but now I know that I need more// I wish that I was a priority

i didn't plan it - go ahead// throw your rocks at me// from your little glass house// and then take off running// you're no better than me (...) I didn't plan it// but the light turned red, and I ran it// and I'm still standing

she used to be mine - It's not simple to say// most days I don't recognize me (...) She's imperfect but she tries// she is good but she lies// she is hard on herself// she is broken and won't ask for help (...) Who be reckless just enough// who can hurt but// who learns how to toughen up when she's bruised// and gets used by a man who can't love

feel something - Need to know that this love is real// just make me feel something// Start to feel desperate when I’m with you// leaving’s the last thing I wanna do

how it all works out - Goodbye always starts with hello// that's why I don't trust anyone that walks through the door (...) Hello always ends with goodbye// how would I know this time's not different if I don't even try?// yeah, make believe is fun sometimes// so i'll just keep pretending this will end on a good note// but it's not a good note, it's never a good note// but I'll keep my eyes closed

survivor - You thought I couldn't last without you// but I'm lastin'// you thought that I would die without you// but I'm livin'// I'm a survivor// im not gon' give up

boyfriend -young heart, oh what a waste// especially for such a pretty face, now// I don't wanna be your boyfriend// when you need a little company// i don't wanna be your boyfriend, no// when there's not another phone to ring

guilty - Oh I'm a guilty one// and know what I have done// yeah, I'm a troubled one// and I won't be forgiven// I was just a kid// that you could not forgive// because it's harder

weight of the world - my mind's such a mess// I can't handle it// i'm at the end of my rope// i'm so sick of this (...) I don't like, like myself very much// despite all your kind words (...) these thoughts won't rest// ican't forgive// I overthink until I'm sick

human - I can hold my breath// I can bite my tongue// i can stay awake for days// if that's what you want// be your number one (...) And I crash and I break down/// your words in my head, knives in my heart// you build me up and then I fall apart// 'cause I'm only human

#the last hours #tlh #alastair carstairs #chain of iron #chain of gold #the shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #charles (derogatory) #spotify #ana's playlist

[fromparishwithlove]

Everything In Moderation

In which Castiel convinces Dean to come back to bed by telling him a white lie that Dean is only too happy to believe

“No, c’mon. I really have to go.” Dean announced, promptly disentangling himself from Castiel’s warm embrace.

The angel shot him a sceptical look even as he threw back the sheets and kicked his legs out from under them. The cold morning air rushed in like the tide, cooling his skin and leaving it awash with goosebumps.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the hunter scolded as he twisted around to drop one last kiss onto Cas’ forehead, “I promised Sam.”

“I know,” Castiel sighed and Dean huffed a laugh against his cheek.

“When did you get so dramatic?”

“I learnt from the best.”

Dean rolled his eyes but lingered long enough to steal another kiss.

The angel hummed in satisfaction, reaching up to pull Dean closer, fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck. But, wise as he was to Castiel’s motives, Dean jerked out of his reach, leaving Cas suddenly disorientated by the loss of his touch, his warmth, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and whiskey that clung to him.

“You know what they say Cas,” Dean said, grinning at the crestfallen angel from the relative safety of the foot of the bed, “Everything in moderation.”

With that he slipped into the en-suite, swiping a few stray items of discarded clothing off the floor as he did so.

Castiel fell back into the mess of pillows with a soft whump of defeat. When had he become so dramatic? But then he considered the way Dean looked at him, the way he held him, the way he worshipped him with every touch of his hands or brush of his lips and conceded his reaction was probably justified. After all, they’d wasted enough time over the years. Castiel didn’t intend to waste any more.

*

When Dean re-entered the room, fresh faced and fully clothed, he found Castiel propped up on his elbows, a look of innocent bewilderment creasing his brow.

“You okay?” he asked, perching on the end of the bed to pull on his socks.

“I’m an angel,” came Castiel’s reply.

“Jeez Cas, did you only just notice?” Dean threw over his shoulder with a laugh, “I thought the wings would’ve given it away but...”

He trailed off as Cas fixed him with his piercing blue gaze.

“Ok but what’s that gotta do with anything?”

Castiel shifted onto his side, bumping his foot against Dean’s back. “You said everything in moderation but... I’m an angel Dean.” Castiel’s voice was tentative and yet there was an edge to it. Something like suppressed laughter. A flicker of triumph perhaps.

“So...?” Dean said, frowning.

“So we don’t do moderation. Remember the first time I got drunk?”

“Course.” The hunter couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face. “You had to drink an entire liquor store in order to feel anything. And that hangover lasted three days.”

He chuckled good-naturedly but Cas remained silent. Waiting.

“So what you’re saying is...” and Dean’s laughter faded away as he realised what Cas had been trying to tell him. His eyes flew to Castiel’s, his mouth falling open. Cas was watching him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

He raised one, expectant eyebrow.

“Give me two minutes.” Dean said, springing to his feet and bolting for the door.

Cas listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face as he sank back into the mattress. He didn’t even have the grace to feel guilty. Sure, he knew plenty of angels that felt nothing but indifference whenever they sought the comfort of human contact. Cas just wasn’t one of them. Although he suspected, in his case, it had very little to do with humans as a whole and a lot to do with Dean Winchester specifically.

Cas couldn’t help but feel everything whenever Dean so much as breathed in his direction.

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath in a desperate attempt to slow his rising heart rate.

The hunter came skidding back into view a few minutes later, rendering his efforts completely pointless. His heart skittered as he watched Dean fumble with the hem of his shirt.

He kicked the door shut as he hastened towards the bed.

“Sam?” Cas asked innocently.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Totally. He said he’d ask Charlie for back up.”

Cas nodded, momentarily distracted by the movement of Dean’s throat as he swallowed. He looked feverish; eyes darting from Castiel’s lips to his hands to his anticipatory gaze and back again. Cas felt the sudden urge to laugh. He restrained himself, instead reaching out to pull Dean down onto the bed beside him. He came without any resistance, rolling on top of Castiel and caging him in with his arms either side of the angel’s head

“So we uh... we really have to stay here until you feel something?”

“Afraid so.” Cas admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders, as though he’d just committed them to a tiresome chore. Dean didn’t reply. He was too busy studying the familiar lines of the angel’s face, tracing patterns across the planes of his chest, marvelling at the sight of his hair so artfully mussed by insistent fingers.

“Kiss me,” Castiel breathed into the silence, “Excessively.”

And laughter burst from Dean’s lips, so sudden and joyous it shattered the intensity of the moment. Castiel snorted his own amusement as Dean, still hovering over him, began wiggling his eyebrows seductively.

“Feeling anything yet?” Dean smirked.

“Maybe a slight tingle...” Castiel mused, “In my left toe.”

Dean tipped his head back as he laughed, his whole body shaking. Castiel did in fact feel the vibration all the way down to his feet.

To think that Dean could believe he felt so little when, pressed this close together, their hearts beating in unison, he had to restrain himself from reacting to every flicker of emotion that passed over the hunter’s face. But then again, maybe Dean had been only too happy to accept the lie.

Maybe he had been looking for an excuse to stay all along.

With the suspected knowledge of their shared treachery warming his insides, Castiel surged up to kiss Dean. Hard.

Dean sank into his embrace, letting Cas pull him back down into the tangle of sheets that he’d been foolish enough to try and vacate.

As Castiel scattered kisses along his jawline he sent up a silent prayer, thanking God for small mercies and deceitful angels

#destiel #destiel drabble #destiel fluff #deancas #secret good spn #dean winchester #Castiel #spn fic #megan writes #userroadhouse #imagine me writing something that wasn’t just angst

[aceghosts]

Whumptober 2021 Day 5: I've Got Red in My Ledger

Prompt: Broken Nose

Fandom: Mass Effect

Rating: T

Summary: Thane breaks Rooney's nose during a sparring match.

Warnings: Small mention of blood.

Words: 695 words.

Ships: Commander Rooney Shepard x Thane Krios

AO3 Link

“I hope you won’t hold back. I’ve been looking forward to this.” Rooney challenges, bringing their fists up into a defensive posture. Placing his jacket on a bench in the Normandy’s sparring arena, Thane smirks as he faces them.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Shepard.” He teases. In his dark green eyes, Rooney sees a hint of mischief, but something else too, something that sends a pleasant shiver up their spine. “I hope you will not hold back against me either.”

“Me? Hold back from a fight? Never?”

Rooney throws the first punch. Thane is already moving out of the way, a blur of green and black. They’re just warming up, getting a feel for how Thane spars. Or at least, Rooney tells themself that to soothe their ego as Thane launches his own strike. Dipping down, Rooney barely dodges the strike.

Thane strikes again as they pop up, fist nearly grazing their cheek. “I thought the N7 were supposed to be the best that Humanity has to offer.” He teases good-naturedly, trying to wind them up. And the worst part? It’s kind of working.

“We are, but not all of us were trained to fight from when we were kids. You might have a few extra years on me.” They throw back teasingly. Both are throwing their hits harder, striking each other more often. It’s exhilarating; it’s been so long since Rooney has been in a good sparring match.

Rooney’s fighting style is inelegant compared to Thane’s. They’re like a bull in a china shop, trained to end a fight quickly with brute force. Meanwhile, Thane is like a ballet dancer. His movements are graceful and fluid, fighting coming to him as naturally as breathing does.

“Wisdom comes with age.” He teases back, his palm coming up towards Rooney’s face.

CRACK! He hits their nose, breaking under the force of his palm. Rooney staggers backward, hands coming up to their nose. They shake their head, clearing thoughts of the pain. Wiping their nose, Rooney notices blood on the back of their hand, bright red against the white bandages. They aren’t concerned; this isn’t the first time they’ve broken a nose in a sparring match. They bring their fists up, focusing on Thane. “Now, it’s really on.” Rooney challenges, ready for the next round.

Thane, on the other hand, looks extremely guilty. “Shepard, I’m sorry. I should have known better.” He speaks, the harshness in his tone directed at himself. They’re not going to let him beat himself up over a broken nose.

“Thane, it’s a broken nose. I’m not going to die.” Their tone comes out harsher than they meant.

He looks away, clearly bothered by Rooney’s lack of a reaction. “It is not just a broken nose. I could have seriously hurt you. I was trained to be better than this; to control my emotions. I shouldn’t-“

Enough of this. They’re both adults, and Rooney knew exactly what they were getting into. As Rooney gently takes his face in their hands, he looks up at them. “Thane, I am fine. I’ve broken my nose more times than I can count, both in actual fights and sparring matches. Don’t beat yourself up about this. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into.”

He smiles, his hands coming to grab Rooney’s hands. “Thank you, but I am sorry.”

Rooney smiles back. “You don’t need to apologize, but if you’re really desperate to make it up to me, you can teach me a few of your moves.”

Thane laughs. “Deal, but we should have Dr. Chakwas look at your nose. You are still bleeding a little bit.”

As Rooney lets go of him, Thane releases their hands. “Yeah, Dr. Chakwas is really gonna love that I broke my noise sparring.” They tilt their nose back, starting to head towards the elevator. Thane’s hand comes to rest on the small of their back, guiding Rooney towards the elevator.

Once the elevator door closes, a tactical cloak fizzles out, and Kasumi smirks to herself. “Oh, Joker is going to love this.” She says to herself. Her OmniTool glows, a vid of Thane breaking Shepard’s nose playing silently.

#whumptober2021 #no.5 #broken nose #mass effect #fic #blood tw #injury tw #thane krios #commander shepard #commander rooney shepard #shrios #themshep #masseffectfanfic #otp: time for me is short siha but any that i have is yours to take #lol this is a short one #but I didn't have a long idea for this #I'm not 100% happy with this #but I think it fits the theme

[nyxdelanuit]

Just a Taste (Asmo x Reader)

NSFW AHEAD LOVELIES XOXOXO thank you to @miiyaatsumu for beta-reading part of this c;

Asmo was fucked the moment Levi scurried out of the room. He hadn't meant to interrupt, not truly, but seeing Levi playing a game with you while laying his head on your lap deserved at least a coo or two. But Levi, the bashful thing, blushed to the high celestial realm and absconded from the room. Asmo chuckled softly, eyeing you now that he was finally alone with you for the first time in the many months. You stood gracefully, and Asmo wondered how a human could carry such grace to rival the angels themselves.

 “Asmodeus.” You laid your hand on his chest, and Asmo all but preened at the connection.

 “Asmo, darling.” He cooed, but you continued on as if you hadn’t heard him.

 "I've seen the looks you've given me." Your voice was so even, Asmo was a bit jealous.

 “I haven’t been trying to be subtle.” Asmo trailed his fingers over your cheek, excited that he may finally talk you into his bed. The fun the two of you could have, if only you let him.

 “Not those ones, darling,” he couldn’t keep the excited trill from his throat when you called him such sweet names, “the looks you give me when I’m close with your brothers. The looks you gave Levi when you thought no one was watching while he laid on my lap. I’ll give you two options. My door will be open tonight, and you can either join me in bed, or you can start spending some time with me and get what your brothers are getting.” You patted his chest once, about to start searching for Levi, but you paused, caressing his face.

 "Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Asmodeus."

How could you, he was the Avatar of Lust! He’d be betraying his very nature if he didn’t crawl into your bed, but he watched as the night stretched on. You had spent your time cuddled between the twins, laid against Beel with your head nestled in his shoulder, your delicate fingers passing through Belphie’s hair like silk. How peaceful Belphie looked curled up against you, his head cradled against your breast like a babe. You had caught his eye then, giving him a somber smile like you already knew what he would pick.

 He left the house in a hurry. He couldn't allow himself to sully this opportunity by spending a night in your bed when there were so many others that would welcome him readily- no strings attached.

 He came strolling in the next morning, unabashed by his disheveled appearance. Why should he hide what a wonderful night he had. You looked to him from your place at the table, a smirk gracing your face.

”Looks like you made a choice.”

 “Whatever did you mean? I already had plans last night.” He winked at you as he passed, but your words gave him pause.

 “Oh, if that’s the case, I’ll extend my deal through the end of the week.” Why did he have to open his mouth, he could have saved himself so much trouble if he just hadn’t said anything. Yet he soldiered on with a hollow laugh. He’s the Avatar of Lust, after all. It’s in his nature.

 Still, his wounded pride could only cover so much, and alone in his room he couldn’t help but pine for your touch, for your innocent love even at the cost of never falling into your bed.

 You were becoming concerned. Maybe you should have taken your words back, told Asmo that it was all a joke. Five days had passed, and each time you had seen Asmo, he looked more wrecked, dark circles plaguing his face. He never would have stood for it if he hadn't been so concerned with running away from your temptations.

 There you sat on your DDD, looking at Asmo's devilgram and the overly-edited pictures, surely covering the dark circles and the exhaustion that was impossible to hide in person. With a sigh, you set the device down, stripping down to a tank and underwear for bed.

 You were reclining on your pillows, scrolling through posts to unwind when you heard your door creak open. There stood Asmo, clothes rumpled, hair greasy, and the wavy locks falling limp. You thought maybe he'd finally given in after he hurridly started shucking his clothes, less graceful than you had ever seen him.

 He crawled into your arms, all whines. Your DDD was quickly abandoned to trail fingers over Asmo’s smooth skin. Your hand wandered in between you, quickly dipping down his abs to match the neediness that shone in Asmo’s eyes. You had almost reached Asmo’s adonis belt before he caught your hand, vulnerability oozing out of his pores.

 “Just… hold me?” It was a whisper, as if the question hurt him.

 "Of course, Asmo." You cooed, enjoying the shiver your words sent down his spine. He curled up to your chest, trying to recreate the position he saw Belphie in, and you welcomed him into your arms. Your hands when to card through his hair, grimacing at the oils coating your fingers. "When's the last time you slept in your own bed, love?" You whispered to him, getting only a weak chuckle in response. You laid a chaste kiss on his forehead, watching how pink tinted his cheeks at the innocent action. "How about we take a bath together, hm?"

 Asmo wasted no time picking you up off of your bed. He wouldn't let you stop touching him for a moment, not even to gather his clothes as he dashed off to his room. You were a flurry of giggles, desperately torn between covering yourself and clinging to Asmo as he smiled gently at you.

 It must have been a perk of being one of the demon lords of the devildom that Asmo’s bath was always filled to the brim with warm, lightly scented water. Asmo only set you down to remove his underwear, keeping his back to you as you did the same. He let you get in first, offering you a hand while keeping his eyes to the ground. It was sweet, if a bit unnecessary, but it did show you just how much Asmo was willing to try. You felt a bit guilty now, it must have tortured him to keep away from you this long.

 Asmo sunk into the water with a sigh, already seeming more like himself. The tub was big enough for you to sit on opposite sides with more than enough space between the two of you, but you motioned him closer as soon as his eyes drifted to yours. He approached slowly, as if you'd get up and leave if he was too eager. As soon as he was in reach, you drug him to sit between your legs. He tensed underneath your touch, but relaxed as your fingers drifted over his back.

 You set to work quickly, rifling through all the products lined on the side of the tub. Finally, finding one with a scent you enjoyed, you quickly wet Asmo's greasy locks. Your fingers worked small circles in his scalp, and Asmo could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. How long had it been that he'd felt touch without the expectation of reciprocation? When had anyone shown him affection without wanting him to prove his prowess? It seemed like all the other brothers were allowed to have other facets; to enjoy life outside of their sins, but Asmo was always expected to be lust incarnate. Yet here you were, washing his hair with a hum on your lips just because he needed his hair washed, and you thought he'd enjoy it.

 You were careful, as if he wasn't a demon, to not pull on the tangles, to make sure the water washed the suds away from his eyes. You didn't even ask him to do it for you, quickly washing and conditioning your hair while the deep conditioner sat in his hair. Your fingers in his hair was the closest taste of heaven Asmo had gotten since the fall, and he couldn't help the tears that fell as your fingers left him. You took your time washing him, rubbing every tense muscle in his body until he was putty under your touch. He had shared many baths with lovers, but nothing had been this intimate. You allowed him to exist as he was, nothing more.

 Asmo almost panicked as you moved to straddle his legs, clean and smelling of his soap. You shushed him with gentle touches, easing his anxious heart. He didn’t want to mess this up, not now, not that he finally knew what your love felt like. Even if the fire was burning in his gut, the urge to take you as his, he would never want to do anything to endanger what he had now.

 “Please don’t tempt me, I can’t stand it.” He whined, tears dripping like jewels into the water. You kissed those that clung to his cheeks, and he sobbed harder as he felt himself grow hard. How he wished more than ever that he had been the avatar of some other sin, something more easily controlled around you. He wished he could be sure he wouldn't ruin everything by being unable to resist taking you.

 “I should have never given you that ultimatum Asmo. I’ve given all your brothers love despite their natures, I should have done the same for you.” You finally placed a sweet kiss on his lips, and he couldn’t resist tangling his hands in your hair and deepening it, his body betraying his mind. You took it seamlessly, no less loving than any other touch you bestowed on him. He shook his head as you parted.

 “It should be different with you.” He cried, clinging to your body, unable to hold back a groan as your body pressed against his length.

 “And it will be.” You promised, angling his face so he looked into your eyes. You needed him to see that you meant it.

 “I love you… as much as someone like me can love someone.” He shuddered as your hand ghosted over his cock.

 "You are just as capable of love as anyone else, Asmo, and I love you too." You finally gripped him, forcing the last of his tears to fall from his lashes. "Now, let me love you. Tell me if you want me to stop." Stop? Like he would ever ask you to stop… but no one had offered him that before.

 The water pulled around you as you shuffled closer, bringing the tip to your waiting warmth. You sunk down slowly, eyes never drifting from Asmo’s as you adjusted. Your pace was slow, tender. More focus was placed on the sweet touches you laid on Asmo’s face, and he wasted no time nuzzling into your hand and placing kisses along your pulse.

 Asmo was sensitive, too sensitive. Unbeknownst to you, he had been unable to fuck any of his dates since you had challenged him. He had tried to picture you in their place, but it only left a sour taste. So he had slept on couches and swore the demons and succubi to silence for the better part of a week. That mixed with your undivided attention brought him too close to his peak, too quickly. His hands fell to your waist, softly urging you to slow the pace even more.

 “It’s okay, darling. Let go.” You whispered in his ear, damp hair falling to his shoulder. He came apart with a sigh, holding you close to his chest. His arm snaked underneath the water, searching for the spot that would help bring you pleasure, but you simply laced your fingers with his.

 “I want to make you feel good too.”

 “You do.”

 “I want to make you cum.”

 “You’ll have time for that later. This was just for you.” You laid a kiss at the corner of his mouth as you stood, stretching out your stiff muscles. Asmo took the time to drink you in, to think of ways he could worship you properly. “Let’s get out of here before our hair dries.” You smiled gently at him, running a hand through his still-damp hair. He couldn’t resist your touch, standing to whisk you out of the tub.

 If Mammon or Belphie looked for you that night, you’d never know. They wouldn’t yet think to look in Asmo’s bed, curled up against his chest. Even in sleep, he wore the most serene smile they would ever see, finally feeling something he had thought would be forever lost to him.

#asmo x reader #asmo x mc #asmodeus x mc #asmodeus x reader #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #asmo smut #asmo hurt/comfort #nyx writes

[jeonsjiddies]

dirty little secret (m) | kth

summary- you had a dirty little secret and your boss, tae finds out.

rating- explicit / 18+

word count-  4781

pairing- taehyung x reader

genre- smut

Warnings- dirty talk, slight choking

Kim Taehyung could not possibly be human. He had to be some sort of government experiment to create the perfect man and see how women reacted. No man could possibly be so sexy. So smart. So successful. So kind. So… perfect. Maybe you were a  bit biased, you had been drooling over V since the first day you’d walked off the elevator to the top floor of Kim Publishing Company.

You were awestruck, taken aback by the vast space with the sparkling sun wafting through the large stained glass window. Gazing out at the skyline with brilliant blue hues, you failed to see V. He was walking backwards, adamantly discussing a new book deal with a prospective client. He turned a split second too late. You looked up a split second too late.

Colliding with his rock hard frame, you felt your whole body shiver in a way you’d never experienced before. His arms instinctively circled around you to keep you from falling, causing your bodies to remain flush against each other. Chills ran straight through you, down to your bones before every inch of your skin that touched his went ablaze.

Time seemed to stand still as you gazed up into his sensual,  deep brown eyes. His plump, wet pink lips rested just inches from yours, stealing all the air from your lungs. Moments passed and neither of you made an effort to release yourselves from each others’ grip. The client cleared their throat uncomfortably, snapping both of you out of your haze.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry! Are you okay? I wasn’t paying attention, the sky looked so pretty from up here and I-“ you rambled before V cut you off, lifting a hand to silence you.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” he inquired, those deep brown eyes laced with concern and a little amusement.

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry. It’s my first day and I’m so nervous about meeting Mr. Kim that I just…” you let your head fall while you took a breath, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. What is your name?” he asked, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“Y/N.” you supplied.

“Y/N…” he let it roll off his tongue like he was  savoring it, your heart thumped wildly in your chest. “Nice to meet you. I’m V. This is Jungkook.” He introduced.

The client awkwardly gave a sort of half-wave.

“Jungkook, let’s finish this negotiation downstairs. Nice to meet you, Y/N. Have a wonderful first day.” V grinned like he was laughing at an inside joke.

You half-bowed, half scurried away, making a beeline for your new desk. Phyllis, the woman you were being trained to replace in her retirement, shook her head, silver curls bouncing.

“What?” you questioned defensively.

She sniggered to herself before leaning in so she was close enough to speak without anyone else overhearing her. The words that left her mouth caused your soul to leave your body and chills of an entirely different nature to spread.

“Dry humping the CEO on your first day. What a lovely first impression.”

***

You cringed at the memory. She had taken so much joy in your embarrassment, howling with laughter as your jaw hit the floor. She didn’t really mean anything by it. Phyllis wasn’t a cruel person, but you didn’t miss the tiny pinch of evil in her sugary smile. You’d avoided V after that as much as you could, until 3:00 when his assistant, who had introduced himself as Jimin, came to fetch you for your orientation meeting. You wished you could hide under your desk and pretend you weren’t there, but you desperately needed this job and V signed your check so you really had no choice. You feigned confidence as Jimin held the door open for you and you stood across from the man in the plush leather chair.

“Good afternoon, Y/N. How’s your first day going?” He asked, almost  entirely professional if not for the sparkle in his eye.

“Well, Mr. Kim-“ you began.

“Call me V.” He interrupted.

“V,” you corrected, slightly uncomfortable with the familiar nickname, or maybe you were uncomfortable with the way he affected you, his smirk making your thighs clench in a hopefully unnoticeable way, “it has been memorable to say the least. I really do apologize for earlier, I had no idea you were… you.”

“No need to apologize. Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Kim Taehyung, CEO of Kim Publishing. I’m thrilled to have you aboard.” He flashed you a million dollar smile and stuck out his large hand to shake your smaller one.

As soon as your skin met his, your entire body felt like you’d been electro-charged. A small gasp left your lips, and V’s poker face slipped for only a fraction of a moment, but you saw it. He pulled away and ran his hand through his perfectly tousled black hair, clearing his throat.

He slipped back into his professional smile and continued to tell you about the company and your role. He liked to orient new hires himself, keeping himself involved and making sure that everyone felt valued at the company. He did expect a level of respect but was willing to return the favor.

He was funny without trying and put you at ease quickly. He answered all your questions politely and never made you feel less than. That was the beginning of the end for you. Less than one full day into your career at Kim Publishing and you were completely whipped for Kim Taehyung.

8 months later, you still had it bad for V. Obviously you wouldn’t do anything about it. Not only would you risk losing your job you’d worked so hard for, but someone as perfect as him would never look at you twice, not in that way. You sighed, flipping through the pages of the current manuscript on your desk, jotting down notes in one of your portable notebooks.

Misspelled “quota”

Replace said with exclaimed?

This book is awful

You erased the last one, feeling bad. If someone said that about what you had written, you’d be crushed. But how were you supposed to edit a story written by someone who couldn’t tell the difference between their, there, and they’re?! You hated not giving anyone a fair chance so you muddled through the story, trying your best to note ways to improve it so that it could possibly be published.

Finally reading the last line, you almost felt guilty placing the document in the “no” pile. Before you could move on to the next one, you heard his laughter floating down the hall, dancing around your ears and caressing your soul with longing. His laugh was musical. You loved it. You loved his voice, which you could also hear as he made conversation with the stout man to his left. He waved good morning to you as he walked by, gracing you with his perfect smile. You waved back and he disappeared from sight.

You reached in your drawer, pulling out your other notebook. This notebook stayed locked away in your desk drawer, you would lose your mind if anyone found it. This was where you kept your writing ideas. Most of them were your sexual fantasies about V, but one day they would work into an erotic novel that you could pitch to be published, under a fake name of course.

Ugh V looks amazing in those new work pants. What I wouldn’t give to be on my knees under his desk right now. I wonder if he’d be able to concentrate on that meeting with my lips wrapped around his cock. Fuck, V probably has such a nice dick. I want to taste it.

A knock at your office door had you scrambling to hide the notebook back in your drawer. You looked up to see Jimin standing in your doorway.

“Hey y/n. I have a family thing to get to and Mr. Kim really needed me to restock the coffee bar before his next client comes. I know it’s almost time to go but can you please help?” He pleaded, and you were no match for his puppy dog eyes.

“Sure, no problem.” You easily agreed, following him out of your office.

After refilling the coffee bar and straightening a few things in the break room, you made your way back to your office and made yourself comfortable in your chair. You began reading the next manuscript and reached for your notebook to make a suggestion about not mixing tenses. It wasn’t on your desk. You looked at the floor, wondering if you’d dropped it. Nope. You searched under things and between things but couldn’t see the little book anywhere. You huffed in frustration and opened your drawer to get a new one.

You pulled out the top one and opened the cover. Oh there it was! You hadn’t lost your notes! You smiled to yourself and began writing suggestions, wondering why you’d put the filled- in notebook in that drawer. Must have been when Jimin startled you. You smiled at yourself and kept writing. Until you realized that’s where your dirty notebook should’ve been. You froze.

Opening the drawer back up, you searched through the notebooks. All of them were new and blank. Your erotic thoughts about your boss were no where to be found. You took deep breaths, convincing yourself not to panic. You started searching through every item in that damned office, picking up speed the longer you went without finding the notebook.

More and more people went home as the day began to wind down. You were sure you were the only one left. Your office was all but destroyed and you couldn’t find the stupid fucking notebook. Had someone found it? Surely they wouldn’t know it was yours right? Your name wasn’t in it.

You went back to the break room in a last ditch effort, thinking maybe you’d stupidly carried it in there? You searched high and low, placing your head in your hands when it did not appear. You didn’t hear him approach, and nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard him clear his throat from the doorway.

“Ah! V! You scared me. I thought I was the only one here.” You said, hand gripping your shirt in an effort to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He said, voice low and cautious. “What are you still doing here?”

“I um… misplaced something and I can’t find it.” You explained vaguely.

“Oh. What was it?” His brown eyes seemed almost black as he watched your every move.

“Ummm.. a notebook.” You admitted, voice higher than you’d intended.

“Oh. This one?” He asked, his gaze burning into yours as he held up your missing book.

Your jaw dropped and your heart sank. Oh shit you were so fired. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

“Perhaps we should discuss this in my office.” He offered, turning and leading the way down the hall.

He gestured for you to sit opposite of him, the large desk between the two of you. You waited for him to say something. When he didn’t, you opened your mouth, apologies spewing out. He silently watched you, and when you finally fell silent, he picked up the book and opened it. You cringed as his eyes fell on the pages.

“I want V to bend me over his desk and take me. I want to feel his big, warm hands on my body. I want to feel his thick, throbbing cock inside me. Would he be rough or gentle? He seems like the dominant type in bed. His whole being just screams ‘power’. Maybe I should write about both. He could also have a tender side, he is so sweet.” He read aloud, your entire face was flushed with embarrassment and shame.

He turned the page and continued.

“If I have to sit through another meeting with V in those tight fitting slacks I will cum on the spot. He could make any woman melt with just a look. His voice is enough to get me off. That would be a hot scene.”

“Every time V says my name, I can’t help imagining what it would be like to hear him moan it instead. Working here is driving me insane.”

He looked up from the book, placing it flat on the desk between the two of you. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he finally looked up at you, you were so full of shame you couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Y/N. Look at me.” He commanded with an authority you’d never heard from him before. Despite your current shame, you felt moisture pooling between your legs at his dominating tone.

You glanced up and found Kim Taehyung staring into your soul with the most lust-filled eyes you’d ever seen. A whisper of a gasp left your lips as electricity shot through you, straight to your core. You did your best not to squirm in your seat but failed, the intensity of his steamy gaze making you quiver.

V rose from his desk chair and spun yours around so that you were facing him. He leaned in, his hot breath tickling your ear as he spoke lowly.

“I’ve been rock hard since I found your book. I couldn’t stop picturing that tight little ass bent over my desk, couldn’t stop thinking about filling that pretty little pussy. You paint quite the picture, Y/N.” He breathed.

You clenched your thighs together, almost whimpering at how bad you wanted him. Never in a million years did you think Kim Taehyung would be whispering dirty things in your ear.

“I didn’t know you were such a naughty girl.” He smirked, leaning back and licking his lips as his eyes traveled down your body to your legs, pressed together under your skirt.

V put a finger under your chin, lifting your face so that your gazes met. His lips found yours in a flash, claiming you. You were immediately putty in his hands as his plump mouth worked against your own. His tongue snuck out and found its way to yours, deliciously intertwining. You were so immersed in the kiss, you almost didn’t notice when his large palm came to rest on your knee. Almost.

His fingers danced along your skin teasingly, leaving a trail of fire wherever they went. Tantalizingly slowly, his hand made its way up your thighs, so close to where you wanted him the most, but not nearly close enough. His lips parted from your own, and you were about to protest the loss of contact before they were reattached at your neck. Soft whines left your throat as he sucked and nipped at the skin below your ear, leaving reddish-purple bruises in his wake. He was marking you, and while that should’ve put you off, it only caused the dampness in your panties to increase. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to his greedy lips. His fingers ran teasingly over your clothed core.

“Shit. You’re already so wet and I’ve barely touched you.” he mused, pride apparent in his tone.

“Didn’t you read the part where I get wet just from the sound of your voice? Are you really surprised?” you countered in a moment of bravery.

Desire flashed in his dark eyes as his gaze bore into you with such intensity, you almost couldn’t take it.

“Oh baby girl… I am going to ruin you.” he growled, yanking you up out of your chair and dragging you towards your office. He tossed your purse to you and hurriedly led you towards the exit.

Your hands linked together were the only place he touched you once you were out of his office. There were cameras everywhere, you both knew that, but the anticipation was driving you wild. He squeezed your hand every so often, purposefully bumping against the side of your leg. He leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“You look so sexy like this, all flushed and ready to be fucked. It’s taking every bit of self control not to push you up against the wall and eat that pretty pussy right here.” though his voice was a whisper, it came out as a growl, almost primal.

The whimper that left you involuntarily placed a smirk on his plump lips.

“Mmm… so needy for me, aren’t you baby?” he teased.

You glared at him but couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. He tugged you out of the elevator and over to his shiny new car, opening the door for you and allowing you to slide inside before he gently closed it and came around to enter the driver’s side.

The car roared to life and V sped out of the parking garage towards his place. In a moment of bravery, your hand found his inner thigh, rubbing seemingly innocent circles there. His breath hitched, and his eyes narrowed on the road, trying to concentrate and not crash, though your fingers were extremely distracting. You noticed his cock twitch inside his slacks, and your mouth watered. You wondered how dangerous road head was, then thought against it. You wanted to live long enough to fuck him.

After what felt like forever, but was probably closer to five minutes, you pulled up in front of a swanky apartment complex, and V led you up the stairs to his apartment. When he opened the door and ushered you in, you were in awe with how gorgeous it was. Did he have an interior decorator or did he really just have impeccable taste? He watched you with amused eyes as you surveyed the surroundings. You felt his warmth behind you as he leaned in, breath tickling your ear.

“I can give you the grand tour if you’d like later, but right now I really just want you in my bed.” he said, his tongue darting out and licking along the shell of your ear and sending shivers throughout your entirety.

You pressed yourself up against him, attaching your lips to his in a heated kiss. Slowly, he walked you backwards down the hall, never breaking the delicious dance your tongues were engaged in as he led you to his room. You fell back on his large bed, and his body hovered over yours instantly. Feeling his whole body on top of yours was heavenly, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he took heavy breaths, feel the rapid beating of his heart.

His hands snaked their way down to the hem of your shirt, tugging it off your body. You were pretty sure you heard it rip in his haste but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, not with the way his eyes wandered over your skin in amazement. He picked up your hand and kissed your wrist, slowly making his way up your arm to your neck. He leaned down and placed soft, chaste kisses along your collarbone and the tops of your breast that your bra didn’t cover, before discarding that too.

His lips wrapped around your nipples, causing a groan to erupt from deep within you. His tongue circled the sensitive nub as his large hand kneaded and gently pinched the other. His teeth grazed your nipple slightly, making you gasp at the shockwave it sent through you. His blazing kisses made their way down your stomach, as though he was worshiping every inch of your exposed skin. You sighed contentedly before deciding he was wearing too many clothes.

You reached up and began unbuttoning his dress shirt, slowly revealing his decadently  tanned skin. Your mouth watered with each new inch revealed. He threw it carelessly across the room once you’d gotten all the buttons undone, and you stared at his chest as your own fluttered. He was so fucking beautiful. You reached up and trailed your fingers along  his abdomen, gently brushing along his nipples and earning a quiet groan as you traced the lines of his abs.

He patiently waited, letting you admire his body above yours, legs on either side of you, caging you in. You glanced up into his eyes and were surprised to find fondness there. You blushed and looked away. You felt his body shake as he chuckled. Using one swift motion, he pulled down your skirt and panties, tossing them aside. Your arousal was dripping down your legs and you would’ve felt ashamed if you hadn’t caught the way his eyes lit up at the sight of your dripping core.

He began placing kisses along your inner thigh, teasing you. Just like he had been in his office, he was so close to where you wanted him but not nearly close enough.

“So wet for me baby. So pretty.” he praised, causing your chest to constrict with pride. “You don’t know how many times I’ve daydreamed about tasting you. How many nights I got off to the thought of making you cum on my tongue.”

His dirty words had you clenching around nothing, and he smirked. He leaned down, licking a bold stripe between your folds.

“Oh fuck-” left your lips before you could stop yourself and V chuckled from his position nestled between your thighs, vibrations running right to your clit.

You bucked your hips at the sensation, and V slid one hand up to hold you down as his tongue began its assault on your sensitive nub. You couldn’t control your soft moans when his tongue swirled around your clit and he inserted one of his long fingers deep into your heat. They felt even better than you imagined they would. V slowly added a second finger and curled them expertly to hit that spot inside of you that had you wriggling on the bed.

He added a third finger, the stretch burning for only a moment before pleasure took over. Between his fingers pumping into you and his tongue dancing on your clit, you couldn’t hold back anymore, his name falling from your lips over and over while you rode out your high on his skilled tongue. V rose from between your thighs with a satisfied smile on his lips. The same lips that were dripping with your juices. He ran his tongue along them before pressing them to yours, letting you taste yourself.

“Holy shit.” you complimented.

“Enjoy yourself? I know I did.” V purred, bringing your lips together once more and tugging your bottom one between his teeth slowly.

Could this man be any sexier? Fuck.

“Mmm… yes. Now let me return the favor.” you grinned, popping open the button on his slacks.

“Baby girl, as much as I would love to have your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, I really need to be inside you.” he told you. You shuddered under his hungry gaze.

“Then why aren’t you fucking me?” you threw back at him.

Something flashed in V’s eyes that you couldn’t quite place before he was tearing his clothes off of his body and reaching into his bedside drawer for a foil square. Your mouth fell open when his thick cock was released from its confines. You’d always imagined he’d have a big one, but damn. He was long, thick, and dripping precum. His length was absolutely delicious looking, throbbing with want.

“Like what you see?” he grinned cockily, but he had every reason to be.

“Love what I see.” you licked your lips seductively.

V winked at you while he rolled the condom on and lined himself at your entrance. When he slid himself inside of you, you felt like you were being torn in two, brought back together, lifted from your body. The pain lasted only a few seconds before the indescribable pleasure took over. Breathless noises fell past his lips as he moved slowly, waiting to make sure you had adjusted.

“Fuck, V-please.” you pleaded, needing him to move.

No sooner than you’d taken another shaky breath, V was giving his all and pounding into you so wonderfully, you were sure you’d die of pleasure. He filled you up so perfectly, like he was made to be inside you. You were made for the sole purpose of fucking Kim Taehyung.  The only word you could manage to form coherently was the call of his name as he fucked into you so good you couldn’t focus on anything but him and the way he made you feel.

Each thrust brought you closer to your high, and each grunt and moan from him proved he was losing his mind just as must as you were. Without warning, his hand came up to cup your neck, pressing in on either side. Sweat pooled on his temples and he watched you with hungry eyes as your own widened in surprise. You leaned your head back to give him better access while never breaking eye contact.

V grinned victoriously, adding slight pressure to his hold on your neck, careful not to press too hard. Your fists gripped the sheets as everything became too much, you were so close, and all you could do to warn him was whine his name desperately.

“Cum on my cock, let go for me baby.” he commanded, and who were you to argue?

Your orgasm swept over you, pulling you to new heights you’d never felt before. White spots clouded your vision and your back arched off the bed into Tae’s body. Your moans turned high pitched and your whole body shook with the euphoria washing through you. V rode you through your high, milking it for all it was worth, and when you finally came down, body falling limply on the bed, his movements became sloppy and desperate. His own climax finally claiming him and his O face, the noises he made, they were the hottest thing you’d ever heard in your life.

He fell next to you on the bed, both of you breathing so hard you couldn’t even talk. He discarded the used condom and turned to you, pulling your head into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You were overwhelmed with a feeling of safety and comfort, the feeling of home. For the first time in your life, you felt like you belonged. You felt like you belonged wrapped in the warm embrace of Kim Taehyung. You snuggled closer to him and he hummed appreciatively. Soon, you were both asleep in each others’ arms, too spent from the best sex of your life to do anything else.

Waking up next to Taehyung was both the most comforting thing you’d ever felt, and also the most terrifying. You’d just slept with your boss. The CEO of your company. You were fairly certain he’d wanted you to stay the night after wrapping you up in his arms, but did he want you here when he woke up? You’d felt like you’d finally found home wrapped up in his strong embrace, but did he? As if your thoughts had summoned him, he rolled over, stretching his arms above his head and smiling at you.

“Good morning, beautiful. Sleep well?” he asked.

“Best sleep I’ve ever had.” you admitted, cheeks turning bright red as you hid your face in your hands.

He grinned and shot up, his hands gripping your wrists and pinning them above your head as he trapped your body under his on the bed.

“Don’t hide that gorgeous face from me.” he tutted, feigning offense.

“V!” you whined, your whole face flushing.

He chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on your lips before lifting himself off of you. He pulled on a pair of boxers and looked over at you sweetly.

“Coffee?” he inquired.

“Please. Two sugars?” you smiled appreciatively.

He nodded and disappeared into the rest of the apartment to fulfill your request. You changed into one of his work shirts to cover yourself, settling back into the bed. He brought back two steaming cups of coffee and handed yours to you, watching you carefully as you brought it to your lips and took a sip, sighing happily as the warm liquid coated your tongue.

“You look so beautiful like this.” Tae spoke suddenly, quietly.

“In your clothes?” you giggled.

“In my clothes, in my bed, happy.” he smiled, “I hope I get to see this side of you often.”

“I’m yours as long as you want me.” you blushed, taking a drink to hide the blush growing on your cheeks.

His answer was taking the coffee from you and setting it down before placing a soft kiss on yours.

#smut #bts #btssmut #bts smut #kim taehyung #taehyung #v #bts v #ceo!tae