#wrangle it in partner its good enough now go to bed for two hours

[we-are-so-close]

Promised Life

Yandere!Illumi x female reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+; Minors do not interact, Angst, smut, yandere behavior, noncon, dubcon, implied death, kidnapping, forced marriage, oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, breeding (please let me know if I forgot something)

Author's Note: This is pretty dark. And very smut heavy. And the longest fic I've written so far. Very nervous about it.

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The sound of cries from the baby monitor woke you and your husband.

“Aw, he’s been doing a lot better about sleeping through the night,” your husband’s groggy voice whispered in your ear.

“I know. I’ll go check on him,” you said as you tried to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“Love you, babe,” your husband kissed you on the back of your head.

“Yeah, yeah. I love you, too...Butt,” you teased as you threw on your nightgown.

You slowly crept into the baby’s room to see him standing up in his crib.

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed as you turned on one of the lights next to the rocking chair. As soon as he saw you, he started jumping up and down, hanging on to the side of the crib.

“What are you doing, silly boy? It’s time for bed,” you picked him up and kissed his sweet little head. You cradled him; his head in the crook of one of your elbows with your other arm supporting his back side. You rocked him back and forth, his eyes getting heavier and heavier as the time passed. Eventually, he was asleep in your arms. You placed a soft kiss on his head before carefully laying him back into his crib.

“Good night, my precious boy,” you whispered.

As soon as you turned the light off, a cold chill shot down your spine. It caused you to freeze right in place. You hadn’t felt this aura in years. You haven’t felt this since…

“No!” You gasped. You felt as though you were in a clouded haze. You couldn’t think clearly, your breathing started to quicken. As much as you tried to move, you couldn’t. The aura you felt before is getting stronger, thicker. It’s too hard for you to breathe. Dizziness takes over and you collapse to the ground. The last thing you saw before you faded out of consciousness was your child’s sweet sleeping face.

Your eyes slowly opened. Darkness. Darkness was all you could see. And pain was all you could feel. Your head felt as if it was being split open. You tried to move your arms to lift yourself up, but you weren’t able to move. You opened your mouth to scream, but nothing more than a murmur came out. Your chest began to rise and fall rapidly. A wave of nausea washed over you.

“No,” was all you could muster as the tears started to fall and the sobs began to choke you.

A shadow moved closer to you.

“Awake already?” a familiar yet cold voice asked. “I shouldn’t be surprised though, you are just as strong now as you were when you left me five years ago. Although, I was sure that you would have realized the poison that was slipped into your evening tea .”

“We...I-I didn’t…,” you struggled to get the words out. Your brain couldn’t begin to process where to start.

He took a seat next you on the bed where you laid. He began to rub your head.

“Shh, it’s okay. I forgive you for lying. And for running away. Now that you’ve come back to me, we can be a family...” He leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “...like you promised.”

Five years ago, you and Illumi had been engaged. You were in love with him and you were excited to start a family. However, there had been some complications. Before marrying into the Zoldyck family, tests had to be run. You passed all of them with ease. All of them except one. The doctors told you that all of their tests had come to the same conclusion: infertile. Your heart shattered. You fled the manor before you could even face Illumi with this information, the shame you felt was too overwhelming.

You moved as far away as you could and tried to make yourself disappear. You had wanted to live the rest of your life wallowing in your own self-pity. The previous life you had dreamed of was not going to happen. You had accepted that. And you thought Illumi accepted it, too. He didn’t come for you like you thought he might. In your mind, he had given up on you and you had put that part of your life behind you.

You weren’t expecting to fall in love with another man so quickly, get married so quickly, own a house together so quickly, and you most certainly were not expecting to get pregnant and have a beautiful baby boy so quickly. Everything you had ever wanted happened so quickly, and you had forgotten about the life you had once promised to someone else.

“Illu-Illumi. I-Where…” you breathed in hard. His face hovered just over yours.

“You’re home, ______,” he stated with a smile. “And here in a few hours, we will finally become man and wife.”

“But..but,” you squeaked out.

“I know how happy this must make you. But you can tell me when we exchange our vows. For now, I will leave you to gather your strength and get ready. Until then, my love.” He kissed your temple and walked away.

The head pain mixed with your attempts to speak and the gravity of this situation was too much for you. Exhaustion overtook you. The next time you opened your eyes, the room was bustling with servants. You could hear the quiet whispers from them upon seeing you wake up. A butler appeared in front of you. A familiar face. She was one of the butler’s that was originally assigned to you when you first planned on staying in the manor.

“______, it’s so nice to finally have you back. Now, sit up.”

“What?” you asked, still slightly confused.

“Oh, for goodness sake, let me help you.” She grabbed your arm and yanked you up. Upon standing, you could see that they had already changed you into a wedding dress. It was lace. Long-sleeved and backless. The dress of your dreams. You had once discussed with Illumi what your dress might look like.

“Master Illumi had this made just for you. The least you could do is stand upright.”

The poison you consumed was still taking its course through your body. Your head hurt slightly less and you were able to move, but you still needed support to stand.

The wedding itself was quite short. Illumi stood next to you for support, arm wrapped around your waist. The vows you spoke were ones that Illumi had written for you. And you knew better than to refuse to speak. Having your own free will was more important than words that meant nothing to you. You were well acquainted with his nen abilities. You saw how it affected the unfortunate souls that were on the other end of his attacks.

After you both took your turns saying the vows, you were pronounced husband and wife. He gave you a peck on the lips and then turned you to face everyone. Everyone clapped and you felt immense sadness. The tears in your eyes threatened to break the surface. Illumi enveloped you in his embrace. Your face was resting against his chest as the two of you danced slowly. You now had enough strength to speak in short sentences, so you tried to reason with this man.

“Illumi, this marriage isn’t binding. I’m already married. I-I have a family now,” you muttered in hopes that it would somehow change his mind.

“It’s already been taken care of, ______. There’s no need to bring it up again.”

A whimper escaped your lips. He pulled you away from his chest to look you in the eyes.

“Hm, I think it’s time we wrap this up. What do you say?” He wasn’t really looking for an answer from you. His mind was made up. After the song had ended, he announced to everyone that you were not feeling well and that both of you were turning in for the night. He carried you bridal style to his chambers.

He laid you on the bed and began undressing himself.

“When I found out why you left, I was more hurt than anything else. We could have figured something out, ______,” he stared stoically at the wall. “I was going to come find you, but I had some important family business come up. It took a little longer than expected, but I never forgot about you. And you did a decent job of hiding yourself. I only found you last year. And by then, you were married and with child. I wanted to take you back, right then and there. But I weighed my options and decided I would watch.”

A terrifying thought to realize that he’s been watching you for a year. Even more terrifying was that you hadn’t noticed.

“I grew angrier by the day just watching you live your silly little life. I wanted to just kill you all. But then I saw the bond you formed with that child. The way you cared for it was….endearing. It helped me to reaffirm why I wanted you as a partner all along.” He was completely undressed and now his focus was on you. “So, I watched you some more. I watched your interactions with the child and decided that now was the time to bring you back to where you belong.”

He ripped your dress, exposing your breasts and underwear. You moved your arms to cover yourself, but it was futile. He was much stronger than you, even if you weren’t poisoned. With one hand, he was able to wrangle your wrists together and pin them above your hand. The other hand was moving across your body, giving you goosebumps. His touch was surprisingly soft and warm for someone so cold and uncaring.

He caressed your breast and pinched your nipple, eliciting a response from you. He put the other nipple in his mouth and teased you with his tongue. He sucked on it and could feel you trying not to squirm underneath him. He released it with a loud POP! sound, echoing in the room. You tried to bury your face in your arm so you wouldn’t have to look at him. But he grabbed your face and turned your head toward him.

“If you were able to conceive a child with a non-nen user, then you can conceive a child with me. We will do this everyday until you are with child.”

A look of terror on your face was ignored by your new husband as he ripped your underwear off. He let go of your wrists so that he could better face your entrance. He spread your legs and began working quickly. He started circling your clit with his tongue. He’d use the tip of his tongue for the quick little circles, but then he’d switch it up and use the pad of his tongue to lick from your folds to your bud. He was sucking you when he inserted a finger. A gasp escaped from your lips and you could feel him smile.

He came up to face you, finger still moving in and out.

“You know, the one good thing from watching another man fuck you is that I learned what you like and what get’s you off.”

Once again, you were ashamed and tried to hide your face again.

“Remove your hands or I’ll move them for you.”

And once again, you were reminded of how you would rather do things of your own free will instead of having them done for you. You obliged and he went back down on you.

He continued to lap at your clit while inserting another finger. You were trying your best to push all of this out of your head, to not make a noise. But his fingers were moving against the spongy part of your wall. The friction from his fingers and the movement of his tongue was enough to bring you to your climax. Your walls tightened and fluttered around him while your juices flowed down his hand

“Good girl.”

He removed his fingers and brought them to your lips.

“Open.”

Again, you obliged and took his fingers in your mouth. You sucked and licked, cleaning yourself off of him. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and his lips met yours. He kissed you with such intensity. It took you by surprise. The passion he was displaying was certainly unexpected.

His cock soon began to fill the empty feeling in your cunt. When you gasped, he forced his tongue into your mouth. Back and forth, back and forth, the girth stretched your walls. It was pleasurable, though you did not want to admit it.

He bit your bottom lip before he drew away. “______, you’re so tight. But you accept me so eagerly. We were made for each other.”

He slowly pushed his way further into you. When he bottomed out, you moaned.

“Illu, too much,” you cried.

“But you’re doing so well. You will get used to it.”

Illumi stared in your eyes as he slowly pumped in and out. You wanted to look away or close your eyes, but you simply couldn’t. His fingers were intertwined in your hair, his face hovering above yours.

“Illumi…” you whispered. His lips got caught up in yours once more.

He pulled his torsos away from yours and pushed your legs to your chest. You didn’t think he could go any deeper, but this position proved you wrong. Each thrust hitting your cervix, causing more pain than pleasure. You hadn���t realized that your hands had moved to act as a buffer between his thighs and your legs. Habit, you supposed.

“______,” he spoke forcefully. You realized your mistake.

“’m...sor...ry…” your speech was broken from the continuous thrusting. Your hands moved above your head. He threw your legs over his shoulders and leaned in closer to you. His pacing was becoming faster. You could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He was getting close. The thought of him cumming in you made your core burn. One of his hands began rubbing your sensitive bud. The stimulation was too much and you were creaming around his cock as you moaned out his name. Your walls fluttering around his cock was enough for him to reach his climax. Rope after rope of his seed filled your greedy hole. He was panting, something you can’t remember seeing before.

Your hand cupped his face. “I love you,” fell out of your mouth. Your eyes grew wide and a deep red crept across your cheeks. He smiled down at you.

“I know, my love.”

The two of you stayed still for a moment, except for his hips that continued to softly move against you. When he finally pulled out, a small whimper escaped your lips. He kissed your forehead.

Illumi carefully flipped you onto your side and spooned you. A strong arm caged your body against his, hand resting on your stomach. He kissed the back of your head.

“______, you fought the good fight. But you will not be able to overcome it. When you wake up tomorrow, all the pain of your previous life will be gone. Not even a distant memory. You will never have to relive those moments ever again. From now on, it will just be you, me, and the family that we create. Now it’s time to sleep, my love. You’ve had a busy day.”

Tears started trickling down your face. Your eyes grew heavy with sleep. It was indeed a busy day. Sadness overcame you, but you couldn't be sure why. You had just married the love of your life.

#illumi x reader #yandere!illumi x reader #illumi #yandere!illumi #angst #noncon tw #dubcon tw #implied death tw #kidnapping tw #forced marriage tw #so i was just minding my own business right....thinking about what my life would be like with another f/o #and then bam! this intrusive thought nearly knocked me out #anyway i hope this is okay

[itadorisgf]

dress up.

inspired by this art

wc: 1.2k

fushiguro megumi x gn!reader x itadori yuuji

fluff

Your boys know how to clean up nicely.

You quietly watch them fumble around, tugging on nice sleek slacks and hastily buttoning up freshly dry-cleaned dress shirts, from the entrance of the room. Leaning sideways against the door frame, already fully dressed in your respective outfit, you’re surprised that neither has noticed your presence yet, but then again, they are rather preoccupied at the moment. You don’t say anything, not quite ready to reveal yourself just yet and continue watching them shuffle around the room.

But when Yuuji trips over his tangled trousers pooled by his ankles and flops down to the floor with a pained yelp, you’re unable to stay quiet any longer as laughter tears its way out of your chest at the sight of Yuuji splayed out on the ground. The attention of both of the males in the room is quickly drawn to you, hunched over and clutching your stomach as you try to suppress your laughter enough so you can ask if your boyfriend is alright.

“You’re laughing at me! What if I was really injured?” Yuuji pouts. He scrambles and pushes himself up off the ground before swiftly leaning over and tugging his pants back up to his waist. He quickly zips them up and buttons them closed so he’s no longer at risk of tripping and falling over again.

“You’d survive,” Megumi wryly comments as he fixes the top few buttons of his dress shirt. You notice a hint of a smile cross his lips when Yuuji makes an offended noise in response. Megumi pauses, lifting his hands from their place when you stride across the room to stand in front of him.

“Let me,” you murmur underneath your breath as you smooth out of the creases of his dress shirt, neatly folding over his collar. Megumi straightens up underneath your touch but relaxes as you continue to fuss over him. You take your time, looping his tie around his neck and knotting it properly while Megumi goes back and forth with Yuuji, who’s still in the process of deciding what shirt to wear.

“Thank you.” The apples of his cheeks burn a shade darker than usual as he averts his gaze away from you. It never fails to amuse you how flustered Megumi can get even though the three of you have been dating for so long.

“No problem, ‘Gumi.” You smile brightly when his cheeks redden even more after you press a chaste kiss on his lips. You lightly giggle before turning your attention away from Megumi and allowing him to compose himself and finish getting ready. Facing Yuuji now, you snort at how messy his attire is. “Yuu, come over here so I can help you.”

He perks up and is by your side in an instant. “You look really good.” Yuuji punctuates by squeezing your hips. His eyes roam your body, paying close attention to how well your outfit suits you.

“Thanks, babe,” you absentmindedly say, too focused on flattening out the wrinkles in Yuuji’s shirt. Once you’re content with how it looks, you help him with his tie the same way you did Megumi's. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” you tease once you’re done with his tie. Looping a finger around the silky material, you gently tug on it so you can steal a kiss from Yuuji. However, one kiss is not enough for Yuuji and before you know it, he’s littering kisses all over your face until you’re pushing against his chest in protest.

“Yuuji, stop! We-we-quit it!-we gotta go soon.” You try to be firm, but you can’t stop the giggles from escaping you. You feel the curve of a smile against your skin before Yuuji leans in to press one last kiss against your lips.

“Fine,” he complains but he does pull away from you to go fix his hair and grab his suit jacket. You shake your head in fond exasperation as you wait for Megumi and Yuuji to finish up the last few things they need to do before the three of you can head out.

You carefully take a seat on the edge of the bed and admire how handsome your boys are.

Megumi’s stationed in front of the mirror, running his fingers through his hair and attempting to wrangle its unruliness before he gives up with a quiet sigh. Truthfully, you don’t know why he bothered in the first place. His hair has a mind of its own and even if Megumi was able to style it with some product, it would go back to its natural state in a matter of hours.

Your gaze shifts over to Yuuji, who’s bent over and searching through the clutter of clothes gathered on the floor for his black suit jacket. You most definitely do not sneak an appreciative glance at his backside.

“Quit staring at Yuuji’s ass.” A wide shameless grin stretches across your cheeks as you look up Megumi. You accept his outstretched hand, pushing off the bed and standing up on your feet with his help.

“Don’t be jealous, ‘Gumi. You have a nice ass too.” Megumi immediately drops your hand, letting it fall to your side, and gives you a deadpan look while Yuuji snickers in the background. “If you scowl any harder, your face is going to stay stuck like that forever. How about you give me a smile and let me admire how handsome my boys are?”

Megumi’s brow twitches in feigned annoyance as Yuuji slings a heavy arm around his shoulder and gives you a thumbs up, beaming brightly at you. Megumi’s scowl does soften into only a slight frown as you look them up and down appraisingly.

Their suits fit both of their frames perfectly. 

Megumi’s dark green suit complements his skin tone nicely and you don’t miss the fact that he’s wearing the expensive watch that Gojo gifted him a few years prior. If you comment on it, Megumi will probably just say that it’s the only nice watch he has, which is true, but you know that he’s fond of the accessory since it’s a gift from Gojo. The color combination of orange and black for Yuuji’s outfit was unexpected, but you’re not surprised that he manages to pull it off so well. Yuuji could wear a trash bag and you’d still think he was the most handsome person ever, besides Megumi.

Occasions, where the three of you need to dress so formally, are rare, but you enjoy them immensely. The actual events that you attend don’t really matter to you, you’re just happy for the opportunity to ogle your boys all night long.

“I guess you guys don’t look half bad,” you innocently remark with a slight tilt of your head. Megumi rolls his eyes at your comment while Yuuji outwardly protests. You sigh dramatically before continuing on. “Alright, alright. Calm down, Yuu. You guys look so good that I’m going to have to worry about all the people who are going to flirt with you two.”

Yuuji reaches out and tugs your arm until you gently collide into his chest with an audible exhale. With an arm slung around your shoulders and the other around Megumi's shoulders, Yuuji happily says: “Too bad for them. I already have the greatest partners a guy could ask for.”

Your lips quirk up into a warm smile while a slight flush darkens Megumi's cheeks at Yuuji’s honest words. You idly listen as Megumi and Yuuji begin to bicker with one another. Mentally, you completely agree with Yuuji: you really do have the greatest partners a person could ask for.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #itadori x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader x itadori yuuji #fushiguro x reader x itadori #celeste.scribs #celeste.adores #adoring.itadori #adoring.fushiguro

[nugnthopkns]

eyes full of stars

word count: 3.1k

warnings: insinuated!fem reader, cursing, alcohol consumption, slight sexual innuendo (kind sorta maybe, minors please be aware)

recommended listening: cowboy like me | taylor swift

a/n: it’s cold and snowy. to combat the winter blues i wrote about a sunny minnesota summer with brock :))

You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen Brock this carefree. 

The season was hard on him. There were large periods where he didn’t put up any points, and trade rumors started to circulate. Halfway through, before the playoff push even started, the negative social media comments came rolling in. You frequently saw fans request a trade or say that the organization should regret drafting him. Brock did his best to brush everything off, but it was beginning to waer on his mental health. You’re devastated when they fail to make it to the postseason, but you know it’s for the best. The injured team will spend the offseason recuperating and be ready for the next one. Besides, it means you and Brock will get to spend more time on the lake. 

So here you are, packing the car for the twenty-seven hour drive to Minnesota. Brock insists on driving, says it’s relaxing, but you aren’t sure you agree. Prone to car-sickness so fierce you can barely look out the window, you’d much rather fly. Everything is exasperated by the fact you’re a nervous traveller to begin with, afraid of taking a wrong turn or missing an exit. You’re a terrible road trip partner but at least Brock could talk to the dogs. Coolie and Milo loved car rides, and you can typically hear your boyfriend having full on conversations with them as you fade in and out of consciousness. 

“Ready to go babe?” Brock asks as he closes the trunk. The question is delivered with a bright grin, and despite your anxiety you return it with ease. 

“I don’t really have much of a choice do I?”

He shakes his head, chuckling as he moves towards you. Sliding his hands into the back pockets of your jeans he kisses you lazily. It’s comforting and all-consuming at the same time; doing a great job of occupying your mind with thoughts of him instead of the journey ahead. “I suppose not,” he says, planting a final kiss on your forehead. “It’ll be fine. You can take a Gravol right before we cross the border and you’ll be asleep before we hit Seattle.”

It’s the best plan of attack, so you agree immediately. After taking one last run into your shared apartment to use the bathroom and make sure everything is in order, you make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat of Brock’s jeep. Music filters through the speakers at a low volume, and you focus on the retreating skyline of Vancouver. You’re excited to get back to Minnesota, to relax and see your boyfriend in his natural habitat. Countless days are about to be spent lounging lakeside enjoying each other’s company. It will also be nice to spend time with Brock’s family: they’ve been incredibly welcoming over the years and you can’t wait to catch up with them. You know Brock’s itching to spend time with his nephew, and just to be at home. 

Just as Brock said, you’re asleep before Bellingham. It’s fitful, and you’re frequently woken up by the dogs barking a little too excitedly in response to something Brock said. However, it does a good job of keeping you from emptying the contents of your stomach onto the floor. Somewhere in Idaho, a good seven hours after you left Canada, you awake for the final time. 

“Look boys, Mom’s finally awake!”

You laugh at the comment and lean over the center console to ruffle his hair. It’s still long from the season, and curls slightly around your fingertips. 

“You’re hilarious.”

Brock takes his right hand off the steering wheel, unravelling yours from its resting place and entwining your fingers together. He places a kiss to the back of your palm. “You know I’m just teasing,” he whispers. “I know these drives are hard on you. Thank you for doing it twice a year.”

Instead of answering verbally, you squeeze his hand tighter. Though it’s true you hate driving through five states, you’d do it twice a week if it would make Brock happy. It seems a bit much to convey with a single gesture, but you can tell from the smile that graces his features that Brock understands. The two of you sit in silence, enjoying the scenery and trying to scout for a rest stop. Coolie and Milo are getting antsy and you’re also due to stretch your legs. 

After letting the dogs run around to release some energy and using the bathroom, you start the final leg of the day. Missoula, Montana, is the destination. Not quite the halfway point, but close enough that you could tackle the rest of the miles tomorrow, the city has a wide variety of pet-friendly lodging. You insist you drive the rest of the way, giving Brock a well deserved rest. Looking at the interstate for hours can cause serious highway hypnosis. Not even twenty minutes after getting back on the road he’s asleep, snoring softly as he rests his head on the window. 

You take a moment to admire your boyfriend. He looks so relaxed and peaceful, and the forehead creases that are starting to develop from over analyzing hours of tape disappear. Brock looks years younger, and you know the youthfulness will creep back into him the longer you’re in Minnesota. You can’t wait to see him without any cares again. 

Less than two hours later, the hotel creeps up on your left. Pulling into the first available parking space, you turn the car off before waking Brock. 

“Brock, we’re at the hotel,” you say softly, jostling his shoulder. “Let’s get checked in and then we shower.”

The mention of washing off a day’s worth of travel has him letting the door fly open. You had made sure to pack your overnight bags in an easily accessible spot, and work at getting them out while Brock wrangles the dogs. For being cooped up all day, they’re extremely well behaved. Once cleaned up you imagine you’ll take them on a long walk and grab some food. 

“Hey, give that back. Milo!” you hear Brock yelp, and peek around to see what’s happening. The younger pup has Brock’s bucket hat between his teeth and is in the process of tearing across the parking lot. 

With a giggle you call him back. “Milo, come here baby,” you say. Without a second thought, the dog bolts towards you, knocking against your shins when he fails to stop in time. You lean down to scratch Milo’s ear, and as soon as you ask him to drop the object he places it in your open palm. “Good boy,” you coo, letting him lick the side of your face. 

“He’s your dog alright,” Brock huffs from where he’s standing, Coolie running circles around his ankles. 

You toss the hat over the roof of the car as you laugh at him. “You’re just jealous he listens to me.”

“I sure fucking am. He’d be an absolute nuisance if it wasn’t for you.”

The rest of the night is spent unwinding from the long day. Dinner consists of the greasiest burgers you can find, and you roam around the city hand in hand, the dogs leading you. By the time you get back to the hotel you’re spent. Sleep takes over rather quickly, and you’re dozing off before Brock gets back from brushing his teeth. Once ready for bed, he slides his body against yours. The pair of you fit together like a puzzle, and after a quick kiss you let sleep consume you. 

The second day of travel is much the same, except you do a better job of staying awake. You take a different anti-nausea medication and frequently switch with Brock. Conversation flows easily, ideas for summer excursions and repairs that need to be done around the house. The Boeser’s are kind enough to lend you their lake house during the off season, but the property can be a lot to manage. Brock takes it all in stride, and somehow actually enjoys spending hours mowing the grass. He says it’s relaxing, mind numbing work, so you let him handle it. Country music flows from the car speakers, and eventually talking turns into a full on concert. Milo and Coolie do their best to harmonize with Brock, and it’s too cute not to post somewhere. You sneak your phone from your pocket and manage to catch some of it on video, posting to Instagram immediately. Those from the Canucks organization you have on social media will love it; Brock’s teammates will most definitely chirp him for being tone deaf. 

It’s late by the time you pull into the driveway of your temporary home, almost eleven. Grabbing only the essentials and leaving the rest to be unpacked tomorrow, you unlock the door before flopping on the couch. The dogs follow suit, laying on top of you. When Brock walks in he shakes his head, but still leans over to kiss you. 

“Make sure you text your mom and let her know we made it,” you call to his retreating figure. “And let her know we’ll be over in the afternoon once we get situated.”

You swear he flips you off, no doubt poking fun at your maternal instincts. “Yes ma’am,” he replies. 

“Ma’am?” you shriek. “I am not fifty. You’re so gonna get it Boeser.”

After gently nudging the dogs off your legs you’re chasing after him, laughing all the way. Brock’s a lot faster than you, being the athlete he is, but you don’t give up hope. In a last ditch attempt to get him back, you launch yourself forward, square into the middle of his back. The change in weight distribution has him falling to the floor, sprawling the width of the hallway. Both of you are giggling messes, delirious from lack of sleep and the knowledge you get to spend four months of uninterrupted time together. 

“I love you, you know that right,” Brock murmurs into the crook of your neck. He dots chaste pecks along the skin and you sigh at the feeling. 

Pulling him closer, you make sure to properly enunciate your words as you respond. “Yes sir.”

Brock eyes darken visibly, and he shifts his body so he’s resting on top of you. “You’re in for it now,” he groans, dragging himself to his feet. You quickly follow, meeting his lips in an eager kiss. The pair of you stumble the rest of the way to the bedroom, bodies intertwining like ivy vines, and Brock makes sure to kick the door shut to ensure your pets don’t interrupt the salacious activities he has planned. 

☼☼☼☼

You settle into a routine fairly quickly. Mornings are spent alone while Brock works out, and afternoons are for lounging in the sun. The hours after the sun fades away are spent huddling around a bonfire with friends, and midnights are for just the two of you. Sometimes Brock lets himself rest and spends the day in the middle of the lake doing his best to fish, leaving you to spend time with his mom and sister. They’re lovely; warm and welcoming, making sure you’re never too lonely or bored. You and Brock also spend a lot of time with his nephew, doting over the toddler. Seeing your boyfriend with him makes you want kids, but that’s a conversation that is yet to be had in any serious light. 

Sometimes you join Brock when he does typical professional hockey player in the summer things. It turns out you're quite the golfer, and have put him to shame many times. Countless days are spent helping him fix the roof of the lake house because he insists on doing it himself even though he knows nothing about roofing. At least seven phone calls to his father and a desperate run to the hardware store later, it’s completed; sealed and free of cracks. Though you’re a terrible fisher, Brock tries his best to teach you. Truth be told, you don’t have any interest in the sport, but his tongue pokes out slightly when he’s thinking about how to explain a concept and you think it’s adorable. 

Coolie and Milo are loving being able to roam free, and you both spend a lot of time outside with them. You’re only ever really in the house at night, reading or playing games on the patio furniture Brock’s mom picked out. It’s peaceful; existing like this. You swear you could do it forever. 

Being home allows an invisible weight to be lifted off Brock’s shoulders. There’s a pep in his step, and he’s always smiling. Even the intense at-home workouts can’t seem to bring him down. You’re delighted, how could you not be? It’s as if the only things that matter to him are enjoying a few beers lakeside and coaxing you out of shorts in the dark. You suppose that’s the truth. 

☼☼☼☼

It’s incredibly warm out. The sun beats down on your back as you turn the pages of your novel, half listening to the conversation Brock is having with his friends. A group of you are on the boat, enjoying one of the last full days of summer. Later in the week you and Brock will pack up the car again, making the long trek back to Vancouver. You’re sad time has passed so fast, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to be back in the city. It’s your home, and the boys seem to be really fired up for the new season. You have a feeling some really good hockey is going to come out of Rogers Arena. 

“Yo Y/N, who’s the better driver. Me or Boes?” 

The question pulls you from the fantasy taking place on the pages, and you look to see who’s speaking to you. It’s Brock’s dearest childhood friend, someone you consider family at this point. “It’s absolutely not Brock,” you shrug. The comment earns a loud laugh from everyone and you find yourself joining in. 

“Ouch babe, that hurts,” Brock says as he slides into the free space next to you. Casually wrapping a strong arm around your shoulder, he leans down to whisper into your ear. “Looks like you need to be taught a lesson.”

His words have a vaguely sexual connotation, and you look around nervously. Your swimsuit won’t cover the flush that will be sure to rise on your skin if Brock tries anything. Everyone seems to be engaged in their own conversations, but you still feel queasy about getting caught. Though Brock’s friends are the type to laugh it off, you’d be absolutely mortified. 

Before your brain can overthink anything else, you’re being lifted from your seat. It only takes two seconds for Brock to hoist you over the side of the boat and throw you into the cool water. You land with a glorious splash, but take your time coming to the surface. Partly to bring your temperature down, partly to make your lover squirm. 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you yell to him from below, but the bright smile you flash him lets Brock know you don’t mean it. 

He sets his hat on top of your book before climbing over the edge. “Shut up,” he fires back, diving gracefully to join you in the water. 

A small splashing match breaks out, and soon everyone else is in the water, picking sides. You swim until your skin is wrinkled beyond recognition, pruned and puckered something akin to a raisin. Only once the sky begins to redden do you head for home. Brock keeps the boat at cruising speed, and you sit comfortably in his lap. Once back on land, dinner is quickly thrown together. A mish-mash of what’s left in your fridge and what others have brought, but it works. The boys huddle around the grill and everyone else swoons over the dogs, who are on their best behaviour. 

Later in the night, once the dishes are cleaned up and some guests with day jobs have left, you settle into Brock’s side at the fire. Not caring if you get chirped for the PDA, you hold his face in both your hands and rest your forehead against his. The scruff that’s grown in since the last time Brock shaved tickles slightly, but you’re too in love with him to care. It’s been so refreshing to see him relaxed, acting without a care in the world. Hopefully the attitude he currently has will stick and not disappear once you hit the Vancouver city limits. 

Brock takes a sip of his beer before offering the bottle to you. You gingerly place it to your lips, making a face at the taste. He laughs at your reaction, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. 

“Still tastes disgusting,” you mutter, reaching for your own drink to wash away the taste. 

The fire crackles gently behind you but you barely register the sound, in your own little world where everything is perfect. It’s you, Brock, and the dogs living in a house similar to the one you’re currently residing in, living life to the fullest. 

“You gonna come back to me, space cadet?” Brock chuckles, tracing the outline of your nose. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” you apologize. “Was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Us. The future. Living in a lake house just like this one and spending all our time being so in love with each other that our friends constantly make fun of us. Maybe having kids in a couple of years. How I love seeing you like this; so at peace and full of life.”

In lieu of a response, Brock kisses you passionately. It’s a soft kind of passion: one that holds you tenderly and whispers sweet nothings in your ear. He tastes like the Coors Light he’s been drinking, but somehow the idea of beer is much more appealing when mixed with Brock. You lose yourself in him for a while, relishing in the gentleness of his hands resting on your waist. Eventually you return some of your attention to the others, but even then you can’t find it in yourself to focus. Your mind is filled with nothing but love for Brock. 

It’s seems that he’s feeling the same way, because he continually leaves kisses across your shoulder blade. “I really, really love you,” Brock confesses, and you feel him smile through the thin material of your worn hoodie. 

You intertwine your pinky with his and let them sit comfortably in your lap. “I love too. So much that it’s all consuming.”

Brock often leaves you breathless in more ways than one, but sweet sentiments like this will always take the cake. Especially when they happen on summer nights where he’s free to be his authentic self.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

#why tf did i spend so much time detailing the car ride lmao #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser x reader #brock boeser fic #vancouver canucks imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites

[winterscaptain]

joint chiefs.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: aunt tali is back for the third night in a row (whoops). this can be a stand-alone, but the original intention was to follow up in the dark, a few years later. it’s totally not necessary to read that one beforehand, but it might be fun! as always, tell me if i’ve screwed up somewhere and i’ll fix it right away :) words: 3853 warnings: swearing, some good kissing, snark, a couple of references that you get bonus points for recognizing some vocab, just in case: CARD: child abduction rapid deployment team, SAIC: special agent in charge, taking six/on your six: covering your partner’s back

ao3 | masterlist | requests closed

+++

You rolled over when your phone rang, answering it right away. “Hotchner.” You checked your watch on its charger. Just after 6am.

Can’t kidnappers wait until the sun’s up?

“We need you in the field today. CARD presence has been requested in Chicago for an all-hands, time-sensitive joint case. Details are incoming, but may be slow to reach you - I have very few myself. When can you be in the office?” The voice of your section chief came at you rapid-fire, and you sat up, rubbing your eyes.

“Yes ma’am. I can be there as soon as my sister-in-law gets here for Jack. I’ll call her now and give you an ETA when I have one. I can’t imagine it will be more than an hour.”

“Thank you. I know it’s a lot to ask with Aaron out on a case as well.”

“It’s alright, ma’am. I’ll be in touch.” You hung up and dressed quickly, calling Jess.

“Got a case?” She sounded terribly chipper for this hour.

“Yeah, I do. I’m so sorry to wake you,” you added lamely.

She chuckled. “You didn’t, and I should thank you. You just saved me from my 7am yoga class.”

“Well, put it on my tab. How quick can you get here?”

“I’ll be there in 20.”

You thanked her again and padded down the hallway to Jack’s room. Kneeling beside him, you brushed some hair off his forehead. It was enough to wake him. He blinked sleepily up at you and reached for you. You wrapped him in your arms, stroking the back of his head. 

“Hey bud. I’ve got a case I gotta go on, but Aunt Jess will be with you until Dad or I get home, okay?”

He nodded, closing his eyes again.

You kissed his forehead. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he mumbled.

You shot a text to your section chief. Be there in 35 mins.

You made yourself a quick breakfast and a pot of coffee. You pulled a travel mug for yourself and a mug from the cabinet for Jess (It said Someone from San Antonio Loves Me!, but that was neither here nor there). 

Your go bag was already in the car – BAU habits die hard.

Jess arrived in record time, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and taking her cup of coffee out of your hand. You’d grown close in the last few years, and considered her as much of a sister as Aaron did at this point. 

You slipped out the door as quietly as possible, jumping into the car and driving straight to the Quantico airstrip.

The plane was waiting for you, and you greeted the CARD B-Team as you sat down.

+++

The flight to Chicago wasn’t too long, but you managed to get some sleep on the way.

When you were on your final descent, you checked your email, finding no further information from your section chief, other than a case file for a series of missing children and address for the precinct. You didn’t have any information about the other factions of the joint case. Hopefully it wasn’t those jokers at the State Department. They meant well, but they never played nicely with the bureau.

You almost laughed out loud when you arrived at the local precinct, finding the backsides of both Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan in front of an evidence board.

“Hey, Chief?” One of your SSA’s – Agent Esme Salinger, stepped up beside you. “Aren’t those guys from your old unit?”

“They sure are.”

She snorted. “This’ll be fun.”

The back door opened, and Aaron, Emily, and Dave barreled in, heading straight for the conference room.

“You may be right about that,” you said distractedly. 

Aaron was barking about something in his Unit Chief Voice™, but you couldn’t make out the details as he kept moving. They pinned new evidence on the board right away, not taking any time to clock your presence.

That didn’t last long. Your newest agent, Knowles, jogged up to you with his go bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey, Hotch,” he said, way too loudly, “where should we park the cars?”

You whirled to face him, directing him to park by the other federal vehicles around the side of the building. You stifled your smile as you felt eyes turn to your back.

When you turned, you found the entire BAU grinning at you. You crossed to the conference room, wordlessly asking your team to hold where they were as you left them behind.

“SSA Hotchner. Good to see you again.” you said, approaching Aaron, your hand extended and tone extremely formal. 

He bit back a smile and he shook your hand with an unreasonable firmness. He matched you note for note. “SSA Hotchner. Glad to have you with us.”

You winked at him.

With a wave of your hand, your team trailed across the room and fell into a line at your back like a pack of well-trained ducklings. With a certain degree of pride, you introduced them to the BAU one by one.

“...And this is SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief.” You looked at your husband with a small, fond smile before sobering and redirecting your attention to your team. “For the sake of clarity, we’ll switch back to my SAIC callsign – Ace – while we’re working with the BAU. Understood?”

They nodded, and got to work, pairing off with your former teammates to determine their plan of action.

Aaron stood beside you at the board. Staring straight ahead, his arms crossed, he asked, “Ace?”

“Yeah – I used all your poker tricks and cleaned them out my first week back at CARD as SAIC.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Excellent.”

+++

Aaron let himself into your hotel room just as you finished hanging the rest of your clothes in the minuscule closet. He came up behind you, dropping his hands to the waistband of your pajama pants and kissing your neck with a kind of desperate gentleness.

You smiled and tilted your head, bringing a hand up and carding your fingers through the hair at his temples. “Miss me?”

“You have no idea,” he said against your skin.

You turned in his arms and kissed him, pouring all your love and pride into it. He opened his mouth to you, and the way his tongue ran against yours stole your breath. He emitted a low groan when you scraped your teeth along his lower lip and he backed you up toward the bed.

“Planning on gettin’ some tonight, Agent Hotchner?”

He huffed a laugh, his mouth falling to the underside of your jaw and around to the sensitive skin over your carotid artery. You fell back on the bed, and he followed. 

There was a knock at the door. You both froze, his body hovering over yours. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, nearly throwing him off you.

He pressed his back to the wall by the bed, out of sight from the door. There was a shit-eating grin on his face. You rolled your eyes and straightened your shirt, hoping things weren’t too out of place.

Agent Salinger was on the other side of the door. “Hey, Ace. Do you have a minute?”

You leaned against the doorframe, trying to imitate something that looked casual. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Did you happen to bring any Advil with you? I’ve got a splitting headache and I’m out.”

“Sure, give me just a second.”

You left the door cracked and dug your med kit out of your go bag. Aaron tugged on the back of your shirt as you passed, and you swatted at him out of habit. Retrieving a small handful of tablets, you poured them into a little ziploc, sealed it, and returned to the door.

“Here, Salinger. This should hold you over if it continues through the end of the case. If you’re still hurting after we land back at Quantico, go ahead and visit the infirmary to see if they can do anything for you. That concussion’s still healing.” You smiled at her. “We need you sharp, alright?”

She took them gratefully, and gave you a mock salute. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” you joked. “Anything else you needed?”

She shook her head. “Have a good night, Ace.” She paused, hiding a smile and raising her voice a little, rising up on her toes. “You too, Hotch!”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. “Goodnight, Salinger. Sleep well.”

“Feel better!” Aaron’s voice came from around the corner, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Sleep well, you two.” Then, with a suggestive, curling smile, “Need a wake-up call in the morning?”

You shut the door in her face with a laugh and another farewell. As it closed, you leaned against it heavily. “Oh, I am never going to hear the end of that.”

Aaron turned the corner, loosening his tie. “Now, we’re even.”

You looped your arms around his neck as you remembered that day, years ago.

“You know, for a pair of profilers you guys really suck at sneaking around.” JJ’s voice echoed in your head. 

“I guess so,” you laughed. “This marriage is about give and take, after all.”

He kissed you languidly and you could feel the tension as he did his best to hide his smile. 

+++

“Hey, Hotch, how come you don’t have a cool nickname?” Derek said, grinning behind his sunglasses as they all piled into the car.

“I’d have one if you gave me one,” he quipped. You drove the car in front of him, the window rolled down and your elbow visible where it rested in the frail Chicago sunshine. 

He was excited to see you back in action. With your position as deputy unit chief, your role in the field was limited to emergency situations only. And with the CARD A-Team up in Pennsylvania for the week, you were stuck wrangling the younger agents on your own. 

That said, it was exciting for you to take point, and even more so to work alongside Aaron again.

The difference this time? You were peers. You had the same title, the same posture, the same authority. 

And perhaps most importantly, very little scrutiny regarding possibly-shared hotel rooms.

+++

He knocked on your door in the little pattern he picked up from you, and you opened it with a faux-serious expression. 

“Agent Hotchner, we can't keep meeting like this.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. 

He has a motive. 

You opened the door further and draped yourself against him where he stood in the hallway, continuing dramatically, “What will the people think?”

With surprising, but still gentle, force, he pushed you back into the room and pressed you against the wall. There was a click behind him as the door swung shut. 

You gasped, and your hands were suddenly over your head, locked between his fingers. 

“I think,” he said, wet, breathy kisses trailing down your neck and behind your ear, “the people will be appalled,” his lips closed around your skin as he painted marks over your collarbones, “by the unprofessional,” he released your hands, dropped to his knees and raised your shirt, “shocking,” he laved kisses across your stomach, “and unbecoming conduct of two senior agents.” His final words were delivered against your left hip.

You wound your hands in his hair and inhaled shakily. He pressed kisses and swept sweet bruises into your skin until you couldn’t feel anything but him.

When his mouth ghosted over you through your pajama pants, you knew exactly where the night was going. 

Your knees gave out, and you dropped into his lap, straddling him. You traced a hand down the side of his face, over his jaw. He leaned into it, and you roughened, taking his chin between your fingers With a firm, controlled jerk, you brought his lips to yours. His hips twitched, and you bit his lower lip in retaliation. 

He let out a low moan in his chest and his hands rucked up your shirt. They splayed across your back and shoulders, calloused and familiar. 

Allegedly, you made it to the bed at some point. If your exhaustion the next morning wasn’t enough evidence, the duvet on the floor and the pillows on the wrong side of the bed would happily testify to the lack of sleeping you did once you got there. 

+++

The next day at the evidence board found you and Aaron with identical, massive cups of coffee. 

Agents Salinger and Knowles sat at the table the next room over, reviewing interviews with JJ. 

“Do you think they ever, you know,” Knowles made a vaguely obscene gesture with his hand, and Salinger covered her mouth to hide her laugh. 

JJ didn’t look up from her notes, but replied, deadpan, “You have no idea.”

The younger agents snickered and watched you two work. 

It was easy. Even considering the stressful, time-sensitive nature of the unsub’s escalation over the previous four hours, you both moved around each other with a grace that only came with time. 

+++

A critical error. 

That’s the only thing you thought when you busted into the unsub’s house, minutes after your agents. The unsub was nowhere in sight, and Salinger was on the floor with her partner, putting pressure on a mild wound on his forehead and temple. 

Your jaw tightened and you shot them a look. 

I’ll deal with you later. 

Later came faster than even you could have imagined. You rounded the corner of the precinct to find Aaron laying into your agents for their screw-up back at the house. 

You stepped up to them with purpose and put a firm hand on Aaron’s arm. 

“Hotch, can I speak with you for a moment?” you looked at your agents and then back at him. “Privately.” 

It took everything in you to resist slamming the interrogation room door behind you. 

“What on this God-given green Earth made you think it was appropriate to discipline my agents?” 

He took a deep breath before replying and dropped into what you, usually fondly, referred to as Lawyer Mode. It was far less endearing in that moment, and only served to further piss you off. “Their mistakes cost us an arrest today. With this level of escalation, we could have two more missing kids by sundown. They needed to be made aware of their critical failure.”

You pressed your hands to the cool table, realizing you two were facing off over the surface like two cowboys in an old Western.

This town ain’t big enough for the both of us…

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“No, I think it’s time sensitive and needed to be addressed immediately.” He crossed his arms. 

Damn it. 

You changed tactics, opening your shoulders as you braced yourself on the table. “I’m acutely aware of the time-sensitive nature of this case, which is why I was waiting to reprimand them until they had the time to actually process it. They’re young. They get caught up in it, and Salinger is particularly prone to amplifying rejection, so she’ll be unwilling to take risks until we fly home for fear of inspiring your ire and my disappointment. They fucked up, I know. But I know my team, I know how they need to be handled so we can continue working on this case. You don’t.”

The frustration had drained out of him during your tirade and was replaced with contrition. You were right, and he knew it. You softened your tone, but only a little.

“Aaron, I need you to trust me to handle my team effectively. I don’t need you to step in on my behalf.” Your frustration crawled up into your throat, and you begged your tears not to betray you. Swallowing, you collected yourself and stared him right in the eye. “You undermined my authority today. Please don’t do it again.”

His mouth pressed into a thin, remorseful line. He looked down at the table and took a deep breath. Meeting your eyes again, he said, “I respect and value your leadership and your position. You are, and always will be, the best person to lead your team. I got caught up in my frustration and failed to consider the optics and the specific needs of your agents. I’m sorry.” He rounded the table, crossing to you. “It won’t happen again.” 

There was silence for a moment. Then, Aaron crossed the chasm between colleagues and spouses and reached for your hands, running his thumb over your wedding ring. It was a silent reminder, for both of you. 

Fight nice.

“Thank you.” Sighing, you brought one of your hands to the lapel of his suit jacket, fiddling with it just for something to do as you spoke. “You need to apologize to my agents for overstepping and emphasize that you defer to me on all aspects regarding CARD involvement in the case.” 

“I can do that.” His lips quirked up into the smile you loved, the smile that only you saw. “Forgive me?” 

You heaved a sigh. “I guess so.” He met your eyes and you broke, a little smile threatening at the corners of your mouth. “Let’s get out there and save some kids today, yeah?”

He released your hand and crossed the room, opening the door for you - a wordless agreement, as well as a reiteration of support you so deeply cherished. 

+++

It only took you another hour to locate the unsub - even though he used forensic countermeasures, he wasn’t all that bright. One swipe of his credit card, and Garcia had him in her clutches. 

You raced to his location. Aaron drove the lead car with Derek behind him, and you brought up the rear with the rest of the team. It was more than a little thrilling to drive impossibly fast, sirens wailing, headed to end this man’s reign of terror on Chicago families. 

Throwing the car into park strategically perpendicular to Derek’s SUV, you jumped out of the car and drew your weapon. You took Aaron’s six through the front of the house, a calm settling over you as the pair of you fell right into line. 

Aaron found the unsub in the back bedroom, with a knife held to the most recently kidnapped child. You squared up just off Aaron’s left shoulder for a clear line of sight, avoiding his right side. If you had to fire a shot, the last thing you wanted to do was aggravate his bad ear. 

Out of the corner of your eye, Derek lined up a clean shot through the window. He knew to wait for Hotch, who had started to talk the unsub down, before taking any action. 

Your heart swelled with both pride and affection as Aaron successfully and handily de-escalated the situation and made the arrest himself. He passed the unsub off to the local officers, and you both continued searching the house for the missing children. 

JJ found them first, unharmed and terrified, in a hidden shed out back. She deferred to you, and you called your team over to perform a quick trauma eval on each of the children. 

Knowles and Salinger, still twitchy from their earlier run-in with Aaron, settled down once they were able to perform their designated duties with their colleagues. 

When they were finished, Aaron pulled them aside and spoke quietly with them for a moment. Salinger’s mouth twisted into a little smile, and Knowles took a deep breath. Every once in a while, one of them looked over at you as Aaron spoke. 

After a final set of smiles and nods, they exchanged handshakes. Aaron looked significantly lighter as he approached you as you leaned on the SUV. With your sunglasses on, you looked decidedly and federally important. 

Aaron settled in beside you, slipping his sunglasses over his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. You bumped his shoulder, and kept your voice low. “It was nice to work together, again.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face, but it was one only you (and maybe Dave) would notice. You could carry on entire conversations without physically acknowledging each other just as well as you could communicate without words at all. Aaron stayed focused on something in the middle distance as he replied. “It was.”

“It’s nice to know you’re still good at your job without me.” You bit back a smile as your eyes tracked your team, wrapping everything up. 

You could almost hear his eye roll. “Glad to hear my performance is consistent and up to your standards.” 

“Your performance is always consistent and up to my standards.” 

The double meaning was not lost on him, according to the dimple that pressed into his left cheek. 

After a moment of silence, the humor dropped from your tone. “Sorry I got mad at you.” 

He huffed a laugh through his nose, his face unchanged. “I deserved it.” 

“You did,” you agreed, “but I forgot how much I dislike getting upset with you in the field.” 

“As opposed to getting upset with me at home?” 

“Exactly.” 

+++

Knowles and Salinger placed a bet on something while you were all in the car, but you weren’t sure what it was. You shook your head at their antics, feeling very much like a parent all of a sudden. 

When you all landed in the hotel lobby, BAU and CARD combined, Hotch checked his watch and said, “We’re all taking the jet back together. Adjust accordingly. Wheels up in thirty.” 

With a smug grin, Salinger collected her cash from Knowles. 

You exchanged a glance with Hotch, one full of long-suffering understanding, and shook your head. 

+++

To save on space, it only seemed reasonable to cozy up to Hotch on the flight home. The three extra bodies meant that almost every seat was full, and sleeping in a ball was the only option. 

Your head rested in Hotch’s lap, pillowed on his suit jacket, while the rest of you curled up on the seat beside him. A case file rested lightly on the side of your head as Aaron reviewed it, flipping pages every once and awhile.

Your phone rang, and Hotch pulled it out of your pocket before you could reach around for it. 

“Hotchner….Hey buddy...Yeah we’ll be home really soon. We’re on the plane right now…” He checked his watch. “It’ll be past your bedtime when we get home, so we’ll come in and say goodnight to you really quick, okay?...Alright. See you soon. I love you.” 

He hung up and tossed the phone on the seat, reclining and stretching his long legs out in front of him. You tapped his knee. “How’s the kid?”

He chuckled. “Good. Apparently there’s mac ‘n cheese for dinner. It’s very exciting.” 

You hummed contentedly, bringing your arm up to rest on his knee as you endeavored to get a little more comfortable. 

Aaron’s hand landed on your shoulder, and he squeezed once. “Missed you.”

You covered his hand with yours. “Missed you, too.”

+++

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(if y’all have been up in my masterlist recently, i added you to the tags. i also love you. pls let me know if you want to hop off the tag list anytime - i promise you wont hurt my feelings!) also some tags aren’t working - make sure you’re able to be tagged in posts in your settings!

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanficiton

[jemej3m]

a comprehensive set of rules (p.2)

i have no control over my writing schedule. it has been completely consumed by this au. this is all of y’all’s fault. 

heavy tw: blood and gore and bodies. also, bad people talking about raping allison and using homophobic slurs.

*

July:

“Andrew,” Renee called out, rapping her knuckles on the guest bedroom gently. 

Andrew was currently living out of one, black suitcase: he’d spent half his time at different hotels and half his time at colleagues’ homes, though calling Allison a colleague was a bit of a stretch. Wymack had let him camp out in his girlfriend’s spare room, seeing as his place was apparently too small for the both of them. Dan and Matt had even let him crash on the couch between motel rooms. 

Andrew was really fucking excited to get his place back. According to Neil, his father was pulling out all stops to get rid of him, or whoever was aiding him. As far as Andrew was concerned, Neil was in more danger, but the man refused to exonerate himself from the situation. The next best thing was ensuring that Andrew was untouchable. 

“Andrew, can I come in?” 

Andrew grunted, still bent over his files in the middle of the room. He’d pushed the bed to one side to make room and was suddenly shirtless, fan pulsating in the corner. He never did great in the heat. 

“Oh,” Neil’s voice squeaked like an elementary schooler’s clarinet. “Uh - I can come back?”

Andrew squinted up at him. “The fuck are you doing here?” he got to his feet and made his way over, reaching up to tug on Neil’s hair. Definitely real. “Huh.” 

Behind Neil, Renee snorted. Andrew glared at her: she put up her hands in surrender and paced off to do something else. 

Andrew shuffled Neil into his room and shut the door, treading carefully around his work.��

“This...” Neil looked over it, carefully avoiding the many photos and files and labelled evidence bags as he walked. He was silent as he moved, unnoticeable if he wasn’t always on Andrew’s radar. 

He also looked much more presentable than the last time Andrew had seen him, which had been before Dimaccio was arrested. A button-down, much like he wore when they first went to dinner. The collar was irritatingly popped, and his trousers were properly pressed, the shoes delicately shined. He looked like a rich man’s son. 

Andrew hated it. He also hated how good it looked.

“Sit on the bed,” Andrew instructed. “I don’t need you scuffing anything up.”

“This seems like a lot more than what’s necessary,” Neil said, avoiding looking at Andrew as he tugged on a shirt. “Also a lot more than we originally discussed.”

Andrew pointed at the profile of a smiling woman, and various other men. “Williams. Reacher. Jenkins. The three of them worked tirelessly on gang violence. They completely eradicated the Terrapin family from the game. Countless Bearcats and Catamounts have been locked up by them. But as soon as they turned to the Wesninski family, they were never found again. Three different detectives. Almost three consecutive years. They deserve justice too.” 

Neil was, clearly, not expecting to have to put names and families to the bodies his father had diced and scattered. His expression had become shuttered as Andrew talked, fingers curling into tight fists, the fabric of his trousers ensnared between his whitened knuckles. 

"You’re afraid.” 

Neil looked at him, eyes blazing. “He is all I’m afraid of. I can’t just - turn that off.”

Andrew crouched down on the floor in front of him. “You’re allowed to be afraid. You have to promise me that you won’t run away because of it.”

Neil’s shoulders were curled inwards. “I don’t want to become him. I don’t -” he looked at the photos of the officers and the remnants of their bodies and the ruination caused by his father’s work. “I don’t want that. I don’t.”

“So leave it behind.”

Neil grit his teeth. “I can’t! Look at me. Look at me. You think this is my father? Parading me around at events, trying to find me a wife who can bear my child, tracking my every move? Of course it’s not. My father is someone else’s weapon, a well-enamoured thug at best. He’s a Baltimorean gangster. He’s not the one in control here.”

Andrew put his hand over Neil’s wrist and let him breathe for a moment. 

“They know that he’s fucked,” Neil continued, eyes squeezed shut. “They know they’re going to lose him. So I’m being conditioned. I’m being shaped up to replace him. You know I’ve been in New York for the past two weeks?” He shoved his hair out of his eyes. Andrew opened his palm upwards, and Neil let himself tangle their fingers. “I want to escape my fate so badly, but my family has been indentured to them for - I don’t even know. Forever, it seems like.”

“Who, Neil?” 

He let out an aggravated sigh. “Who else controls enough of the east coast to keep the fucking Butcher in check? It’s the bloody Moriyamas.” Andrew stiffened. “If you breathe that name outside this room, I’m dead. You’re dead. Everyone you ever loved will die. They’re so well protected that the crazy second son can go off and do whatever he likes, including training to be a police officer and almost killing the partner he’s given, but it doesn’t even matter. It’s hushed up within the week.” 

He held tight onto Andrew’s hand. “The best I can hope for is a negotiation. A price that I can pay off in - a decade, maybe. Possibly two. Maybe securing a new family to pass the relationship to. I don’t know.” 

“Then that’s what you do,” Andrew vowed. “We deal with the monster under the bed first. Then the basement that lets them out. Don’t run,” Andrew insisted, his hand having worked its way up Neil’s arm to grip the back of his neck. “Don’t hide. You can’t afford to, not now.”

Neil rested their foreheads together. “I’ll try.”

Andrew’s thumb brushed circles under Neil’s jaw. “That’s all I ask.”

*

Breaking news: Nathan Wesninski being brought to court for multiple homicides, including Baltimore police officers and Mary Hatford, his wife...initially being assessed for money laundering and tax evasion, Wesninski is now being persecuted for multiple acts of violence, mutilation and extortion. Police officers under Captain David Wymack have collated resources and new-found evidence and will attempt to put Wesninski behind bars permanently.

*

August: 

Andrew’s heart was pounding. They’d tapped into comms just over an hour ago, received the corresponding telephone data and locations, and now they were paging the block. 

It was eerily quiet, and too dark for a suburban area. The cul-de-sac had no streetlights and all the houses were either empty, with for sale! signs posted on their laws, or all the blinds were drawn closed. It was only nine in the evening. 

Andrew took out his gun as they approached the house. Renee was at his shoulder. 

The house in question was two-storey, seemingly empty, the garage locked shut. The gardens were immaculately kept, the painted finish on the house brand new. God knows what was happening within: Andrew hoped that whatever mess had been made within wasn’t irreparable. 

Andrew’s radio cackled. “How do you want to go about this, Minyard?” 

Andrew cracked his knuckles and fished out his lock picks from his back pocket as he radioed back. “Silent entry. I’m going to unlock the door, and only our squad heads in. Everyone else surround the premises if they notice and escape.”

“Alright, sarge,” Matt said, jokingly, a few feet behind Renee. Dan must have pinched him because he immediate said “Ow!” 

Andrew and Renee crept up onto the front balcony: Andrew crouched down and worked for about two minutes till the lock had opened. Kevin had already phoned the security firm to let down the alarms, so Andrew and Renee stepped inside, unnoticed. Dan, Matt and Kevin dispersed, but Andrew always headed to the basement. 

The light was on. 

“...We should get back to Junior,” one voice said. “God knows he’s probably slipped free by now.”

“You kidding? We had him practically halfway into a coffin. Let’s just clean this up first.”

“Maybe pretty Alli’s woken up. If Junior wasn’t so fervently protective of her I’d’ve had her bent over by now.” 

“Christ, Romero." But the man was laughing. “Maybe now’s your chance.”

Disgust crawled down his spine. He glanced at Renee, just as they approached the doorway: she had her eyes closed momentarily, lips moving with a prayer. The door was left ajar. 

One, he mouthed. 

“Didn’t think boss had the guts to get rid of little Junior.”

Two, she returned. 

“Maybe he liked that bitch of a wife, after all. He could’ve had a kid with Lola and gotten rid of the pathetic faggot, but he stuck by Nathaniel anyway.”

Three, they both nodded, kicking the door wide open with his foot and grasping his gun in both hands. 

“Hands up,” he growled. “Drop whatever you’re holding.”

“Kneel,” Renee said, softly. “We will shoot you if you don’t comply.”

Neither of the men had guns. They dropped their knives to the ground and knelt down, furious. By them was a body, heavily dismembered. The hair was neither auburn nor blonde.

“Basement,” Andrew barked into his radio, training his gun on the one he recognised as Romero. His hands were limp, twitching by his sides. Andrew wanted to cut them from his body and watch him bleed. 

The other three skidded into the room, guns ready. 

“Go find them,” Renee murmured, under the cacophony of Dan and Kevin wrangling the perps to the ground, Matt kneeling by the body. “Andrew, go.” 

He nodded stiffly, falling back. Up the stairs and to the left was the door to the garage, which he kicked down. Switching the lights on, he looked to the two persons still on the floor, tied up and beaten down. 

“Andrew,” Neil gasped, covered in blood and cuffed at the wrists and ankles. Allison seemed alright, if a bit groggy, with a gag in her mouth and her hands tied behind her. 

Andrew grabbed the hedge clippers from the wall of gardening tools and broke through the handcuffs, cutting Allison’s rope bindings and tugging off her gag. 

“Perps restrained, fall in through the front,” Dan said through the radio. “Victim dead. Get a stretcher: Forensics team definitely not necessary.” 

“We can’t be found here,” Allison hissed. “We can’t be brought in.”

“Jesus Christ,” Andrew muttered, fishing the keys to his cousin’s place out of his pocket. “Fine. If you can get him on his feet,” he jerked his head to Neil, who muttered I’m fine. “Go to Nicky’s place. I’ll meet you there later. Unless you need a hospital?”

“It’s all superficial,” Neil mumbled, wincing. Andrew felt concern curl and knot in his stomach. He looked to Allison. 

“Maybe you should do a first-aid cert.”

“Maybe that’s not a half bad idea,” she grunted, hauling Neil to his feet. 

“The back should be clear of cops now,” Andrew said, cutting through the padlock on the garage door. “Get out.”

“Good to see you too, Minyard,” Allison drawled, pulling Neil along. With a wink, they were both gone. 

Andrew rubbed at his temples, giving himself only a minute of reprieve, before heading back into the fray. 

*

Nicky’s house was cold and dark. The two of them had been on a spontaneous trip around Europe for the last few months, visiting Erik’s family. Nicky wasn’t stupid: when Andrew offered him this and that, he took it without question and knew there was a reason why.

“When I get back,” he insisted over the phone. “When I get back the three of us are visiting Aaron. Got it?”

“Fine,” Andrew had grunted, hanging up on his cousin without a goodbye. 

Neil had parked himself on the couch, staring at the ceiling with square bandages across his cheeks. Bruises mottled his skin, and his hands and forearms were mummified in a similar fashion. 

“I was going to try and contact you,” Neil said, not needing to see Andrew to know who’d entered the house. “I would’ve called you.”

Andrew sat on the end of the couch as Neil drew his feet up to give him room. “Right.”

The man struggled into a seated position. “I was.” 

“Should’ve let them kill you,” Andrew muttered, glaring at the unused television. Neil snorted, swinging his legs off the couch and settling next to Andrew. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” 

“Just - shut up.” 

For a while they sat in silence. Andrew lit up a cigarette and smoked it through to the filter. Neil seemed to lean a little closer, attracted to the scent. 

“Hey,” he murmured, when Andrew threw the stub onto the coffee table. 

Andrew turned and looked at him. His eyes were clear, purposeful. Andrew remembered their first date, their second. Cleavers and thugs and light, candle light and club lights, striping across Neil’s cheekbones like something from a painting. 

Kissing him felt - 

Normal. Right. Like coming home. Like finding - not the last piece of the puzzle, but the last edge, making a solid shape to be filled in, something clear and decisive. Andrew’s fingertips found his jaw and he felt Neil’s fingers curl in the collar of his vest. His police vest. 

It was enough to draw him to a stop, pulling back just enough for him to breathe. 

“You don’t swing,” Andrew accused, poorly hiding how winded he was.

Neil huffed, equally as breathless. “You don’t date.” 

Andrew’s teeth ground together. “You don’t date cops.” 

“And you don’t date mobsters,” Neil retorted. “What’s your point here?” 

“Yes or no?” Andrew demanded, because he needed to know. He needed to know for sure. Without a doubt, with complete surety, with perfect clarity - 

“Yes,” Neil answered. “Obviously.” 

“‘Obviously’,” Andrew parroted with a scoff. “I hate you.” 

When Neil’s lips curved up into a smile, Andrew kissed him quiet. 

*

September: 

“You know I’ve got a week off, after next week,” Andrew said, trailing his fingers over the threadbare t-shirt that Neil wore. He said ‘next week’ and not ‘Nathan’s trial’. They’d both come to an agreement that where they could avoid talking about it, they would. 

It was out of Andrew’s hands, anyway. All the evidence was with the prosecutor, and it was their job to put him behind bars. 

There was no way Nathan Wesninski was getting out, now. Not a single chance. 

Which meant there was no reason to talk about it. Or about Neil’s future inheritance of his father’s position, or Andrew’s award of recognition for his work. Which felt rather cheap, really - he was just lucky that Neil had decided to give him a second chance. 

Then again, policing was mostly luck, and a bit of charisma. Andrew was usually lacking in both, but right now, in the golden afternoon sunlight, with Neil in shorts and unkempt hair, he felt incredibly lucky. 

Neil craned his head back to look at Andrew. His new scars were bright red, but healed over at this point. “Just Chicago?” 

Andrew hummed assent, closing his eyes and pressing his nose to the crown of Neil’s head. Casual intimacy had always been - too much. Too soft, too nice, like it was covering up something sinister. Never had Andrew felt so relaxed, not even after sex, which usually resulted in Andrew grabbing his shirt, shoes, phone and wallet and leaving immediately. 

And they hadn’t had sex yet. Andrew didn’t know if Neil would ever want to have sex. That was - unsurprisingly - not the most important thing on Andrew’s list of wants and needs. 

Instead, here he was, lying on his back in Nicky’s guest bedroom. Neil was lying next to him, on his side, head cushioned on Andrew’s shoulder. And he did want this. He’d been tied up and exhausted for months: now it was all coming to its peak, the finish line right around the corner. And they were - okay. Ish. Maybe. Probably. Andrew wasn’t peeved about it. 

“Don’t die whilst I’m gone,” Andrew muttered, fingers threading through his hair. 

“I have to go to New York, anyway,” Neil said, sullen. “Might as well do it whilst you’re away.” 

“How many times are they going to pull you up there?”

“Till they’re confident I won’t screw everything up in the change-over, I guess. Or maybe it’s about the wife thing.” 

Something in Andrew’s chest twisted. He simply hummed. 

Neil shifted, propping himself up on his elbow to look at Andrew properly. “You know I’m not going to go through with it, right?”

“And if they threaten you?” Andrew reminded him. “Your life isn’t exactly yours.”

“Fuck them,” Neil said as he leaned forward, forever antagonistic. Andrew sighed: Neil paused. “No?”

“Yes,” he muttered, pulling Neil down. One hand brushed along the slither of exposed skin that revealed itself as Neil’s shirt rose up: Andrew relished in the shiver that flitted across Neil’s skin. His scarred fingers - covered in circular burns from a dashboard lighter and various scratch ridges - felt familiar and known when Andrew guided them to the back of his head. Neil was careful, as always.

Andrew had intended on asking when the hell Neil had heard about Andrew’s past, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. He didn’t want to talk about it now, anyway.

Just as Neil let Andrew push his shoulder back, following him over to kiss him into the mattress, Allison’s nails tapped impatiently on the bedroom door. Andrew broke away, startled, just as Neil cursed, sitting up. 

“Yes, Allison?” Neil demanded, clearing his throat. “What is it?”

“You sound odd,” Allison remarked, door handle turning. 

“Uh - !” Neil scrambled off the bed, looking to Andrew with wild eyes. “I’m - naked! Don’t come in.”

“Right,” Allison drawled. “Should I just wait in my room for him to leave, then?”

“I hate you,” Neil complained. “What do you want?” 

“Andrew’s phone was going off in the kitchen,” Allison said, slyly. “Sounds like the prosecuting lawyer wants some of your time, Andrew. Nice of you to glide by without saying hello.”

“I’m busy,” Andrew retorted. 

Allison just laughed, strutting down the corridor with her heels tapping on the wooden floorboards. Neil crossed his arms, red-faced. 

“C’mere,” Andrew said, still sitting on the bed. 

“But Thea,” Neil tried. 

“The law can wait,” Andrew insisted, extending his hand.

The look in Neil’s eyes sent sparks flying across Andrew’s skin. 

*

“Took you long enough,” Thea Muldani said, a master of clipboards and abridged glares. She was a lawyer worth Andrew’s time, he knew that, but he also didn’t feel like putting up with Kevin’s heart-eyes or Renee’s unsubtle glances. 

Jesus Christ, he thought, slamming his bag on the table hard enough to cause everyone to jolt. “I’m here, now.” 

“Congratulations,” Thea remarked. “Don’t care. We have a problem.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes. 

“Nathan Junior’s prints are all over a tonne of this evidence. If we don’t have him accounted for, defence is going to be all over it.”

“Are you serious?” Dan demanded. “Nathaniel would’ve been 15 when Mary was murdered.” 

“Doesn’t matter. If the evidence has been tampered with, it could be rendered useless. It would be extremely helpful,” Thea said pointedly. “If people’s CI’s could come forward and testify. We have almost no witnesses, except for Andrew and Renee, who claimed that Jackson Plank and Romero Malcom were acting on orders from Nathan whilst murdering Janie Smalls, last month. Neither of them will confess to any sort of collaboration with Wesninski, and two unidentified blood sources were found in the garage.”

“That sounds like circumstantial bullshit,” Dan argued. 

“And can we prove them wrong?” Thea shot back. “No. We can’t. For all we know, it’s been Nathaniel behind all of this instead. He’s certainly old enough now.”

Andrew stood out of his chair, grabbed his things and turned to leave. 

The lawyer gave him an appraising look. “I haven’t dismissed this meeting, Minyard.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew said. “If you won’t do your job, then I suppose I’d better go and fucking do it for you.” 

“It’s Thursday,” Thea reminded him. “Case starts on Monday.”

Andrew ignored her, making sure to slam the door on the way out. 

*

Romero Malcom was a sullen man. His skin was papery thin, even only a few weeks into his prison stay. Andrew couldn’t say that he pitied him. He sat down with his cup of coffee, leaning back in his chair with his leg crossed at the ankle. Romero was locked to the interrogation table opposite, shoulders curled in, fingernails scratching against the table top. 

Trying to get a rise. It wouldn’t work. 

“Honestly, between you and your sister, you seemed like the more rational one,” Andrew said, eyebrow arched. He put his coffee down and opened up his file. “Did you think about how your lifestyle had an expiry often? Nathan had Dimaccio as his right-hand man, but kept Lola as his carefully concealed weapon. You and Plank seemed just like...more prized cannon-fodder.”

Romero’s eye twitched. 

“You know, you said something that caught my interest,” Andrew leaned forward. “You said you’d’ve fucked Nathaniel Wesninski’s friend. What was her name?”

“Allison,” he said. 

“Right. You said you’d intended to rape her.”

“No wonder you’re so hung up on it, Doe,” Romero sneered. So they’d all done their research. “Well I didn’t, did I? Not that she’s shown up. She knows Nathan’ll kill her. He’s pretty sure she’s the rat.”

“Do you think she is?” Andrew inquired. “Mind you: I know who the rat is, and you don’t.”

“I think she’s the rat.” Romero sneered. “Princess bitch won’t be loyal to nothing but herself.”

“Which was why he asked you to kill her. She’d betrayed you all.” 

“We didn’t kill her.”

“No, but you were going to. He wanted you to kill all three of them.” 

“It was probably Junior that called the cops on us,” Romero scoffed. Andrew’s jaw ticked. “Fucking brat. It was about time.”

“About time for what?”

“To get rid of him.” Romero rolled his eyes. “Not that Plank could manage that, either. Useless. But Nathan gave us the call. We were waiting for it, honestly. Killing off Junior meant there was more of an incentive to keep Nathan out of jail. Otherwise there’s no other options.”

Moriyamas, Andrew thought, but he had no interest in involving them. “So Nathan called the two of you, ordered you to get rid of Allison and Nathaniel.”

“He didn’t want them showing their faces and causing trouble.” 

“So why Janie?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Romero laughed. It sounded like rusted truck breaks. Andrew was very close to knocking the scalding coffee onto exposed skin. 

“Nathan probably ain’t happy,” Andrew amended. 

Romero barked out another laugh. “He’ll be livid at this point. He sent me an email on exactly what he wanted me to do to your tiny little body, Minyard. An email. Who the fuck sends emails anymore? Anyway, yeah. He’s pissed.”

Andrew stood up from the table, carefully putting his audio recorder into plain sight as he picked up his coffee. “Well, I’d say it was a pleasure, but it wasn’t.” Romero looked at the recorder, slightly sickly. “Have fun in here, Malcom. I’m sure your sister sends her regard from max.”

With that he spun on his heel, the sweet sounds of Romero’s panic putting a hop in his step all the way out of the centre. 

*

“I’ve never...” Neil chewed his lip. “Get a blood sample? That’d put me into the system.”

“And help me identify your pieces as they come floating down the river, if your father’s bosses ever learn about this,” Andrew reminded him. “If I can prove that Romero and Jackson were ordered to kill you, there won’t be any ground to stand on. Neil. Remember what I said.”

The man looked at him from an extended moment of time, evaluating and revelautating. 

“Alright,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “Okay.” 

*

October:

Andrew leant his head from side to side, letting his spine slot itself back into place. He hated everything about flying, so much so that even his cousin’s persistent chatter hadn’t been enough to distract him from his living nightmare. 

“Well!” his cousin said, somehow still animated. He and Erik had spent their time in Chicago getting over jetlagged and playing with Aaron’s new puppy, whilst Andrew spent his time watching their antics and silently drinking coffee with Aaron, save for the occasional question here and there. 

Heard you made a big bust, yeah. How’s the residency. A nightmare. Katelyn and I want a baby when it’s done, though. Interesting. You can be the Godfather. Save that for Neil. Neil? Like, the criminal guy? Don’t mention it. Andrew - I said, don’t mention it. Oh, fuck. You’re serious. Jesus Christ, okay. 

“Shall we get a cab?” Nicky inquired. 

“Neil can drop you home on the way to mine.” 

Nicky narrowed his eyes. “Neil? Like, absolute hottie Neil? Allison’s friend? The one you never called back because you’re an idiot?”

“I hate you,” Andrew insisted. 

“Oh my god!” Nicky squealed, tugging on Erik’s arm. “I didn’t know y’all were together. How long has it been? Andrew, you gotta tell me these things!” 

“On second thoughts, you should take a cab,” Andrew grunted, lugging his luggage to where he knew Neil would already be standing, waiting for them to arrive. 

Nicky’s laugh rang out like bells, just as Neil rose up his hand to wave the three of them over. 

Yeah, Andrew thought, letting Nicky gush whilst Neil looked at him like that. 

This isn’t half bad. 

*

And that’s how they got together! andrew will continually tell himself that neil inherited the syndicate after they got together, even if there was only like a month or so between their first kiss and nathan getting locked up. neil will continually tell himself that andrew was only interested in him for the case. they’re both stupid liars who are in love. 

#andreil #mobster/cop au #butcher!neil #cop!andrew #all for the game #aftg #getting together! finally #p.2 #first kisses #cute! #casual intimacy #also cute! #demisexual neil is my lifeblood #nathan gets fuckin merked #oh yeah neil and allison also get their asses save by andrew #jem writes

[burntpastel]

i love you like an alcoholic

(on AO3)

Summary: There may be a few more issues in their marriage than Hizashi is willing to admit. (In which Hizashi gets wasted and fucks his husband.)

Notes: a fic commissioned by Eileeleedon. thank you again!!

cw rape/noncon, alcohol, a potentially asexual-interpreted character being sexually assaulted specifically because of their disinterest in sex.

Explicit, 18+ only, grapefruit, etc.

The sounds of a bustling bar are ones Hizashi enjoys. The scattered conversation, clinking glasses, and pulsing rhythms from the dancefloor all scratch a certain itch, a certain need for stimulation. Despite all the noise and thrumming energy, it puts him at ease—mends some frayed nerves after a patrol, or refuels him after an underwhelming evening working the radio station.

He’s alone, of course; Nemuri had a late patrol, and if Hizashi loves something, then Shouta is bound to hate it.

It goes the other way, too—Hizashi can’t stand too many quiet nights in, like Shouta always seems to want.

His wedding band clicks against the glass as he picks up his drink.

It’s fine, they mesh in other ways—they have the same stances on most things, sometimes Hizashi needs someone level-headed to help him think things through, and sometimes Shouta needs someone more emotional to remind him to feel.

Not tonight. Hizashi is still riding the wave of adrenaline from patrol, and he can’t bear the thought of going back to their dead-silent home yet. It would drive him insane. So this is his solution—an active environment to engage his anxious nerves while he remembers how to feel safe again, mixed with a few drinks to get him all the way there, until he’s buzzed just enough to tolerate the mind-numbing monotony of their home.

However, this time, a few drinks in he has a pretty good buzz going, and… he still doesn’t want to go home.

So he has another, and another, and another—but the dread of returning never goes away, and his mood just seems to get worse and worse, an ugly feeling rising in his chest.

Maybe it’s because he’s taken to people watching—the bar has no TV, so he’s been eyeing the crowd. His thumb idly rubs at his wedding band as he observes the tables of people chatting and having fun together; the pairs on the dancefloor with clear mutual attraction...

He's fine with Shouta’s disinterest in sex - really! He knew about it before they got married and it really wasn’t a problem; Shouta is a great partner in so many other ways. So what if the only way Hizashi can get off nowadays is by his own hand? It’s fine. He’s fine with that!

Or so he’d thought, but the more intoxicated he gets, the more he lets himself openly feel that envy towards everyone who isn’t alone.

He always tries to avoid getting hammered—Shouta doesn’t like it—but dammit, he came here to feel better! Just one more, he tells himself, he’ll feel better this time. One more. One more.

Then the bartender is cutting him off. And he doesn’t feel better.

Sure, he’s too wasted to be nervous anymore, but this goes beyond some nerves on edge. He groans as he staggers into a cab, slumping against the seat. He knows Shouta will be displeased when he gets home, but he’s not of a mind to feel bad about it. He spitefully feels good, thinking of how Shouta will tense ever so slightly, discomforted by Hizashi’s unfiltered state, at how he isn’t watering himself down for him. It's an empowering thought.

Hizashi lets himself relish in his daydream as his head swims, and over time slowly convinces himself that he won’t try to wrangle himself in like he always does. Why should he? It never goes the other direction—Shouta never tries to branch out for him, while Hizashi just spent two hours in a bar feeling miserable for him!

Isn’t it Shouta’s turn?

He nearly trips on his way up the front steps, and successfully jams his key into the doorframe four times before finding the lock. As he steps inside, Shouta sluggishly sits up from his position laying on the couch. The world is thrumming and spinning too much for Hizashi to tell if he’d been asleep or if it was just a movement characteristic of Shouta.

“Zashi,” he greets in a sleepy slur. The sound mixed with the fond, bleary way Shouta's looking at him from across the room is almost enough to extinguish the fire in Hizashi’s chest—but instead, it mostly serves to deepen the ache inside him. He wants to see those lazy lips stretched around his cock, to cup his round cheeks and fist a hand in his unruly hair.

Shouta works up the drive to rise from the couch as Hizashi squirms out of his jacket and kicks off his boots.

During the workday, Shouta keeps his wedding band on a thin chain below his clothes, but here, now, it hangs proudly around his neck above his pajamas as he approaches Hizashi.

However, he then pauses a short distance away from him.

“...You were drinking,” Shouta observes, caught between a question and a statement.

Hizashi missed the exact moment he’d realized it, but he can see the subtle tension in Shouta's shoulders and feels that flare of both power and anger.

“Yeah,” he replies, a little too drawn out and uneven, “but I missed you, so I came home.”

Shouta’s expression softens at this, his shoulders dropping. He lets Hizashi pull him into a half-embrace half-kiss that he returns tenderly. Hizashi loops an arm around Shouta’s waist, pulling their bodies flush while Shouta’s hands rest on his shoulders.

The kiss breaks naturally, but Hizashi proceeds to press kisses along Shouta’s jaw, drawing gentle laughter from him.

“Come on, you should get some water and go to bed. It’s late.”

He hums a protest, following Shouta hips-first as he tries to step away, keeping his arm firmly around his waist. His lips move lower to suck at Shouta’s neck, making his breath hitch and dig his fingers into the fabric of Hizashi’s shirt.

“Hizashi,” Shouta warns, gentle but insistent. Hizashi just tightens his grip and bucks his hips against him, sighing at the contact while Shouta turns rigid.

“Come on, Sho. I need this.” He punctuates this statement with another thrust. "I need you.”

“Stop it. You’re drunk.”

The soft, sleepy edges of Shouta’s voice are gone, replaced with firm, rising alarm. He pushes at Hizashi’s shoulders, backing away unevenly as his movements are offset by Hizashi’s pumping hips. He bumps into a chair, displacing it as he backs himself against their kitchen table. Hizashi pins him there with his pelvis and braces his hands on either side of him.

Hizashi growls against Shouta's neck, "It’s your turn.”

Shouta stays rigid in place as Hizashi kisses bruises into his neck and grinds against his legs, trying and failing to lean away from the contact. Hizashi's glasses skew on his face as he presses closer. He's so pent up that even this little bit of awkward friction has him straining against his pants.

He shifts his hips, and feels Shouta's whole body jerk as Hizashi's hard-on rubs against his flaccid cock.

“Stop!”

Shouta curls inward on himself and twists away, slipping out from between Hizashi and the table successfully, but Hizashi grabs a fistful of his clothes before he can skitter away. Shouta strains against his grip, elbow digging into his stomach as he growls something at him, but Hizashi’s hand snakes around to the front of his sweatpants and blindly gropes at the bulge there. Shouta snatches his wrist, a little too late, with such force that it would be quite painful were Hizashi not so wasted.

“Come on, baby," Hizashi breathes against Shouta's neck, "I know you can get hard for me...”

Hizashi doesn’t know how much force he’s using, but he does know that Shouta stops squirming and makes this wonderful, strained sound that he wants to listen to forever—so he keeps jerking his hand along the handful of flesh he’s holding while Shouta squeezes his knees together and whimpers.

"Zashi—" he chokes out, but quickly falls silent as he trembles in Hizashi's relentless grasp. Jamming his hard-on against Shouta’s thigh and hip while haphazardly jerking him off only sates Hizashi for so long, however, before he gets a better idea.

His free hand dips below Shouta’s waistband, intending to prod at his asshole. Shouta flinches and—unable to pull away with Hizashi’s vice grip around his cock—twists towards him enough to disrupt the motion, burying his face against Hizashi’s shoulder pitifully.

“Zashi— Stop." He sniffles. "Please.”

His voice is soft and quiet, and wobbles as he speaks.

All Hizashi can think about is how much he wants to bury his cock inside him.

With his free hand, he reaches down to free his straining erection from his pants—with some difficulty, as intoxicated fingers aren’t especially nimble. Shouta redoubles his efforts to pull away at this, lifting his head off Hizashi’s shoulder, revealing newly wet cheeks, and shoving at the hand around his cock. Hizashi does let go, instead reaching up to grab at Shouta’s waistband and pull his sweatpants down over his hips.

Shouta winces, curling up, and catches one edge of them along with one of Hizashi’s hands to prevent them from falling around his ankles.

Part of Hizashi expects to get hit for his efforts—to be slapped across the face, elbowed in the ribs, kneed between the legs, something —but Shouta seems more intent on merely pleading and trying to put some space between them.

Hizashi grabs and pulls at Shouta’s clothes while trying to get at an angle where he’s prone and exposed to him, while Shouta pleads and twists and tries to escape Hizashi's grasp and prodding cock. In their combined struggle, they trip over one another and fall to their knees, Hizashi’s glasses clattering to the floor and skidding a distance away when they’re thrown off his face.

Shouta ends up stomach down.

Hizashi's pretty sure this is what a predator feels like when it finally corner its prey.

And so Hizashi pounces, easily ripping Shouta’s pants the rest of the way off his legs and positioning himself over him. Shouta's too torn between squeezing his legs shut and moving away to properly scramble to his feet. His protests are drowned out by the rushing sound in Hizashi's ears, frustrated yet terribly aroused by the struggle.

He's going to fuck him whether he wants it or not. Digging his nails into Shouta’s hip to hold him steady, he tries, but pressing into an unwilling, dry hole is no easy feat, and the head keeps popping out before really getting inside.

Rubbing against him in his over-eager, drunken state, though, it sets him over the edge. Hizashi sees stars as he comes, the tip of his cock spurting come against Shouta’s entrance before he snaps his hips forward to grind between his cheeks, riding out his orgasm in full as he smears a sopping mess with his thrusts.

He can't recall hearing the sound of his own voice, but once the stars and swirling lights of ecstacy clear away, he sees Shouta halfway on his side, glaring at him over his shoulder with his quirk activated. His face is a bright red to match his eyes, from both tears and—guessing from his expression—embarrassment. His hair soon drops back down around his shoulders once he realizes Hizashi is done, and ducks his head to avert his gaze. He stays there, braced and ready to jump to his feet when Hizashi finally moves away.

Hizashi isn’t done, however. Instead of getting up and stumbling off to sleep or whatever Shouta’s clearly waiting on, he drags his fingers through the mess between his thighs and guides it into Shouta’s hole. He flinches at the contact, then rolls onto his back with an expression of wild panic in an effort to disrupt him, but that just lets Hizashi catch his leg as it swings over and hold him open.

He feels like this is all too easy. Shouta isn’t prone to locking up—not anymore. Hizashi has seen him face villains, death, violent students—all without hesitation...

Because he has experience with those.

He doesn’t have experience fighting off his husband.

Hizashi laughs when he realizes it—that he’s brought Shouta back to the state he was in during their first year of highschool—and a look of open hurt crosses Shouta’s face. He tries to reach between his legs for Hizashi’s wrist, but Hizashi curls his fingers upwards and instead Shouta’s interrupted by his back arching, a gasp dragging through his lips as his eyes flutter shut.

Hizashi isn’t concerned with pleasuring him so much as getting him slick enough to fuck, so his fingers move quick and harsh, the hisses and whimpers drawn from Shouta even between pleasure and pain

“—hurts, Hizashi!”

The words don’t register until a solid fifteen seconds after they’re spoken. Hizashi responds by adding another digit, leaving Shouta writhing against the floor, moans occasionally undercutting his sobs. His eyes are squeezed shut as he bears his teeth, cheeks shiny, wet and red. Hizashi finds himself leaning down to drag his tongue over those wet trails of tears, from which Shouta recoils as much as he can from his prone position.

Gradually Shouta stops clenching his teeth and crying out, and Hizashi’s fingers are met with less resistance now that he’s slicked up with come.

He draws back to better situate himself between Shouta’s legs. Shouta squirms sluggishly, his thighs straining against Hizashi’s lap, but his body is trembling too hard to move or shove Hizashi away with any real success.

“Please—” he gasps. “Zashi, please stop... Please don’t do this. Please—”

It’s just noise. Hizashi pays him no mind as he lines his cock up with Shouta’s hole.

They both cry out as he pushes inside, in very different ways. Hizashi’s head falls back in bliss as he eagerly pushes all the way in, whereas Shouta’s back arches off the ground and he grits his teeth.

He’s finally inside his husband, after all this time. Shouta’s soft, wet heat feels so good around him that he could cry. He can’t help himself as he begins thrusting into the tight hole. He swears it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

Shouta seems moved to a new round of tears. His fingers are curled against Hizashi's shoulder in that way where they’re pushing instead of grasping, a constant plea for space.

Hizashi may still be drunk, but he has more stamina this time around—and he never seems to adjust to the heaven that is Shouta’s body. For him, moments are completely gone as soon as they pass, like they never existed to begin with—he has no idea how long he humps into Shouta, savoring every single thrust, unable to perceive anything beyond his cock and Shouta’s insides.

Eventually, his eyes flutter open and he’s pleased to find that, conversely, Shouta has adjusted. His prick is hard, arched slightly above his stomach even as he’s taking staggered breaths between hiccupping sobs. His head is turned to the side, but his eyes are squeezed shut with arched brows in an unmistakable expression of pleasure, mixed with a fair amount of distress.

And Hizashi did that to him.

“I knew you were holding out on me!” Hizashi claims as he wraps a fist around his cock, making Shouta wince and clench pleasantly around him. Shouta sucks in a breath through his teeth when Hizashi starts pumping him, hand flying down to pry at his wrist.

“I want to see you come for me, baby.”

“I did!” Shouta cries. “I already— Christ, Zashi… please!”

Now that he says it, Hizashi can see a sticky white sheen splashed across Shouta’s chest, but that doesn’t mean he’s of a mind to comprehend its implications. He keeps jerking him off. Even pushing and prying with both hands, Shouta’s movements are too impaired by Hizashi humping into him to be able to stop his strokes. All he can do is drag his nails against Hizashi’s unfeeling skin and writhe as he forces a second, pitifully weak orgasm out of him, his cock squirting a tiny streak of come onto his abdomen. Shouta's eyes squeeze shut, forcing more tears out. Hizashi watches him through half-lidded eyes, groaning as Shouta’s body seizes up around him.

“Was that so hard?”

Shouta pants hard. “...—Zah-...”

“God, Sho… I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

Hizashi’s eyes fall shut as he feels himself beginning to ramp up to his own orgasm. Any semblance of coherence dissolves within his mind.

“Wanted… every night….”

He fucks himself desperately into Shouta, whose breaths are uneven and heavy in Hizashi’s ear.

“..Fuckin’ tease….”

A sensation coils along his cock into his stomach, reaching impossible heights.

“Shouta...”

His mind goes white.

He’s alone when he wakes up, of course. It’s not really surprising once the hazy memories from the night before come floating back in bits and pieces. He has a pounding headache and an upset stomach, because he didn’t have Shouta there to take care of him and force some water down his throat before he conked out this time.

Shouta doesn’t really come home after that. Mostly, they see each other at U.A.—otherwise Shouta has patrol, or is helping All Might form a lesson plan, or has an underground mission out of town, or some other excuse.

He’s always expecting Shouta to slam him with divorce papers, but it never happens. When they pass each other in the halls of U.A., Shouta averts his gaze—not with hate, but with guilt. Hizashi doesn’t even remember what he said to cause that, but whatever it was, it seems to be the reason their marriage is relatively intact.

Hizashi doesn’t apologize. Sure, he misses those warm moments between them, when Shouta laid back in his arms while they talked shit about something together—but apologizing won’t bring that back, and he can't truthfully say he regrets making his needs known.

Shouta seems to be slowly coming back around on his own, anyway. Hizashi doesn’t get to see him without his hero costume anymore, so he can’t be sure Shouta is holding onto his wedding band, but he does know that he hasn’t found it lying around their house.

#erasermic #non-con #fanfic #my writing #grapefruit #smut #bnha #rape #alcohol #long post

[septic-dr-schneep]

MP Fanfiction - Skin Deep (Chapter 4)

Summary: Dr. Iplier has sworn never to use Google’s trigger words against him. The others, however, aren’t quite so understanding, and one of them decides to use Google to his advantage.

Previous: [1] [2] [3]

It wasn’t as if Dark hadn’t expected a day like this to come. Wilford had made it clear on multiple occasions that he was willing—and even enjoyed exploiting Google’s Command Mode when he saw fit. Dark had seen him use Google on multiple occasions—aggravating him with inane questions, making a mockery of him by provoking glitches and malfunctions, inciting conflicts between him and Bing. Did Wilford know that Dark was aware of it? Did it even bother him?

Now that Google was enlisted as one of his allies, however, Dark couldn’t afford to let something like this go unaddressed, not when it could potentially put both he and the Host at a disadvantage.

The wellbeing of the doctor, while hardly of emotional importance, was a cornerstone for the wellbeing of both of his allies. Iplier performed Google’s maintenance and the Host’s optical care. Come to think of it, Dark hadn’t gone to the lab yet to see how much damage had been done to him. Glancing sideways at his companion as they made their way to Wilford’s room, Dark silently took in the mechanical, drone-like rigidity in Google’s shoulders and the vacancy in his eyes.

Amazing, he mused, resisting the urge to laugh under his breath. With two simple words, Google will abandon any bonds he’s formed and follow orders that would cause harm to those he cares about.

Yes…Google cared for the doctor. Despite how carefully the two of them attempted to frame their interactions as nothing but business, Dark knew what they thought of each other, but after this…who knew how Iplier might react to Google’s presence?

When they reached Wilford’s door, Dark paused, resting a hand against the doorframe. It was warm, vibrating faintly under his fingers with the sheer energy of everything that lay within. After taking a deep breath to brace himself, he pushed the door open, his aura flaring to protect his eyes from the caustically bright paint on the walls and the lights tinged pink by their exotic lampshades.

“Oh, lookie here!” Wilford exclaimed, unfolding his legs and sitting up straight on the massive, pillow-strewn bed in the middle of the room. “Here I thought I’d never get to ask you what you thought of my new setup, Darkie! Took me hours to rearrange it…” It didn’t take him long to notice Google standing alongside the oldest Ego. Dark eyes sparking with interest, Will’s grin widened and he swung his legs over the side to approach. “And you found the lost bot! I wondered where he’d gotten to after all that noise from the lab died out. He was supposed to come right back to me, but y’know how sheep are. They need a little steering!”

“That’s precisely what I intend to discuss with you, not the layout of your room,” Dark answered patiently as he slipped inside, guiding Google in to the side of the room before sliding the door shut. “I want to know exactly what you thought you would accomplish with…this.” He gestured indicatively to the bloodstains marring the android’s hands.

“S’not as if it’s a big mystery to crack,” Wilford shrugged cheerfully. “I got bored! Figured it’d be fun to shake things up, bring the house down on ’em!”

“You do realize,” Dark began evenly, weaving his hands behind him as he prowled meticulously back and forth, “that if you weren’t extraordinarily careful with your phrasing, Google could kill him.” Frankly he didn’t want to imagine the kind of fallout that could arise from that; the mere notion of it created a sharpening ache down each vertebra in his spine.

“’Course! It’s not like we’d have to break the news to anyone; we all would’ve felt it if he had, right? No biggie! I’ll bet our pal Markimoo could bring him back with a snap.”

“With great damage to his soul, body and mind, yes, but the fact that he could is beside the point, Wilford. Do you happen to recall that Dr. Iplier is our only physician? Should any of us require medical attention, he is the only one we can turn to!”

At that Wilford tilted his head, his expression hardening as he rose from the edge of his bed and moving to intercept the older Ego with hands on his arms. They were surprisingly light, almost gentle, but Dark shrugged away from them nonetheless, stepping just outside his reach. Wilford kept his hands raised regardless, brows furrowing shrewdly as he looked Dark up and down.

“Ohh…” he drawled, a slight smile quirking his lips before falling away just as quickly. “You couldn’t care less about the doc, could you? It’s our favorite blind mouse you’re worried about! He Saw a little somethin’ and came whining to you, didn’t he?”

“He made me aware of what you’d done!” Dark countered sharply. “And now that you’ve been given your amusement for the day, Google must be released from his Command Mode.”

When any of the other Egos scoffed at him, they were liable to receive a tendril of his aura wrapped around their throat, hurling them across the room for a painful union with the door or a window. Wilford had neither here, so he escaped easily enough with a dismissive tsk and a wave of his hand.

“What’s the point of having him all cranky and uncooperative? He’s a tool, Darkie—isn’t that how you think of him too? It’s not like you actually consider him one of your partners! He’s supposed to be used like this! If you’re worried about the Host, you should blame the doc for his sloppy, dopey healthcare like you usually do! Or try to take care of him yourself. Aw, wouldn’t that’d be cute to see? I could cheer ya on!”

A deep flush of anger stained Dark’s aura red at that, his teeth and hands clenching of their own accord. “Listen to reason.”

“Okay, okay, go ahead. Tell me,” Wilford urged expectantly. “Gimme a reason that’s better than lookin’ at Googly’s hip attachment with Eddie, doin’ a little hip surgery and having fun with it along the way! Host’s not Eddie’s baby; he doesn’t need him for much, right? But having Google like this could actually make for some peace and quiet! And isn’t that what you always want, Dark?”

Batting his eyes hopefully, he looked to Google, sidestepping and wrapping his arms around his chest from behind. The android didn’t resist as he was leaned from the left to the right, back and forth, back and forth, arms swinging limply at his sides like clock pendulums.

“He’s fun to play with!” Wilford singsonged as Dark took a deep breath, lowering his head slightly.

“My reasoning is that while I may long for peace and quiet in this household, you…” Shifting forward, he snatched Google’s arm out of the air during its next swing, stilling him. “You are a being of chaos. You would get bored of him within a month like this, Will; it’s because of his resistance and his anger that seeing him like this is rewarding. You wouldn’t want to spoil your own fun in that manner. You would have to work so much harder for it…” With a fluid pivot, it was easy enough to grab the back of Wilford’s neck with his free hand, drawing his head back so he could look him in the eyes. “And you wouldn’t want to lose my respect by damaging my allies.” It wasn’t the tone of a question.

The silence that fell held for about thirty seconds as Wilford considered. With each passing second, Dark tightened his grip, until Wilford’s following laugh came with a slight hitch of pain.

“S’a good reason,” he admitted, grinning as he shoved Google forward. Google recovered his balance immediately, straightening to stare at the far wall, and Wilford wrangled himself out of Dark’s grip, brushing himself down. Dark tilted his head expectantly. “Okay, okay. Google, you’re free to go! End Command Mode.”

From behind, the only change they could see was the slump in Google’s shoulders, as if a weight had been lifted, but the moment his processors caught up with the motion, he began to shake. Dark was prudent enough to step back before Google turned, but Will wasn’t as fortunate.

Google’s swinging fist as he whirled around was enough to throw him off his feet into the nearby dresser, knocking several trinkets down with the impact. Google’s trembling only strengthened as the metal and glass rang out and Wilford cursed fiercely, cupping his jaw; the stare Google cast on him was filled with such violation and loathing that Dark felt his aura magnetize to it. He reined himself in regardless, keeping his features unmoved as Google glanced to him, eyes narrowed and bloodshot.

“…What did he force me to do?” he snarled.

“Your objectives bank will have that information,” the oldest Ego replied. Before he had even finished speaking, Google’s optics were sputtering blue as he accessed that section of his memory. Dark recognized the precise moment that he realized—It was the moment his eyes widened and he flinched back, bloody hands lifting precariously. Mere seconds later he tore the door open with such force that one of the hinges cracked, racing down the hall.

He didn’t even bother to hide his fear in front of me, Dark noted as he stared after him. Just how deep is their friendship? Deep enough to become a liability?

Still on the floor, Wilford was shifting his jaw back and forth, rubbing just under his ear as bruises began to form. “Well!” he huffed, sounding surprised and…almost pleased at the reaction he’d received. “I’m lookin’ forward to trying that again sometime!”

“When I allow it,” Dark reminded him coolly before drifting away to let him clean up.

#youtube #markiplier #fanfiction #youtube fanfiction #darkiplier #wilford warfstache #googleplier #dr iplier #the host #web md #dost hark #angst #whump #major character injury #just a little reminder for everyone that wilford is a sociopath #ficlet #skin deep

[katzuyas]

have yourself a merry little christmas

for day 7 of @vityaweek and to celebrate victor’s bday bc he deserves all the love and care and I want him to be spoiled beyond belief 💕💕🙏💕🙏💕💕

When Victor wakes up to Yuuri sneaking out of their bed early on the morning of his birthday, he pretends to still be asleep and gleefully listens as Yuuri hushes Makkachin's soft boofs on his way out of the room. Victor still pretends to be asleep while Yuuri does something out of his sight. It's probably a surprise, Victor thinks, a grin twitching on his lips before he can hold it back. He tries really hard to school his face back into impassiveness of sleep, but it's no use: he's too excited.

Whatever it is that Yuuri has planned, it takes far longer than Victor anticipates and by the time Yuuri gets back Victor is almost, true to his pretence, falling back asleep. He doesn't react when Yuuri slides back under the covers, or when Yuuri presses their bodies close, but he can't quite help it when his lips quirk up as Yuuri begins to shower his cheeks, chin, jaw and neck with tiny, sweet kisses.

"I know you're awake," Yuuri murmurs into his ear. "You're far too still."

Not even guilty at all, Victor opens his eyes to see his lovely fiancé smiling at him. He smiles back.

"Well then, we can't have that now, can we?"

He wraps his arms tightly around Yuuri and pulls him in so close that he's almost half lying on him now. Yuuri doesn't complain in the least. Even if he wants to, he can't because Victor's lips are on his in a second, stealing any words that might linger on his tongue. Before Victor can fully roll onto Yuuri and press him into the matters to wreck utter havoc on Yuuri's beautiful body with his eager mouth, Yuuri tips him back. He lifts himself up over Victor, one knee inching high between Victor's legs and arms on both sides of Victor's head and oh, Victor loves that, too.

"Are you awake enough yet?" Yuuri mouths against the scrape of morning stubble across Victor's jaw. "Or should I give you your present later?"

"Aren't you my present?" Victor pouts.

Yuuri laughs a little and lifts his head to smile down at Victor directly.

"Not exactly what I had in mind, but..." He blushes endearingly. "You're the birthday boy. We'll do whatever you want today."

"I like the sound of that," Victor smiles, reaching up to bring Yuuri's face close enough so he could kiss his lovely lips. "But I'm really too curious about what you have in store for me, so how about we keep the best present for last?"

Victor boops Yuuri's nose with a finger and winks. Yuuri huffs an adorable laugh against his mouth when he dips his head to kiss Victor once more. He moves off of Victor afterwards. For a brief second Victor regrets his decision. He already misses Yuuri's warmth caging his body in the soft sheets of their bed.

Yuuri doesn't go far, though. He sits at the edge of the bed and reaches for the nightstand. It's only then that Victor notices the tray full of food that he didn't even hear Yuuri carrying in. Warmth blooms in his heart as he sits up.

"First thing on the schedule: breakfast in bed," Yuuri announces, placing the tray between them.

Victor smiles when he takes the cup of warm tea that Yuuri's offering. He wraps his fingers around the mug, sipping the black tea sweetened with raspberry jam – just the way he likes it, and it's so sweet that Yuuri remembered – while Yuuri butters a toast and puts a generous coat of peach jam on top. What Yuuri does next gives Victor a whiplash, almost. He rips away a bite-sized piece of toast and moves his hand towards Victor's mouth, which suddenly feels both too dry and salivating at once. Victor swallows.

"Say ah," Yuuri says. A beautiful, soft blush on his cheeks brings out the red in the brown of Yuuri's eyes. Victor's starstruck. "Number two on the list is hand feeding you everything, because I want to spoil you like no one ever did before."

Victor's mouth drops open off its own accord. Yuuri smiles and places the offered food against Victor's lips. Still afraid of much everything but breathing, Victor takes it onto his tongue and chews slowly. He doesn't even feel the taste, he's too busy being lightheaded from looking at his gorgeous, incredible fiancé who once again makes him fall in love all over again like it's the only thing he was born to do.

Victor swallows, finally, and takes the next piece off Yuuri's fingers. He licks his lips and slumps back against the pillows. A warmth that has nothing to do with the tea grows in his chest with every new bite Yuuri feeds him.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to eat on my own now," Victor confesses after a moment.

Yuuri snickers lightly, biting off a piece of toast himself. "I really don't see a problem here."

Victor opens his mouth before Yuuri's done ripping the next piece off. He feels like a bird being fed by its mama, but... it also feels incredibly nice. He could fall asleep like this, he thinks. It's much different from how he'd imagined the morning of his birthday to start. He thought Yuuri would wake him up with sex – it was what all his previous steady partners did. Victor never complained about that kind of treatment, because it was good, and he might have expected Yuuri to do that as well. But this? He accepts another piece of toast and a piece of canned peach in sweet, sticky syrup. This is infinitely better.

Trust it to Yuuri to give Victor something he didn't even know himself that he wanted.

"Last one," Yuuri tells him after another few minutes of simply eating and sharing warm looks over the food tray. "And then it's part three of your present."

"How many are there?" Victor asks, curious enough that he almost forgets to chew the toast before he swallows.

He drinks half of his tea in a few gulps to wash everything down and sits up eagerly. Yuuri's putting the tray back on the nightstand. When he's back facing Victor, there's a little envelope-shaped something in his hands. The wrapper is blue, spotted with snowflakes, and Victor lifts an eyebrow at that. Yuuri blushes.

"I swear they stopped carrying all normal wrappers. Everything is Christmas themed now," Yuuri complains. "This was the only one I found that wasn't really ugly."

Victor shakes his head with a smile. "It's the contents that matter, right?"

Yuuri nods. He twirls the present in his hands.

"You asked how many presents there would be," he says carefully. "I think around five or six? But this one is probably the most important."

Yuuri looks up from his hands and bites nervously on his lip. Victor wants to wrap him in a hug and tell him that no matter what it is he'll love it anyway because it's from Yuuri, but before he can do that Yuuri is forging on.

"If there's something you don't like about it, we can still change everything," Yuuri tells him. "Nothing is set in stone yet, so just let me know if you think we should do things differently. No pressure, okay?"

Yuuri swallows nervously and then offers Victor the present with both hands and a small bow. Victor accepts it, with both hands as well. He briefly remembers that it's important.

"Can I open it now?" he asks. That's important in Yuuri's culture, too, he knows.

His efforts are rewarded with a small smile and a nervous nod of Yuuri's head. Surprisingly, Victor finds that he's a little bit nervous himself. Whatever is under the wrapper must be important to Yuuri if he's so concerned about it. Victor peels off the wrapper, careful not to rip it apart in one go.

As he expected, it's an envelope: violet in colour, with a golden crest seal that Victor breaks without hesitation. There's a single card inside, or so he thinks when he first touches it. His eyes take in the violet and navy blue ribbons tied together in the centre of the cover.

And then he sees what's written above the knot.

"This is...?" Victor whispers, aware of how his voice is breaking.

He can't look away from the words Wedding Invitation that crown the top of the card. He's already suspecting what it is, what it means, but his brain, mouth and eyes seem to be working against each other.

"Open it," Yuuri tells him.

Victor is too busy with his blank-minded freakout to notice how Yuuri wrangles his hands in his lap. His own are positively trembling when he opens the card and reads:

"Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki joyfully invite you to share in their happiness as they unite in–"

Victor's voice disappears somewhere in his tight, tight, too tight throat, but his eyes dutifully follow the rest of the text.

Marriage.

A date set for after the Worlds. A place picked, Japan, so Yuuri's parents could attend. Everything set up, down to an hour.

Swallowing thickly, Victor looks up at Yuuri.

"Did you... do this?" he asks shakily.

His heart is beating so wildly he can't even hear his voice. His eyes are hot, too, and his vision is getting blurry. Victor blinks. Ah, those are tears, he thinks. Absently, he lifts a hand up to wipe at the warm liquid rolling down his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri says quietly. "I didn't mean to leave you out of the planning. We can just forget about it and do all of it together again, alright?"

Yuuri shifts closer to him, vibrating with nervous energy. He doesn't touch Victor, not like that time in Barcelona, but Victor wants him to. He wants him to ask.

"Are you crying?" Yuuri whispers, hesitation on his breath.

"Yes," Victor gives, bowing his head low. He honestly feels like sniffling, but he holds it back and gulps air through his mouth.

"Are you upset?" Yuuri asks again, just as hesitant.

All Victor can do is shake his head. The invitation in his hand is trembling, but so is the rest of him.

"Can I touch you?" Yuuri tries once more.

Victor wraps himself around Yuuri before Yuuri can even move. Yuuri feels warm, safe... he feels like happy ever after. He's lovely. He's beautiful and generous and kind. And now he's handed Victor an invitation to their own wedding, looking nervous and scared, as if Victor could say anything else but I'll book the tickets right now.

"I love you," Victor says instead. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Yuuri's arms tighten around Victor.

"I love you, too," he returns easily.

The slight quiver in Yuuri;s body is now dying down and Victor rubs his no longer shaking palms over Yuuri's back soothingly. It suddenly seems silly that they're both in such a state because of their own wedding invitations.

"Does that mean you liked your present?" Yuuri asks. "Because, as I said before, we can still change–"

"No," Victor stops him. "We're not changing anything. It's perfect. You're perfect."

Yuuri makes a small sound of embarrassment. It makes Victor laugh. He's still crying, he thinks, but he's feeling so full at the moment that he doesn't know if it's true. Yuuri's face is slightly blurry when Victor lifts his head from where he's been hiding in Yuuri's shoulder. Definitely still crying, Victor decides, but he really doesn't care. Yuuri's cheeks are flushed, but his hands diligently reach up to wipe away Victor's tears.

He's so sweet, Victor thinks. I'm marrying this sweet, lovely man, he thinks, too.

"It's finally happening, is it?" he breathes in awe.

"We can wait, if you aren't ready?" Yuuri offers, gentle as always.

He's smiling lightly. Victor loves that smile. He doesn't necessarily love what Yuuri's pretty mouth is saying, but he loves that smile.

"We're not waiting a second longer than we have to," he decides. "I can't stand not being married to you."

Yuuri's smile widens at that. Victor loves it even more now. He wants to spend the rest of his life putting it on Yuuri's beautiful face.

"What about that promise of the wedding only after I win gold?" Yuuri bites his lip. "I'll still do my best, but..."

"I don't care about any of that! I never did," Victor rushes to say. And then he pauses. "Wait, that came out wrong. I do care about you winning gold, because you deserve it and I want to see you get all of that, and more. But I want to marry you, more than I want to add another medal to that dusty case in the living room. You're more important to me than any gold."

Yuuri breathes out what seems to be all of his anxiety. He looks softer now, more at ease. He takes both of Victor's hands in his and places a kiss to each.

"Thank you," he whispers over Victor's knuckles. "I'll still be working for that medal, and all the others I owe you, but... I needed to hear you say that. Thank you."

"Then I'll keep saying it till death does us part," Victor vows, kissing Yuuri's hands back.

A small smile worms its way over to Yuuri's lips.

"Till death does us part," he agrees.

Victor leans over to kiss him and Yuuri kisses him back: tender, reassuring, loving.

"Happy birthday, Victor," Yuuri tells him as if it's an afterthought.

It is, Victor realizes, for both of them. Frankly, he can't even say what day or month it is. It doesn't matter. And yet... it's the best birthday Victor's ever had. The best day he's ever had, probably, too. And it's only just starting.

He grins.

"So, six presents, you said?" he asks. "If they're as good as this one, I can hardly wait."

Yuuri's blush might not be counted as one among the six, but to Victor it's just another wonderful present added to the ever-growing pile that Yuuri's gifting to him every day that they spend together.  

#vityaweek2017 #victuuri #viktuuri #vikturi #victuri #yuri on ice #my fic #I'm still gross sobbing bc they're too cute #and sobbing again bc this week is over now and I'll miss it #I had so much fun writing all of these #thank you to everyone who read these drabbles #you guys give me strength 💕 #happy birthday skating star

[bedssleepscience]

Is a Bed-in-a-Box Right for You?

The pros and cons of ordering a new mattress from an online retailer

What’s so difficult about buying a mattress? If you have to ask, you haven’t shopped in a mattress store lately. In the quest for a perfect night’s sleep, shoppers schlep from one cavernous bedding store to another, confronted by row after row of overpriced mattresses and huckster sales folks who claim, “I have such a deal for you.”

Frustrated by this experience, a new breed of entrepreneurs is taking on the mattress industry with the promise of the perfect mattress at the perfect price—and no pesky salespeople. The catch? You have to order the mattress online, and it arrives on your doorstep compressed into a box the size of your coffee table. No store. No sales pitch. No kidding.

While Casper gets a lot of the credit for the concept, the bed-in-a-box was actually invented by a machinist from Johnson City, Tenn., in 2007, seven years before Casper launched. Bill Bradley, founder and CEO of Bed in a Box, built a machine that could compress and roll foam mattresses to a size small enough to fit in a shipping box. He trademarked the name and ran with it.

“The idea of ordering a mattress online, the same way you make much smaller purchases, is still a novelty, even though it has been an option for several years,” says Claudette Ennis, an analyst who follows the mattress market. “Beds-in-a-box represent just a small part of the market today, but we’ve seen some pretty remarkable growth in this category.”

According to a report by the trade publication Furniture Today, direct-to-consumer mattress companies now command 12 percent of the market, up from 6 percent in 2014. Most beds-in-a-box are foam, but some manufacturers have found inventive ways to cram innerspring and adjustable air mattresses into cartons, too.

To make the process as pain-free as possible, many bed-in-a-box firms offer free shipping, and generous trial periods—usually 100 days, sometimes longer—and return policies.

In short, they’re promising to make your sleep dreams come true. Our rigorous, scientific mattress testing and ratings will help you separate hype from reality and guide you to the choice that’s best for you.

Here, the best way to purchase and set up a bed-in-a-box from Bed King:

A Workaround for Comparison Shopping

One of the most frustrating things about buying a mattress has long been how difficult manufacturers make it to comparison shop. Unlike products that have the same name or model number no matter where they’re sold (a Samsung Family Hub refrigerator, for example, or a Vitamix blender), mattress makers often give the same model different names depending on where it’s sold, making it almost impossible for a consumer to compare prices. (They might also make slight changes in construction or materials from one retailer to another.) So don’t expect a salesperson to be able to guide you to a comparable model.

Bed-in-a-box sellers have eliminated this frustration from the buying process by paring down the choices. Many of these companies sell just one mattress, betting that it will suit most sleepers. Our testing shows that in theory, at least, this approach can work.

“We’ve seen several bed-in-a-box mattresses come through the lab that perform consistently, at a level of Good to Excellent, for sleepers of every body size and sleeping style,” says Chris Regan, a test engineer who oversees CR’s mattress tests. In fact, the top-rated foam beds-in-a-box score Very Good or Excellent in our support tests for petite, average, and large and/or tall sleepers.

Say Goodbye to ‘Try Before You Buy’

CR has long advised readers to lie on a mattress in a store for at least 10 to 15 minutes before buying. We still consider this critical. Our most recent mattress survey showed that the longer people try out a mattress before buying it, the more likely they are to be satisfied with their purchase. Ordering online prevents this opportunity.

Certain companies have worked around this limitation by teaming up with walk-in retailers. For example, you can now try a Leesa mattress at West Elm and buy it there for the same price offered at leesa.com. Casper has twin-size mattresses on display at Target that you can curl up on to see how they perform.

A handful of the large bed-in-a-box companies have showrooms in large metropolitan areas, so if you’re interested in a different brand but you’re not ready to buy a mattress sight unseen, check the company’s website to see whether it has a showroom nearby. If it doesn’t, you can refer to our mattress ratings. Find your size and favorite sleep position, and note the models that provide adequate support for you—and for your sleeping partner.

Unlike mattresses sold at retail, which are usually marked up significantly and offer more price flexibility, bed-in-a-box mattresses are generally sold at a fixed price, making it difficult to haggle.

But there are other ways to save. Check the sellers’ websites for special offers such as a free pillow, and go to goodbed.com, which lists mattress discounts and coupons with savings of $50 and up. Plenty of bed-in-a-box firms offer discounts around the same holidays that traditional retailers do—Presidents Day, Labor Day, and Black Friday. Use a website’s customer-service chat feature to ask about coming promotions or discounts.

Making Your Mattress Feel at Home

Mattresses usually arrive a few days to a week after an order is placed. Although the cartons are compact (the queen-size Lull, for example, comes in a 19x19x43-inch box), they can be heavy, ranging from 60 to 150 pounds, and difficult for someone to wrangle alone.

Shipping is often free, but for an additional fee almost all of these companies offer white-glove delivery, similar to the services offered by a traditional retailer. Casper charges $75 to $100 to move a mattress into a bedroom and set it up, and an additional $50 to remove the old one.

A bed-in-a-box, which is usually foam, is compressed and rolled or folded (or both) before shipping. Most manufacturers recommend unboxing a new mattress within a month or two after it’s delivered. If you’re setting it up yourself, follow the steps outlined by the manufacturer. If you bought a bed frame or platform, put that together first.

Because it can be heavy and unwieldy when fully open, always take the mattress to the bedroom while it’s still in the box, Regan says. “Once you take it out of the box, put it on your box spring or platform before removing the plastic.” (See “Do You Need a Box Spring?” below.)

“Some will be wrapped in multiple layers of plastic; others have only one,” Regan says. “You can use scissors or a knife to open them, but take care not to puncture the mattress.”

Once the wrapping is removed, the mattress regains the volume that was lost when compressed for shipment. It can take a few minutes to a few hours for the mattress to regain its full shape.

The materials in new mattresses can give off an odor, some of which is caused by the breakdown of volatile organic compounds in the foam. “More research is needed to determine whether or not there are any chronic health risks from long-term exposure to VOCs in mattresses,” says Don Huber, CR’s director of product safety. “The odor should dissipate in a few hours or, at most, a few days. You may want to wait until the odor goes away to sleep on your new mattress.” Opening a window could help the odor dissipate more rapidly.

Article source: https://www.consumerreports.org/mattresses/is-a-bed-in-a-box-right-for-you/

[auskitty]

Bucky Barnes is an Ass. Part 3: Thinking Out Loud.

Song Prompt #3 Playtime by Lukas Graham; Shape of You and Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran

 Yana looked good, really good, as her hips swayed to the beat of the music. Singing quietly under her breath as she gently slid the cake into the oven, deftly twisting the knob on the timer before dancing over to the stainless steel counter top to work on the fondant flowers she was creating in various shades of purple and green.

“She said when I get off its play time; I’ll show you how to go a late night; I led her off into the bed right; oh baby I’m gonna make you beg right…”  You watched as she swayed and sang along, grinding her hips to the song, a sexy little number by her current favourite band. This wasn’t the usual light hearted pop that she blasted in her creative hours, but the soft sultry tones of a sexually charged song. You loved when she got into this zone, the music fuelling her movements around the kitchen.

It had been six months since Barnes had last tried to get in touch with her, six long months of watching her surreptitiously as she went about her daily activities.  She started baking earlier this morning; leaving her usual visit to the main kitchens to encourage the apprentices and lend a hand whenever one of the other chef’s needed it. Her easy manner and ready smile made her a welcome visitor wherever she chose to go.  You watched as she made her way back from whatever private hell was in her head and she flourished again.

Watching Yana sing and dance in the kitchen was one of your guilty pleasures. The sensuous and lithe movements of the voluptuous young woman were something that had you regularly palming your crotch through the day. You wondered wistfully what she would feel like pressed against your body on the dance floor, surely if she danced like this alone, pairing off  for a slow dance would be pure carnal bliss.

You often wondered if she knew you were watching her, there were times that you could swear she was flirting with you via the video feed. Muting the sound you went back to your work and tried not to glance too often at the screen showing her  busily preparing for Clint and Laura’s upcoming anniversary party. The delicate sprays of purple flowers twined around custom made arrows and sat perched in foam blocks as she added more blooms to each of the shafts.

***

“The audio from this feed has been muted Yana, please feel free to talk at any point.” The disembodied voice of FRIDAY the AI made Yana grin. Lightly spritzing the last wreath of flowers with a sugar spray to seal the colour, she continued dancing seductively as she tidied the last remnants of fondant away. The anniversary cake was ambitious- a four tiered confection; each layer a different flavour and finish with a surprise piñata center in the topmost layer for the children.

It had been difficult keeping the cake a secret as Clint would often drop into the kitchen to catch up with Yana when he was in the tower, however getting his and Laura’s opinions on the different styles of cake and finishes had been easy. Clint was always happy to take a cake back to the farm for his family to enjoy. The feedback had her ecstatic that she could have four unique tiers without compromising on size or quality, while still remaining small enough to be intimate. Thanks to FRIDAY she always had the exact ingredients required whenever she went to experiment; something Yana would be eternally grateful for.

Yana turned the volume up on the speaker dock as the music changed to her favourite song. She let her inhibitions go and sang along, gyrating her hips and mimicking sexual moves like she saw in the dance videos she watched with Wanda. The sweat started to bead on her forehead and she stripped out of her chef jacket and pulled her hair out of its messy bun and hair net.

“We push and pull like a magnet too, although my heart is falling too, I’m in love with your body. And last night you were in my room, and now my bed sheets smell like you, everyday discovering something damn new. I’m in love with your body…” flicking her hair over her shoulder saucily Yana winked at the camera over the sink as she rocked and gyrated to the beat, hoping that he was watching.

***

Yana was on her way down to the communal level with the first two tiers of the anniversary cake on a service trolley when FRIDAY alerted her to Clint, Laura and the children’s arrival at the helipad several hours early. “FRI, you need to take as long as possible to get them to the communal level. I don’t care what you have to tell them; just don’t let them know what’s going on. Oh and could you be a love and tell Tony that they are here and I expect him to stay reasonably sober tonight?”

Pushing the trolley out of the elevator to the lavish spread of food Yana had spent the last few days preparing she situated the first layer of the luscious confection at a specially placed table before sinking the second tier’s supports into the pre-set holes and gently slid the second tier into place. Double checking the position and making sure the finishes weren’t damaged she turned and rushed back to the elevator FRIDAY had thoughtfully kept on her level. Tony was such a drama queen, he had rigged a curtain up to drop and reveal the cake at a specific time so the couple would be just as surprised as the rest of the guests to see it.

“Miss Yana, Tony and the other Avengers have been notified of The Barton’s arrival, and I have also contacted Agents Coulson and Hill at SHIELD; they are all on their way to the common level.” Yana sighs and rests back against the cool wall of the elevator, soon she would have to face Sergeant Bucky “I’m an ass” Barnes and his no longer unrequited love Steve “I love the dumb ass” Rogers. It’s not that she disapproved of the relationship, as far as that went she was happy for both the men; they both deserved to be happy after everything life had thrown at them. No her reticence at seeing them was in her memories of when Bucky looked at HER like she was the only one in the world.

Silently stalking over to the counter that held the two final cake tiers, flower sprays and arrows Yana steadied her breathing so she wouldn’t rock the trolley and damage her last week of hard work.  Making her way back into the elevator Yana smiled a little sadly at the camera in the far corner, tilting her head to the side and addressing the AI as though it were a human person. “OK Fri, last trip before all hell breaks loose. Do you think I made enough of everything to cover everyone? I know the Barton’s were inviting a few civilian friends as well as others from the tower, I just hope that the labels on the finger foods don’t get messed up. I worked bloody hard to get this together.”

“Miss Yana, I assure you that the quantities you have catered for will be more than adequate, you did after all cater for a minimum of fifty unenhanced humans, four super soldiers and Thor.” She could almost hear the laughter in the AI’s voice pattern, she was sure that if FRIDAY had a sense of humour, it was similar to her own.

***

The party was in full swing when Yana finally gave up trying to keep order on the food tables, the absolute havoc caused by seventy five guests from the ages four to 94 was more than she could bear to watch.  Mr Lee, the owner of Clint’s favourite comic book store, complimented her pigs in blankets heartily as he slipped several into his pocket “before that rascal Clint eats them all.” Yana laughed; she enjoyed the elderly gentleman’s company for some time before wandering over to the bar to get a drink. Just as she arrived she saw Bucky slip something into a glass of champagne before handing the flute to Steve. His eyes darted around the room before landing on Yana as tears sprang silently from her eyes before she turned and ran.

Fleeing to the kitchen was the only thing she could think to do, the communal floor’s kitchen was the perfect hiding place. It was still a part of the party area, but she wouldn’t have to lay eyes on that unmitigated ass Barnes or his too-beautiful-to-be-true, soon to be betrothed.  As she stood at the refrigerator staring blankly into its open door, she could hear Bucky proposing a toast to the happy couple, wishing them many more years of familial bliss. As the cheer went around the room Yana closed the door and rested her head against it, letting the tears fall as the party went on without her.

Somehow Tony had wrangled a private performance by Laura’s favourite singer for the couple as a gift. After a few songs Yana felt hands on her hips, without looking back or moving her forehead from the refrigerator door she placed her own hands over them, pulling them closer around her waist, relaxing into the warm embrace. “I know it shouldn’t affect me, but this is supposed to be Clint and Laura’s day, not his. How can he be so bloody selfish?”

The warm arms tightened as Ed Sheeran began singing ‘Thinking Out Loud’ and then turned the young woman around to cradle her against a solid chest. “I mean, really, proposing at your friends anniversary party, how fucking inappropriate. I’m happy for them, but seriously, is Barnes even thinking with his head?”

The warm hands moved up to tuck her head under his chin, her face still turned down and away from the face sadly smiling down at her. Slowly their bodies began to sway gently, Yana’s slotting perfectly against her dance partner, her arms slowly snaking up around his shoulders to play with the silken strands at the nape of his neck.  “When did you work out I was in here? Did FRIDAY tell you?” Yana asked quietly not really expecting a response.

“Saw you leave Stan and go to the bar. That’s when I saw Bucky and I knew you’d come hide in your safe space.” Planting a gentle kiss on the crown of her head he continued swaying, tracing a knuckle down her cheek to her jaw before scooping the finger under her chin and lifting her head to face him. As Ed sang sweet and low, he looked into her eyes and slowly lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was everything she dreamed it would be and then some.

His lips were warm and soft yet firm and his breath whispered across her lips as they parted. “Yana, you know it may be like Ed says, maybe we found love right where we are.” Yana rolled her eyes and smiled softly at the gentle brown eyes looking down on her before kissing him again as Tony slammed his way into the kitchen.

“I can’t believe the audacity of that man… Yana, he wants YOU to make his fucking wedding cake! Can you believe it! First he proposes to his bloody boyfriend in front of Clint and Laura AT THEIR ANNIVERSARY PARTY and then invites all of us to the shindig and expects the woman he…WOW, woah woah woah now…”  Tony stuttered to a halt in his tirade, jaw dropping as he took in the sight of his best friend and Science Bro slow dancing with his favourite chef, their eyes sparkling and bodies closely entwined, totally ignorant to the world.

#song prompt

[thejkrschild-blog]

“Feryl”

Why is it that human instinct commands us to immediately retract when flesh meets a searing surface, but so often we fear to let go of what causes equal or higher degrees of pain? I feel it must be uncertainty. We fear the potential pain of the unknown and quake in the possibility of the pain raging more severe than what we currently endure. A hand retreats from a fiery stove, knowing that less heat will not hurt. However, the pain of a situation? We are unsure how much worse an alternative may be. So we endure, we stay. The thing about pain, though, is it does not get better. We just get used to it.

The nonchalant door carelessly swung open with little regard to any potential inhabitants. Here, Adelaide floated into the studio apartment with an unaware heir about her. Her eyes glazed over as if possessed by some unnatural being. An exhale. She lingered in the doorway, releasing her keys to the floor.

“Good kitty.” She mutters as her loyal feline companion routinely greeted her at the front door, dodging the keys’ descent. Adelaide’s greeting seemed uncharacteristically low priority; even the cat noticed. Perhaps the night’s witching hour or unfavorable circumstances added to the eeriness of Adelaide’s being. Even though she now existed within her familiar abode, this new reality proved completely alien.

Unstable, Adelaide stepped the few steps required to enter her bathroom. She switched on the radio. The carefree messages of today’s Top 40 spilled through the air. The shower poured out in equal parts water and steam as the jovial sounds from the radio swirl through the mist of the bathroom. Equal partners in a surreal waltz, the two sensory elements set an eclectic scene, throwing off Adelaide’s already faltering inner equilibrium. Though she feared any moment she may lose consciousness, she continued with the ritual of showering.

Intentionally avoiding eye contact with the mirror, she emptied her pockets. Adelaide reaches into the back of her denim shorts and lets out a jagged breath as she grasped a handful. A scene flashed through her mind. She closed her eyes.

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

She saw her hands, covered in blood. Frantic and shaking she ran to a bureau on the side of the room and picked up a leather wallet. Her breathe was audible to her own ears. She clumsily opened the wallet and pulled out the cash, shoving it in her back pocket.

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

Opening her eyes, Adelaide released the contents onto the granite countertop. A wad of cash.  The beating of the shower’s relentless flooding seemed so sharp. Her hand automatically glided to the other pocket. The bassline rampages through the air. A pop singers voice squeals at synthesized, jarring pitch.  The shower’s aggressive beats mingled with the existing noise, collaborating for an intense build up in a climactic moment. Removing the remaining secrets from her pockets, Adelaide dropped a contaminated, serrated blade next to the wad of cash.  

Her gaze lingered somewhere far off as she refused acknowledgement of countertop or the mirror. Instead, she stripped. Pulling a black tank top off over her head, wounds revealed themselves around her ribs. She faintly winces at the pain, but continued to shimmy out of her jeans. She tossed them aside. Her clothes lay in an unorganized mess at her feet.

She had always hated her body. Too fat, wrong curves, too thin, no alteration satisfied her. However, her body type proved insignificant next to the disturbing display in the mirror. With much reluctance, she spared a glance at the glass. She contemplated the possibility of broken ribs as a sharp pain accompanied her deep inhale. A water colored wash of bruised flesh painted the majority of her abdomen purple and blue: a stark contrast from the dark red and brown covering her hands and mangling her hair. Her uninjured skin was pale. Sickly pale. All except for the black circles bombarding her, sleepless, sunken eyes.

She moves for the raining warmth of the shower. Once inside, completely enveloped by a curtain of steam, she feels separated from the reality of the evening. Inside this curtain of forgiving water, she is safe. From this safety, she allows her mind to reevaluate what had happened.

Turning her face to the water, she mused at the red tint swirling around the drain. She runs her fingers through the dampness and with a violent violation, her memories poured through her mind. The story wasn’t linear. Not in her head anyway.

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

Fed up, she walked to the door. But before successful retreat, a pair of arms constricted her waist, pulling her back into the house.

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

She leaned, asthmatically, against the shower wall. Water pouring down her face as the scenes seemingly plays out in front of her eyes.

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

“Let me go! Don’t touch me!” A voice echoed, her voice.

“Just get back here. You’re not leaving this house!” His voice rang through the air as she recalled the struggle. Pulling turned to pushing as he forced her return into the kitchen.

Anger.

Hate.

Rage.

Fear.

These two previous lovers now sat in a whirlwind of danger amongst each other. His eyes glowered with a paradoxical desperation and vengeance. Adelaide had never seen quite as intense of a flame as the ones burning in this man’s eyes. The very eyes that not long ago, gazed adoringly at her with tender affection. He threw his weight against hers, pinning her to the kitchen counter.

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

The water seemed to burglarize her breathe as she watched the tensions tighten in the scene. She felt his body on hers, even though he was long gone. The weight of his non-presence crumbling her. She remembered the single most defining, yet detrimental, detail of this final abusive episode.

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

His weight heavy on her, his eyes glowing with hatred, she reached behind her and pulled the only thing she could grab from the counter.

A serrated knife.

And without warning or threat, she plunged the blade deep into his abdomen. Eyes closed, she felt the rush of blistering liquid immerse her hands. He collapsed.  

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

This was all she allowed herself to recollect before shutting off the water and stepping on the plush bathmat. Nothing was ok anymore.

Dripping water pooled at her feet while she shivered. Her cat took the opportunity to provide affection, though still damp. Her meows and various purrs offered comfort, but not enough to pull Adelaide from this daze.

Adelaide pulled a neatly folded towel off the rack and began to dab her body. The stinging marble of her ribcage brought her back to reality. She suspended the towel around her body.

“We have to go, Hurricane.” Her voice drowned out as the cat mused up at her friend. Lost in a numbing coping mechanism, Adelaide hoisted her suitcase onto the bed. She immediately tossed all the clothes from her closet into the luggage and with a decent strain, zipped it closed. She then dragged down the cat carrier from the closet top shelf. Hurricane abruptly disappeared under the bed with sight at such a menace. Adelaide released an exasperated sigh.

“Hurricane!” She complained, lowering herself to the ground. She pulled the reluctant cat from its hiding spot and fixated her in the cat box before latching the enclosure shut. Phone charger in hand, she grabbed the cat and her suitcase and hastily headed for the door.

“Shoot.” She whispered under her breath. She released all she was holding and headed into the bathroom. Opening a single drawer, she acquired her toothbrush and again turned for the door. But something stopped her. She stifled a breath at the blade laying on the counter. She bit her lip in contemplation, but ultimately, she grabbed the wadded cash and left the weapon. Returning to her luggage, she allowed the time to pack the loose charger and toothbrush, simplifying the load.

Adelaide turned. She panned the tiny apartment and all the possessions she had left. The quirky, framed art scattered throughout the wall space; the hanging bulb lights framing the sole window; her unmade, queen bed. Though small, the place was quaint. A home. She wished she would have appreciated as much as she did in that moment, for the several years she occupied it. With numb fading into a sinking pain, Adelaide left.

 Chapter 2

Time seemed a foreign paradoxical idea as Adelaide drove with minimal contents in her car. A moment seemed forever, yet the night passed in an instant. Running low on funds and fuel, Adelaide coasted into town on fumes. Somewhere in rural, middle America, she stopped, deciding she had ran far enough away from the details in her head.

 Chapter 3

Six months floated by as Adelaide faked her way into a new life.  Riverside, a town in rural Missouri, now served as home base. It was a very simple place. A car was a convenience and by no means a necessity; there were very little connections to the outside world. Isolated in Riverside, the horrors of Adelaide’s past seemed a distant dream. Unreal even. In this state of denial, Adelaide believed she could heal.

The melancholy tone droned on as Adelaide scanned each label, all the while following the scripted greeting for each customer, accompanied with an obligatory smile.

“Did you find everything ok?” She inquired with vapid cheeriness. The woman wrangling two unruly boys muttered

“Yes, fine. Thanks.” In barely discernable English. Adelaide took the hint and continued checking and bagging the groceries without further distraction. In the meantime, this exhausted woman pulled at and lunged towards her overactive children. She struggled to finish any of her commands,

“Kyle will you…Josh don’t you…Kyle put that…Josh I said…” Finally, completely fed up, she loudly proclaimed “Just WAIT until your FATHER hears about this.” The boys commotion immediately extinguish. Frozen halfway through their path of destruction, both boys aligned themselves with the exhausted mother’s cart.

Adelaide finished loading the bagged groceries into the cart and interjected in the final space of silence,

“Your total comes to $58.27”

“Uh, here!” The woman shoved a plastic card at Adelaide. Truly grateful the transaction and therefore, interaction, was ending, she took the card and quickly ran it. Before the rowdy group departed the store, the two boys returned to their aggressive antics.

Typical. Her life had become typical. And typical is exactly what Adelaide craved: maintaining a menial job at the local grocer, in a menial town, renting a modest room with an irrelevant roommate.  It all seemed very low key. Aside from the occasional outburst of excitement from her roommate over simplistic, yet stereotypical feminine interests, i.e. massive sales, pregnancy scandals, and the rare romantic drama playing out in their town, Adelaide remained anonymous. However, these six months passing allowed the town integration of her existence, and much to her dismay this did not go unnoticed. The predicted southern charm warranted an undesired welcome. As politely as possible, Adelaide diminished the efforts and chose isolation. Some of the town’s old biddies liked to talk, and no doubt there were more than a fair few conversations revolving around the random appearance of this lonesome foreigner, but Adelaide’s actions—or lack thereof—discouraged any gossip.

Florence and Betty, the two undesignated gossips of Riverside, occupied two positions at the grocery store as well. Adelaide entertained the idea of both these elderly women in desperate financial squanders and therefore, weathered the hard labor of grocery checker, but Adelaide believed these women grew bored in their “golden years” and sought entertainment. Initially, Adelaide confused the pair. The stark contrasting appearances did very little in the discerning of the individuals. However, after six months, Adelaide sorted them out. Betty, a stout round woman, always sporting an obnoxious hairstyle and irreverent perfume, all in effort to occupy a larger space than her frame permitted. Florence, a tall, wispy, woman kept her hair rather short which only accentuated her long and sharp nose. The pair were just that, always a pair. Always together. Always talking. Adelaide genuinely tried to keep an ear out of their nonsense, however, the piercing nature of these women’s voices defied any resistance.

After the last painful transaction with the disarray of boys and highly aggravated mother, Adelaide sighed a breath of relief. Her shift was over. Finally. Her heavy feet found new lightness and sprung into action toward the customer service counter, the official location of clocking-out. On her sweet journey, Adelaide passed the unfortunate gabbing of Betty and Florence. Florence serving as checker, and Betty standing as the unnecessary bagger. Given the slow speed of the store, Betty had no business standing at the end of Florence’s station. However, it was well accepted these two would do, without a shadow of any doubt, whatever they wanted. No manager, nor authoritative figure stood a chance; in Riverside, you respect your elders.

“Did you hear Ally called out again?” Betty squawked.

“Third time in two weeks.” Florence confirmed.

“Well, we all know about that boyfriend of hers.” Betty nonchalantly interjected.

“Mm-hmm.” Florence hummed and tutted in condolences.

“The best thing a girl can be in this town, is by herself.” Betty claimed as if she had revolutionized and solved Riverside’s every problem.

Normally Adelaide tuned out the content and categorized their constant ramblings as mere noise, however, this conversation stuck with her. Ally. Ally? Who was Ally? Adelaide couldn’t quite remember this coworker, but all the same, felt a wave of concern.