#a fifteen year old who is reading your content

[pathologicalreid]

the archer | S.R.

in which a trip to your hometown leads to an exposed past and a wrongful arrest, you can't help but wonder who could stay

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angst

content warnings: normal cm violence/death. mentions of sexual assault and physical assault. mentions of miscarriage and dv. arson/fires. please take care of yourself while reading <3.

word count: 5.96k

a/n: if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, the US hotline is 800-799-7233. be well and be safe.

can you see right through me?

Emily had called you into her office fifteen minutes before the briefing began to let you know that the case was in your hometown. “There are some things that may come to light in a small town, and I wanted to let you know that you can stay behind if you need to,” she told you, having shut the blinds to her office to give you the most privacy she could.

Giving it a moment, you thought about it before you met her eyes, “if someone tries to say something, I’d rather be there to clear things up than let them say anything.” You wiped your clammy palms on your plants before standing up, “and besides, who better to work on victimology than someone who knows the town.”

You stepped out of the office, holding the door open for Emily before the two of you made your way to the roundtable room.

The two victims had been killed a week apart, they were both women who you had gone to school with. The first was in your graduating class, Victoria Reynolds, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The second was a year ahead of you, Melanie Baylor, kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and asphyxiated. The team had been called in by the lead detective on the case, Charlie Platten, and he had likely made the call without telling the police chief.

It had already been three days since the second body was recovered, and Emily didn’t want to waste any more time. You left the roundtable room to grab your go-bag, smiling when you felt a familiar presence next to you. “Are you alright?” Spencer asked, leaning against your desk while you reached underneath it for your bag.

Stepping in front of him, you looked up at him, “I’m okay, Spence.” You plopped your go bag on top of your desk, “it’ll be okay,” you whisper.

“And if at any point it’s not,” he prompted, placing a hand on your waist.

You simpered up at him, “You’ll be the first person I go to, love.”

He reached over and grabbed your bag off of your desk, carrying it to where the rest of the team is waiting for the elevator. “I’ll admit, I am interested in seeing your hometown,” he told you, letting you step into the elevator before him.

“Yeah, Y/N, maybe you can show us some of your old haunts once we solve the case,” Luke chimed in from the back of the elevator.

Laughing breathily, you turned your head to face Luke, “Do I really strike you as the kind of person to have ‘old haunts’, Alvez?”

A few of your team members chuckle. You faced forward, wondering how long it would be before one of them saw through you. When working with profilers, it was always a risk.

'cause all of my enemies started out friends

Emily sent you and Luke to the latest crime scene while she and Spencer set up at the precinct. JJ and Matt met with the latest victim's family while Tara and Rossi met with the medical examiner. Your stomach felt unsettled as soon as the plane landed, you had a bad feeling about this case. Spencer tried to ask you what was going on with you, but you just brushed him off.

You would tell him. After this case was over and you went home, you would tell Spencer everything. He deserved that.

“Did you know her?” Luke asked, using a gloved hand to inspect a shard of glass he found on the concrete.

Blinking rapidly, you snapped out of your stupor, “Melanie? Yeah, she was a year ahead of me in school. I graduated with Victoria though.” You used the toe of your boot to clear some dirt off of what looked like some sort of plaque. “I wasn’t all that close with either of them, but in a town this small, you kind of know everyone,” you explained.

Standing back up and walking back over to Luke, you looked at the building, it’s an abandoned factory on the edge of town. “Is there any significance to this building?”

“It was a functioning factory in the eighties,” you explained, looking at the vines growing up the side of it. “This business was the entire economy of the town, when the factory went down, so did the town.”

Luke nodded, taking a step back and eyeing the entire decrepit building. “And the church? Where the first body was found.”

You pursed your lips, “Only church in town, I was baptized there, when it burned down people had nowhere else to go, so they stopped believing.”

“How did the fire start?” He asked, turning the knob on the factory door, and looking surprised when it opened.

You shrugged, “lightning strike, I thought. I wasn’t much of a believer, especially once my mom died.”

Alvez nodded in understanding, “Would you say that both of these locations are important to the town and its history?”

Nodding, you followed Luke back to the SUV, leaning back in the passenger seat as you mentally prepared yourself for the scene your arrival at the precinct was about to cause.

When you got there, you immediately spotted the police chief ripping the lead detective, Charlie, a new one outside the front door. He saw you and did a double take, “And what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

“Sir, we’re members of the BAU, our-“ Luke started explaining, obviously confused at the chief’s combative nature.

He held up a hand, “I wasn’t talking to you, agent.” Turning to face you, “You don’t show your face at home, leaving in the middle of the night ten years ago and now you’re what? A big bad FBI agent?”

You stiffened, pushing your shoulders back as you faced him. Stand tall, stay strong. “It wasn’t the middle of the night, and the FBI is only big and bad to the people who deserve it, Frank.”

The man in front of you scoffed, “I’m talking to your supervisor, you’re not working on this case.” He pushes past you, causing you to stumble back against the wall.

“What was that about? Who was that guy?” Luke asked, looking at you as you got your bearings back before walking into the precinct.

Bowing your head, you grumbled, “You just met my father.” At that moment, you were glad to be facing away from him, because you weren’t sure you could face any of it.

You’re still the newest member of the BAU, technically being a profiler but Emily pulled you in to help with public communications, since the old unit chief had been handling it along with Garcia, Emily did the same. When Spencer went to prison, she found she needed extra help, so you were snagged from your cozy office in sex crimes and sent to the BAU.

You fit in well with everyone, and you never really felt the need to prove yourself. Even taking the initiative to write letters to Spencer, because you didn’t want to be a stranger to him when he came back. So, when you met face-to-face last year, he thanked you. When you kissed him eight months ago, you both agreed to move slowly.

Seven months ago, he showed up at your door and told you he loved you.

Emily gave you an understanding look when she saw you walk into the police station, she, of course, knew everything about your situation.

“We don’t have enough for any sort of geographic profile yet,” Spencer said, standing in front of a whiteboard with a map over it, along with pictures of the two victims. He turned as soon as he saw you, smiling in a silent greeting. You winked in response, sitting down in the office chair next to him.

Luke stood in front of you, blocking your view of the whiteboard, “What do you mean that was your father? Why wouldn’t you say that your dad was the chief of police here?”

You shrugged, leaning back in the chair, “I may share DNA with the man, but I haven’t seen Frank Burris since I was twenty years old.”

“Doesn’t that bother you? Did she tell you?” Luke asked Spencer, who was still looking at the whiteboard, entirely unbothered.

“What did you find at the crime scene?” Emily asked, effectively ending Luke’s questioning. You had no idea if she had heard any of the previous conversation, but either way, you were grateful for the change in subject.

Taking a deep breath, you turned and faced her, “The dump sites are all places that are former symbols of the town, maybe the unsub wants to further desecrate these locations.” Emily nodded, prompting you to continue. “These kills are angry, the overkill and sexual assault definitely lean toward a male offender, I think the unsub is angry,” you said.

“Angry that his town is no longer what it once was,” Spencer suggested, taking his eyes off the whiteboard. “Are there any other locations that could fit that general description?”

Shaking your head, you crossed your arms over your chest, “Probably, I haven’t been here in ten years, it might help to talk to a local. Charlie could probably help.”

“Charlie can’t help with anything; the chief took him off the case. It belongs to me now,” a voice behind you said. Immediately, you straightened up in your chair, earning a strange look from Spencer. “Y/N, I’m looking forward to working with you,” the male voice said.

Swallowing thickly, you turned and faced him, “I wish I could say the same, Johnny.” You stood up, needing as much ground as you could get. “Do you know any places that would fit the description? Somewhere that used to be a symbol in the down, but is abandoned now?”

“The school burnt down about eight days ago, but you’d know that if you gave a damn about us,” he said indignantly, looking down at you.

You felt Spencer stand behind you, “do you have some kind of problem?”

Johnny eyed your boyfriend and you hoped he didn’t catch on to your relationship, “If I’m being totally honest, I’m not completely comfortable working with Y/N.”

“Our team was called in to help solve these murders and Agent Y/L/N is a part of that team,” Emily defended you. “If you have a problem, I suggest you suck it up until this case is solved.”

Angrily, Johnny stalked off. You turned around and grabbed a file off of the desk, glancing over at Emily and silently thanking her.

help me hold on to you

Later in your shared hotel room, Spencer looked at you curiously, “Was he an ex-boyfriend?”

You rolled your eyes and laid back on the bed, it wasn’t the worst bed you’ve slept in since joining the BAU, but it certainly wasn’t going to be winning any awards any time soon. “Don’t be jealous, Spence, it’s unbecoming," you deflected.

Spencer climbed on top of the bed and kissed your forehead, “I’m not jealous, I’m concerned.”

That made your heart clench, you sat up in the bed and cupped his face with your hands, “You don’t need to worry about me, okay?” You studied his face, the small crease in his forehead that told you he was overthinking the situation made you sigh. Gently, you leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. “If I think you need to be concerned, I’ll tell you,” you whispered, allowing him to gather you in his arms.

“Okay, angel,” he whispered back.

You sighed and laid back against the pillows, “I have a bad feeling about this case,” you told him softly. Spencer doesn’t believe in intuition the way you do, but he’d never discredit your feelings.

He reached over and swept your hair behind your ear, “Me too.”

Pulling away from him, you looked at him curiously, “Why?”

He shrugged, “Both of them look like you. You’re the same age as them.” The victims, he was saying the victims were too similar to you for his own comfort. You hadn’t really given it much thought. If you start comparing yourself to the victims, you’d freeze up. That was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

“I’m not going anywhere, Spencer,” you comforted, curling up next to him.

i've been the archer, i've been the prey

The call came at five in the morning, only four hours after you had gone to sleep. Splitting up into two SUVs, half of you went to the precinct while the other half of you went to the crime scene.

“Katherine Meadows was dumped in front of the school,” Emily said, leading you, Tara, and Rossi into the precinct. You were still pulling your blazer on over your tank top, having been given approximately five minutes between waking up and getting out the door.

You stopped in your tracks; your mouth went dry. You knew of the other victims, but you were friends with Katherine. She helped you pay for your plane ticket out of here. You owed her your life, and now you’d never be able to repay her.

“What kind of school is it? Elementary? High school?” Rossi asked, flipping through a file that had been left on a desk.

Snapping out of your daze, you shook your head, “It’s K-12 all in the same building, that’s why it’s such a big deal that it’s gone.” You looked at the whiteboard, there weren’t any pictures of Katherine up yet, but you could imagine it. She looked more like you than the other victims, and you silently cursed Spencer for putting those thoughts in your head.

“Agent Y/L/N,” you heard Johnny call from behind you, he and your father were charging toward you at an alarming pace. “Are you armed?”

Your head snapped up, “yes,” you answered, putting your hand on your holstered weapon, watching as Johnny and Frank pulled their guns out.

“Please hand over your firearm to Detective Klein and put your hands up,” Frank commanded.

Taking a deep breath, you handed the weapon over to Johnny, facing him directly. It gave you tunnel vision, and you couldn’t even hear the protests of your team as you raised your hands level with your head.

Johnny grabbed your wrists, and you hissed as he cuffed you, the metal cutting into your skin when he made the handcuffs too tight. “Y/N Y/L/N, you’re under arrest for the murders of Victoria Reynolds, Melanie Baylor, and Katherine Meadows. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.” He shoved you in the direction of the interrogation room, “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

An officer opened the door, and he pushed you down into a metal chair, hooking your handcuffs to the table in front of you.He continued reading your rights, “If you decide to answer questions without an attorney present, you will still have the right to cease answering at any time until you are able to talk to an attorney.” Johnny said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “Do you understand your rights?”

You glared up at him, “What the hell are you doing, Johnny?”

He slammed a palm on the table, “Do you understand your rights?”

Pursing your lips, you looked away and peered right at the glass window ahead of you, “Yes, I understand my rights.”

“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?” He asked, leaning far too close to you, you could smell the cigarette smoke on his uniform. That smell was on you for years after you left, you were convinced you’d never be able to fully wash it off. Maybe you hadn’t.

You seethed up at him, “fuck no.”

Johnny nodded assuredly, opening the door to the interrogation room, and slamming it shut.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to pull the handcuffs away from where it was pinching your skin, you winced when it tore your skin. You set your head down on the cold table and sigh, knowing you should’ve taken Emily’s offer to stay behind when you had the chance.

Another officer came in later and told you they wanted your jacket and shoes for evidence, you didn’t fight them, numbly watching as he unlocked the handcuffs and took your jacket before putting the cuffs back on, just as tight. You kicked off your shoes for the officer and sat back down. Before he left, another officer came in and dropped an evidence box on the table.

It was an FBI scare tactic to leave an empty evidence box on an interrogation room table, but your box wasn’t empty.

They wanted to humiliate you in front of your team, and it was working. 

all the king's horses, all the kings men, couldn't put me together again

The next people to open the door were Charlie and Tara, they sat down across from you. “I’m really sorry about all of this Y/N,” he muttered to you, pulling some files out of the evidence box.

You shrugged and shook your head, “Nothing Johnathan Klein does to me anymore really surprises me.” You looked at the files.

Charlie was hesitant to open the files, “there’s some rough stuff in here if you’re okay with going over some of it with us.”

Swallowing thickly, you looked at the file, “I don’t really have a ton of choice, do I?”

You hated both of them for pitying you, but more than anything you hated your father and Johnny for doing this to you and wasting time while there was a serial killer on the loose. He opened the file and placed pictures of the three victims in front of you.

For a couple of minutes, he asked general questions. Do you know them? How did you know them?

Then Tara finally asked a question, “Y/N, how old were you when your mother died?” She asked you, placing a photo of you and your mom in front of you. You were probably seven in the picture.

“Ten,” you answered, looking at the picture. You wondered if you could keep it once this was all over.

“When you were ten, you started a string of hospital visits that lasted until you were twenty years old. Broken ribs, concussions, fractures, and… a miscarriage,” Tara said, your eyes snapped up to look at her.

Your mouth went dry “You had Garcia unseal my files?” You couldn’t help the hurt in your voice.

The way Tara looked at you, you could tell she understood you in a whole new light now, “we had to. She felt horrible doing it.” That you didn’t doubt, the whole team had a mostly unspoken rule on inter-team profiling. You nodded understandingly.

“Y/N, do you have an alibi for the murders? We already cleared up that you weren’t working, but can anyone account for your whereabouts?” Charlie asked impatiently, he knew you didn’t do this, and it might not be his case anymore, but you could still tell he wanted it solved.

Looking directly at Tara, you answered the question, “No, I wasn’t with anyone.”

Your coworker set her jaw as Charlie got up and left.

“How did you get those injuries, Y/N?” Tara continued her line of questioning, setting a packet of medical records in front of you. You were still cuffed, so all you could do was touch the papers with your fingertips.

The paper read of chromosomes and a D&C, you couldn’t help the tears that flooded your eyes, “I- uh. I don’t want to look at that, please.”

Quickly, Tara pulled the papers away, “who hurt you?”

You bit your lip to stifle a cry, “Tara, please.” You knew what was going on, the only person who knew everything was retaliating against the precinct. They humiliated you, so she was going to humiliate them. She repeated the question and this time you answered, “My father.”

“Was your father also the father of your baby?” She asked, looking down at the papers. Honestly, she looked just about as uncomfortable as you were.

Solemnly, you shook your head, “That was Johnny. We were together from when I was fifteen until I was twenty. My dad-“ Your voice broke off, “Frank never touched me like that.”

“Can you tell me more about Frank?” She asked softly, the way she spoke to victims. The one thing you had tried to avoid.

Blearily, you looked up at your friend, “Can we take a break?”

Nodding, Tara stood up. When she opened the door, you heard shouting. People asking if your cuffs could be taken off. You just let your tears fall for a moment. Charlie came back and unlocked your cuffs, looking at the dried blood on them and the still bleeding wounds on your wrists, “I- I think we have a first aid kit somewhere.”

You brushed him off, waiting for him to leave and for Tara to come back. She did, draping a sweater over the table, and you tentatively grabbed it. Sighing when you recognized it as Spencer’s, “Has everyone seen the paperwork?”

She nodded slowly, “are you alright to talk to me about Frank now?”

You used your newly freed hands to wipe under your eyes before pulling the cardigan on. “It was my mom, she took everything he threw at her to protect me,” you whispered. “He hit me when I was ten, I had gotten a bad grade in social studies. So, my mom and I planned to leave, but he figured it out,” you said, furrowing your brows at the memory. “He strangled her, and she died. He told everyone she hung herself. The whole town believed him because he was the chief of police.”

Tara wrote something down, “he killed her in front of you?”

You nodded, “He needed someone else to take his aggression out on after that, so he beat me.” You told her, fiddling with the hem of Spencer’s sweater. “So, when I was fifteen and I met a boy, I thought I had found the answers to all of my problems, but I really had just discovered more.”

“The boy was Johnathan Klein?”

Affirming her question again, you continued your story, “he was a horny fifteen-year-old boy, and he had sex with me even when I begged him not to. He told me he had to because he loved me, and I believed him.”

Tara leaned over and looked you in the eyes, “You know that wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” You asked meekly, tilting your head to the side. “He proposed to me the day we graduated from high school. I had already accepted the fact that I was never getting out of the town, but what I didn’t know was by getting engaged to him I was very nearly signing my own death certificate.” You took a deep breath and tried to ignore the ache in your chest, “I found out I was pregnant when I was nineteen, and looking back at it now, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

Tara didn’t speak, she just listened. You supposed that was the psychologist in her, letting you take the lead in your own story.

You furrowed your brows as you tried to bring memories that you had spent so long burying to the surface. “I knew I couldn’t make my baby go through the same thing I went through, so I tried to run, but I didn’t get far. He found me, he beat me, he brought me to the hospital, and he told me I killed our baby.” You could see the story was bothering Tara. When you told Emily, you told her in pieces over the span of a month. “The only people I was allowed to see after that were my dad, Johnny, and Katherine.” You wiped tears from your face, “the judge wouldn’t grant me a restraining order, my only option was to run. So, when Kath showed up with a plane ticket and an envelope of cash, I took the opportunity and left.”

“Y/N, do you think these murders could be somehow connected to your upbringing here?” Tara asked, flipping through another file.

You looked back at the glass that separates the observation room, having no idea who was on the other side listening. “I didn’t until Reid said the victims looked like me,” you confessed. It felt too convenient, victims looking like you, you being framed for their murders. Yet, you still made sure not to call Spencer by his first name, afraid of giving yourself away. “Do they have any evidence?”

“They found soil from the factory crime scene on your shoes, but your jacket is still being processed. Without an alibi, we can’t get them to release you,” Tara said.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back in the chair, “Of course, they found soil from the factory crime scene on my shoes, I was at the scene yesterday.”

The door opened and Frank stepped inside, “Your alibi spoke up.” He sounded irritated, but not as irritated as he’s going to be once the BAU is through with him.

i see right through me

Spencer had settled you down on a desk in the corner of the precinct, disinfecting the cuts on your wrists made by Johnny’s handcuffs. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, watching as he cleaned the debris from your torn skin.

He didn’t respond, he just shook his head. You could tell he was thinking, as clearly as if you could see gears physically turning in his head.

“Spence, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you whispered, bending your neck to try to catch his eyes.

He shook his head again, “I’m not upset, not with you at least.”

You raised your eyebrows in suspicion, “Then stop getting so lost in thought. What’s bothering you?”

He clasped both of your hands in his own, setting them in your lap, “Does it feel like a coincidence to you that the same night Johnny told us about the school the woman who helped you escape an abusive relationship was found dead at that school?” Spencer dropped your hands, reaching into the first aid kit and pulling out bandages before gingerly wrapping your wrists. At work, you tried to keep the public displays to a minimum, but you felt like these were extenuating circumstances, which was why you had secluded yourselves in the corner.

“I need to look at the crime scene photos again,” you said, trying to get off of the desk.

Spencer firmly placed both of his hands on your hips, effectively keeping you in place. “Once I’m done,” he whispered, securing the bandages on your wrists. “Are you alright?”

You tilted your head up at him and smiled sadly, “Everyone learned a lot about me today. Some of it I had never intended on telling them. I just feel… exposed? Raw?” You searched desperately for the right word to use to describe exactly how you feel.

Hanging your head low, your eyes traced patterns in the carpet when Spencer hooked a finger gently under your chin and lifted your head, so you were looking at him. His honey-colored eyes searched your face, and you felt like he was looking right through you. “You know nothing that happened today makes any of us see you differently, right? I don’t think of you as any less of a person because of what I learned today.”

You shook your head, “You don’t learn those things about your girlfriend and look at her the same.”

“You’re right. I don’t look at you the same, I’m even more in awe of you now than I was before. The fact that you’ve been through what you’ve been through and you’re this bright, shiny person sitting in front of me is astounding, but…” His voice trailed off.

Here it was, he couldn’t want who you were. He didn’t want the heavy history that comes with you. You shut your eyes.

He cupped your face with his hands, “it makes me worry that maybe I haven’t been there for you enough. Not in the same way you’re there for me.”

“Spence,” you whispered, swallowing back your emotions, and looking up at him.

Spencer shook his head, “I love you, and I have to make sure that you know that I’m always going to be there when you need me.”

Nodding rapidly, you stood up and wrapped your arms around him, “I know.” Your voice was little more than a rasp, “I know, I love you too.”

After assuring Emily and Tara that your friendship was intact, you turned to the team. “I think I play a bigger part in this case than I realize.”

“We were just coming to a similar conclusion, once we saw what Katherine Meadows looked like, it just confirmed our suspicions,” JJ said, looking at the whiteboard, which now had Kath’s picture on it, as well as yours. “The whole town seems to have it out for you, though. How do we narrow down the suspect pool?”

You stepped up to the whiteboard, “Because it’s not about the locations and their relation to the town, it’s about the locations and their relation to me.” You pointed to the factory, “When I was fifteen, this was the first place Johnny ever assaulted me.”

“You said he proposed to you at your high school graduation, right?” Tara said, “That’s the connection to the school.”

Nodding, you continued, “And we were going to get married at the church.”

Spencer wrote this all down on the whiteboard as you fit the pieces of this puzzle together. “Is there anywhere else that would fit in with these other locations?”

Flipping through a file, you set papers down on the desk in front of your team. “That’s our house, it was set on fire not long after I left,” you pointed out. “That’s where he’s going next.”

“But who will his victim be? If we can get to her before he can, then we can stop him before he gets to her,” Matt mentioned.

Slowly, you turned around and faced your team, “I don’t intend on letting anyone else get hurt. This is between me and Johnny.”

who could stay?

You sat yourself down at the dining room table. Nothing in the house had been moved, its charred remains were left defenseless against Mother Nature. You knew this table, there was blood ground into the wood grain. It was your blood.

You wished they had torn the rest of the structure down.

Spencer didn’t like the idea of you going alone, but you were armed, and you had an earpiece in. You weren’t alone, the team was nearby in case things went wrong.

“Incoming, blue pick-up pulling into the driveway,” Luke said through the radio. “Suspect’s getting out, it doesn’t look like anyone’s with him.”

Realistically, you knew nothing was going to happen to you, but there was some small voice in the back of your head that told you something was going to go awry.

You wiped your sweaty palms on the floral-patterned chair. Part of you was grateful that the team had enough faith in you to send you to get a confession on your own, but another part of you wished someone would’ve asked you if this is really what you want to do. Sure, you wanted Johnathan Klein to be put away for a long time, but you didn’t want to be in this house. When you left, you had hoped you’d never have to set foot in this godforsaken town ever again.

Sitting up straight, the front door opened. You’re not sure why he opens the door when there’s a hole in the wall leading right to you. “I thought you might come looking for me,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I always knew you’d come back to me, baby,” Johnny spoke to you in a low voice, but you knew the team could hear.

“I didn’t come here for you, Johnny,” you whispered, keeping your voice steady. “I came for the girls who were murdered. I knew them, we both did,” you told him. That was the truth, you felt like you owed them because they died while you got to live.

He sat next to you, placing a hand on your knee. It was all you could do to not flinch away from him. “Then why did you bring that guy? If not to make me jealous, then why?”

“Johnny, if I go with you, will it stop?” You asked, turning to him, reaching out your hand, and placing it on his arm.

Humming, he reached out and brushed your hair behind your ear, luckily not the side where you had your earbud in. “I don’t know what you mean, babe. You’ll have to spell it out for me,” he said, pulling you to your feet abruptly. You didn’t see the knife when he first walked in, you didn’t even know he had it until it was to your throat.

But you weren’t twenty years old anymore. You had grown up. You had learned self-defense.

So, you caught him off guard when you hit him, causing the knife to clatter to the ground. “You bitch!” He growled, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You won’t kill me,” you said, planting your feet on the ground. “You had five years to kill me, Johnny.”

He stood up, “No, but I killed a part of you. Didn’t I? When I killed your baby?”

After all these years, he knew how to get under your skin. He got one hit off, across your cheek, the strike so hard that your earbud went flying across the room. “You killed the part of me that you created, that’s not who I am. I recreated myself, a version of myself without this godforsaken town.”

“But I got you here, back home. I killed all those girls for you to come back to me,” he said, running straight at you.

You hit him with your gun, you physically struck him with the butt of the gun. You could’ve shot him, it would’ve been clean, but you didn’t. That would’ve been easy for him. He dropped like a ragdoll and the rest of your team came rushing in. Someone was calling your name, but you couldn’t hear.

Matt ended up being the one who cuffed him, you slowly walked away from them. Backing yourself into a wall, you watched it all happen.

When you left your hometown, you never quite felt like it was over. He was always still going to be around. But this? This felt final.

It made your chest ache.

Gently, Spencer took your hand and led you outside. “It’s done?”

He nodded rapidly, “It’s over, angel. Emily and Luke are at the precinct taking Frank into custody. They’ll both go away for a long time.”

“Spence, I want to go home,” you whispered, looking down the road and seeing houses that you recognize from your childhood. This whole town was filled with your own ghosts. “Can we go home?”

Spencer didn't answer, he just pulled you into him and held you tightly. You let him inspect the wound on your cheek before you went back to the hotel and put everyone’s belongings in an SUV.

On the jet, the two of you sequestered yourselves in the back where it’s darker. He offered to let you lie down, so you rested your head in his lap. He used one hand to hold his book and the other to smooth your hair back. Your eyes were shut, but you were vaguely aware of the rest of the team as they took turns peeking back at the both of you.

you could stay

please remember to like, reblog, and comment

#written by margot #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds angst #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds imagine

[etirabys]

meandering post about reading Orson Scott Card again

I've been offline starting at 9pm every day (except once. I was drunk at karaoke and asked for anons at 8:30pm) for six weeks, with the result that in befuddled boredom two nights ago I picked up Orson Scott Card's Songmaster from the house bookshelf.

I read Ender's Game and three sequels when I was a teen thought the books were mid. Since those are OSC's best works I assumed he had nothing more interesting to offer me and didn't try more of him for fifteen years, but Songmaster was compelling enough that I immediately afterwards picked up The Memory of Earth, the first book of a pentalogy.

TMoE is extremely my jam: after humanity blows itself up on Earth, AIs monitor thriving human civilizations in the planets that survivors managed to escape to, and suppress any tech that enables large scale violence by exerting low key mind control via satellites. But forty million years pass, many of the satellites break down, and the AI needs help from humans to restore capabilities. Because as its control wanes, people are starting to e.g. conceive of airplanes or bombs again, and override the injunctions against entering military alliances more than two edges of connection away.

The AI is worshipped as a god all over the planet, but the fourteen year old protagonist that becomes one of the AI's agents tells the AI from the beginning that he'll break with it if its morality seems wrong to him. I like the fourteen year old – unlike Ender or Songmaster's protagonist (adult minds piloting ten year old bodies), he's a normal gifted kid who's unpopular 50% due to his ego and big mouth and 50% because he's socially inept and offends people even when he's trying to be nice.

Songmaster is also partly about a permanent solution to large-scale violence, albeit through one guy who establishes a monopoly on violence and sweeps in pax galactica. Both it and TMoE are preoccupied with the eradication of suffering from evil / human violence, which is closer to my resonant frequency than narratives about defeating particular people or ideologies. At the moment I can't think of any other book with such an insistent focus on the matter than T.H. White's The Once and Future King. It's hard to make a compelling story out of, and I don't think Songmaster really succeeds, but TMoE's premise is well suited to explore that. (I'm also enjoying the matriarchal culture where everyone is expected to have multiple serial-monogamous marriages.) After reading 70% of TMoE last night I wrote:

Usually when I read fiction there's a small part of me going, how can I use this as fodder for my own growth, how can I remix or improve or react against this, how do the author and I measure against each other? (If the quality and content are at an anti-sweet spot, the small part becomes quite large and I feel all teeth towards the author.) But on occasion I read something so close that the absence of that measuring-feeling is its own sensation – ego departs, or at least is split across two bodies. There's just amity and recognition

And it's pretty interesting to feel this way about Card for, well, the reasons.

(If you're familiar with Card drama none of the following will be new to you; I'm coming to it fresh so the rest of this post is me going "uh... wow")

I vaguely knew he was a homophobic Mormon who'd gotten into fights about gay stuff, but I couldn't tell from the Ender books I read. But in Songmaster his issues spring off the page in such a weird way. Every fifth Goodreads review of this book is "Card, u gay?" because, well,

(One review, possibly from a fellow Mormon, that went "Card, it's so sinful of you to be this gay in your novel". Why did he write this book that would predictably make everyone mad...)

it's full of gay male desire. The protagonist (Ansset) is approximately a castrato and characters notice him sexually a lot. The first and only time Ansset has sex it's with a Kinsey 4-5 male character he loves, who's married to a woman but has fallen in love with Ansset. It turns out the drugs Ansset took to prolong his singing career painfully and only-kinda-figuratively explode your balls when you have your first orgasm and you'll never feel sexual desire again. (You'd think his loving teachers would have warned him of that, but, whatever, they didn't.) The other guy is literally castrated in punishment for inadvertently torturing a highly valuable castrato. It's pretty bald: GAY SEX IS ALMOST IRRESISTIBLY TEMPTING BUT YOU SHOULDN'T DO IT.

(Sidenote: both Ansset and the guy's wife are very close and have a "there's enough love to go around" attitude about the gay sex initially, before they go "wait Josif is a SERIAL MONOGAMIST... he can only love one person at a time... the moment he had the gay sex his marriage was destroyed". It's funny in a mildly stupid way that Card would set up this parable of homosexuality destroying lives and a marriage but almost everyone involved is peacefully ready to sail into an open marriage. I guess it makes sense if you want to say very clearly that THE GAY PART IS THE BAD PART)

which is fascinating to me, because... why would you tell on yourself like that

(81k also told me secondhand of an essay? interview? where Card openly says "we have to stand against legalizing gay marriage because everyone will get gay married and society will collapse", so that's informing my read of Songmaster as well)

I am pretty dang open about my personal life online but if I had a lot of feelings I thought were disgusting and immoral I would not write a novel dripping with those feelings before pointedly castrating the leads for them. Especially if it wasn't relevant to the actually highbrow themes of (checks notes) winning over your adversaries with kindness and never relinquishing your monopoly on violence. I would be so so so so embarrassed to let this go to print, it's so psychologically transparent, what was he thinking

(Well, I assume he's a very different person with different social incentives. For all I know, people in his church went "hey Orson we read your book and it's clear that you're gay but signaling strongly that you won't give into the gay feelings, we're here for you, it was really brave of you to publish this".)

#rambl #orson scott card #eti reads stuff #eti reads the homecoming saga #songmaster #content note: homophobia

[luv4fushi]

omfg i litr read everything uve written off ur masterlist I NEED MOREEEE. i love the way u write megumi especially, i couldn’t get enough of it. i hope you write more of him, my heart aches for more tbh 🥹 tysm for being such a good writer and feeding us starved readers well

tysm! i'm sooo glad i can be a good source of megumi content for you >_< i looove writing megumi so you'll be seeing sooo much more of him, dw! happy holidays!

this december

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

it’s always colder on your own, especially around this time of year. you should be at home, bundled up with a warm cup of hot chocolate, but here you are in shinjuku, exorcizing curses with your ex boyfriend two weeks after your breakup with him. great.

content: post break up, aged up megumi (19/20), megumi is terrible at feelings, getting back together, fluff if you squint, a bit of angst, miscommunication, one bed (but it isn’t the main plot point sorry), megumi calls you baby like once, gojo is the best wingman, SHIBUYA ARC NEVER HAPPENED AND LIFE IS GOOD, not proofread im very sorry guys pls forgive me, kinda a word dump sry

word count: 5.8k (sigh this was supposed to be 2k words max)

click on my masterlist for more & merry christmas to those who celebrate!

it’s december 19th when satoru gojo tells you that he has a mission just for you. you’re less than ecstatic about it to say the least. the last thing you want to do is be sent to your death just shy of christmas day. you just want to rest your sore muscles and bask in the presence of your best friends. you’re not in the mood to kill any curses, mainly because you’ve just recovered from a previous mission.

“why me?” you groan.

gone are the days where you used to be a goody two shoes for satoru. you’re old enough to talk back now, not like when you had been a shy fifteen-year-old girl. besides, you’ve been around the silver-haired sorcerer long enough to know that he doesn’t mind the bite.

“sorry, kid,” satoru says with a shrug. at least he sounds genuine about it. “the higher ups requested for you specifically. they say you’ll get the job done in the cleanest way. we can’t have things getting messy before the holidays, right?”

“and you wouldn’t be the best choice?” you quip.

satoru only laughs. he ruffles your hair. even with your growth spurt and merciless training, he still towers over you. in a way, he’ll always be your mentor. “hey, i’m going out of town that weekend. give me a break.”

you huff petulantly. something about this mission seems fishy to you. you’re not nearly the strongest sorcerer out of the bunch of kids under satoru’s wings (not that you guys are kids anymore, but sometimes it’s hard to feel otherwise). hell, there’s the kyoto students. it feels like they never have to do anything. you wish that you were rebellious enough to chew utahime out for it.

“why couldn’t they just make yuta or megumi go?” you mutter under your breath. you stammer out megumi’s name and hope satoru doesn’t catch on to the way you can barely say it.

satoru knows about the breakup. why wouldn’t he? he’s basically megumi’s dad, even if the raven haired boy refuses to admit it. satoru’s six eyes mean you can’t hide anything from him (he’d been the first to know that megumi was head over heels for you).

satoru raises a brow. “oh, right. megumi’s coming along too.”

your face twists and you immediately whip around to glare at him. “you’re lying.”

“i wish,” he jokes. “i was really hoping i’d get a wedding invitation one day, you little rascal. i can’t believe you two broke up. maybe this’ll be a good thing!”

“i appreciate your honesty, but—”

“but megumi’s an emotionally constipated kid, yeah, that i know,” satoru laughs. he makes his way to the exit of his office which has you furrowing your brows. is your former teacher actually gonna just leave after making you come all the way here? how rude and so very in character of him.

“please, gojo,” you call out after him, “i don’t wanna go with him.”

“sucks for you,” satoru responds halfheartedly. “merry christmas. try not to take more than a week on this. you’ll have to pay the rest of the fee for accommodations if you do.”

“gojo!” you whine.

“it’s not a hard mission!” satoru insists like it’ll make your life any easier. “y’know, this time of year is when things get ugly. think of it as saving as many people as you can while putting in the least amount of effort!”

and then he teleports. your former teacher teleports away rather than being normal and walking out of the door. you roll your eyes and hope that he can sense it (you know he can’t).

so that’s why you’re here now. with your ex. on the elevator to your assigned room on the tenth floor. you’re so glad that it’s a normal hotel and not a love hotel. lord knows what you’d do if you had checked into a love hotel.

megumi hasn’t spoken a word to you since he broke up with you two weeks ago. it had been in the doorway to your apartment a few days after a particularly rough mission assigned to the both of you—the one you’re still recovering from. he’d pulled you in for a hug, whispering sweet words into your ear. he gave you a look, one of those looks that made him soften his usually sharp eyes.

“i think we should break up.”

and then came the pathetic whimper of yours. he had wiped your tears, even kissed them tenderly, before telling you that it wasn’t your fault—it was his. how cliche.

now as you stand next to him, you want to beat yourself up for not asking for closure. neither of you had explicitly stated that you two were going to be no-contact, but it hurts a lot less to push the idea of forever with megumi away to the back of your mind. besides, you two aren’t confrontational like that. not with each other, anyway.

“need help?” his tone is soft, tender—the tone he reserves specifically for you, the one that tells you he still cares.

you stare down at the luggage at your feet. you’ve always been a chronic overpacker, a habit that megumi knows of by now. he watches you curiously, hands itching at his sides. you can tell that he wants to reach out and grab your suitcase like he always does. he thinks he isn’t obvious, but you can always read through the lines, especially when it’s megumi.

“i’m okay,” you croak out, clearing your throat awkwardly.

the elevator dings and you make your way to your room. as much as you hate to admit it, you’re sort of glad that you and your ex boyfriend are sharing a room. perhaps his’ll be a good way to get closure, though you’re not really sure what closure entails.

what you don’t expect is to unlock the door and be met with a singular bed.

if satoru gojo didn’t have a layer of infinity coating his body (and if he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive), you would’ve wrung out his neck.

megumi simply walks into the room, setting his duffel bag down on one of the dressers opposite from the foot of the bed. he doesn’t comment on the lack of double beds, seemingly already aware of the set up.all he does is puff out a weary sigh. you suck in a breath and follow him inside, slipping your shoes off at the entrance.

you lug your suitcase in after you along with your duffel bag and backpack. you stumble forward and megumi’s arm snakes around your waist, steadying you.

“careful,” he mutters, nonchalantly taking your bag off our your shoulders.

it’s a quick series of movements; he swings your bag over his shoulders and places it on the dresser next to the one he’s claimed while guiding you softly to the side of the bed so that you’re not standing in the middle of the doorway.

you scrunch your face, feeling your heart thump against your ribcage. it’s stupid how he still has such a hold on you, even after two weeks of not seeing or talking to him. he’s just so caring, so gentle. it stings, like little the little cuts you get when fighting curses, when you realize that this is something you’ll have to learn how to lose.

“thanks,” you manage to mutter. you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. you know from the way your throat tightens that you’ll be crying soon if you force yourself to talk any more.

“i can take the couch,” megumi says.

it’s that easy with him; he’s a gentleman, so of course he’d take the couch. that’s the way megumi fushiguro is—he offers a solution before you even have the chance to complain. in your year and a half long relationship, that skill of his had been a saving grace.

“no, don’t bother,” you croak. “i’ll book another room.”

“really?” he asks. he stands up a little straighter, awkwardly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “i mean, i don’t mind sharing a room with you… we’ve..”

we’ve shared a room countless of times before.

megumi doesn’t have to continue his sentence for you to understand what he’s implying. you part your lips to speak, but nothing comes out except for a long, heavy sigh. your shoulders drop as you let the exhaustion seep into your bones. there’s no use arguing about it, not when you don't’ mind sharing a room with megumi, either.

“we’ve broken up,” you remind him in a quiet voice, like you’re afraid saying it out loud will make it truer than it already is.

megumi pauses. you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “i know that, but … it’ll be fine. we’ve shared a room as friends before.”

he’s right, like he usually is. you two have shared a room before as just friends, but that had been as teenagers—back when you both harbored such hardcore crushes on each other that you two somehow didn’t notice.

“right,” you find yourself agreeing with a small nod.

“you should go get ready for bed.” megumi begins grabbing a few or the decorative pillow off of the bed. he places them gingerly on the brown couch tucked in the corner of the hotel room. “we’ll be getting up pretty early to deal with the brunt of the mission.”

to finish this mission as quickly as possible, you think.

and so you oblige and head to the bathroom. it’s december 19th, just a few days shy of christmas day, and you’re in bed with your ex boyfriend on the couch just a few feet away.

december 20th greets you with megumi hovering over you. he peers down at you with his messy bangs covering his eyes. they’re piercingly blue as he blinks. his lashes flutter perfectly, even in the early morning. your eyes meet his and you jolt awake.

“good morning,” he says. “your alarm has been ringing for a bit now, so i turned it off.”

you blink rapidly, getting the tiredness out of your eyes. “oh.”

he chuckles softly, just enough for you to catch it with your ears. he rises from his crouched position and heads to the front door. he spares you a glance over his shoulder before he heads out, presumably giving you the privacy you need. you let out a strangled breath before you swing your legs over the bed and head to the bathroom.

by the time you’re finished putting on your uniform, you swing the door to your hotel room open and see megumi leaned up against the wall, tapping away on his phone. his dark blue eyes flicker up to you and he turns away to head down the hall.

you furrow your brows. you can’t help but think that he’s being a little cold to you. it isn’t like you initiated the breakup. despite your frustration with his behavior, you can sort of understand why he wouldn’t want to be sweet around you; you two aren’t dating anymore and so it makes sense that he’d go back to being aloof in your presence, the usual way he acts around everyone else. losing that position in his life makes your stomach churn for reasons you’re less than willing to uncover.

your mission is a vague one; all you know is that it’s a clean-up mission. rather than a level 1 curse (or even a special grade), the mission consists of an acclimation of weak curses surrounding shinjuku. these missions are normally given to younger, more inexperienced sorcerers with the help of a senior sorcerer, but for an odd reason, it’s been given to you and megumi this year. megumi could’ve probably handled it himself. actually, you could’ve handled it yourself.

you bite your tongue to hold back on your complaints as you walk just a step behind megumi. he pauses regularly, waiting for you to catch up to his side. you roll your eyes in secret. does he not realize that you don’t want to walk next to him?

“it’s all just bars,” you mutter.

with that, you earn a tiny laugh from megumi. “well, yeah. this is the red-light district of shinjuku.”

you pale. “this sucks.”

“why do you think i wanted to come out here in the morning rather than at night?” he says, his tone strangely light.

“to deal with the brunt of the mission,” you repeat his words from last night sarcastically. you’re unsure as to what he’s talking about, so you think that it’s okay to give him a little bit of attitude.

he raises his brow but doesn’t comment on your sarcasm. instead, he says softly, “no, stupid. it’s because this is the red-light district. it’s unsafe for anyone, especially a pretty, young girl alone at night.”

your first thought is to coo and tease him. you think i’m pretty? it takes you half a second to remember that you two are broken up. you scoff, “i’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“i never said you weren’t,” megumi shoots back. “it would just be annoying explaining to the higher ups why you were fighting people and not curses.”

“i’m sure they’d understand,” you retort, frowning. you cross your arms.

“don’t be so pouty,” he says in that stupid, gentle tone he uses with you when you’re acting bratty.

you both decide to split up. well, it’s more like you demand the two of you to split up. you say it under the pretense that it’ll get the job done faster. besides, you both want to be home before christmas day, right?

there’s about two curses you cross paths with every hour. you’re starting to lose your mind. shouldn’t the streets be infested with them? you don’t even need a veil! all you have to do is give the weak curses just one punch and they vaporize on the spot. your head is running with hundreds of thoughts.

that’s when it hits you: the first years at the tokyo jujutsu school did come out here a week prior! maybe they did a bad job? but you remember nobara had been the one to lead the group. she may half-ass almost everything in her life, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her underclassmen for the sake of her freetime.

so why on earth are you here? it’s not like there are enough harmful curses for a mission to be assigned to you right before christmas, and to you and megumi of all sorcerers. you’re both strong enough to the point of having some kind of importance in the jujutsu world. the higher ups wouldn’t send the two of you on some stupid mission for the sake of it unless they’re planning some sort of secret execution. but even then, satoru gojo should’ve known through their lies to not send you or megumi. unless…he wants you two dead…?

you shake your head and bite your nails. the sun begins to set and you realize that you’ve been out here for longer than you expected. you’re starting to feel a chill in your bones—you had argued petulantly with megumi earlier about not wanting to wear your jacket despite it being the dead of winter; “it’s gonna get in the way!”

you always seem to forget the the sun sets earlier in the winter. it’s stupid how bright all the lights are in shinjuku. there isn’t a square foot of anything that isn’t lit up with neon signs reading out the names of clubs and bars. you see couples and large groups of people walking along the streets.

it’s lonely, you realize. it would’ve been less lonely with megumi.

you make your way to the meeting spot with megumi. you both share a few small words before retiring for the night. megumi says he wants to go sightseeing, even though there’s really nothing much to see. he doesn’t return to the hotel room until late at night.

when he slips into the only bed that the room offers, you chalk it up to the slight alcohol you smell on his lips. it feels so natural that you don’t push him away even though you should. his body is warm and you fit so perfectly against his broad chest that you think it’ll be okay for you to be a little selfish tonight.

“g’night,” megumi mumbles in his sleep.

you smile and nuzzle closer.

it’s december 21st as you realize how late it is in the day. megumi is back on the couch. you feel a tinge of disappointment in the bottom of your stomach.

to no one’s surprise, the sun is barely peeking over the buildings when you’re finally back in the red-light district. you’re doing the last bit of cleanup, but there’s really nothing much for you to clean.

tomorrow, you’ll be heading to a shopping mall, so you suppose you should do your best to sniff out the rest of the curses littering the place unless you want to stay here an extra day. the day is, yet again, slow.

it’s nearing 8 PM and you're finally sure that you’ve gotten rid of all the curses in the general area. you’ve been done for quite a while now, but you just haven’t found the courage to let megumi know that you’re ready to go back to the hotel room. a little sightseeing on your end wouldn’t hurt, right?

“hi, pretty.” a gravelly voice, battered by cigarettes, whispers in your ear.

you jump in surprise. you need to remember not to get too far into your head. you should’ve felt his presence coming from a mile away. it’s a terrible habit and satoru has scolded you for years about it.

“hi,” you mutter, pushing past his larger frame.

the man isn’t as nicely built as the men you know (but then again, your friends are jujutsu sorcerers, so it’s kind of hard to beat that), but he still towers over you. he’s got a squad of rough-looking guys behind him, smirking down at you.

“why’s someone like you alone?” he says, shoving his arm to loop around your waist.

you roll your eyes, getting ready to punch the man square in the nose. will you get in trouble? probably yes. will it be a funny story to tell? also probably yes.

“don’t touch my wife.”

the group of men turn their heads along with you to see megumi. his expression is shrouded with a mixture of anger and frustration. you blink in confusion—megumi usually looks pretty pissed off, but this is the most angry you’ve seen him in a while. and ‘wife’? what’s up with that?

“oh, my bad,” the man chuckles. “didn’t know this pretty thing was married.”

“this ‘pretty thing’ wants you to let her go,” you say with an overly sweet smile. your teeth clench and you hiss, “right now.”

the guy scurries down the sidewalk with his buddies trailing along, making fun of him for hitting on a married woman. nobody mentions the lack of a ring on your finger. nobody mentions the lack of a relationship, either.

“wife?” you scowl. “we’re broken up.”

“guys tend to back up when they know a woman is married. it’s the only way you can really, uh, get them to go away around here.”

you glare at him. “and how would you know? you come here often with girls?”

“...no?” he blinks, unable to comprehend your sudden burst of jealousy. “i sometimes get missions around here, though. pretending to be married was the easiest way—”

“we aren’t, though. we’re not even in a relationship.” you seem to be throwing that into his face a lot more than you should. you can’t help it, though. you still feel a little bitter about not getting a real reason as to why megumi wanted to break up.

“i was trying to help you.” he’s calm and collected, as heard through his voice. he walks up to you and takes your freezing hand into his much warmer ones. “let’s go home.”

“i don’t want to,” you argue.

“stop being a brat,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. “you’re cold and you’ve been out here all day. if i hadn’t stopped those guys, you probably would’ve beat them up pretty badly.”

“i’m not a fucking brat!” you try to retract your hand, but megumi’s grip only tightens.

“baby, stop,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease. megumi sighs softly and pulls you to his chest. “why are you so worked up, hm?”

from the way he speaks, you can tell that he already has an inkling. the breakup. cuddling last night. hugging you now. everything.

you don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes his thumb under your eye. he has the audacity to have an amused grin plastered on his stupidly pretty lips. your vision is blurry but if it hadn’t been, you would’ve thrown a punch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “it’s all my fault.”

“it is,” you whimper pathetically. all the tears and the emotions you’ve been holding back bubble up to the surface.

“don’t be upset,” he almost pleads. “let’s go back, okay?”

the night ends with megumi on the couch. neither of you bring up the argument or the fact that he had slept in your bed with you last night. you two don’t talk about the usage of pet names, either.

when you open your eyes on december 22nd, you’re surprised to see that megumi has already headed out for the day. you click your tongue in annoyance—he’s always been good at avoiding his problems when it comes to dealing with them, especially problems involving his emotions. you already know where you’re supposed to be headed, so you suppose that it’s for the best that he’d left before you.

the shopping mall is a long line of vendors and stores among other things. the snow on the ground is fresh—it must’ve snowed late last night after you’d fallen asleep. it crunches underneath your beat-up sneakers with each step you take. you’re not shocked when you end up wandering aimlessly, dipping in and out of stores with no real urgency to finish your mission.

there’s nothing to do anyway.

you’ve killed about 3 curses total and it’s really starting to look like you’ve been sent out here for busy work. you really should’ve figured that out the first day of the mission when you had to practically beg the curses to come out and fight you.

you find yourself in the front of a jewelry store, eyeing a pretty bracelet that you know would look stunning around megumi’s wrist. it’s one of those bracelets that clasp tightly. there’s a thicker band in the center with pretty carvings that seem to resemble some sort of swirly heart. it’s pretty, you have to admit.

without much thought, you buy the gift.

the seller has to clear her throat to get your attention when you don’t answer her question. “um, would you like this to be wrapped?”

you nod absentmindedly. “oh, yes. sorry. please wrap it.”

she nods in return and proceeds to wrap the bracelet in a tiny box, adorning it with a festive bow. you ask her to change it out for a different color, explaining that it isn’t a christmas gift and instead, it’s for someone’s birthday. she offers you a warm smile before switching it with a muted blue ribbon.

you return to the hotel, having to take an expensive taxi. you don’t mind—the bracelet has already made a decent-sized dent in your wallet. why not spend an extra amount on getting home? it’s not like jujutsu sorcerers are paid poorly.

reality hits you when you finally get back to the hotel room. you want to punch yourself for being so stupid. did you really just buy a birthday present for your ex-boyfriend?

you’re thankful that megumi hasn’t arrived yet. he seems to be determined to avoid you for as long as he can. you can’t blame him, either. you did give him quite a hard time yesterday.

you toss the box on to the dresser and head to the bathroom to splash some much needed cold water on to your face. maybe that’ll wake you up enough to clear your mind. you’ve acted out once during this trip already and you’re not really looking forward to any other possible outbursts.

you rinse your face and pat yourself dry with one of the face towels provided to you by the hotel staff. you hang it over the rack again and tiredly make your way to your bed. you halt your movements when you see megumi standing by the dresser, admiring your gift.

he looks up at you in surprise with the smallest grin on his face. it’s so subtle that you would’ve missed it had you not been dating him for nearly two years.

“is this for me?”

“no,” you quickly deny. his face falls and you cough out, “um, i mean.. yeah. i-i didn’t… i… happy birthday.”

he brightens, lips pulling up into a real, genuine smile. “you remembered?”

“why wouldn’t i?” you blurt gently. you bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from saying anything more.

“i dunno.” his voice is distant and low, like he’s trying to hold back his tears. “i just…i didn’t think i was deserving of a gift from you. thank you. i like it.”

you stand awkwardly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “yeah, well…”

“can you help me put it on?” he asks, sitting at the edge of your unmade bed.

you feel your body heat up. part of you screams for you to stop. you shouldn’t do that. it’s far too intimate and you two are broken up. you’ve never been good at making decisions, though, so you sit next to him and feel the mattress dip.

he gives you a grateful look, one that you willfully ignore, and gives you his wrist. you clasp the bracelet on, fingertips just barely grazing his skin. your heart skips a beat and you have to inhale sharply before pulling away.

“thank you,” he whispers.

december 23rd is a sore reminder that life goes on. you had half-expected something to spark between you and megumi. perhaps he’d beg for you back, or maybe with less wishful thinking, he’d give you his real reason as to why he doesn’t want you anymore.

“i don’t think we need to go anymore,” megumi says when you come out of the bathroom after freshening up.

“huh? why not?”

“there’s nothing out there.” megumi’s voice is flat.

“i know, but we’ll get in trouble if we…”

“gojo probably sent us out here for fun.”

your lips part. megumi turns to you with a slight frown.

“don’t you think so too?” he asks, but you know it isn’t a question he’s looking to find an answer to. “why would the higher-ups assign a mission like this to a special grade sorcerer and a grade 1 sorcerer? if they needed that much manpower, this mission would’ve been deadlier. instead, we’re playing cleanup crew.”

“yeah, but..” you trail off, unable to think of a statement to refute his words. “if we go back now, we’ll get chewed out.”

“it’s just a scolding. you’ll be fine.” megumi stands up and stretches his arms.

you watch him cautiously as he begins to fold his clothes and throw them into his duffel bag. he doesn’t say anything else, letting the silence overtake the room.

“...are we leaving, then?” you ask meekly, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in your voice.

he pauses slightly. “do you want to stay here until christmas? this mission is stupid and you know it. there’s no point.”

why is his tone so cold all of the sudden? it’s as if you two hadn’t shared a moment last night before bed. does your gift not mean anything to him now that he’s cleared his mind with a good rest?

your eyes flicker to his wrist. the gold glimmers underneath the light and you realize that megumi doesn’t seem to hate wearing it. so why is he acting so … unpleasant?

you feel a lump in your throat. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s able to upset you from just the tone of his voice. even his body language, usually fluid and smooth, is rigid with your presence. you want to tell him that you’ve enjoyed your time with him. you want to shake his shoulders and tell him that if you two cut your mission short, you might not get another chance to be near him again.

“do you still care about me?” you whisper instead.

he stills completely. “what?”

“this entire time,” you begin shakily, “you’ve been nice to me. you treat me like you always do. you’re always hovering over me even though you pretend you aren’t! you obviously still care, megumi.”

his adam's apple bobs as swallows. a beat of silence. then two. then three.

“i do care,” he admits sorely.

“then why did you break up with me?” you blurt. there it is, the question you’ve been meaning to ask. you both had seen it coming.

“because…” megumi winces as if he’s the one getting hurt from the ordeal. “because you deserve someone that’s normal. someone that isn’t a sorcerer. i can’t give you that life.”

you feel your chest swarm with anger. why does he always think he needs to sabotage himself to make others happy? this is something you’ve tried working with him on, but it seems like old habits are hard to kill off, just like your habit of loving him.

“why the hell would you decide that for me? when did i ever say i wanted a normal life?” you snap. your hands clench at your sides.

“it’s too early for this,” he says, his voice straining as he finally musters up the strength to look at you in your eyes.

“tell me, megumi. if that’s the real reason, then that is the most pathetic excuse for a breakup i've ever heard.” your voice cracks and you gulp down the oncoming sob that’s threatening to explode from your throat.

he inhales slowly and makes his way to you, holding you close against his chest. you should push him away, but you would rather let him hug you. you know that you can’t fight him, anyway.

“you…once said you wanted a regular relationship. when you got hurt a few weeks ago, i realized i couldn’t be that for you,” he confesses lowly. “i knew that you’d never find it in yourself to leave, so i figured i should just let you go for your sa–”

“are you kidding me?” you shout incredulously. “i said that when i was fifteen, megumi! before i even knew what being in love was like!”

he flinches against you. “but i…”

“you and your damn savior complex! i don’t need to be in a regular, normal relationship! i don’t need any of that, megumi! i’m a sorcerer, I won't ever get to be normal! in fact, it’s even better that i’m with you because you at least know what this life is like, you idiot! you’re always ruining the good things in your life because you—”

he takes his fingers to grab your chin and he pulls you in for a kiss. if the kiss is a ploy to shut you up, you hate to admit that it’s working. his tongue slips into your mouth and you melt against him. your arms loop around his neck as you desperately drag him down closer to your body. his hand grip your waist while the other clings to the small of your back.

you whimper out of instinct and he pulls away, lips bruised and breathless. it’s been so long since you’ve tasted him and you frown, tiptoeing to capture his lips again. you need to savor him, to feel him lips against yours again.

“baby, wait.” his chest heaves as he looks down at you. “don’t…don’t do this to me.”

“do what?” you ask, an edge to your voice. did he just reject you? even after all that?

“w-we gotta report back to—”

“we’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” you interrupt.

the gears shift in his head. “fine, but—”

“i’m still really fucking mad, but i just need you to kiss me right now,” you whine impatiently.

all megumi does is laugh when he swoops down to press his lips against yours.

it’s december 24th when you two find yourselves in satoru’s office. steam is practically rising from your ears as you try to compose yourself in front of your former teacher.

“... i wanted a wedding invitation.” satoru shrugs.

“you set us up!” you whine angrily. “gojo, are you serious?! isn’t this a little immature?”

megumi stays silent, averting his gaze. he suddenly finds the succulents on satoru’s desk very interesting. he’s never noticed that they’re all nearly dead! how cool.

your eyes shoot daggers at megumi's silence.

"we aren't gonna get married any time soon..." megumi mutters when he feels your pointy glare on him.

satoru raises his hands in mock surrender. “you two can’t blame me! it worked out! you two are back together now, right?”

“but did you have to make us look like fools out there?” you groan.

“you should’ve figured it out on the first day that the mission was a sham!” satoru exclaims, offense taking over his features.

“but still!” you’re borderline hysterical at this point, unable to believe that your former teacher of all people had to set up an entire fake mission so that you and your ex could talk your feelings out. “we would’ve figured ourselves out sooner or later!”

megumi nods. he feels like he should at least give you a little support even if he’s embarrassed out of his mind.

“oh really?” satoru’s voice drips with sarcasm. “you guys should be thanking me—”

“you’re so not getting an invitation to our wedding!” you grumble.

“wha—hey! i’m the one that got you two back together! besides, i’m megumi’s guardian! you can’t just not invite me.”

“watch me!”

“megumi, tell her that she can’t do that—hey! where are you guys going? invite me, you rascals—why are you guys leaving? we aren’t done discussing this! megumi, don’t you dare take her side! she isn’t even your wife yet—don’t slam my door!”

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x you #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk megumi #megumi fluff #not my best work tbh

[darlingvernon]

always been you [M] | yoon jeonghan.

Author: darlingvernon

Pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem reader

Genre: royalty au, arranged marriage au, smut

Rating: 18+

Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex

Word Count: 10,521

Summary: you promised yourself that you wouldn’t fall in love but jeonghan just had to go ahead and ruin everything

Author’s Note: this is my piece for the @svthub collab: Pink Eros. i’d written it differently to the way i usually write due to the concept and i'm sorry it's so long lol. please make sure you check out the other works in the collab and support my fellow writers as well! please let me know your thoughts and i hope you guys enjoy!

You were six years old when the Duke, your father, told you that you were engaged to the Crown Prince.

Back then, you had no idea what it all meant. But, being the obedient daughter that you were, the words ‘Yes, Father’ came out of your own mouth with no hesitation. That was when your whole life changed.

Almost immediately, your etiquette, history and dancing lessons increased, especially when compared to your older brother Joshua who was also taking advanced lessons as heir to the Kidrey Duchy. On top of that, you also had to learn various other subjects that would shape you to be the Crown Princess and future Empress, the Empire required.  

Gone were the days when you sat back and enjoyed being a regular noble six year old and you didn’t even have the time to say goodbye.

A year later, you met Jeonghan.

On your seventh birthday, you and the Duke went on a week-long journey to Lombardi, the Capital of the Attacca Empire. As soon as you arrived, your presence was summoned by the Emperor, who had wished to greet his future daughter-in-law himself.

Your eyes were glued to the floor as you stood beside your father in front of the Emperor. To others, it would’ve seemed that you were greatly intimidated by the presence of His Majesty, which was true to some degree, since you were busy trying to remember whether you should bow, curtsey or do a mixture of both. 

However, to the boy who sat next to His Majesty, it appeared that you were far more interested in the tiles that adorned the Great Hall than him. Speaking from experience, the other girls usually stared at him and giggled to themselves, mumbling about how good looking he was. The fact that you were acting differently had his curiosity piqued.

“Lady _____, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” His Majesty greeted and you managed to finally look up at him, thanks to your father’s reassuring hand that was on your back. “Blessings to you on your birthday. As a gift, I’d like to present my son, Crown Prince Jeonghan, who’ll be your playmate and fiancé.”

You finally noticed the boy who was sitting next to the Emperor when he stood. Despite being the same age as you, he was much taller. His jet black hair made his porcelain skin stand out and his clothing made his build deceivingly lean.

When your eyes met, there were no sparks, no butterflies fluttering in your belly like in the novels your nanny used to read to you. Though there was fire in his eyes as he continued to stare, you continued to feel nothing. 

That same day, you decided that you would never fall in love with Jeonghan.

Since the Kidrey Duchy was a fair distance away from Lombardi, it was decided by His Majesty that Jeonghan would spend every summer at the Duchy, so that you were both able to fulfill your duties as playmates. Every summer, the only times you ever saw each other were during his arrival and during meal times. Even then, words were barely exchanged between you. Jeonghan spent most of his stay studying and sparring with Joshua and if people didn’t know any better, they would have thought that your brother was His Highness’ playmate instead.

Summer after summer passed by with no incidents and no changes to your relationship, until you turned fifteen and were making preparations to debut into high society. 

It was your typical afternoon, nose buried in a book in the library when Tia, your personal maid, came and informed you that Jeonghan had invited you for some tea in the garden. With no good excuse to turn him down, you made your way to join him.

As you walked, you wondered what possessed the Crown Prince to invite you to tea but came to no conclusion. You thought the whole thing was rather strange, especially when he dismissed the guards and maids as soon as they poured your tea.

“Thank you for joining me, _____,” Jeonghan spoke first and the lack of formality took you by surprise, delaying your answer.

“Thank you for inviting me, Your Highness,” you replied after composing yourself.

Jeonghan grimaced, “Please just call me Jeonghan.”

“Your Highness, I could never—” 

“At least, while we’re in private. Please,” Jeonghan requested, firmly.

You sat back and took the time to consider his request. Based on the look of determination on his face, it didn’t seem like he would have changed his mind. “I can do that,” you acquiesced, and decided to drop the formality altogether. “So, Jeonghan. Is there a reason we’re having tea at the moment? We haven’t really spoken to each other at all, ever.”

To his credit, Jeonghan didn’t bat an eye. “Father has requested that I escort you to the debutante ball,” he revealed.

With a sigh, you reached for your cup and brought it to your lips. After taking a sip, you realised it was chamomile tea, your favourite. Was this pure coincidence or did he happen to know? 

“Of course, he did,” you replied eventually. “I suppose that I don’t have a choice in the matter?”

“I’m afraid not,” Jeonghan answered and you didn’t miss the way his jaw tensed. “Did you have somebody else in mind?”

“Only my brother,” you shrugged. “I didn’t want any unwanted attention or any targets on my back, which is now no longer the case. I didn’t think His Majesty wanted our engagement to be known yet?”

Jeonghan grabbed his fork and stabbed the opera cake in front of him, taking a small piece to taste. “That would be correct,” he confirmed. “The gesture won’t be revealing our engagement or placing a target on your back. You are the only daughter from the Heads of the Founding Families, it’s only right that I escort you.”

You couldn’t argue with that fact. It wasn’t unheard of from any Empire for the Crown Prince to escort a daughter from a Ducal Family. As you thought about the debutante ball, another problem reared its ugly head. “Jeonghan, you leave tomorrow,” you pointed out.

“I do.”

“How long have you known that you were going to be my partner?”

From the look on Jeonghan’s face, he expected this. “Before I left Lombardi,” he answered nonchalantly.

To say you were irritated was an understatement, but due to the fact that you were in front of the Crown Prince, you had no choice but to keep your composure. “But, you only told me today?” You laughed, humourlessly. “For what purpose—”

“I just felt like it.” Jeonghan shrugged and a smirk plastered itself on his beautifully annoying face.

Would you have been hung for treason for socking him right in the mouth even though he was your future husband?

Jeonghan could have sat there and watched you grow indignant all day. It far was better than the usual emotionless face you showed him every day. He knew you would make him pay for it later but he didn’t know how else to approach the fact that neither of you had spoken properly in all those years you had known each other and it was starting to frustrate him.

Negative thoughts and insecurities festered in his head since the day you met and nothing had satisfied his growing curiosity. He was running out of options and he wanted to at least try and get to know you before your impending nuptials. Resigned to the fact that he had to marry somebody who wasn’t of his own choosing, he’d be damned if he had to marry somebody who was a complete stranger to him.

It was impossible to run the Empire efficiently in that sense, let alone growing old together and spending the rest of your lives together.

“I didn’t mean to displease you,” Jeonghan said, and it finally got you out of your head. “Forgive me, I was only trying to knock down two birds with one stone.”

The revelation surprised you once more and you weren’t sure how many more you could have taken that day. “What was the other issue that you were concerned about?” you queried.

Jeonghan leant forward and placed both arms on the table. “We don’t converse with each other much” —he raised a brow when you were about to question him— “or at all for that matter and that is a problem. For our future and for the Empire.”

Whatever retort you had in mind came up short and you gestured for him to continue.

“We can correspond through letters,” he explained. “You can write to me once you’ve chosen your dress so that I can make sure that we match and after that, you can write about whatever you want. I don’t care if you write about every mundane thing you do. You can even write to me all the swear words and curses currently circling in your head.”

The giggle was out of your lips before you could stop it and in return, you received the view of Jeonghan’s bright smile. “I hope you won’t regret that,” you conceded. He brought up great issues to be considered and admittedly, these concerns were not new to you as they plagued you as well. “However, what are we going to do about the first dance?”

“That’s not a problem,” Jeonghan assured you. “I’ve seen you dance after all.”

“I beg your pardon—”

“Besides” —he interrupted and hoped that you’d forget about his slip— “I’m a Prince. I’ll be able to lead perfectly even if you have two left feet.”

“I do not—”

Jeonghan’s laugh echoed in the gardens and it finally dawned on you that he was just teasing. You forgave him only because he allowed you to stomp on his foot once during the dance.

And that was how your friendship blossomed.

You were eighteen when you broke your promise.

It was rather unusual for Jeonghan to be at the Kidrey Duchy during autumn and more so with such a sombre expression on his face as he stood next to you, especially after the way you both grew increasingly close to each other. But, it didn’t compare to how you looked and felt beside him. 

It had only been a week since he heard the news of the Duke and Duchess’ passing and he had arrived as soon as possible. So, your hollowed eyes and sunken cheeks were a devastating shock to him. Even your brother fell to his knees and shed tears next to you as they lowered the caskets into the graves but you continued to remain stoic, showing your strength which allowed your brother a moment of weakness.

Jeonghan almost believed that you were coping rather well, but his fears were soon realised when he saw how your hand trembled as you picked up the shovel, dirt spilling from the way you shook and barely made it to the grave. As he waited for you to stand next to him once more, he tried to think of a way that he could have eased your pain.

Once Joshua gathered himself, Jeonghan took his chance and offered you his hand. A look of confusion flashed on your face and when you turned to look at your brother, he nodded in consent. Jeonghan pleaded with you until you finally took his hand and allowed him to lead you away. 

You weren’t sure where he was taking you but it seemed to be the left annex of the manor where he usually stayed during his visits. Without question, you followed him until he led you into the drawing room and pulled you in with him.

“Seungcheol and Mingyu, stay out here and stand at least ten metres from this door,” Jeonghan instructed. “You do not hear whatever sound will come from this room. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The guards bowed and obeyed his directions. 

Jeonghan then led you into the centre of the room and you searched his face for an explanation. He took your hands into his, rubbed his thumb across your skin in a soothing manner and said, “I can’t even begin to understand the pain that you’re going through, but it’s just you and me in this room. It’s just you and me in this building. So, go ahead and release the grief that you’re keeping at bay. No one here will think of you as weak. Cry. Scream. Hit me if it helps. Just… don’t keep it inside you like this.”

At a loss for words, all you did was gaze at your joined hands.

“If it helps, I won’t even look at you,” he implored and closed his eyes. “I can even turn around,” he declared and did as he said. When he still couldn’t feel any movement from you, he grew even more desperate. “Look, I’ll leave. I’ll stand with the guards and let you be if you don’t want to appear weak in front of me. I’ll be on my way.”

Jeonghan barely took a step before you grabbed his wrist with both of your hands like your life depended on it. “Don’t you dare look at me,” you begged, voice filled with agony as tears spilled from the corner of your eyes. There was no stopping now that your grief had breached the surface and you hung tighter onto him as your legs gave way. 

“It’s a promise,” he assured you, clutching your hands with his free hand. 

“Don’t even bother trying to hear me!” you cried hysterically. Jeonghan repeatedly reassured you as your screams echoed through the room.

He didn’t know how much time had passed but eventually you finally stopped crying. When he turned to face you, his heart broke to see you filled with so much anguish. Jeonghan swore then that he would never allow anything to hurt you like this ever again.

“Jeonghan, I’m tired,” you croaked out. “I want to retire to my room, but I can’t seem to move.”

“Forgive me,” he bowed and gathered you into his arms. “I will take you back.”

“I don’t want anyone to see,” you whined like a child, but that was the least of your worries. You didn’t want to appear weak, especially in front of your brother who needed you the most.

“I understand,” Jeonghan nodded and called for his guards. He instructed them to clear the path and asked them to make sure that your brother would be otherwise preoccupied. “I have handled it. All you need to do is close your eyes and hold on to me.”

Far too tired to argue or come up with a retort, you permitted him to accompany you back to your quarters and thanked him for his efforts. 

As the days passed, Jeonghan continued to look after you and in no time at all, the air between you had changed once more. Certainly on your end. Conversations flowed freely, even in person and the fluttering butterflies and sparks that had been lacking previously, suddenly appeared.

It was then that you realised that you had fallen in love with Jeonghan. 

At first, you tried to deny it. There was no way your feelings had changed so suddenly. But, had it really been that sudden? It was a fact that you started to see him differently once you started to exchange letters, finding him far more interesting after you took the time to get to know him, and since actions spoke louder than words, it should have been no surprise that he eventually carved his presence into your heart.

After you became aware of your feelings, there was no escaping Jeonghan. His presence plagued you day and night, especially since he decided to stay another month to help prepare for Joshua’s succession to the Dukedom. It was starting to drive you mad, keeping your feelings to yourself, so you made the decision to let Jeonghan know how you felt about him.

That was, until you found out how he felt about you first.

It was the day before Joshua’s succession ceremony and you were on your way to see your brother in his office when you overheard their conversation from outside the door.

“I see you and _____ have become rather close lately,” Joshua stated, a teasing tone to his voice.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Jeonghan laughed a little.

“Have you grown fond of her?” your brother asked and you knew what he meant by his question. With bated breath and heart beating hard in your chest, you leaned closer to the door to hear Jeonghan’s answer.

“You know that I am bound to her by duty,” Jeonghan sighed and continued to speak some more but you could no longer hear what else he was saying. All you heard and felt was your heart shattering into pieces and you couldn’t stand to be there anymore, running all the way back to your room as tears streamed down your face. 

You were such a fool for falling in love with him when it wasn’t love that intertwined him with you. Once you were all cried out, you cast your love for him out of your heart and left it hollow as you pieced its parts back together.

That day, you swore that Jeonghan would never be in your heart ever again.

Jeonghan is no fool.

As Crown Prince, he’s knowledgeable when it comes to all important matters concerning the Empire. But, when it concerns the matters of the heart, it seems that he still has a lot to learn.

This is blatantly obvious when it concerns you.

Jeonghan knows that something has changed in his relationship with you, especially if your one sentence replies to his letters are anything to go by. He could write anything between a page to ten pages long about various subjects, but your reply is always the same.

Everything is going well, Crown Prince Jeonghan.

Based on that sentence alone, Jeonghan comes to two conclusions:

You are a terrible liar

Something is definitely amiss

He sits back on his desk, mountains of paperwork long forgotten as he rubs his temple in frustration. The dread and worry within him continues to grow, not just because of the impending engagement announcement scheduled in a couple of days but more so because of his feelings for you.

Sighing, Jeonghan tries to recall when your attitude and behaviour towards him began to change, deducing that it was the day before your brother Joshua inherited the Dukedom and after the conversation Jeonghan had with him.

“I see you and _____ have become rather close lately,” Joshua stated, a teasing tone to his voice.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Jeonghan laughed a little.

“Have you grown fond of her?” Joshua asked, seriously this time. 

“You know that I am bound to her by duty,” Jeonghan sighed.

“And is it still just duty that binds you to her?” 

“You’re insufferable and I would’ve hung you if you weren’t my friend,” Jeonghan replied playfully. “Fine, I admit it. I have grown rather fond of her. It’s not like I could help it. She…”

Suddenly, a memory of the faint smell of your perfume from right outside Joshua’s office comes to the forefront of his mind and everything starts to become clear.

You overheard him.

There is no other explanation that comes close to this. Though he’s found the catalyst for the change, Jeonghan still doesn’t understand why you’re reacting the way that you are. Is it because you only heard part of the conversation and had been upset about it? Or is it because you heard everything he had to say and decided to distance yourself since you didn’t return his feelings?

Whatever the case is, though he hopes it isn’t the latter, he has no time to sit around fiddling his thumbs and wallowing in sorrow. With so little time left before the engagement announcement, Jeonghan needs to make amends and work things through with you, before your relationship becomes broken beyond repair.

With that in mind, he summons his butler and organises some gifts to be sent to the Lombardi Estate where you’re currently staying, even though he knows it will be futile since you are someone who is not so easily swayed by such gestures. But, he hopes to at least get a different reaction than the one you’ve been giving him, preferring your anger over your indifference.

Jeonghan isn’t surprised to see the gifts returned back to the Palace a few hours later. However, he is surprised to see Duke Joshua waiting there for him.

“Did _____ send you to have a word with me?” Jeonghan sighs as he pours a drink for the both of them in the drawing room.

“No, though she did say that she doesn’t require this grand gesture and assured that she’ll be performing her duty well,” Joshua snickers before quickly settling down when Jeonghan narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m here with a solution.”

“Admittedly, I’m willing to try anything at this point,” Jeonghan grumbles.

“Take her out to the Valentine's Festival tomorrow.”

“Will that really work?”

Joshua shrugs, “You know what they say, it’s a magical time and Eros always blesses the celebrants with love.”

Jeonghan doubts his chances. “I don’t know if that’s possible for either of us.”

“What have you got to lose?” Joshua challenges, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “I know my sister. Take her to the Festival and it’ll all work out.”

During breakfast the next day, your brother Joshua drops a letter beside you before he excuses himself from the Dining Hall. The Red Imperial Seal on it lets you know that it’s a letter from Jeonghan. Every fibre of your being wants to ignore it and rip it into shreds but you can’t seem to do it. 

With only a day left before your engagement announcement at the Imperial Banquet, it could contain something important, so you open it reluctantly.

Dearest _____,

I would be honoured if you would accompany me tonight to experience what the Valentine’s Festival has to offer. 

If you are so inclined, I have sent some commoners’ clothing to serve as a disguise and I will be waiting for you at the entrance of your Estate as soon as the sun sets.

Don’t worry, I have permission from the Duke.

Yours, Jeonghan.

With a sigh, you place the letter back on the table and reach for your cup of tea. Placing it on your lips, you take a sip and let the disappointment of the peppermint set in. You haven’t been able to drink chamomile for awhile now as it reminds you of bitter memories with Jeonghan.

As you lower the cup back on the table, you try to come up with a dozen excuses to decline him but find yourself unable to do so. His invitation is far too tempting, especially since you’ve always been curious about the Valentine’s Festival.

The Valentine’s Festival is an annual celebration held for Eros, the God of love, and is one of the most popular and grand events in the Attaca Empire.

Streets in the Capital are lined up with various stalls filled with food, jewellery and other merchandise, and the inns and boutiques are filled to the brim. There are dancers, magicians, actors and singers on almost every corner of the Square and the city is alive for most of the day and well into night. It’s easily the busiest and most profitable event in the Empire, lasting a whole week and ending with a banquet hosted by the Imperial Family. 

Nobles and Commoners from all over the Empire converge in Lombardi to see what the Festival has to offer and hope to leave with their hearts full; it is a celebration of love after all.

You’ve never felt that there was a point in you partaking in the festivities and celebrating love since you’ve been betrothed to Jeonghan since before you were even born. Duty is the reason you’re bound to spend the rest of your lives together and not the other four letter word everybody else yearns for. Just like he said all those months ago.

Despite all your efforts, you haven’t been able to forget your feelings for him. Every time you read his letters, your affection for him grows and you can never throw them away, no matter how hard you try. And despite your efforts, Jeonghan refuses to give up, not allowing you to stray far away from him.

Why is he doing this? Is this really all just because of his duty? Is there really no way that his heart beats for you like yours does for him?

He confuses you to no end and you don’t know if this is something you can live with as long as you’re with him. You have to know how Jeonghan really feels and in doing so, you hope that your heart will finally be at peace. Grabbing the pen and paper that Tia had prepared, you write your reply and agree to meet him.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Jeonghan greets you once you’re within his reach. 

Dressed in nothing but a pair of black trousers and matching black button down shirt, his top two buttons are undone and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal veins that run from his arm down to his hand. With his hair slicked back, you think it’s rather unfair how dashing he looks in these plain clothes.

Compared to Jeonghan, you’re wearing a red floor length summer dress, short sleeves sitting just below your shoulders and white flowers adorning the whole fabric.

“I honestly didn’t think you’d come,” he says, tearing his gaze away from your exposed collarbone. “Also, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you. Honestly, I didn’t think I would come either,” you admit with a small smile. “But, the offer of seeing the Valentine’s Festival is far too tempting. Is it just us two or will there be guards with us?”

Stepping closer, Jeonghan offers to hoist you up on the horse and he’s thankful that you don’t decline him. “The guards will be watching from afar,” he answers as he settles you on the horse. “They won’t come unless I call them so it will be mostly just us. I didn’t want to attract any attention to us so we can enjoy everything freely.”

“Jeonghan, you could be wearing rags and the people will still recognise the Crown Prince,” you scoff. Only a blind person wouldn’t see and know who he is, with his perfect handsome face.

“That won’t be the case,” he assures you as he mounts the same horse and seats himself behind you. Pointing to the ring on his right pinky finger, he explains further, “Jihoon imbued some magic in here that helps disguise my face. Only you can see me as I am.”

“The Royal Mage?”

“That’s him.”

“Do you think he can give me one as well?” you ask as calmly as you can, considering your proximity as Jeonghan starts the horse on a light trot. He’s sitting so close that you can feel his breath against your hair.

Jeonghan slightly tightens his arms around you, on the guise of making sure you don’t fall off, even though he truly just wants to be closer to you. “I’ve already asked him to put some spells on the engagement ring I’ll be giving to you tomorrow,” he answers, slightly flinching at the word engagement as he doesn’t know of your feelings yet. “I can ask him for something else if you wish?”

“No, the ring is fine,” you reply, trying to hide your hurt from feeling him flinch against you. The night is off to a terrible start but you promised that you would try to enjoy yourself at the very least, so you push yourself to move on. “So, what exactly will we be doing at the Festival?”

With a sigh, Jeonghan collects himself. The night is only beginning and he won’t lose hope just yet. “There’s lots of shows and dances for us to see along with the fireworks,” he reveals. Smiling, he adds, “We’ll also do lots of eating of course.”

You can’t help but laugh then and if you turn your head slightly, you would’ve seen the relief on Jeonghan’s face. “Well, now you’re speaking my language,” you state, covering your mouth with your hand as you giggle. “Let’s get moving then. There’s no time to waste.”

Bending slightly, Jeonghan whispers in your ear, “Yes, dear.”

The term of endearment takes you by surprise and you have to stop yourself from turning to look at him, not wanting to reveal how much it affects you. You need not bother really because Jeonghan clearly sees the way your hands cup your heating cheeks in an attempt to cool them and he has to spend the whole journey to the town square stopping himself from kissing your adorable face.

It isn’t long until you reach the Capital, the trip feeling shorter than you thought due to the conversation freely flowing just like it used to. Laughs and banters were shared and not a hint of awkwardness was found. 

Leaving the horse in an alley, Jeonghan takes you by the hand and leads you around the Festival. Like a seasoned veteran, he takes you around from stall to stall, seeing what the merchants have to offer, before finding you both a seat at the small outdoor theatre where a play is about to begin.

“I didn’t think you’d know your way around,” you mention before taking a bite from the skewer he bought. “Am I correct in saying that you’ve done this before?”

Jeonghan swallows his food and answers, “You’d be correct. I’ve been out and about once or twice before.”

Biting your lip, you decide to test the waters. “Accompanying other ladies, I presume?” you ask.

“You are the first,” Jeonghan clarifies quickly. “I haven’t taken anyone else, nor do I plan to take anybody else but you.”

You accept his answer with a small smile and turn your attention to the commencing performance. 

Try as he might, Jeonghan cannot look away from you even if he wanted to, finding you far more captivating than the play. He watches the way your eyes sparkle and the way your smile grows in wonder, etching it in his memory in the off chance that the misunderstanding between you doesn’t get resolved.

When the play finishes, you applaud and join the audience in a standing ovation, telling Jeonghan how great the play was and all of your thoughts about it. He doesn’t have a single clue what you’re talking about since he saw none of it but he listens intently, smiling at how passionate you are about it.

Suddenly, a group of musicians make their way onto the stage and the previous performers work to remove the wooden crates that were used as seats, turning a portion of the Square onto a dance floor. Not wanting to waste the opportunity he’s been given, Jeonghan bows in front of you and offers his hand.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

“Jeonghan,” you whisper so that the crowd doesn’t hear. “It isn’t that I don’t want to dance with you, but I don’t know how to do this kind of dance.”

“I don’t see that as a problem since I can lead you,” Jeonghan assures you.

Reluctantly, you give him your hand which he gladly accepts. “I believe you said that you hadn’t taken a lady here before,” you state, pout growing as he snickers at your miniature tantrum. “How is it that you know this dance then?”

Holding your right hand tightly with his left hand, he places your other hand on his shoulder and rests his free hand on your lower back. “I learnt through watching,” Jeonghan smirks and gently ushers you closer to him until there’s no space left between your bodies. “Besides, I’m the Crown Prince, I can do anything.”

“Including making a fool out of me, I bet.”

“Sweetheart, that would be impossible,” Jeonghan utters and just as you open your mouth to try and say something, the music starts and he begins to lead you.

The dance seems simple enough so far, starting off with the basic steps of the waltz which you’re thankful for, as Jeonghan’s close proximity continues to distract you. “Why do you do that?” you query, your burning curiosity getting the better of you.

To your chagrin, Jeonghan feigns innocence. “I’m afraid I don’t have the slightest idea what it is you are referring to, my darling.”

“That! It is exactly that! Why do you use every form of endearment and not call me by name?”

“We agreed to only do so in private,” Jeonghan teasingly reminds you. “On top of that, I quite enjoy” —his hands travel to your waist and lifts you into the air— “seeing the way you look so flustered.”

At this revelation, he gets a perfect view of your gaping mouth before he has to lift you in the air again.

“I knew it,” you scoff upon your soft landing, thanks to Jeonghan’s sturdy hands. “Two can play this game, you know.”

“Oh, you think so?” Jeonghan challenges as he signals that another lift is coming.

“I do, my love,” you reply coyly just as he lifts you again, and you can tell that you’ve caught him off guard from the way his hands slip slightly, almost dropping you. “Honey, you almost dropped me,” you scold, playfully smacking him on the chest once you’re safely back on your own two feet.

“The fault is yours for surprising me,” Jeonghan mutters, biting back the smile threatening to take over his face.

Guiding you to stand beside him and turning you to face the opposite direction he is, Jeonghan places his arm in front of you to hold your hip that’s furthest from him and you mirror his motion, allowing him to turn you both in a circular motion.

“I didn’t think anything could surprise you, dear,” you tease, feeling his hand tighten on your hip.

“Admittedly, I didn’t think so either,” Jeonghan grumbles, slightly pushing at your hip so you can both change the direction you’re facing. “At least until I met you.”

You’re about to respond when Jeonghan turns you again and you find yourself facing another gentleman. It seems the dance includes a change in partner ever so often until you arrive back at your original partner. It’s unfair of him to say such a thing just before he hands you off, further confusing you and igniting the feelings you have for him once more.

Taking a chance to look at him, you find him staring back at you. His new dance partner is speaking with him and he seems to be conversing with her but his gaze on you is unwavering and you are trapped in his spell. Unable to look away even if you wanted to and even if you have to because of the steps of the dance, your eyes find him again and again through the crowd, feeling even closer to him despite the distance.

And when the dance finally comes to a close, you end up back in his arms like you were always meant to be there. Like Jeonghan was always the one meant to hold you.

This feeling of uncertainty is foreign to you. All this time, you thought you knew how he feels about you, but his words and actions beg to differ.

However, it matters not, until you know the exact reasons for the way he’s behaving.

Is he still only motivated by duty? Or did the premise of the Valentine’s Festival finally open up his heart?

Whatever the case may be, it is something you can no longer ignore and your growing feelings for him is something you can no longer deny.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you ask and Jeonghan is taken aback. “Why do you confuse me so?”

Your inner turmoil is written as clear as day on your face and Jeonghan wishes for nothing more than to be able to gather you in his arms and confess his feelings to you. The thought alone scares him half to death but it’s not as frightening as the thought of spending the rest of your lives together with your cold indifference towards him.

What’s the worst that can happen?

Of course, there is a chance that once he finally reveals his true feelings that you may not feel the same way about him. If that is the case, it’s still possible for you to grow to love him, further down the line as you both grow older. But, Jeonghan knows that if he doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity he’s been given, your heart may close the door on him forever.

“_____, listen—”

“Jeonghan, I—”

“Everyone, the fireworks will begin in a few minutes!”

Sighing, you lower your head onto Jeonghan’s chest. “I know we need to talk but I also want to see the fireworks,” you whine.

Cupping your face in his hands, Jeonghan raises your head so that you can look at him. “We can watch the fireworks and talk after,” he concedes, but it’s worth it when your eyes light up like Christmas morning. Placing his hands gingerly on your shoulders, he instructs, “Please stay right here and wait for me. I’ll be right back with some refreshments.”

“I’ll wait,” you assure him.

“I’ll only be a minute, please stay right where I can see you.”

Gently squeezing your hand, Jeonghan reluctantly turns away from you and heads to find the nearest pub. Every now and then, he turns to check that you’re still right where he left you. This time, when he turns, his brows furrowed in worry when he no longer sees you in his field of vision as the crowd fills the square.

Drinks forgotten, Jeonghan weaves through the crowd in search of you. He calls for you multiple times to no avail and even as he reaches the spot where he left you, there’s no sign of you anywhere. It’s just his luck that the fireworks then commence and it drowns out his voice as he begins to call for you once more. Cursing, he makes his way through the sea of bodies to continue his search.

The thought of something terrible happening to you fills him with dread, making him sick to his stomach. He pleads with Eros to help him find you and his prayer is answered when a gust of wind carries along petals that land in your vicinity. Bristling, he makes his way over to where you are.

“Oh Jeonghan, there you are,” you greet but your smile fades as soon as you see the expression on his face. It’s one that you’ve never seen on his usually bright face, at least not directed at you. “Is something the matter?”

Jeonghan remains silent as he grabs hold of your wrist and leads you out of the overcrowded square. You didn’t dare to resist when it’s clear that right now, he is not one to be messed with. Soon enough, you reach your destination, finding yourself in a secluded alley in the square away from prying eyes and eager ears.

He all but flings you in the alley and your hands brace themselves on the cool brick wall to stop and steady yourself. “What in the world were you thinking?!” he asks, livid. “Or was it that you weren’t thinking at all?”

“I have no idea what it is you’re referring to—”

“I only asked one thing of you,” he states calmly but you can see how furious he is beneath the surface, his eyes blazing with fire. “One direction that even a child could follow and they would have listened.”

Ah, it’s finally dawned on you what makes him so angry.

“I don’t understand why it’s such an issue—”

“You don’t understand why it’s an issue?!”

“—I only went to a better spot for the fireworks,” you finish explaining despite Jeonghan talking over you. “It’s not like you couldn’t see me—”

Jeonghan laughs out loud but there is no mirth to it. “That is precisely it!” he snarled. “I couldn’t see you anywhere I looked. I called out for you so many times and received no response back. I was so worried and I thought I had lost you—”

“And why does that matter?” you argue and the question renders Jeonghan speechless, but you’re not done yet. “Why does it matter if you lose me? Why do you care?”

At this, Jeonghan could no longer remain silent. “I beg your pardon,” he protests. “Of course, I care about you.”

“But, only because of your duty,” you remind him as you roll your eyes.

“No, it goes far beyond that.”

This is a game that you no longer wish to play.

“That’s not what you said that day,” you reveal, finally admitting that you overheard his conversation with your brother that day. “Don’t even think of lying to me because I heard everything.”

Now that you’ve confirmed his earlier assumption, Jeonghan proceeds, so that he can now get an answer as to how you feel about him. “And, what exactly did you hear?” 

“That you’re only bound to me by duty.”

“And?” he prods, impatiently.

“What do you mean, ‘and’?” you ask, confused as to where he’s heading with the conversation.

“I did say that” —he crosses his arms— “but what about the rest of it?”

With a pout, you answer confidently, “You didn’t say anything else.”

“Yes, I did,” he declares with a sadistic calm.

“No, you didn’t.” You stand your ground but that is the last straw for Jeonghan.

“Yes, I did!” he yells in frustration, grabbing at his hair. “I admitted that I had grown fond of you and it was something that had been beyond my control.”

“What?” you wonder, more to yourself than anything.

Already having gone this far, Jeonghan doesn’t hold himself back any longer, baring his heart out after coming close to losing you. “I said that you had me falling in love with you with no hopes of ever getting up, ever since the moment I laid my eyes on you.”

No, there’s not a chance that this is real. You’re sure of it. Yet, you find yourself asking, “You love me?”

“I love you,” Jeonghan vows with no hesitation. “Despite everything, I fall more and more in love with you and right now, as you stand before me, I have never been more in love with you.”

No matter how hard you search, there’s no sign of a lie on his face. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Actually, I did.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I truly did,” Jeonghan says, smug. “I wrote them in every letter I sent you since that day I admitted to my own feelings.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’ve never lied—”

“You have, when you lied about being my partner for my debutante ball,” you remind him, brow raised in challenge.

Jeonghan bites his lip and moves closer to you, eliminating the space between your bodies. “I was merely delaying the truth that time,” he jokes. “But, I really did let you know in my last letters. You would’ve known if you had read them.”

“I did—”

Jeonghan interrupts, taking your hands in his as he says, “Enough about the letters. _____, I’ve finally told you how I truly feel about you. Please, stop torturing me and tell me how you feel about me.”

“I—”

“I don’t think it matters how the young lady feels since she’ll be coming with us and you won’t be alive anymore to see her again,” a stranger interrupts and Jeonghan is quick to shield you behind him. More thugs turn up and Jeonhan slowly retreats until you’re squeezed between him and the wall.

Jeonghan doesn’t miss the way you tremble in fear and he knows that he has to deal with them as soon as possible. He almost lost you once today and he’d be damned if he lets it happen a second time. Especially now that he’s confessed his feelings to you.

“Close your eyes and cover your ears,” Jeonghan instructs but you shake your head vehemently. “Please, listen to me just this once. I don’t want you to see this.”

“Call for Seungcheol,” you plead, holding on to his arm. “There’s far too many of them. We can wait until he gets here.”

“It’ll be too late by then,” Jeonghan sighs. “Close your eyes. I promise that no harm will come to you.”

“What about you?” you caution, tears flowing freely down your face. The love of your life has finally confessed that he feels the same about you but why is fate so cruel to put you in this position?

“There’s no need to worry,” he assures you as he draws out his sword. “Now, do as I say. I won’t take long.”

Eventually, you relent and let go of his arm. Taking one final look at him, Jeonghan places a chaste kiss on your forehead, forcing your eyes closed as he moves your hands to cover your ears tight. When you feel him pull away, you almost defy him once more but ultimately know that you’ll only be in his way, increasing his chance of getting hurt.

So, you stay right where you are and do exactly as Jeonghan says, praying to Eros to return the one that you love safely.

You don’t know how much time has passed but you eventually feel Jeonghan’s warm yet wet hands pull your hands away from your ears, letting you know that the ordeal is over. When you open your eyes, you see his shirt drenched in blood despite the colour of the material.

“You’re bleeding,” you cry out, hands reaching out to check on him, but his hands stop you from doing so.

“It’s not all mine,” he assures you only to be met with the roll of your eyes.

“That doesn’t make it any better,” you scold.

“I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not!” you exclaim through your tears. “You’re hurt and it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t wandered off in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this alley and—”

“If you hadn’t wandered off, I wouldn’t have had an opportunity to finally tell you how I feel about you.”

“Is that even important right now?” you sob unceremoniously into your hands. “Now, I know how it feels.”

“What do you mean?” Jeonghan asks.

“I almost lost you and I haven’t even had the chance to tell you how I feel about you.”

Jeonghan’s heart picks up speed and it feels like it’s about to beat right out of his chest. This is the moment he’s been waiting for and he can’t believe you both had to risk your lives in order for it to happen. “And how do you feel about me?”

“Your Highness!” Seungcheol calls from the entrance of the alley before you can answer Jeonghan. “I’ve finally found you both. My apologies for arriving late.”

“Actually, you’re far too early,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes and you have to cover your mouth to hold down your laugh upon seeing Seungcheol’s confused face. “Did you bring my horse?”

The guard nods. “I’ve also brought a carriage for Lady _____,” he adds. “Shall I summon the physician to their Estate?”

“That’s not necessary,” you decline as you are unscathed. “Please summon them to the Palace instead along with the Royal Mage. His Highness may need some healing magic in time for our Engagement Announcement tomorrow.”

“Yes, m’lady.” Seungcheol bows. “Your carriage has arrived and is ready to escort you back.”

Sighing, Jeonghan lowers his head onto your shoulder and your hand reaches out to play with the hair on the nape of his neck. “Won’t you consider coming back to the Palace with me?” he entreats and feels you shake your head to decline him. “We haven’t finished our conversation yet. Must I really wait till the Banquet to hear your answer? Must you really torture me again?”

“Must you be so dramatic?” you tease him and he nips at your shoulder in retaliation. You have to commend him, he’s grown rather bold ever since he confessed his love for you. It seems he no longer wants to waste any time and frankly, since you feel exactly the same towards him, you don’t want to waste another second without him either. “You can always come to see me before tomorrow.”

Jeonghan lifts his ahead, adorable confusion on his face and you can’t help but giggle. “How will I see you before tomorrow?” he asks, tilting his head.

“My balcony faces the Glass House in the Estate,” you whisper in his ear, bidding him farewell with a light kiss on his cheek. “You’re the Crown Prince. Surely you’re smart enough to figure it out?”

He is and he can’t wait.

It’s when you’re brushing your hair by your vanity before retiring for the night when you hear the knock on your bedroom window. Spotting his familiar figure through the mirror, you place the brush on the marble surface and make your way to let him in. Pulse racing as you unlock the window, you don’t dare to look at his face and walk back to the centre of room, only turning towards him once he’s let himself in and closed the window behind him.

Jeonghan takes his time studying you, gaze instantly drawn to the way you stare at the floor once more instead of him, just like you used to. Eyes drifting lower, he spots your slightly parted lips and he has to stop himself from reaching out and running his thumb across your bottom lip. His gaze travels lower once more, breath hitching at the sight of the top of your breasts due to the low neckline of your nightgown. Seeing the way your chest heaves from your erratic breathing makes something inside him snap and he shoves his hands in his pockets, taking big strides until he’s standing right in front of you.

“Such a cruel woman you are.” He breaks the silence, pushing your chin up with his finger so that you finally look at him. “Inviting me here and making me wait for your attention. Do you know how agonising it is when you look as delectable as you do? But, we’re not quite there yet, are we?”

Your attempt to look away from him is thwarted when he grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger and you’re forced to endure the intense regard in which he holds you. “If anyone’s waited long enough, it’s me,” you say in hopes to placate him. 

However, it has the opposite effect on Jeonghan. “That’s rich coming from you,” he retorts. “Especially after I professed my love for you today. If I recall correctly, I’m yet to hear about your feelings towards me.”

“I’m afraid,” you say truthfully.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t express myself well with words,” you confess. “I’m afraid my words would be insufficient to describe what it is I truly feel for you.”

Jeonghan shifts impossibly closer to you eliminating the space between you. Cupping your face in his hands, he leans in closer and ghosts your lips with his. “Hm, you always were better with your actions,” he breathes, thumb skimming your bottom lip like he fantasised, smearing your lip tint a little. “Would you prefer to show me instead?”

“Yes,” you sigh, eyes immediately closing. 

Jeonghan’s lips hesitantly touches yours in a feather light kiss and it’s much too soft and quick for your liking. He moves to pull away, testing the waters but he doesn’t get far when you grab hold of his shirt, pulling him towards you so that you can kiss him once more. This time, the kiss you share is more intense, carrying your emotions with it and when they finally reach him, Jeonghan becomes bolder and returns your kiss with the same fervor. 

His kisses grow hungrier and more heated each time, almost devouring you whole but you are insatiable. You crave to taste more of him, sliding your hands up and locking your arms behind his neck, pulling him further into you. Wrapping his arms around your middle, he holds you tight and you pull away in a gasp when you feel him, half hard and large against your hip.

Not liking the separation, Jeonghan dives in and takes the chance to shove his tongue in your gaping mouth, intertwining with yours in a perfect dance. His eager hands travel from your hips to your bottom, groping and kneading its cheeks before venturing further south. When they land behind your thighs, he grabs hold and lifts you onto him as he walks towards your bed.

Jeonghan sits down on the edge of your bed with you on top of him and you shift your legs to straddle him comfortably. You kiss him again and again, timing a third kiss with the roll of your hips and you feel his excitement grow against your centre. Impatient, your hands scramble to untuck his shirt from his trousers, pulling it over his head to toss to the other side of the room.

“Oh fuck,” you swear at the sight of his toned abdomen, not caring for how unladylike you are becoming. Biting your lip, your fingertips glide across his skin as you take him in.

This new side to you is enthralling and Jeonghan feels proud knowing that only he is privy to it. That you are here, completely and utterly enamored by him and him alone. Jeonghan leans back on his elbows watching you with eyes full of aroused curiosity. “Your turn.” He nods in your direction and you comply.

If it were anybody else who asked, you know you would have hesitated to no end. But, Jeonghan makes you feel brave. He makes you feel loved. He makes you feel desired. Grabbing the hem of your nightgown, you shimmy out of it at an excruciatingly slow pace, noticing the way Jeonghan eyes you like a man starved, his breath hitching at every inch of skin you reveal.

“You are beautiful,” he breathes out and it diminishes whatever insecurity existed that was begging you to cover yourself up. Sitting up, he kisses you lasciviously, gripping you tight as he pivots and pushes you into the mattress. His fingers make their way between your bodies, toying with the waistband of your underwear, before pulling the lewdly soaked material down your legs. “Move up on the bed, lie down on the pillows and spread your legs. I want to see you.”

Taking a deep breath, you do as he says, watching with interest as he sheds the rest of his clothing. Jeonghan can’t help but stare too long at your inviting pussy and he doesn’t miss the way your legs quiver in anticipation. Like a predator hunting its prey, he gets on the bed and crawls slowly towards you and fits himself between your legs. He lowers his body until your chest to chest and meets your lips again in a fiery kiss.

This time, he doesn’t stay on your lips too long, desperate to touch and feel more of you, kissing along your jaw and down where your neck meets your shoulder. He marks his place on the juncture of your neck, sucking and nipping until a purple bruise is left in its wake. Lifting his head slightly, he marvels at the view of your breasts, eyes rolling back before diving in and taking your right nipple in his mouth.

His tongue darts out to kitten lick at your wetted bud, blowing air on it before sucking it back into his mouth. Being the gentleman that he is, he dares not to neglect your other breast, palming and fondling it before he switches and pays attention to it. Your ragged breaths bounces off the walls in your room and he uses the sounds to spur him on along with how your body twists and squirms beneath him.

“Relax _____,” Jeonghan coos at you. “I’m just as… new to this as you are.”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” you murmur. “But, I guess my education on this was limited compared to yours.”

Sitting back on his knees, he grabs hold of his cock, groaning as he strokes himself a few times before he guides himself to slide between your folds. Watching him with keen eyes, you grow more desperate for him, mouth hanging open in a silent plea. Once he’s well lubricated from your juices, he aligns himself by your entrance, preparing himself to enter your glistening trove.

“This is the last chance you have to refuse me,” Jeonghan rasps out. “If you don’t, I’ll be taking away your virtue and will never let you go.”

“No one is taking my virtue away,” you mewled, reaching for his free hand and guiding it up your body to rest on your breast. “I am freely giving it to you, along with my love. So, don’t you dare even consider letting me go.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jeonghan grits his teeth as he pushes the head of his cock through your cunt, straining to hold himself back from fully impaling you on his cock to avoid hurting you.

“You can keep going,” you nod, breathing becoming ragged even as you try to calm yourself.

His hands reach for yours and intertwine them together, pinning them on either side of your head as he lowers himself until all of his weight is on you. With a shaky exhale, he sinks in further but still not all the way, peppering your chest with kisses in apology as he waits for you to accommodate him.

Tears pool at the corner of your eyes, sliding down your cheeks and you don’t have the strength to hold them back. Jeonghan whispers words of affirmation onto your skin and your heart swells in your chest. You seek out his lips and he gladly obliges you, kissing languidly until the current stretch is bearable. 

“With all that I am, I love you and I’m yours,” you confess, whimpering as Jeonghan pushes deeper as a result. 

A moan of your name from deep within his chest slips from his lips and he’s unable to hold himself back even if he wanted to, sheathing himself to the hilt inside you. The burning sensation of the stretch makes you tremble but it’s nothing compared to the feel of fullness inside you. 

Releasing one of your hands, Jeonghan cups your cheek and kisses you hard, wanting to alleviate your pain. When you feel his cock throb inside your warm walls, you inadvertently clench around him and the last of his control snaps.

“Love, please tell me I can move,” he growls and you respond by shakily hooking your legs around his waist, taking him even deeper with a roll of your hips.

Jeonghan takes this as his cue, slowly drawing his cock out and harshly slamming back in. Crying out his name in ecstasy, your hands move to rest on his shoulders, nails digging in as his pace increases. An intense heat starts to build inside you, arching your back from the mattress as your hips frantically grind against him to match his rhythm.

“Jeonghan, I…” you sob, the intense heat taking all over your body. “I can… feel something… something is coming.”

“Gods, I feel it too,” he croaks and relentlessly drives himself inside you. Winding his arms around your middle, he holds tight and moves your body the way he wants so that you can both have the release you’re desperately seeking. 

It’s when Jeonghan’s lips brushes by your ear, whispering ‘I love you’ with a perfectly timed shift of his hips, that the coil inside you snaps, eyes rolling to the back of your head and body shivering as your orgasm consumes you, a litany of his name echoing in the room. 

At the feeling of your pulsating walls around his cock, his movements begin to falter. When you profess your love for him, he careens clean off the edge, hips jerking as he comes and a sigh of your name escaping from his lips as he paints your walls with his hot, white release. 

Jeonghan buries his face in the juncture of your neck, hot breath fanning your skin as you rake your fingers through his damp hair. You stay together like this until your breathing evens out, not caring about your sweaty skin or the stickiness between your legs. 

Then, he slowly pulls out his softening cock, watching your face for any signs of discomfort along the way. Planting a kiss on your shoulder, Jeonghan leaves the bed for a moment, fetching a towel and basin filled with water from the bath. With utmost care, he wipes the mess clean from your body. Once he’s put the soiled cloth away, he joins you back on the bed, dragging your body until you’re tight against his chest, whispering his love for you repeatedly until slumber comes for you.

When morning comes, it is anything but quiet. It starts off with your maid Tia dramatically dropping a basin upon catching you tangled in bed with the Crown Prince and Jeonghan being caught sneaking out the balcony by Joshua who’s having his morning coffee by the adjacent balcony. Jeonghan avoids being scolded because he pulls rank with the Duke, but you’re not so lucky. He bids you farewell with a kiss before heading back to the Palace to prepare for the Imperial Banquet.

It all happens quickly after that, spending most of the day getting pampered and leaving you with no time to even think about the events of the previous night. Upon your arrival at the Palace, you’re quickly ushered to stand in front of the door to the Great Hall where Jeonghan is already waiting.

Grabbing your hand, he gently kisses the back of it before planting another one on your cheek. Jeonghan stares longingly into your eyes before disrupting the connection by breaking into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“Nothing, I’m just happy,” he beams, bending to rest his forehead on your shoulder. “I’m glad that it’s not just duty that binds us together and that we’re actually fated to each other.”

“As am I,” you assure him, turning to kiss him on the cheek. “My love has always been you and it will always be you.”

“Always,” Jeonghan vows, lifting his head so that you can see his sincerity. 

You return the promise with a kiss, along with a silent prayer to Eros in thanks and your hearts have never been fuller.

© darlingvernon

please do not copy/repost/translate my work without my permission

#svthub #svthub.collab #kvanity #kwritersworldnet #jeonghan smut #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #svt smut #svt fanfic #svt x reader #svt scenarios #kpop #kpop fanfic #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan #kat: writings

[aislynn-wiley1999]

An Easy Decision

Sebastian x Reader One Shot

A year after graduating, Sebastian visits you unannounced and old memories stir.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, making out, oral sex, PinV sex, explicit sexual content, strong language, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 4.4k

Read it on AO3 here! Check out my other stuff as well :)

There was no way to describe how you had been feeling for the past day, month, year. As a fresh adult in the world, life had been increasingly monotonous and usual. Nothing out of place, nothing exciting, nothing frightening, just plain. Hogwarts had been a dream the last three years, but now that you had to work you felt as though the magic had been sucked from your life.

It wasn’t just because of working and surviving, but because your social interactions had dwindled. Work was boring, but it was your own fault. You didn’t know what you wanted to do with your life yet, so you told yourself you had one single year to work in a shop and figure it out. That was in June, and now it is April. Time was running out, and you were scared shitless. Keeping in touch with friends from school proved harder than intended, and while you meant to send letters it became more and more difficult to find ambition. Which was particularly embarrassing, since Slytherin’s were meant to have a never ending supply of ambition.

It was a quiet Friday in the small garment shop, and you were looking forward to the weekend. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than perhaps how quiet the shop was. Sitting behind the counter, reading a book lazily, you glance up when the bell on the door rings.

“Welcome in-” you stop, staring aghast at the person who has walked in, before smiling at them and letting out a small laugh. Sebastian Sallow stood in the doorway, grinning sheepishly at you and your surprised expression. He was one of the few friends you tried to keep in contact with, despite being busy and unmotivated.

“What are you doing here?” you shout out as you walk out from behind the counter. He doesn’t say anything right away as you wrap your arms around him, engulfing him in a hug. You feel him press his head into the crook of your neck, and you squeeze him tightly.

“Figured I would take a little birthday trip down here, visit old friends. Wanted it to be a surprise,” he says, pulling away with a smile. “And I have come to kidnap you on the promise of drinks on me.”

“Oh gods, yes, happy birthday!” you tell him, trying to cover up the fact that you had forgotten. But yes, today was 17 April, and his birthday had only been a few days earlier. “How does it feel to be nineteen?”

He laughs, giving a shrug. “Underwhelming, if anything. Do you have much longer here for the day?” he asks, clearly eager to get out and drink. You shake your head, smiling. “Give me fifteen minutes to count the money and lock up. It’s almost five anyways, and then we can go!”

You busy yourself closing the small shop, glancing up at him with a smile every so often. It was such a delight to see him, after almost a year of being apart. He looked good, tall and confident, and you could tell that he had grown into himself in the last year. There were this lingering feelings for him, of course, when you received a letter or thought of him on occasion, but right now it was just good to see your friend.

With a turn and lock, you closed the shop and the two of you ventured out onto the high street in search of drinks. “I’m thinking that maybe we head somewhere small,” Sebastian said, leading the two of you down the street. You nod, eager to sit and talk and drink. He looked radiant almost, the glow of the low sun illuminating him and his smiling face, his freckles practically glowing. It felt like nothing had changed since the last time you were together, and you loved that.

There was a small corner pub that seemed to beckon him, and he quickly pulled you inside. It was a Friday, so there were few spaces to choose from in the pub, but the two of you found a tiny booth situated in one corner. He left you there to buy the first round of drinks, quickly returning with two pints. Scooting over the accommodate him, the two of you pressed against each other in the tiny space as you drank your drinks.

“Please let me buy the next round, since it’s your bloody birthday,” you say, laughing as he shakes his head no. “This is my treat, for showing up unannounced,” he says, taking a gulp of his drink. “How have things been for you? We really must try to write to each other more.”

It was true, the two of you maybe exchanged letters once a month now. Life had gotten busy, for you and probably for him as well. “I’m mainly just working, nothing exciting,” you say, and then giggle. “This is embarrassing, but I can’t remember the last time I was in a pub on a Friday night.”

“Do you not like going out anymore? We could have gone and just gotten dinner, or even just taken a walk,” he says, his tone concerned. You find these suggestions sweet, a reminder of how caring he can be when he wants to be.

“No, I just don’t have much of a social life, and it would be pretty depressing if I came to the pub alone on a weekend,” you say, taking a swig of your drink. The golden liquid blooms in your chest, creating a warmth inside you. Sebastian nods in an understanding way. “That you be pathetic,” he says, grinning.

You laugh, and he laughs, and it's as though you have not been apart for the past nine months. “What have you been up to?” you ask him, trying to give him a chance to speak. He shrugs. “Same as you, just working. I went to see Ominis yesterday, poor bastard was also not expecting me and is sick as a dog.”

That statement seemed to answer your lingering question about why it was just the two of you out tonight. Unless he planned on more people meeting you there later. “Is anyone else coming tonight?” you ask, trying to get an answer. 

Sebastian’s smile wavers a bit, but only for a second. “Did you want other people to come?” he asks, almost trying to get an answer for himself. You shake your head, and he smiles. The two of you continue to drink your drinks, and soon you are staring at an empty cup.

Trying to fish out your wallet, he beats you to it and is at the bar in a flash. “Sebastian, I’m serious. Let me buy you at least one drink tonight as a celebration,” you protest as he comes back with full glasses. He only shakes his head, setting the drinks down.

“You can buy me one when I’m drunk,” he says, grinning. You don’t say anything, just sipping your drink while trying to hide your smile. You watch him out of the corner of my eye, how his throat moves when he swallows the alcohol. Perhaps it's the liquid running through your veins, but he looks better than he did in school. There was this new air of confidence surrounding you, and you wanted to say something bold but couldn’t bring yourself to it. Instead, you gulp the amber liquid in the hopes that the courage comes along the way.

“Woah! I didn’t actually mean that, neither of us need to get drunk before you buy me a drink,” Sebastian says, gently guiding the glass away from you. Giving him a funny look, you pull it back. “You don’t want to get drunk?”

He shakes his head, not smiling as big as he once was. “I don’t, not tonight, not with you.”

That makes you pause mid sip, thinking of all the ways his words could be interpreted. Looking at him, you furrow your eyebrows and hope he elaborates. Sebastian eyes you, looking shy and bashful in an instance. “Do you remember when we went to the Yule ball together last December?” he asks you.

You nod. Of course you did, even though the night hadn’t gone as planned. You had hoped that that was the night everything came full circle, that the two of you would get together. But instead, Sebastian drank too much and ended up throwing up in the bushes outside with you to witness it all. It was something the two of you laughed about later on, but you always felt disappointed.

“I wish I had kissed you that night,” he says, catching you completely off guard. “I regret drinking so much, but I was so nervous and wanted to feel confident, and I screwed it up. I screwed it up with you.”

Your mouth is half hanging open, not sure what to say. You are trying your best to process what he has just told you, just confessed, but you can’t for a minute. He waits expectantly for you to collect your thoughts and respond.

“So… you don’t want to get drunk tonight because… you want to kiss me?” you ask, feeling slow and out of touch. But when Sebastian laughs, it forces you to smile. “What?” you ask him, still smiling.

“I feel like wanting to kiss you is such an entry level requirement for everything else I want from you,” he says, his cheeks immediately turning red after saying that. Your’s go red as well, at what he could be implying. “But, I- why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, unsure of what else to say. 

“I didn’t want to mess anything up. I would have rather stayed your friend than, I don’t know, have scared you off with a big confession,” he said quickly. You shake your head, trying to convince him otherwise. “I don’t think you understand how much I would have reciprocated that confession,” you say, smiling.

“And now?” he says, looking at you with a sense of uncertainty. The smile on your face becomes a shy one as you look at him, unsure of how to say everything that you want to say. “I think that I look at you now, and all those feelings seem to have stayed with me. Like nothing has changed even though it’s been nine months since we’ve had a conversation,” you say, speaking truthfully. 

You don’t even get to look at the smile on his face for long before Sebastian leans in and presses a quick, soft kiss to your lips, pulling back after only a second. You instinctively lean forward as he pulls away, trying to catch his lips again, but he puts a hand on your arm. “Not here, in a pub surrounded by other people,” he says, his voice a whisper against your ear. You nod, understanding and agreeing. “Let’s go somewhere else, then.”

You nod. “I live with other people, though, and I have like, no privacy,” you tell him. He nods, and then continues. “I’m staying in an inn nearby,” he says, before shaking his head. You furrow your eyebrows in question, and he clarifies. “That just doesn’t seem right, me taking you to an inn. Not now, not after all this time.”

You shake your head at his words, not even having had that thought. “I just want to be near you, to make up for lost time.” The words out of your mouth surprise you with how bold they are, but you don’t back down. 

“Let’s just walk around until the morning,” he says, grinning. You smile but you shake your head again. “Take me back with you. I promise, I don’t care where we are.”

He nods before standing up, offering you a hand. You let him pull you out of the booth, and hand in hand you leave the half empty pints on the table.

—-------------------------------------------

The inn room is small, with nothing but a bed, a lamp, and a chest of drawers. There is a small bathroom to the left, and you spot Sebastian’s bags on one side of the floor. The two of you stood a few feet away from each other, unsure of where to go from here. As comfortable as you were with each other, it was clear that neither of you wanted to jump into bed with each other right away.

“This is why I didn’t want to bring you back here,” Sebastian said suddenly, looking embarrassed. You shake your head. “I just don’t know where to start, and I want to do this, I do, but I can’t fathom where to begin,” you say flustered. 

“Where to start? You don’t have to start or begin anything. I didn’t bring you here so you could perform or do anything for me. We can talk, or just stand here, or do whatever you want. Don’t feel pressured, and believe me, I’m probably more nervous being with you than you can imagine,” he says, running a hand through his hair with a smile. 

His words bring a sense of ease to you, maybe just what you needed to hear at that moment. You step forward until you’re right in front of him, letting him take one of your hands. Gingerly, you stand on your tiptoes and brush a kiss to his lips, waiting for him to move into it. For a moment, the two of you stand nose to nose, and then he closes the gap between you. 

The first few seconds are gentle and soft, testing the waters out for both of you. But soon, the movements of your lips become uncoordinated, desperate and fast. His hands find their way to your waist and you tangle yours in his hair. The two of you are standing, practically pulling the other person into them, trying to get as close as possible. 

“Can we- go to- the bed?” you breathe out in between kisses. He nods, and you climb onto the bed, pulling his weight on top of you. You let him cradle you as he presses slow kisses to your lips, his pace changing. He stops and looks at you, staring up from underneath him. “We don’t have to do anything else,” he says, looking at your face for hesitation.

“I want to,” you tell him. “I really, really do.”

Sebastian has a look on his face that betrays both nerves and excitement. It’s the same look that he had when he asked you to the Yule ball, over a year ago. He nods again, before pressing another soft kiss to your lips. He pulls back again, looking at you, before attaching his lips to your neck. You sigh, and the soft noise seems to ignite something in his brain.

He rolls both of you over, you being on top of his body now. In one swift move, he maneuvers the two of you so that you are sitting up and straddling him on the bed. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before practically smashing your lips together. There is a sense of urgency as you move, hands exploring each other as lips and tongues move together. 

You move your mouth, peppering light kisses along Sebastian’s jaw and down to his neck and you rock your body against him. He groans underneath you, your name leaving his lips as he rakes his hands over your back and down to your ass. Gripping you, he pulls you closer to him. Becoming impatient, you tug on his shirt in the hopes that he takes it off. The two of you break away for a moment, each tearing your own shirt over your body in a quick attempt to undress.

His hands come behind you, wanting to rid you of your bra, but he pauses. “Is this okay?” he asks, with a tone filled with concern. You press a light kiss to his lips, urging him to continue. “I promise I’ll say something if it’s not,” you breathe out, desperate for him to touch you. He seems to understand your urgency, and your bra is on the floor in the next second.

Sebastian stares at your chest, a look of marvel plastered on his face. In an instant, his lips are attached to your nipple, resulting in soft moans from you as you clutch his hair. “I need you, Sebastian,” you whisper as he sucks on the other nipple. He groans in response, pulling himself away from your chest. 

You attempt to reach a hand in between the two of you to touch him through his pants, but he stands with you wrapped around him, turning so that he can lay you gently on the bed. He touches your skirt with a light hand, looking at you for any hesitation. You don’t speak, but instead start to gather your skirt so that it bunches around your waist. You look at him, your eyes doing their best to say fuck me, please. Without a single word, you shimmy out of your underwear and invite him in.

Sebastian practically buries his face in you. His mouth and tongue make these obscene sounds as he licks, sucks, kisses, and laps at every part of your sex. The noises mix with the moaning and babbling that emerge from your mouth, and you’re saying these things that you never thought you would say. Things like more, oh fuck, Sebastian, I need more.

His hands are gripping onto the soft flesh of your hips and ass, pulling you closer to him. It almost feels as though he wants to swallow you whole as he works you with his mouth and lips. One of his hands disappears, and then you feel his fingers working their way inside of you. Gasping, you clench around the two fingers he has in you, feeling so full already from him. He moans into you, vibrating your lower half as he starts to pump his fingers in you. 

It’s too much, all too much. The way he is absolutely worshiping your body is going to cause you to explode. He’s curled his digits inside of you, his lips sucking like he can’t get enough, and you can feel your legs start to tremble. His name leaves your lips, and he does something extraordinary with his tongue that causes everything to shatter for you.

There’s no way to describe how good this all feels, except that perhaps you have touched the stars. He is still moving his fingers, his tongue, his lips, as you writhe and gasp on the bed. Once it becomes too much, you start to scoot away from his face, but he follows you with his hand.

“Oh god, it’s too much, please Sebastian,” you plead, shaking as he still pumps his hand into you. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and full of lust, as you try to move away from his hand. After a moment, he moves his hand and pulls his fingers out of you. You watched him, embarrassed, as he popped his fingers in his mouth. “Don’t do that,” you say, this shy feeling overcoming you.

“Why not? I just had my face buried in you,” he says, matter of factly, before grinning wickedly at you. You look down to where he is straining in his pants, and the desire to touch him overcomes you again. Sitting up slightly, you reach your hand out to the buttons on his pants.

He moves away from you, instead bending down to kiss you. “Please, let me touch you,” you say, reaching again for him. “I don’t want this to be over too quickly,” he says, cheeks running red. 

There’s a pause as you consider what he’s saying, and you look at him with a question written on your face. “I want to fuck you properly, and I know I won’t last if you use your mouth on me,” he explains, now really looking embarrassed. 

“Then do it,” you say, a sense of post-orgasm confidence running through you. You’re absolutely aching for him, and with your skirt hiked up and your flesh exposed you want him on you at this moment. There is a desire coursing through you, that only he can satisfy. “Please, Sebastian.”

Without another word, he climbs onto you and devours your lips in a needy kiss. Your bare core presses against his clothed erection, the sensation causing you to moan into his mouth. He immediately starts to grind himself against you, the two of you acting almost like crazed animals as you try to create a sense of friction. 

“Take them off,” you say, fiddling with his pants again. This time, he stands and obliges. You watch as he removes his trousers and underclothes, and stare as he bares himself for you. Now there was no sense of hiding from him, no sense of unknown. You clenched around nothing as you watched him give his length two quick pumps, the thought of what to come already driving you insane. 

“You know I’ve thought about this for a long time,” he says softly, climbing onto you again. “How I would take you, how you would look, what I would do to you. You’re perfect, absolutely perfect.” His head dips, kissing the outside of your breast. “And I want this to be perfect for you.”

“Sebastian,” you say, coming out more as a gasp than actual words. “Please, I think I might go insane if you don’t touch me.”

There is a hint of a smirk that comes over his face, and you feel him line your bodies up. His head bends down again to kiss you, whispering sweet things as he pulls his lips away. Gently, he slides himself into you, coaxing and teasing so that it causes you to feel every little bit. You both gasp in unison when he is fully inside you, a feeling of fullness and closeness like you had never experienced before. 

He doesn’t move for a moment. “I want to hear everything that comes out of your mouth,” he says, commanding you. You nod, the feeling of him already leaving you dazed and delicious. Slowly, he pulls out. And then he pushes in again, slow and deep, and you can’t hold back.

There are these babbling words and sounds coming out of your mouth as he fucks you, rotating and snapping his hips. Words like fuck, oh god, please Sebastian, don’t stop, feels so good. Things you never imagined you would say, at least not before today. But now it feels natural as they tumble out, mixed with gasps and moans. You intentionally tighten slightly around him, and it brings noises and words from him. He’s calling you perfect, so good, an angel, beautiful, and everything else you could want to hear from him. 

His thrusts are rhythmic, deep and precise. There is no great urgency between you, instead just relishing in the movements of each other. You bring your legs around his back, hands clawing at his back. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he says, his eyes shut as he moves in and out of you. All you can do is moan in response, no real thoughts left in your head.

But then you feel something else. Sebastian has slipped a sneaky hand in between you, pressing languid circles into your clit as he moves. He has started to get sloppy, his hips snapping with less of a rhythm, and you know he wants you to finish first. The combination of his hand and his length pumping in you cause you to arch away from the bed, his name coming out in gasps as you feel everything. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge of everything, and with one firm press into your clit you fall over.

Everything is on fire on your body, you can’t help it. You grab onto one of your breasts, needing to feel something more as you come. He is still saying things to you, things that only seem to drag out the feeling. “You’re doing so well, oh my god, you look so perfect,” he breathes out, his movement messy. You moan his name loudly one last time, and that’s it for him. He groans, thrusting three more times before collapsing on top of you. 

Your legs are still wrapped around him as he buries his head into your hair. He lazily kisses your neck and jaw, as if he wants to taste your skin. Your fingers stroke his hair lightly, both of you breathing loudly and not really moving.

“Was that okay?” he asks suddenly, lifting his head up a bit to look at you. 

“I feel like ‘okay’ is a massive understatement,” you tell him, a smile emerging on your face. He matches your smile, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Why did you not want to bring me here originally?” you ask, causing him to drop his smile. Sebastian thinks for a moment, looking almost embarrassed.

“I just- I felt like you deserved more than the bed at an inn. And I have to go back home in two days, and it just didn’t feel right for you. For how I feel about you, the way I wanted you. But I’m glad you talked me down from thinking that,” he says, his smile returning. You nod, understanding what he means. “And how do you feel about me, or how do you want me?” you ask, almost shyly. 

But Sebastian grins wider, and you feel foolish for asking. “I like you. It’s been hard, these last few months without you. And I think that we could be great together, that you should move closer to me or I should move closer to you. If you’ll have me, that is.”

You nod, a sense of relief flooding your mind. He lays his head back on you, and for a moment you say nothing. But then you remember something, and giggle. He lifts his head back up slightly, giving you a confused look. 

“You’re still inside me,” you say, moving slightly. His eyes widen and he slips out of you gently, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he does so. He stands up, heading to the bathroom. Pausing in the doorway, he turns to look at you laid out naked on the bed. “So you’ll have me, then?” he asks you with a soft smile.

“Of course I will,” you say, it being one of the easiest decisions you’ve ever made. “Of course, Sebastian.”

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #slytherin #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow oneshot #eventual smut #friends to lovers

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Trash Magic

Big Daddy Trailer Park Cop AU One Shot

Summary: it’s 2008 and it’s the pits of recession, not that the suburbs of El Paso would notice, things have been rather shit among the rows and rows of trailers for some time now. With your dad locked up for being a little too ‘entrepreneurial’, it seems your only ally in these tough times is the town‘s scary old softy, Officer Presley, and the more than professional interest he takes in your speeding and footwear. 

Era: modern but with that dumbass tumblr dusty Americana feel to it I hope?

Kudos: so many to @eliseinmemphis who was my plot guru, kept this thing alive and gave so many lines and sentences used herein.

Word count: 15k and I didn’t edit this sorry for misspells, etc

18+ and may be thematically disturbing to some please read cautions, proceed at your own risk!! More specifics below the cut

HAPPY NEW YEAR MY DARLINGS!

Specific warnings: sexual content, drug use, stripping, casual prostitution, age gap, reader isn’t a minor for such activities but only eighteen?? which is not touted as a good thing but it’s in here?? if that’s a hard no then be warned. graphic descriptions of kinda gross blowjobs and very gross blowjobs, spanking, officer Presley does take too many pills for his pain ok? driving under the influence, minors drinking, trailer trash lifestyle in general, such as I personally have had experience with, it’s rough out there folks but there’s always the good ones trying their best. Sorry I really threw Joe E under the bus. I’m not really sorry but I’m sorry you have to read about him in here. Please let me know what warnings I missed if I did. Again, could be thematically disturbing due to age, solicitation, law officers, drug use, humans not being tidy little robots.

When you were three years old you recall the smell of plastic heating in the sun, the hot smell of fresh cut grass and the cold splatter of hose water on your skin. A little paradise it seemed, that tiny kitty pool and your mama waving the hose over you with one hand, her cigarette dangling between the fingers of her other, bright warm sun and yellowing grass stretched out in large swathes between the little white shacks stacked row upon tidy row. Always the same and ready to guide you home after each little wander into the thicket behind the clearing.

That was life in the Shady Oaks trailer park. There really was only one mature oak tree and it was a live oak and the sunshine beamed right through its little leaves all seasons of the year.

By five you had a sizable jar of grasshoppers collected and had become too scared of their hoards and awful beady eyes to ever release them, fearful they would swarm you the minute you undid the lid of the mason jar and gave them freedom. You had let one out and watched it hop across the torn Hexagons of the linoleum floor before it jumped in an acrobatic feat and landed in the mac & cheese your mom was making. You never know what she did with those jars, but you were half relieved, half heartbroken at the fact they were no longer your responsibility.

By eight you knew you lived in a trailer park and spending your time collecting ants and moths for the new set of grasshoppers to eat was a peculiar and uncool pastime. As were muddy knees and torn t-shirts on a girl approaching her teenage years. But mama hadn’t been able to take the heat and the rows upon rows of mildewing trailers anymore and daddy was too busy with his “entrepreneurship” to dress you right.

By twelve you had learned that some nights daddy came home, and some nights he didn’t and you couldn’t be sure which you preferred. His drunken state was unpredictable and confusing even though he was not abusive, but his absence left you counting quarters and wondering how long your Fig Newtons would last if he stayed gone longer than a week again.

By fifteen the Dollar Store and its fluorescent bulbs leached the vitality out of you with each long day shift, school was an afterthought, and your days smelled of plastic bags and detergent. You brought that smell home to your musty trailer, seeped into the sweaty fabric of your tank top. The only thing that stayed consistent whether your daddy was home or not was the religious watching of the NASCAR races. Reruns and live, it didn’t matter, where many girls escaped into Disney or Reality TV, you did your dreaming while sitting in the ratty drivers seat of daddy’s Ford, making the engine thrum.

By seventeen, your daddy was gone for months at a time. Sometimes he’d leave the Ford and take off on the road with Benny and Gregg in Benny’s motorhome from a few rows down. Greg had the pale blue trailer with the blinds that were always smashed in the one window. He always left his damn lights on, even when he was gone and they’d glow yellow and demented between the brittle plastic. Some nights when you walked back home from town, maybe a little more plastered than you’d like to admit, you’d keep Gregg’s trailer and his silly window as a landmark to turn left in the maze of trailers.

One night the bulb burnt out. One by one the rest of them did too. The fellas, they’d all been gone so long. Next week the electricity got turned off to yours. The bill hadn’t been paid. Dollar Store wages kept peanut butter and miracle bread in your cabinets and bought you cheap tequila from Terry who lived five trailers down and didn’t care about ID’s so long as there was cash on the counter. What the wages didn’t pay for was electricity or gas money or a new car that could actually accelerate fast enough to give you that thrill you craved.

Despite your lousy education and demotivated upbringing, you had some spark of diligence and ambition residing inside you, it was stoked to a decent blaze by the awful, humid and stale air of the trailer without its swamp coolers humming at night. Not even the fridge stayed cool longer than forty eight hours and you ended up at the seven eleven eating roller dogs.

You weren’t looking for job opportunities while licking corn dog grease off your thumbs but opportunity came to you anyway. As you nibbled at the soggy fried dog and licked at the rancid oil while leaning against the auto supply shelf, you’d have to be some sorta dumb to not know that Carl was hanging around the same aisle for something besides windshield washer fluid.

Carl was a native to the outskirts of El Paso just like you, and he was a married man, married to Clarissa in fact. Clarissa who’s plastic miniature flamingo’s gracing each edge of her weedy gravel drive had a younger you thinking she was the height of trailer park sophistication. That was before Officer Presley, who lived in a spacious double wide down by Gregg’s trailer and its burnt out bulbs, got himself a Tiger figurine made outta real concrete and painted pretty as anything, its blazing feline eyes not missing a speck of paint, unlike the flamingo’s slashed ones. Officer Presley only had the one and it was assumed he was saving up for another, and he placed it by the little porch he built off his trailer door, the proximity to the structure giving it a noble sorta air that sitting statues out by the street didn’t manage.

“If you keep watchin’ me like that I’ll have to start chargin’.” you told Carl and his leering face, and took another bite, munching with the carefree manners of someone actually hungry.

“Can’t do that here.” he wheezed a laugh, then thumbed over his shoulder at the bright lights of the trucker club blazing in the dark sky through the dirty glass doors of the gas station. “But over there it’s legal.”

“You so horny you’d pay to watch a girl eat a corndog?” you were dubious, wondering just how little Miss Clarissa put out if he’d waste money on this, it wasn’t like she was busy repainting her Flamingo’s peeling eyes or nothin’.

“I’d pay for a drink for ya.” Carl offered, fidgety hands wedged in his fraying front pockets. “And you can eat another dog. You like hot dogs? They’ve got ‘em over there.”

“Nah, I need cash.” you declined, aware that you could barter for drinks and end up evicted or else make sacrifices regarding the booze and keep your tin roof over your head.

“Cash?” he repeated like a dumb parrot.

“Yeah, stupid.” you flailed your hands a little in annoyance, fully certain everyone in this run down rural suburb knew you were as broke as you are alcoholic at seventeen.

“Ok, then I’ll pay for your hot dog,” he negotiated with an oil stained finger scratching at the sore on the corner of his mouth, “And you can eat it so long as you do it how I tell ya.”

You sighed and ran your chipping nails along the plastic jugs of car oil. “So long as ya let me eat it.” you stipulate, “And you gotta pay for the show.”

“I ain’t made of money, girl!” Carl protested, “I’m buyin’ dinner, you should be thankin’ me.”

“You were plannin’ on buyin’ me a drink.” you pointed out, “Where’s that money gone?”

“Jeeze ok, ok,” Carl sighed, “I’ll pay you same as a wild Turkey would cost.”

“And a dog?”

“Yeah.”

“With chili on it?”

“Oh c’mon now-“

“-It’ll make for good slurpin.” you pointed out sagaciously

Carl groaned in annoyance and appreciation for the mental image. “Ok, a chili dog and the cost of a shot. No funny shit with the tab and you eat it how I say.”

“Does the club have air conditioning?” You asked your last stipulation.

“Course it does, it would be hot as fuck without.”

Your trailer was hot as fuck and anytime spent loitering elsewhere was greatly desired. “Ok then.” you agreed with a shrug.

By the time you’d crossed the parking lot, with Carl’s guiding hand on your lower back, you were irritable from the heat and exhaust fumes. Inside was cool and almost as dark as the parking lot except for the wild, multi-colored lights swirling around the place, highlighting the girls humping the stage floor in the middle of the establishment. One more underage addition wasn’t remotely as remarkable as the fella in the corner trying to take a bite outta a lap dancer’s boob. He got smacked on the cheek for it and nothin’ more, got his full dance anyway and as you watched her after while sitting up on the bar stool, you noticed her negotiate something similar to what you’d just done. She stayed in his lap after her dance was done and after some gesticulating and her unimpressed sighs, some agreement was reached and you watched them get up and walk to the back of the club, through the backdoor that you knew led to nothing more than miles and miles of desert.

Five minutes later a similar transaction occurred between a trucker and a pole girl. They went out back, too. Ten minutes later the first couple came back in. She went to the stage and he went out the front door Carl had brought you in by.

By that point you were slowly inserting a hot dog onto your pink tongue and swallowing a bite every three minutes or more - at least, that’s what it felt like. Carl’s directions were so slow and infuriatingly erratic that you found yourself grateful for the fact you’d already eaten a bit at the gas station, otherwise this would’ve been the cruelest tease to your belly that hadn’t had lunch and only Raisin Bran for breakfast. You chose to ignore the way his hand moved in the shadow of the bar, wiping at his jeans too many times to be passed off as sweaty palms.

A nearly fully dressed girl in cut offs eating a chili dog was hardly the most sensational thing to be watched in this seedy joint, but it was the most peculiar and no sooner had you finished the dog after a laborious thirty minutes, collected the extra drink cash and prepared to go home after declining Carl’s offer of a ride before you found yourself propositioned for the same ordeal. This big fella actually offered a drink with it and much to Carl’s betrayed horror you agreed. Carl ended up leaving, going home to Clarissa, feeling too cuckolded to continue watching someone else watch you eat meat in a casing.

In between sipping Hard Mike’s lemonade you chatted with the fella and spilled pinto beans on your bare legs from the excess. Even the bartender had stopped being annoyed, he even got a bit invested in your gig, retracting the offered napkins for the spill when another guy, a farm hand from the pecan grove down the interstate, asked to lick it off.

You charged seventeen bucks for that spit bath and felt funny as the saliva dried in the chilled bar room air. The bartender asked you if you lived in El Paso. Hesitating to give yourself away or open yourself up to a driveby, you merely agreed that you lived nearby, he didn’t need to know you lived in the Spark City suburb and walked to this tuck station grill to save fuel.

Marty, he said his name was, and Marty was pleased you lived close. In that case he asked if you’d wanna work there. You knew at the time he wasn’t offering you to bartend, your age prohibitive even in so lax an establishment. Your eyes flicked over to the long gal with her sallow skin and stringy red hair loling around the stripper pole in the glow of a green spotlight. It had to be 3:00 am by then.

“Does everybody do extra?” You asked him, plainly referencing the deals that took folks out back into the sagebrush and the backside of the club.

“You do as much as you wanna get paid for.” he admitted. “Plenty just strip.”

Just, he had said. Just strip.

Just stripping was a gross understatement for the rigorous and demoralizing ordeal of flinging your practically naked body around on stage for gaping older men to ogle each night. But it took up hours of your time not paid by the dollar store wages, and you could snooze from five am to eight when your shift began again in respectable retail. You earned a decent amount, even after having to pay Marty and the doormen a portion and even turning down a lap dance or two. The chili dog schtick kept its novelty for three nights and then you were driven to grinding against the pold like all the others, wondering if they’d all hoped to not end this way, same as you.

After a few weeks of this your piggy bank was less empty than it had been in months, hidden under the sink of your trailer behind the Comet and pulled out only to stuff in bills or else retrieve bread money, one Sunday you counted enough to pay your lease for the trailer slip. What was left would make a tiny little down payment for the electricity bill.

Or gas money for at least fifty miles or more in your gas guzzler. You weighed the bills in your hands and mournfully inspected your bruised knees. It was your off day, you contemplated going to the club in the evening as it didn’t respect the Lord’s day like the dollar store, but until then you had hours of a perfectly cloudless day to burn. Suddenly your trailer felt unbearable in its stuffy crampedness.

You tore outta your door and cranked up your daddy’s old Ford and with relief found it started with only a few tries. You tore down the road too, seeking the interstate after using that cash to top her tank off. For the first time in ages a full smile had begun to split your face. You went east, passing the last remnant of civilization that you called home and comprised El Paso’s dusty satellite cling ons. Then it was open range, nothing just mesas and tumbleweed, no one else could brag of such flat country or so wide a sky.

You floored it, the speed limit a decent 80 on its own, you went up to 120, fast as you dared push the transmission without fear of being stranded in the desert. Billboards warned of “last chance for gas, Van Horn 200 miles” followed by a possibly related: “God is coming, have you repented?”

All flew by in a unheeded blur as you cranked up the stereo and let the wind whip your hair. You covered a patrol car in a cloud of dust and saw his lights flash at you in the rearview. No chase commenced. When you leisurely drove back you noticed it was highway patrol, the sun was setting and he flashed his brights at you. You flicked them back.

“Hey officer Presley.” you murmured amused at him turning a blind eye to the speeding. Back when you had more money and made a regular habit of this amateur racing, you noticed the same benevolent light flicker and never a siren broke the still of the desert. “You ole softy.” you giggled at the thought of the middle aged officer being generous for you and only you, and wondered if he’d heard about what had become of you yet. Seems like most of the trailer park had. Favorite topic these days, right up there with when or if your daddy was ever gonna come home. Had the wives hating you during the day for the suspicion of their men wanking over you at night.

“Maybe if you could spare a single food stamp or somethin’ to help a gal in need I’d not be strippin’!” You had hollered at Ms Clarissa for all to hear and you stood by it. Buncha lousy, miserable hypocrites who did far worse behind their canvas doors.

You do go to the club that night.

You stripped down to your panties and bra and made enough to buy ice and a trip to the dentist. You packed the ice in the dead refrigerator and pampered yourself with some milk and a carton of ice cream for the filled tooth.

Next day you filled up your gas tank again and blazed a path through town, headed to the wide open and dreaming of busting your way into the male ranks of nascar drivers. You were deep into a daydream and committing a little self pity about how you hadn't been able to afford cable and were missing all the races when a siren’s blare broke your fantasy and the flicker of red lights against a pale blue sky filled your rearview. Begrudgingly you pulled to the shoulder as you cranked down your window, fiddling with the radio knobs till you could actually hear your crime when your peruser sauntered up.

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been close to a year since you’d seen him up close, not since last time he pulled you over, though you always took note when he was lounging outside his trailer in a lawn chair with his dog or stripped down and working under his hood. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he kept in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy's grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms have massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Lead Foot Louie,” he greeted, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to that slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool in the most delicious way. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me fly by on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

He leaned further into her car window, shirt gaping helpfully at his neck and allowing you a glimpse of sweaty hair, little droplets shining like rhinestone studs in the coarse curls. You leaned towards him, nipples hardening beneath your t-shirt bra as your mind started to the taste of salt. “You’re in town, miss.” he pointed out with grave disappointment for your lack of behavioral modulation, “S’one thing on the open plain, it’s another when you’re endangerin’ your fellow citizens, flyin’ through intersections, speedin’ up and threadin’ traffic when you’ve got a visible yield sign. Right there! Ain’t responsible. And I won’t countenance it.”

“Sorry officer.” you pleaded, lingering on his rank with all the sultry appreciation of a girl who lacks authority figures in her life. It made his palm itch.

He sighed and gave you a small smile, puffy, marshmallow lips set under a dark five o’clock shadow and it wasn’t even noon. “Now, how many times do I gotta pull ya over ‘fore ya start listenin’ to me?“ he asked with patient expectancy and you swallowed hard, actually feeling a small bit of guilt.

“Well,” you drew it out, biting your lip before tossing your head and beaming at him, “maybe just one last time. Like always.”

He tsked at you in reprimand but his eyes lit up with enjoyment, and that was worth whatever fine he might slap you with. It really wasn’t, not with how broke you were but gosh, you loved breaking the ice on him, reeling him in for another verbal tussle. One day you hoped those expressive hands would accidently smack you mid-wave when he was explaining something or other. You lived in hope of that day.

You watched as he straightened briefly and reviewed your vehicle, thumbing at the peeling paint on the hood near his thumb and swished at the sand on your tags. You held your breath, hoping the dust would disguise their expiration. Officer Presley just grunted and surveyed your lemoning old truck with the face of a man who appreciates nice things and doesn't see any nice things in sight. The face of a man whose patrol car was a Ford Mustang.

“You like speed.” he observed, still glancing at your tires with lip curling disdain. You wanted him to look at you like that but his face always softened when he turned back to you. It did this time as well.

“Yeah.” you breathed.

“You got a shit truck for speed, terrible drag, shit tread on your tires, bet it’s a gas guzzler, too.”

“Well yeah, officer,” you rolled your eyes at his survey, “but it’s not like I can afford much else right now so -I do this for fun. Fun’s not illegal in America yet, is it?”

He looked at you gravely then and his eyes turned sad. “Yeah I heard about the strippin’. You watch yourself now, be careful and make sure you don’t engage in no extra-curric-u-lars.” he advised sternly, peering over his tinted sunglasses at you while saying the big word, over pronouncing it with authoritative gravitas, “I’ve told Marty that means no bar tendin’ when you’re underage. And I’m tellin’ you now, that goes for solictin’, too. You understand me? Nice lil girl like you could get in a heap of trouble real fast. And I won’t countenance it.”

The rest of you perked up at the heavy handed advice, feeling smothered and also cherished that someone would give a shit, even if they were just defending laws n’ government regulations. Thinking of them as Officer Presley’s laws, as his property you were twerking on somehow ennobled your calling, made you feel like giving it a try to be good and not disappoint him. You felt grateful he hadn't chewed you out for the stripping like half the neighborhood, you’d expected some disgust.

When he finally looked at you with disdain, and you were determined that he would, it would be for something less unchangeable, a little less broke, a little more sexy.

“Yes sir, I got ya.” you acknowledged with a nervous laugh to hide your discomfort with the way he kept staring at you, reading you, it felt.

He kept at it for a few moments, chomping on that gum stick in his mouth, dexterous pink tongue lolling the stuff from one row of molars to the others and back. Most fascinating ping-pong match you’d ever seen and while he did his soul-reading, you watched his mouth.

As his jaw worked overtime, he narrowed his eyes at you, so blue they looked violet behind the tint of his lenses. “A’ight.” he decided at last and suddenly your window was bereft of his congenial bulk, you heard the rap of his knuckles on your truck roof.

“You stay outta trouble now, Missy.” he let you off with only a warning, two sharp knocks on the metal and then, “I’ll be seein’ ya.”

You watched the side mirror with investment as he meandered away, futilly hiking up his holster again as he went before he entered his squad car. He flashed his lights at you as you stayed gawking, you fumbled with the ignition and peeled out off the shoulder, moderating your acceleration upon afterthought. You’d promised to be good.

But nights at the Trucker Bar didn’t pay to be good. You had a laundry list of things you wanted and a hefty list of needs alongside it. You tried picking up a shift at the Texaco but Ashley there near tore your hair out against the beer coolers for encroaching on her shift. Everyone needed work and Spark City had never been much of a City, too little infrastructure to prosper its community in good times, much less in the pits of a recession. The Best Buy in El Paso was hiring, you read in a mail advertisement. Their wages cost as much gas it took to drive there and back.

So you got pretty good at something else, something Officer Presley wouldn’t be impressed by, or maybe he would in a moment of weakness but lord, much as you worried and panicked some times about him dropping in on the Trucker stop, meeting eyes and him just knowing you’d been doing extracurriculars, he never showed. Must not have been his scene. Not that you were sure what his scene was, you only ever saw him in his patrol car or else cleaning his guns on his trailer porch next to his Tiger figurine.

You assumed he liked blow jobs as much as the next man. But he never showed and so you got more and more lax, went out back of the bar to the Sagebrush desert and blew heavy tippers against the concrete wall, ant bites and stickers plaguing your knees. So far you hadn’t even needed to walk on over past the broken wall to the dingy motel in back and do the horizontal tango.

Moderate extracurriculars and the dancing was enough to tip your little piggy bank into having a little something to shake at the end of the day. You got yourself a haul of cereal and hot pockets that night, even splurged on milk that went rancid by the next day without refrigeration. You spent your late mornings debating how much money you had left for rent and how much you had for electricity and the viability of buying a generator instead of paying the bill. You also wanted a Blackberry phone real bad, your old flip phone a relic and on its last wheezes -maybe that’s why your dad’s calls never came through.

You were chewing off the price tag of your dollar flip flops, walking barefoot out of your daytime workplace -Dollar General- at the end of your shift when you realized there was a patrol car pulled up beside your Ford. First you cursed, then you grinned as you saw the familiar figure of Officer Presley wiping at your windshield with a bandana. Then you cursed again as you realized he was checking your expired tags.

You jogged over the burning asphalt, still tied flip flops in hand, hoping you didn’t look like shit from having taken off the Dollar Store vest without smoothing your hair afterwards. You hadn’t been good, he could be here for anything, soliciting, or for the speeding you know he caught on his radar or else the tags.

“Hey officer!” you chirped, as carefree and smiley as you could manage -and you’d gotten to be a tidy little liar at the club, insisting you couldn’t wait to have greasy, unwashed truckers in your mouth.

He turned his head slowly, hand still heavy on the windshield and observed you through those glasses again. “Don’t you ‘hey officer’ me.” he retorted, riled despite himself at the way you always said his rank like he had you locked up with frilly pink handcuffs to his waterbed. He shook his head and focused on the variety of delinquencies he had to reprimand you for. “These tags are out of date.”

“Aww,” you feigned consternation pretty decently as you really hadn’t bothered to prioritize the tags with every other dire cost pummeling you right now, “I’m sorry Elvis.” you tried a little familiarity as you drew closer, watching enthralled as a stale desert window tufted the front of his black locks of his sweaty forehead, “Things’ve been a lil tight for a while now, what with daddy leavin’. Slipped my mind.”

He pulled his hand off the windshield and his hands tried to rest on his hips but they slipped and ended up in an odd, off-kilter sorta sling on his pockets and belly, “They’re three years overdue.” his tone sounded unimpressed, you shivered despite the heat.

“Oh.” you chewed your lip and gazed at him hopefully.

“I oughta tan your hide, lettin’ you turn feral with all my concessions.” he said aloud while stippling his fingers on your rusting truck hood. His eyes dropped to the newly purchased, junk flip flops you still clutched. “Why’re you bare foot?”

“My last pair broke.” you explained, end of your shift the thong had snapped and here you were with the replacements.

“Well put ‘em on, the road’s nasty.” he grunted in aggravation, eyes dropping to your feet and widening in disgust at the welts and blisters you’d accumulated from your cheap stripper heels. “Holy shit, that’s gnarly right there.”

You felt a bit offended by that, wanting to object it was the toll of the job, sorta like fat guts came from lounging in patrol cars for a living. Figuring you were in deep deep enough shit as is without outright insulting him, you bit your tongue and chewed on the plastic connector again, trying to free your sandals.

“Oh for God’s sake, stop that.” he growled after a minute and to your bewilderment he stepped in your space and grabbed the foam footwear out of your mouth, “Gonna chip a tooth goin’ on that way, then your tips’ll go down, ya thought of that? No? No you don’t think ahead about nothin’.”

He was working himself up into a frustrated frenzy, tugging at the plastic tag, mumbling all the while about your behavior until it snapped at last and separated the flip flops. He stared dumbly at his success for a minute while you tittered. Bad move on your part, his eyes darkened and he genuinely scowled at you, something more effective than it should have been with his outdated sideburns carving lines in his cheeks.

“Turn around.” he demanded and you snapped your mouth shut, confused by his attitude and furtively eyeing your flip flops still dwarfed in his gloved hands. Who the hell wore gloves in this decade? In this century? In an El Paso suburb that was only a degree or two cooler than the surface of the sun.

You turned around.

“Hands on the hood.” he told you.

You placed them on the burning metal and wished you had gloves, angling your body away from the hot body of the truck, wincing at the heat, on tippy toes to save your feet from the asphalt. Was he gonna cuff you? He hadn’t even read you your rights and could a person even be arrested for tags? You really didn’t know and you never thought he would-

Suddenly a loud snap resounded in the empty parking lot and a white hot sting against your bottom distracted you from the pain of the hot car. You yelped in shock, hand flying to nurse the denim clad ass cheek that was burning from his smack. You glared over your shoulder at Officer Presley, ready to give him what for about him taking parental liberties until you saw his face folded into childish consternation, poofy bottom lip jutted out in remorse as he viewed the snapped flip flop in his hands.

He’d broken a shoe on you. Appreciation flared back, and you wanted to squeeze his cheeks and tell him it was ok, he could ruin the other, too.

“Aww shit, now I-I-I didn’t mean for that-“ he bemoaned, turning the ruined foam pad around and around in his hands as if there was a way to fix it when the other half was on the ground.

“It’s ok.” You heard yourself comfort the fucker who’d just spanked you in broad daylight.

“But you just finished your shift.” he muttered, and his consideration for your inconvenience touched you, “Here I-I-I’ll go buy ya another pair. Uh, yeah, c’mon.”

You skipped alongside him, trying to get him to look over at you but his face was flushed and his eyes trained on his task, picking out a hot pink pair instead of the polka dots you had chosen. “Does nothin’ for your lil sooties and brings the attention away from the polish ya got painted and instead directs the eye to the crustaceans and shit ya got goin’ on.” he referenced your calluses with a grimace and reached into his back pocket to pull out his worn wallet.

You stared at the hefty meat of his ass the entire time and almost missed it when he pulled out five dollars and put them on the register. You watched his ass and its khaki clad splendor as he returned the wallet without change and wiggled it into the tight back pocket.

At the double sliding glass doors of the front he snapped the tag there and then and squatted down with a little grunt, his knees popping audibly as he gallantly laid out your cheap slippers. You stepped into them, taking the liberty of putting a balancing hand on his sweaty shoulder.

His hand ran up your wrist and held you there a minute longer than it needed for stability. He squeezed twice and let go. You watched him heft himself up to his feet with admiration and a little pity for the stiff way he moved when he’d been stuck in one position for too long. Seemed to you so long as he was kept moving he did alright, nice and fluid and you’d seen him chase and tackle a man on foot awhile back, he’d been runnin’ like the wind then. He had it in him, just lounging in the patrol car hardly helped things.

You got the sudden and stupid urge to ask if he wanted to go swimming in the Motel 6’s pool, it would be good for his joints and your sore back and he’d be wet and maybe have his shirt off and you could-

“I got somethin’ to tell ya, it’s w-w-why I-I stopped when I saw your truck and uh, sweetie, let’s stay h-here in the cool.” he gently tugged your arm back with the pads of his pretty fingers hooked on your deltoid, pulling you back over the threshold and into the dryer sheet scented air of the Dollar General.

“What is it?” you asked him as he seemed nervous, a foreign look on him. You started to feel a little panic at the thought he might be leaving, going back to wherever he came from, done with this Podunk town and its big crime and little criminals.

“There ain’t no easy way to say this a-a-and I wanted you to hear it from me.” he chose his words carefully, eyes trained on the white and speckled tile below your feet until after a big breath he lifted his stunning eyes and gazed at you gently and in the most gallant way you’d ever been looked at before, murmuring in clear, compassionate tones, “They caught your daddy the other night -drug runnin’. Ain’t no petty marijuana charge or somethin’, it’s the big stuff. He’s gonna be put away, for a long while, in-car-cer-ated.” he specified with distinct pronunciation, “For a long while, Miss. I’m sorry to be the one t-t-to t-tell but I wanted you to know it’s true, I-I-l booked him in myself.”

“Well,” you swallowed hard, a little ashamed you’d been more alarmed at the prospect of officer Presley leaving than suspecting anything wrong with your walking disappointment of a father, “well damn.” you muttered.

“You don’t seem much surprised.” he pointed out, pulling his tinted shades down his nose to get a clear review of you, he had a red line on his nose from their weight.

“I barely know him anymore,” you admitted, “and I doubted he was gone spreading charity or something.”

“Yeah.”

“But damn -he was supposed to come back.” you felt a little angry about that part. A little childish for believing it too.

“Maybe he meant to,” he soothed, although your father’s entrenched position on the river suggested a more permanent stay, “and was doing all that sellin’ to give you somethin’ better but he was breakin’ the law and endangerin-“

“-Endangering others, I know.” you snapped at him, not because he was anything but nice, you snapped at him because he was very kind and he had a silver, shiny, sanctimonious badge on the large swell of his left peck.

The longer you stared at the badge the more you wanted to sink your dollar store acrylics into the meat of that man and try tearing -they’d probably break and it made your eyes swim with tears of frustration and you stomped out of the double glass doors into the heat of the parking lot. The sun would be going down soon and that’s when your best customers would pour into the club. You snapped your way across the asphalt on the flip flops he got you, ignoring his calls behind you as you wrenched open the squeaking truck door and hopped up into the cab.

“Really it’s fine!” you yelled at him as he came up to the window again, the concern and reproval written on his face way more heavy than you could take right then, “It’s not like I was expecting him back anytime soon anyway and -and you’ve got a job to do, ok? I get it. I get it, ok? Now I gotta go, officer.” You cranked up your engine and diesel fumes swirled around him. He batted the air in front of his face like a dainty lady would a swarm of flies and leaned heavier still on your rolled down window.

“I just wanted to let ya know.” he reaffirmed his intention, his gesticulations bringing your eyes to the gold watch around his wrist that jangled against the car metal, “Tell ya not to uh, don’t do nothin’ rash, alright? Just ‘cause he’s gone. You’re a big girl, you’ll make it. You ‘member what I said last time ‘bout extracurriculars?”

“I’d like to do you some extracurriculars.” you seethed with an angry smile and he looked taken aback, actually stepping away from the truck and his belly heaved with his offended breaths. One hand balled in a fist at his side and the other twitched, fiat palm swaying beside his thigh like he was gonna smack again. Extracurriculars -you’d like to take his no doubt chubby little cock right down to the sweaty thatched base and chew, just to earn a real spanking.

Maybe this lewd intent was written on your face but he slowly backed away from your truck like you’d gone looney, pointing his finger at you as he went, “You be good, I mean it. And that’s goes for respectin’ officers of the law.”

He was about to get into his side, looking over his car top in admonishment and you quickly made sure your truck was still in park before turning round in the seat and hanging yourself out the window, cleavage pressed against the edge to your best advantage and blew him a kiss. “I’m always a good girl, officer!” you swore adamantly and it stopped him dead in his tracks, stopped in a half crouch to his seat, that eyebrow disbelieving, “Officer Presley commissioned me to be good and I ain’t anything but!” you swore.

Took him five whole seconds to recall he was supposed to have his ass seated by then and he lowered himself the rest of the way into his car. His belly brushed the steering wheel and his legs spread themselves even in the driver's seat, it made your crushed breasts tingle. “Be-have.” he pointed that finger again and your thighs clamped shut on your seats, overwhelmed with unbidden thoughts of the long and slender digit probing inside you. How’d his fingers stay so slender when the rest of him bulked up?

You saluted as poorly as you could and watched him drive off, aggression plain in his accelerations and the way he took his turns. He shoulda stayed and spanked the other cheek, you thought, as you turned around and slumped in your seat, legs splayed and fighting a desperate urge to slip a hand down your shorts. You hoped to god he’d find some quiet shoulder of the road in the desert this evening and with a car passing every twelve minutes, tug a load out to the thought of wacking your denim booty with his belt. It would be good for his blood pressure.

Hands sticky from your own dismal release, you pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes behind him and, too scarce on time to go home first, drove straight to the club, knowing full well that you could always just strip down to your underwear.

Or less.

What with dad permanently unhelpful now, it was a fact of life that you’d have to do more than get by till he came back. You’d already accepted that awhile ago, this just confirmed it. You figured you’d need to save another stash of money, like the real professional girls did, girls like Kelcie and Shay, a little fund for renting out a motel room at night. The one a quarter mile out back of the truck stop, no harm in it except for a few bramble scratches in the dark and the odd coyote not scared off by the truckers’ loud moans out back at the blow job wall.

But for tonight you hadn’t any such stash and so after a few hours at the poll and chatting up the fellas lounging on barstools, you found the tip jar lacking and made one of those lil deals that were becoming almost as commonplace as getting your butt pinched.

This time, in the moth attracting glow of the outside light, your customer had a New York accent and while at cock level you learned from his fancy, dangling silver keychain that his buddies knew him as Joe E.

Now Joe E had a little brown cock and a small, fused ballsack under a sizable belly like most of these men in here did, and you did some of your best work on him. It was easy to do with him fitting in your mouth so easily, you pulled out every trick you’d learned at this wall, all of which he unfortunately resisted succumbing to more than the usual client. He’d pull himself out of your throat and he would grip his base, prolonging his experience and you supposed he had a right to it, he was paying money for something and he might as well do it how he liked but your jaw ached after a while. Soon your ears ached worse, exhausted and fed up with the self important monologue he kept up between the usual, self promoting stud talk that an unimpressive man in his forties likes to indulge in while paying for sex acts out back of a hole in the wall truckers club.

Joe E tasted like he hadn’t touched a fresh vegetable in years and through the overwhelming desire to puke you recognized with some pleasure that he was tipping you extra for being “like a damn vacuum down there, you pretty little dog.”

You drove home from the club, headlights on dim in the early morning and passed by Officer Presley’s double wide with intent, choosing the route you’d take if you were walking. It was dark inside but as you passed you saw he wasn’t asleep, his car was still gone.

You wondered if his doggie was in there or on patrol with him. You sighed and pulled into your own weedy drive, depressed with something you didn’t know the cause of.

You brushed your teeth, you ate cereal after remembering you hadn’t eaten, and stripped out of your clothes before crashing into bed, falling asleep in seconds despite the musty, unconditioned air inside.

It was the next morning, so near afternoon as to barely warrant it but Elvis Presley liked to take credit for any bit of effort he made and so let the record show it was still morning, when he entered the Waffle House off Moody Blvd and sat himself down in a booth and ordered his usual. It arrived at 11:56 in the morning and so it was breakfast, not lunch by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been up all night, the usual plaguing reasons and a few added to it. You, thoughts of you and tanning your hide and gripping you and you squirming over his lap made his patrols a hellish experience and he was almost glad for the distraction of the fucker without plates pulling out in front of him and making a run for it through the border checkpoint at 8:45 pm.

Now he was distracting himself with food, and if there was anything in his life to rival his appreciation of a slippery and obligin’ pussy, it was five scrambled eggs piled high on a white plate with burnt bacon to the side and waffles stacked on a companion plate. Brenda put them down with a smile and gave him a side hug that made his face brush her apron and shoulda gotten her fired by the food regulations but Elvis liked Brenda for her affectionate ways and the way he didn’t ever have to correct her about his order.

“You look tired.” she worried over him and he found a smile starting to threaten on his face, he stuck his fork in the eggs to distract himself.

“Just a busy night.” he admitted and absentmindedly rubbed at his sore knee.

“Aww you’re a treasure, keepin’ us so safe.” he patted his arm again and he fully smiled this time. “You just tell me if you need anythin’ else. I’ve got more coffee, lemme get ya more coffee, Elvis.”

“Thanks Miss Brenda.” he called to her and she giggled as she fetched the cloudy pot.

The bell over the entrance jangled and from Elvis’ chosen vantage point in a booth that faced the doors, always facing his entry that man, he saw Joe Esposito walk in, smiling like a motherfucker for a Wednesday morning and swaggering like Elvis hadn't seen the little runt do since he passed the bar back in 1980 something.

“Hey Brenda, hey EP!” Joe greeted and Elvis braced himself for a cheerful morning when all his hopes had been for some quiet and a little maple syrup glazed despondency.

“Hey Joe.” Elvis greeted his old friend, “You in town?”

“Yeah, my route’s takin’ me to Las Cruces.” Joe informed him as he helped himself to the booth across from Elvis without invitation. If he ate one of Elvis’ bacon strips, even reached for it, Elvis would be pulling out his Glock.

“How’s business?” Elvis asked as neutrally as possible, knowing that it was a sore subject for Joe who had once bragged about being destined for big things, holding it over everybody else at the high school back in Memphis. Still Elvis couldn’t help but ask, partly because it was small talk and if he could get Joe on the subject he knew the feller wouldn’t stop talking, and Elvis could then eat his eggs with minimal requirements for speech. He also took some inner consolation in the fact that all Joe’s brags had worked out about as poorly as Elvis’ dreams had.

It made for two portly middle aged men in a Waffle House booth discussing gas prices at noon.

Joe ordered just pancakes and Elvis judged the lack of meat from beneath his lavender shades and patiently asked the right questions to keep Joe smacking his breakfast with an open mouth and waxing sentimental about life on the road. It suited Joe, even if it was boringly unimportant, he was king of the road in between stops at Walmart distribution centers and out in the stretches of no man’s land the girls were cheap, far cheaper than any Times Square street walker. Joe hadn’t been to Times Square since he was sixteen but it was something he still liked to brag of and to incorporate in his life story like it was an integral part of his narrative.

“But are they fresher?” Elvis inquired, always intrigued by the subject of pussy but also harboring a deep aversion to the way most men spoke on the subject.

“Nah, not really, but that’s why ya go for the mouth.” Joe catechsied Elvis on the ways of call girls and Elvis felt his eye twitch, personally he enjoyed blow jobs as much as the next guy but to avoid the pussy all together as Joe was suggesting? It took all the joy out of the act for Elvis and he picked at his eggs morosely as he listened. He’d had such a large appetite before Joe sat down and started talking of fishy cunts and girls with throats like drainage pipes.

Joe had been to the truckers lounge, the trucker club, the strip place, whatever it was called -the place Marty ran. Elvis knew it, he tried not to react to the name, to pretend he didn’t gas up at the Texaco next door with the express intent of hoping to catch sight of you some nights. He never did, and he’d never been in. But Joe had gone in and Joe being Joe sat across from Elvis the next morning and bragged to a law officer about paying for a blow job. Which along with ruining Elvis’ appetite was offense enough for Elvis to decide to arrest the fucker, but the eloquent details of the slut who’d given it to him made Elvis see red.

Elvis didn’t really mind folks watching you, some stupid, possessive part of him was glad that all those fuckers drooled over you and couldn’t touch, same as him as he sat year after year in his lawn chair on his porch, watching you pass his trailer with longer and longer legs, prettier and prettier as the dusty days rolled by.

But to touch you? That someone else had touched you? The butter on his waffles suddenly looked wrong.

“-just fifty bucks man. Fifty bucks well spent.” Joe was bragging like he’d cheated the stock market and Elvis heard a roar in his ears that the doctors swore the pills would take care of.

You’d sucked Joe Esposita for fifty dollars right after Elvis had told you to be good and you’d blown him a kiss.

His chest hurt.

Elvis had Joe’s greasy face pressed into the syrupy plate with his hands behind his back and cuffs clanking before either the officer or the suspect even realized his intent. “Prostitution’s illegal, motherfucker, as is paying for such services in the state of Texas.”

You’d told him you’d be good. Fuck! He so badly didn’t wanna think of Joe being your first that he had to countenance speculation about you making a regular habit of this thing which was both worse and better all at once and he took out his frustration at that knowledge by trundling Joe into the back of the squad car with far more force than necessary.

It was a flimsy charge to file, Elvis knew that even before the clerk gave him the usual papers to fill out with a confused look. Wasn’t like Elvis was gonna put down your face or name, give away your crime. Without that connection the charge of paying for sex was flimsy and Joe would be released before dark. But it was nice to hear him sqealin’ and bitchin’ about his driving schedule and a buncha other ordinary begs that made Joe E sound as pathetic as Elvis knew he was.

It fortified Elvis throughout the day, kept him from going to your trailer or interrupting you at work to ask why in God’s name you would degrade yourself like that. It kept him bolstered with red hot rage until he was staked out in desert twilight on the dark side of the Texaco, headlights off and his eyes squinted as he watched patrons and girls go into the club.

This was his fault, for locking your daddy up, driving you to such lengths. He felt sick about it, shoulda known a stubborn, white trash girl like you would just reach for the next alternative this easy. Made him sick. Elvis suddenly felt nice and superior to all these men filing into the neon lit cinderblock structure, he had resisted touching himself to the fantasies that had filled his mind about you last night. Wasn’t pertinent that he had a stiffy right now, that was just the nerves and excitement of a stake out revving him up

He lit up a cigar and let Mellancamp growl over the stereo, engine off and the key turned just a little for the dash lights to stay on. He wasn’t sure when you got off work at the club, he assumed it must be some time around dawn and that suited his shit circadian rhythm just fine. He wasn’t tired as the hours went by, he was downright furious and his heart hurt and he popped a couple oxys sitting there with his busted knee throbbing and his mind a demented echo chamber.

By the time the sky was turning a sickly violet with the first promises of sunrise, Elvis had worked himself up to such a degree as to have his door flung open and one boot rhythmically tapping against the cement in his agitation, legs spread to alleviate the ache his pills had provoked in his groin even as the rest of him felt loose and untethered and decidedly deserving for once.

When you walked out the front of the club into the stale early morning air you laughed to yourself at the silliness of thinking you’d need a coat. Your little denim shorts and cherry print crop top suited just fine even in the early dark. That NASCAR jacket you’d had your eye on, the one Shay showed you on eBay, it would have to wait, the tips were shit tonight. No real hurt with that, wasn’t like it was cold. Just another something you wanted and would have to put off. You hadn’t driven tonight as the walk was cheaper and closer but you’d forgotten your pepper spray back at the truck stop and you hesitated for a moment about going back in, hating the idea of getting sucked into some sorta early morning drama from the drunk leftovers. While you were debating, a flash of white seared your vision and you staggered to a stop in the middle of the mostly deserted parking lot.

Headlights.

Well shit, now you really wished you had that spray. You thought about making a run for it, trying the nearest truck cab and praying the guy in it was less of a creep than whoever stakes out on the deserted side of the building.

“You get over here!” the approaching figure came into view, finally silhouetted by his own lights as he stalked towards you wearing a leather trench coat like some noir villain.

It would be a lie to say you breathed easier when you recognized Officer Presley’s commanding baritone.

“Shit shit shit.” you chanted beneath your breath at how riled he sounded and his right hand started making angry gestures for you to approach as he himself closed the distance with a deceptively fast gait.

“Hey, get your ass over here, I called you.” he yelled far more loudly than necessary with his massive hands already closing around your wrists, you didn’t even think to make a run for it, where exactly in the world was a kinder place to turn to than this angry law officer who always nosed in your business too much? “Get, get over here.” he repeated with a yank and tugged you stumbling over your flip flops to his squad car.

He bent you over the hood, just like you’d dreamed of more than a few times and you felt the heat of the headlight against your thigh as your shoulders got twisted back. “-solicitation,” he was pronouncing and your heart sank at the realization he had caught you after your promise, “prostitution-“ the cold clamp of a handcuff on your wrist had none of the rebel thrill you once imagined, it was terrifying and you whimpered pathetically at the thought that you’d expended his patience, that maybe your flirty banters had been one sided and he really was fed up with you.

“Officer-“ you begged with your cheek smashed to the hood.

Some guy had walked up, actually being a good citizen and concerned about the manhandling. It took one flash of Officer Presley’s badge for the guy to back away with a mere “you at least gonna read her the rights, man?”, throwing concerned looks over his shoulder. Maybe he’d been a tipper, you didn’t recall one face from another unless they were awfully ugly or skinny.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll read you your rights, you got the goddamn right to remain silent-“ Officer Presley was struggling with the other cuff and his weight on your lower back made you wheeze just as he was short of breath. He was awfully worked up, huffily trying to clasp the cuffs and slurring your Miranda rights carelessly for so staunch a believer in laws and precepts.

When he succeeded and stood you upright you craned your neck to look at his sweaty face behind you and his eyes were wild and his hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it a million times tonight. He looked a bit obsessed with his nose flaring like that, his speech slurring and his usual decorum completely goners.

“Are you drunk?” you balked in alarm as he trundled you into the backseat, face first into leather with your cuffed hands behind you, ass stuck out the door.

“Of course I ain’t!” he howled and pushed your butt further until you righted yourself on the bench seat, “I’m your officer of the law, that’s what I am.”

“I-I-I know that, I just-“ you felt a cold sweat break out at the realization he kept all his stubborn righteousness even skunk drunk on something, “-you seem a little…impaired. For a law officer. For a law officer driving on a government road. See! I do listen, I do and I really don’t think that while you’re dr-“

“I don’t even touch the booze, unlike you.” he spit. “Nothin’ gonna get you outta this, this time you’re gonna learn your lesson!” he wagged his finger and slammed the door shut, you could hear his seething monologue through his open door as he came round and took his own seat up front, the hard plastic partition only muting it slightly. “I can’t stand, won’t stand for it, no hard times gonna make for you-“

You tugged at the cuffs on your wrists and swallowed at their security, the ole man might be inebriated but he sure knew his line of work. It made you doubly anxious at how vulnerable you were, unbuckled and cuffed in the back seat of a man about to hit the road in a blind, possibly medicated rage. Your one glimmer of hope was the fact you were the cause of that rage -and you hoped, hoped so damn hard he cared out of some sort of fondness, not anger.

“Strippin’ and blowin’ and probably snortin’ shit and you ain’t even outta highschool-“

“You turned eighteen?!” He balked, jerking the rearview down to stare you in the eyes.

“Yes sir.” you agreed meekly.

“And you didn’t tell me? I’d have gotten you somethin’!” he cried out, “Eighteen and don’t tell nobody, no mama, no daddy, and now fuckin’ with the law-“

“Officer Presley I understand you’re angry and I’m sorry-“ you tried your most vehemently ass kissing tone and scooted up to the edge of the seat, face pressed the the scuffed, forehead greased plastic divider, “I’m so sorry I had to break my promise to ya but money’s been so tight, I—ooh shit-!“

You tipped over on your side as he hit the accelerator, the wheel already turned for a complete 180 spin to leave the dingy parking lot and its flashing neon lights. You sat yourself back up and pressed your face back where you could watch his leather gloves spin the wheel, and breathe as close to him as possible even if it didn’t serve to make him notice. The plastic sorta hampered the more primal assets at your disposal. You were readying for some more protests when he spoke up, his pouty, boyish, hurt tone emphasized by his jerky merging into three lanes worth of morning commute traffic

“— why didn’t you come to me?” he cried out and you had to give it to him, crossing three white lines that smoothly while in a rage wasn’t for anyone, he had a knack, “Why didn’t you say, ‘Officer Presley, if I don’t have me enough money for’ -what is it you need money for?”

“EVERYTHING!” You screamed back, exasperated and a little scared at the blur of tail lights he wove you through.

“You’re greedy,” he surmised, “you’d rather go work at the tit shack as a lot lizard, shakin’ it for strangers and suckin’ Joe E’s cock than ask for my help. My help!” He stabbed at his chest with a gloved finger and it was quite obvious how tore up he was over that mental image, you didn’t know he knew such particulars but you could use this to your advantage, you could try at least.

“Officer Presley,” you cooed as gently as you could with road noise and a plastic divider hampering your sultry intentions, if you had freedom of movement you’d be reaching around his thick neck and tucking that one sweaty curl behind his ear where it tufted with his sideburn, “I’d have preferred it was you,” you watched closely as that sank in, the lead foot easing on the accelerator, there was a choice up ahead, left to the precinct or right to the trailer park, “but I’ve got my pride and I couldn’t just take charity from you. I kept hopin’ you’d come in, then we could both do each other a favor.”

You could hear him sniff, running a hand underneath his nose. “That right?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, forehead thudding back against the plastic and at the red light intersection he stopped and craned his neck to look at you. “Don’t take me in, not this morning, please, pleaaasssse!” you begged, “We’ve both been working all night and we’re tired and sad and- you need somebody to make you dinner before you fall asleep, don’t ya?”

It was a dirty, dirty ploy to distract him like that but you could see with searing clarity the way his eyes wavered in their glare, then softened into childlike meekness at the thought of food and companionship. “You wanna come back to mine?” he whispered, gravelly from all the yelling and his eyelids batted under the lavender shades, azure and owlish.

“I really do.” you agreed, “Mine hasn’t had any air conditioning in seven months.” you admitted and he made a wounded noise of protest for your deprivations. You’d make him see why you took to stripping, he just had to be eased into it.

“I didn’t take it outta the freezer ‘fore I left.” he realized dejectedly as he turned right -away from the station.

You took a massive breath and tried to make it go to your swimming head, relief coursing through you at getting your way. Then you tried to process what he’d said. “Oh, your dinner?” you prodded.

“Yeah. It’s frozen. Lasagna.” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s nothing me and a microwave can’t solve.” you assure, gauging how his profile had softened in the dim lighting of the cab lights but his grip on the wheel and his jittery leg were about as stiff and upset as when he cuffed you. “What could I do for you in exchange for a bite?” you whispered, the sudden stop of the car making you realize with a hitch in your breath that you were in front of his place.

“I liked you.” he suddenly spoke up with such vehemence that it would have been comedic, what with him having already given into you and taken you home, but instead it was a little heartbreaking. “I liked you but you was too young!”

“I still like you.” you hedged, “Even though you cuffed me and called me a lot lizard.” you teased.

The solicitation, the sharing, it seemed to be his chief sore.

“That’s whatchu is!.” He grouched, staring out his front windshield at the single hung lamp illuminating freshly washed vinyl. “But I’ve taken you home anyways.”

“It’s really sweet of you.” you insisted, shifting on the peeling bench seat and wondering when he’d take you out of the car. “Are you gonna let me warm up that lasagna?”

“You said you wished I’d come in?” he ignored you and went back to your previous comment, about wishing he had frequented the truck stop.

Well, well, Officer Presley - a man like all others, after all.

You smirked, sticky lip gloss feeling a little cracked at this corners as you beamed at your little victory. “Maybe I could find a way to show my appreciation for takin’ me back to your air conditioned little palace. -while the lasagna is warming up.” you clarified and heard him grunt, and shift, his legs spreading a little wider in the cramped front seat.

“Yeah?” he pressed, sounding a little winded unless you were just too quick with the assumptions tonight.

“Yeah.”

“You offerin’ to be *my* lot lizzard?” He asked and after a tense minute where you were unsure if he was about to be angry again, he tapped the glass and whispered, “A joke, c’mon, don’t you get it? It’s a joke.”

“But I would!” You insisted after laughing for his benefit.

“Hmm.” He sniffed again, “Well. Hmm.” and with that unclear utterance he opened his door and heaved himself out into the stale Texas air, hiking up his pants again in that useless habit and shutting it behind him. It seemed an eternity before he finished hiking and shifting and shaking a leg out before he came and opened your door, a gentlemanly action made necessary by the stupid cuffs, still clanking around your wrists, as you scooted out of the back seat.

Officer Presley surveyed you up and down, blinking blearily as if he hadn’t seen you fully in the dark parking lot, like the glare of his headlights wasn't sufficient to show him your little cherry tank top and denim shorts, the satin tops of your red bra peeking out of the stretched neckline. “Hmm.” he hummed again and surveyed you once more, the pull of the cuffs behind your back adding to your posture being a bit booby. “Now ‘fore you cross my threshold, I’ve got house rules.” he was swaying a bit alarmingly and caught himself on the side mirror, you chose to ignore this and give him all the deferential attention needed to cure his -jealousy? Was he jealous? Of all the men who tipped you? “First rule, no dirty feet in the house. I hate filthy carpets. I hate them.”

“O-ok.” you agreed.

“Clean feet.”

“Okey.”

“Hmm. Ok.” he closed his eyes and recalled the next, “Let’s see uh- no back talkin’! No talkin’ back, what I say, goes, in my house.”

It was a trailer, not a house. But:

“Of course! You’re the man of the house!” you enthused with a little bounce for his benefit. He was still wacky and veering so fast from niceness to belligerence you were pretty sure you’d end up a little worse for wear after this no matter what. The thought excited you.

“Ok.” he pronounced, staring at the gravel and your feet like he didn’t know what to do now. You wondered when was the last time somebody had come into his place. “I got a doggie, too. Backroom. His word is law, don’t go botherin’ him none.“

Having seen the size of the dog, even if you were inclined to be a jerk to it, you wouldn’t dare. “Gosh of course.”

“Ok.” again. “I’ll get the hose.”

He left you there, leaning cuffed against his squad car as he trundled over his singed lawn to the side of the trailer, returning with the running hose in hand.

You knew it was destined for your feet and didn’t make a fuss as the warm hose water splashed against your blisters, soothing away the dust and the sticky cocktail splashes and god knows what else.

“House rules?” he prompted as he sprayed.

It was getting quite light out now. Probably close to six in the morning. What a long night. “Clean feet, respect doggie, no back talking.” You listed.

“And make yourself useful.” he grunted as if he had mentioned that before and you’d been faulty in your retelling.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Mm, ‘cause you’re my lot lizard now, ain’t ya?” he hummed, hose pointed to the side and suddenly his face was very close to yours, his belly closer and pressed to yours.

“Y-yeah.” you gasped.

“You gonna be a useful lil helper, hmm? Let hims take care of ya while you take care of him?”

Well shit, you weren’t at all sure if this were house rules or a big sexual game. Either way you wanted some lasagna and the crisp prospect of air conditioned sleep. “Yes, officer.”

“Good girl.” he turned the nozzle off on the hose, clamping it at the mouth and dropping it to the gravel.

“You- are you gonna uncuff me?” you giggled nervously as he swayed above you, nose almost brushing yours, eyes heavy and drooping.

“Hmm,” he stepped back and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, a shit eating grin spread over his face, bunching up the apples of his cheeks and turning him into a boy before your very eyes, “nah. I think -nope. Not gonna.”

“Well- shit, officer.” You sputtered, “You’ve got some little secrets?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of how little they are, sweetheart.” he cheesed before reaching out and hooking a finger in your strap, and tugging you gently by it up his porch.

It was odd, Seeing his ceramic tiger up close. Like déjà vu, or walking into a movie, some dream playing out. If your hands had been free, you would’ve pet the head concrete reverently, feeling some sort of gratitude to the noble beast for making your girlhood wishes come true as you tripped through the screen door and into an icebox of a trailer.

He shut the door and pressed you up against it with a move smoother and more practiced than you expected from him. Maybe wrestling criminals and doing the nasty called for the same dexterity. Or maybe he’d been fuckin’ somebody else all this time, waiting for you to grow up. Maybe he’d made a whole harem out of the trailer park and you were just his last pick. The thought hurt terribly, worse yet as you knew most days he was a sweetie, a funny man, attractive and well liked, not this grumpy, pill drunk trailer Baron that smushed you with his belly and sneering face so near but never descending as a lover’s should.

“Kiss me.” you goaded, licking your lips in a studied way. The little contemplative, whining sound he made took you by surprise.

He pulled down your bottom lip with a gloved finger and checked your mouth and tongue like a damn dentist. “Listerine first.”

Of course. Hygiene.

Clean feet, clean mouth, just for him to probably put his piss dribbled cock in it.

He stepped away and methodically took off his gloves, laid them on a small, doily adorned side table by the door, and then his gun and his belt came off with a satisfied grunt that made your inner thighs tingle. The thud of his large flashlight finished this routine.

Doilies.

There were doilies and frilly curtains and the oddest assortment of cheap finery around the place. A nod to the Tuscan craze taking over places like Target and such, while having a unique spin on it you weren’t sure what to name. You took it all in as he piloted you to the bathroom and methodically he pulled out a still wrapped toothbrush and plopped a jumbo sized bottle of mint flavored mouthwash on the fake marble counter.

“You kept that in case you have a lady guest?” You teased as the clinical silence was all a bit funny.

“Yeah.” he agreed without a hint of amusement and you sobered up again at the idea of him having anybody in here but you.

He poured a large quantity of the mouthwash into a paper cup, retrieved from the tidy stack of paper cups beside the sink for that purpose. His housekeeping was an odd mix of spectrum-like meticulousness and slovenly disorder. There were three pairs of pants on the bathroom rug beneath your feet and yet the mouthwash cups were stacked as carefully as the Tower of Babel. “Swish it for seventy five seconds.” He directed very soberly, tipping the liquid disinfectant into your mouth. You almost swallowed the shit. While you swished till your eyes burned and your tongue went numb from scalding mint, he tore at the packaging for the toothbrush.

“Ok, spit.” you happily spat out the green torture liquid and grinned back at him in the mirror.

“Never had a man ask me to spit it out before.” you teased.

He fumbled the toothbrush in surprise for a minute before giving you an admonishing eyebrow. “Girl don’t. We gotta brush your teeth.”

Instead of doing the obvious thing, the honorable thing and uncuffing you, he instead took his place behind you and pushed the toothbrush between your lips, moving it as if you had no arms and were helpless. All this to keep you cuffed.

What a pervert, you thought, charmed.

It was oddly cozy even if it was more than a tad bazaar, him pressing himself to you and running his spare hand along your side as you bent over the counter, trying not to ruin the moment by slurping paste too much. It didn’t seem to bother him, he didn’t watch you brush, he just discreetly rubbed the front of his slacks against your butt and kept his hand jerking the brush across your teeth. His other hand soothingly running up and down the curve of your hip, fingers fluttering under the hem of your tank and brushing bare skin with reverent little swoops.

When you were finished he laid the toothbrush down beside his, on a folded little towel in the back left corner of the vanity next to the mirror.

The domesticity made you smile. “Look, they’re spooning.”

He grabbed your chin gently, tilting your head to the side as he leaned over your shoulder. His lips very close again. “Happy late birthday.” he whispered, “I’d have gotten you a cake. Cupcake. Somethin’. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Kiss me?” you asked again and this time he did, at his own pace, micromanaging each swipe of tongue and press of lips but he kissed you, strongly and angrily and admiringly in turn. He pulled down your tank as he went, stretching the neck out beyond any salvaging and then your bra, unclasping it with strange proficiency and letting your top gather in a ugly bulge around your hips, stuck by your cuffs and shorts, as his hands cupped and squeezed your breasts, somehow making this appreciative mauling seem essential to the act of kissing.

You two finally separated, breathless and revved up, staring at each other with wild, half lidded eyes.

“Ok.” he pronounced and you readied for more only for him to say, “Lasagna. C’mon.”

His kitchen was far nicer than yours, but still it was a mobile home kitchen. And he was a thorough bachelor. He crooked his fingers into the plastic handle and yanked open the freezer, standing aside with a grin on his face that bode no good for you. “I’m helpin’ ya out a little,” he explained sheepishly, “since you’re hampered.” he had a way of saying it like handcuffs were a natural disability, “But I let you off scott-free in exchange for you makin’ me some food.”

“Food and other things.” you bitched, “Didn’t sign up to be a comedy act.”

“Oh that’s right,” beamed, “you did offer other things.” he bit his lip and you thought you’d won when he went right back to it, “You said while it was warming up, you offered other things, while it was in the microwave. Yeah, so go on, grab that TV dinner there, not the fettuccini one, the lasagna.”

You stared at the open freezer and then back to him and then back to the freezer. “Grab it?” you sassed, not having a lot to lose with your tits out and your hands cuffed and a law officer having fun at your expense.

“You’ve got a mouth don’t ya?”

“You’re sick.” you smiled in realization before sticking your head into the cold space, nipples pebbling against the chilled plastic, and biting at the package containing Walmart’s latest gourmet provisions.

“Uhuh, that’s it.” he sounded more pleased at the sight of you with a frosted package between your teeth than he had all this time, “Heyer doll, I’ll open the microwave for ya.” his ability to make himself gallant when he was demeaning you so thoroughly made your pulse thunder uncontrollably.

You had to jut your chin and strain your jaw to plop the heavy foil package of frozen shit into the mounted microwave -fancy mobile home owning bastard- and shove it onto its proper revolving plate.

“There we gooo!” he cooed to you and you stepped back to allow him room to shut the door. “See if you can punch the buttons with your widdle nose.” he suggested excitedly and having gone this far, you didn’t see the point in objecting, not when it made him grin like that. You managed to hit the five for five minutes but the “cook” button wouldn’t respond and after banging your nose against it many times, with many laughs shared between, he finally punched it with one of his oddly pretty fingers.

“There we go.” you echoed, finding that you were blushing the minute the hum of the microwave buzzed the air, his eyes pinned to your face.

“Five minutes.” he whispered.

It was a hint. You expected something a little lewder from a man who had you carrying out food prep like a circus dog. A man of many moods and tastes, was officer Presley. “Can you cum that fast?” you asked, turning to face him.

“That’ll depend on you.” he replied levelly, a challenge in his eyes. He still wore his glasses, somehow that made you feel filthier than all the cash favors you’d ever done. He turned a little in his stance to lean back against the counter, his wrist watch jangling against the edge of the formica, his legs widening.

You dropped to your knees, linoleum freezing against your skin and you looked back up at the ticking microwave timer. You knew what he wanted, and if you were being half honest, it’s what you wanted too. So you didn’t act too good for pressing your face to the crotch of his uniform slacks, forehead indenting the swell of his belly above you and taking his zipper between your teeth. Filled out as his slacks were, with all the stupid gathers and the still fastened button, you could only barely see veiny pink flesh behind the newly opened fly.

“No boxers?” you chided him with a smirk and the unapologetic one he gave you in return made your belly clench, as did the musky smell of him and that soft double chin he had when looking down at you. There was stubble on it blending into his throat.

You’d been right, mouthwash and sterilization for your tongue but not even a spit bath for his sweaty balls and clammy dick -the man was out of his mind. You swallowed down the natural aversion the scent gave you and nuzzled your face nearer, trying to nose the button out of its hole. All you did was succeed in brushing his pants against him and making him impatient.

“Four minutes and twenty seven seconds.” He enunciated the timer reading for your benefit and you whimpered at the impossibility of getting the button undone without hands.

“Please, I can’t undo it.” you asked for his help, tugging at your handcuffs angrily, shoulders painfully aching and only the base of his thick penis visible with its nest of curls and heavy sack.

“Then make due.” he stared down at you unimpressed and you felt an overwhelming urge to grind yourself against his boot at his disdainful expression.

Blinking away horny, frustrated tears, you held your breath and buried your face again, nuzzling inbetween the fly gap, using your chin to tug the crotch further down until his heavy, purplish pink balls spilled over the respectable khaki’s and into the cold air. A bit of hope filled you at how taut and bunched they already were, he wasn’t so cool and unaffected as he acted. You saw him reach into his pocket, digging for something as you weighed your next decision.

“Don’t you want some lasagna?” he prodded.

That made you mash your face to his pants and take both of those hairy balls into your mouth, slurping and sucking at them like a shop vac. His jangling movements in his pocket ceased suddenly before picking up again, and then he withdrew it, a sharp gasp heard above you before he stuck a retrieved cigarette between his lips and lit it. A billowy cloud of Marlborough was blown over your crouching form as the microwave hummed on and his chest hummed in satisfaction. He shoved his hand back into his pocket, knuckling along at his cock.

“That’s it.” he sighed as you mouthed at the base as best you could, tonguing at the hefty vein running along the underside, slathering as much as you could reach. He was salty and tacky to taste and his pants were growing wet from something more than your spit. He was a leaky little man, it made your smirk and smack your lips.

“Feel good, officer?” you moaned in question, just as the microwave dinger went off. “Nooo, damnit, no!” you whined at the sound, a poor loser at all times.

Officer Presley only chuckled and twisted a little to pop open the door, hissing and cussing as he grabbed the benign edges of the hot foil and plopped it into the counter, “Hey hey hey, I didn’t say you could get up, now, did I?” he chided as you shifted a tiny bit away to watch him pull off the cover and reveal cheesy red sauce. Your stomach was in knots, it was so empty.

“No.” you admitted.

He twisted his torso to snag himself a fork from the drawer beside your head, and then, stabbing the casserole with it, took both his hands down to his pants and undid the button at last, letting his pants fall to the floor as they’d been trying to do and been prevented by a belt each time you’d seen him. “Finish what you started, doll, and then I’ll give you a bite.”

You swallowed hard, saliva pooling freely in your tongue at the smell of Italian food. It would be of use. He was tapping his sputtering fat cockhead to your lips and after a tiny grunt of resistance, you gave in, opening your glossy lips and letting him slide the thick meat over your tongue, tangy and salty and pulsing like a living rod, all the way to the back of your throat.

“Fuck me, that’s it.” he nodded to himself as you gagged around him, pulling back a little before pushing back in.

You heard the slide of the casserole tray against the counter and the crunch of tin foil, looking up through bleary eyes you saw him cradle the lasagna pan to his chest, balanced on top of his gut. You hollowed your cheeks around him while watching in disbelief as he stabbed at a bite and brought the laden fork to his mouth. He groaned around the bite in enjoyment -your guess over which pleasure was gaining the upper hand. Feeling a little competitive against TV dinner lasagna, you worked his cock faster, sucking more deliberately and trying very hard to let him down your throat, pleased as his hips began to cant and thrust in time with your encouragements.

“That’s it, that’s it, my sweet little homegrown hoe.” he mumbled to you adoringly through a mouthful of pasta and it made your face glow in pleasure, chin and chest dripping with the filth of it all. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“ he warned suddenly, pasta tossed back on the counter as he stood up straight and grabbed the back of your head, holding it still, smoldering cigarette pinned dangerously near your ear and hair as he fucked your mouth with fast, frantic pumps before a frankly preposterous amount of spunk filled your mouth and dolloped down your throat.

He petted your head as you struggled to breath again, cloying gloop coating your mouth, one hand coming up to take off his glasses and toss them to the side. He rubbed at his eyes and you realized you weren’t the only one teary eyed from the intensity of it. “Mm, reckon I gotta keep ya after that.” he decided, knuckling your cheek fondly, they were sticky to your surprise. “Want that bite?” he asked conversationally and while you’d have preferred some water to wash down his most recent gift, you nodded anyway and he stabbed at the casserole until he had a great big bite and brought it down to your mouth, smirking as your cheeks once again bulged at the mouthful.

“Thank you.” you smiled up at him and he humphed bashfully before motioning with his fingers for you to stand up.

“Wanna eat the rest of this in bed?” he asked eagerly, licking his teeth, “I’ve got a waterbed.” he added like that would convince you.

“Of course you do.” you giggled. “And of course I do - lead the way.”

He grinned and pushed off the counter, grabbing the casserole as he went. “Might even find the keys for those back here.” he joked about your cuffs before adding with a wicked little wink, “No promises, mind.”

Hope you enjoyed, I write for screams and comments and unhinged feedback. 🤓♥️

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#early post for my brit babies #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis #elvis imagine #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fan fic #elvis presley fandom #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #big daddy elvis #big daddy Elvis fanfiction #archive #trash magic

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ on my mind since the flood ❞ ─ a darling, in any life blurb

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader. summary: the red thread between two people destined to be together may stretch and tangle, but those ties will never break. or: a 45min train ride makes two 43 year olds feel like teenagers. content warnings: divorce babes, divorce. kinda spoiler-ish. watch the 3rd season before. the reader has a backstory and a job, if that bothers you grow up don't read. word count: 960+

your hair was different, that was the first thing he noticed.

much like himself, you had soft wrinkles beginning to show up on your forehead and around your eyes, a gift from your late thirties that kept on giving. your eyes were the same though, he could recognize those anywhere at any time, even if it had been decades since the last time they stared back at his. your nose, your lips. your smile. the way his name sounded coming from your tongue. it was all extremely familiar, as if he was fifteen again.

"you're staring, like a creep, airhead." the old nickname rolls out like you had spent merely seconds apart and it makes him laugh, it has been weeks, maybe months since he last laughed genuinely like that, with his whole face.

"i just got lost—" in your eyes. "in my memories for a bit. you look so much the same."

"well, my pay check won't allow me any plastic surgeries so—"

"wise ass." and there it was, like a reflex, his own nickname to you leaving his lips before he even thought about it, if he did think about it he probably would've held it in, a 43 year old fbi agent using childish nicknames not being the best look, but it didn't feel like that with you, at all, it felt natural. you both laugh at it for a second and a comfortable silence follows it, but aaron couldn't keep it like that, he needed to know more, where have you been, what were you doing... have you been in virginia for long? he kept it as casual as he could considering his curiosity, "how have you been?"

"alright, good, yeah. i'm teaching at scalia, started this year, i want to keep practicing though, but i'm gonna settle down in virginia first." you shrug, taking a sip of your coffee. you were purposefully leaving details out, you had seen him on tv a lot since coming back to the states, fbi, profiler. you wanted to see how much could he get from you without words. "what about you, mister fbi hotshot?"

if you two were still teens the way your teasing came out would've made him blush, and quite frankly if he wasn't so self controlled maybe he would've blushed right now, he did feel warm, but instead he just let a chuckle out of his throat, "well, fbi hotshot just had his divorce finalized, not that glamorous being on these shoes." you already knew what he was doing with his life, it made sense to give the only actual news he had, "scalia? law degree too, then." aaron clicks his tongue, not holding back the instant smirk the realization brought. "your mother used to say we were so similar we shared the same brain, remember?"

"welcome to the club, then! meetings every friday, membership perks only after the second one, though." his eyes went straight to your fingers, seeing the lack of any rings he nods to himself. twice divorced. dark heavy coat, makeup accentuating your features, red lips, hair pulled back. you obviously care about being seen, desired, but don't want to be approached, a teacher-lawyer, no time, a lot of perfectionism. "yeah, i stay far away from criminal. civil and international law cases mostly. families, divorces, cross-board custodies." a child of divorce trying to save other children of divorce. very typical behavior.

aaron felt like he could stay like this for hours on end, sitting by your side uncomfortably on the train after fate pulled you two to one another again, hearing you tell him about your life in london, your divorces, your time in college. you made him feel young, like you were still his childhood best friend who he fell for. like if he were to kiss you like he did when you were both thirteen you would still blush and grip tightly on his shirt. nostalgia was indeed a bittersweet thing.

"i think when you moved away was the last time i openly sobbed." he shakes his head, the thought leaving his brain in a quiet, hushed voice tone, like a secret he wasn't supposed to be telling. it had been years, you were both fifteen when your parents got divorced and you were taken to england with your father. 28 years since the last time he saw you, and he still can feel the same pain if he thinks too hard about it, the way his heart felt like was being sliced apart, getting smaller by the minute as your father's car got further and further away. his mood soured in a way his feelings were only able to function normally again after meeting haley.

your hand softly touched his with the confession, your thumb going to his palm and drawing small comforting circles, "i cried myself to sleep a lot that year." aaron glued his eyes on the way your hands touched, and you thought he might reject it, find it weird after so many years, but instead he just closed his around yours tightly, a silent thankful prayer to the universe, mixed with the warning that he had no intention to let go.

you both stay like that as you talk the rest of the ride, cellphone numbers and e-mails are exchanged, along with longing glances beginning to make you shy like the school girl you once were, when you fell for him the first time. you often wondered what would've happened if you stayed in washington. before jack, aaron wondered it too from time to time, but truly, he wouldn't do anything different now, he wouldn't choose any alternative ending that would take jack from him.

but at least now he had a second chance, right?

#lari writes sometimes #yes im in love with him alright #aaron x reader #aaron x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds x reader

[kitty-tea]

Like father, like son

(Link to masterlist)

Read part 2 here

Read part 3 here

Summary: Harry and his father James are similar in so many ways. They like Quidditch, they’re both Gryffindors, and they have you in their lives. The difference is that you feel something for James that you’ll never feel for Harry who is younger than you.

A/n: originally supposed to be a single part but it was too long so I turned it into multiple parts.

Pairing: James Potter x reader

NSFW 18+ only!

Word count: 3.8k

Tags/warnings: mature content, love triangle (kind of), masturbation, sexual content, fluff, angst, mentions of death, reader is of age, heavy sexual tension, borderline adultery, one-sided crush, James lives, doesn’t follow the main storyline at all, conflicting feelings, accidental groping, innocence kink, slow burn

Ever since your parents were murdered by Death Eaters, you had never been in a stable living situation. You never stopped moving in between the Potters’ house, the Weasleys’ Burrow, or Sirius’ ancestral home. Out of everywhere you’ve moved, it was those three places you spent the most time at. When you were an eighteen-year-old in your seventh year, and your friend Harry was fifteen and in his fifth year, you got the news that your childhood home had been burned down. Harry and the surviving adult members of the Order decided it was then that they would introduce themselves to you, and the secret society your parents were a part of. They knew it was the Death Eaters who were responsible for your parent’s demise, but with no evidence of their responsibility, the Ministry had no arrests.

Everything in your life began to change and move too fast for you to keep track of from then on. The pain of losing your parents was easily numbed out by all the studying you subjected yourself to, but it wasn’t until after you graduated that the pain settled into the void that was once filled by academic stress. The members of the Order understood that you were in no place to go out and find a job, so they gave you allowance money for doing house chores for them.

You first met Harry formally when he, as a first year, was introduced by Oliver Wood, as the new Seeker for your house’s Quidditch team. You were skeptical about having a first year player on the team since it was against the rules, but Wood and McGonagall told you to trust their judgment, and Harry had won his first match. You congratulated him, and after that, you’d kind of taken him under your wing. Being older than him by three years, you weren’t close with him in the same way he was with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, but besides that, he never had a big sister, so that’s how he came to see you as. But that was when he was younger.

When you visited his family’s home in Godric’s Hollow over the winter holidays, you met his parents for the first time as they gave you their sincere condolences for your loss.

Another thing in your life that moved at you too fast was the little crush you were starting to have on your little friend’s married father. The moment you met James, you got straight into bonding over Quidditch since the both of you played the same position for Gryffindor. You were eighteen years old, you never had a crush before, your life was a stressful mess, and you didn’t need the guilt of being attracted to a married man to be added to it. You wondered if it was normal to feel the way you felt about having a crush on somebody. You’ve heard the other girls at school giggling and smiling about their crushes, but they were boys their age, not married, and they weren’t dealing with the type of stress you were dealing with.

Out of every family whose house you stayed at you spent the most time at the Potters’. Lily had come to see you as the daughter she never had. James on the other hand, was someone you were so desperate to hide your attraction from his wife.

Since you didn’t have much clothes of your own, you had to wear Lily’s hand-me-downs, or God forbid, whatever Sirius’ mother used to wear in her teenage years. Between those two women’s fashion senses, it was easy to say you favored Lily’s bright sundresses over Walburga’s gowns that reeked of darkness and death.

The sight of you wearing Lily’s old clothes around the house was enough to make James lose it if he wasn’t in front of his family with his wife complimenting you on how adorable you looked. Lose what? His sanity? He didn’t want to know.

That night as his wife was asleep next to him, you asleep on the living room couch, and his son asleep in his own room, all of them blissfully unaware of his racing thoughts, he couldn’t get the image of how you looked out of his mind.

James felt guilt and arousal overcome him as he pictured the way Lily’s dress (now yours) clung so effortlessly to your figure, showing off your thighs, barely leaving anything to the imagination.

Those days that you went to go live with other families were a breath of relief for James as much as it was torture. Relief because his mind wasn’t clouded with his filthy thoughts about you that he had in front of his wife, and torture because he missed everything about the intoxicated feeling he’d get from your addictive scent when you’d walk past him to the fierce pounding in his chest that made him feel the same way he felt about Lily.

Speaking of looking at you, he didn’t think you’d catch onto how his son started looking at you, but he did. He was a boy once, he understood the signs of a lovesick boy, and Harry checked all the boxes. He hoped that he wouldn’t be pursuing a relationship with you. He was a fifteen-year-old boy, and you were a young woman, of course the feelings his underage son had were no less inappropriate than the feelings he had for you as a married man!

To go behind his wife’s back and act on his feelings would not only be a betrayal to her, but to you and his son as well. It would ruin the family dynamic that the four of you had been building up. And he didn’t want to take that away from you. Even though you were an adult, Lily and James referred to you and Harry as “the kids.” Lily might’ve thought it was cute to have herself and James call you that, but to him it made him feel disgusted at himself, for it only reminded him even more that while you were closer to his son’s age, you were not a kid.

The day he’d almost crossed the line of no return was during the hot summer of his son’s sixteenth birthday, when Lily told you, Harry, and James that she was going out to meet friends, leaving the three of you alone. James decided it was a good idea to take “the kids” out for some ice cream in town.

Once the three of you sat down next to one of the coffee tables, taking refuge in the cool air circulating around the ice cream shop, Harry sat on the couch next to you while James took his seat on an armchair across the table from you.

Harry congratulated you on finishing your magical education, telling you how strong you’ve grown after everything you went through in your last year. You then shifted the focus of the conversation onto Harry’s upcoming sixth year, asking him about the classes he’ll be taking.

James watched as you and Harry talked for a while. Even though his eyes never left you, he could sense the lingering looks his son would give you, and it made him seath inside. James didn’t know if it was cute or pitiful that you made it very clear to Harry that when you would tell him you saw him as more than a friend, you meant that you saw him as a little brother.

When Harry had finished his ice cream, he pulled out some Muggle coins from his pocket and told you to join him in the arcade area of the shop when you were done before running off.

Even though you were still in a public space, James felt like he was alone with you.

With the way you were licking your ice cream off the spoon slowly while keeping your eyes on him, it would’ve been easy for onlookers to mistake it as an attempt at seduction. Even he would’ve mistaken it as such if you didn’t know he was married. He thought you might’ve been spacing out, unaware that a drop of the sweet threat had stuck near the corner of your lips as you finished the bowl.

Only when he called out your name to get your attention did you jolt out of whatever daydreams you were immersed in.

That sweet look you gave him with your doe eyes almost made him forget what to say until his eyes fell to your lips.

“You’ve got something. Right here.” He pointed to the spot on his face to mirror where the ice cream was stuck.

You stuck your tongue out swinging it near your cheek and failing to reach that spot which made James chuckle. You looked so silly with your whole face scrunched up in concentration.

“Did I get it?” You asked hopefully.

“Here, let me help you.” He said without thinking as he got up from his seat and plopped down next to you. Right to where your exposed thigh was touching the fabric of his jeans.

He was so close to you he felt like he could get drunk just off the scent of your strawberry shampoo. You looked so small and innocent, looking up at him like a deer in the headlights.

It was as if his heart was possessing his body and controlling his hand that brought itself up to your cheek, his thumb wiping across it. He could’ve just let go of you, or better yet get you a napkin to clean yourself up which is what he should’ve done in the first place. You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, you weren’t a little girl. That thought still didn’t make him feel like less of a pervert.

He was for sure spacing out because the next thing he knew, he found his thumb had landed on your bottom lip. He miraculously found it in himself to stifle a groan that wanted to escape him as he felt your tongue give out a small, hesitant lick.

“All done!” You let go of his thumb and gave him a cheery smile as if you hadn’t just almost made him cum right there. “I’m gonna go see what game Harry’s playing!”

You stood up with your empty bowl and threw it in the waste bin before running off to join Harry, leaving him to feel disgusted in himself.

He was indeed disgusted in himself for how he had imagined for a split second that it was his cum all over your pretty lips instead of the ice cream.

One of your favorite activities to participate in was dueling. The older adults in the Order thought dueling was something important that should be incorporated into your life post-education. You thought it was interesting how each of them had different styles for training you. With Sirius, he would throw insults to purposefully catch you off guard, to simulate fighting with the enemy, while with Molly, she would tell you what a good job you were doing and to keep it up.

It was Remus who first brought up the idea to have everyone take turns training you. You couldn’t stop blushing as he bragged to James and Lily about how you and Harry were one of the most talented students in your years he saw potential in. And now that you were out of school, it was the perfect time for you to focus on learning how to fight to expand on that potential.

You usually had your training sessions in the Potters’ or Weasleys’ backyard since there was way more space and less risk of property damage than Sirius’ family home in London.

It was a guarantee that Harry or the younger Weasley children would come and watch you, seeing that it would be a good learning experience for them too.

Harry sat next to his father on a bench, giving you a thumbs up as you stood in front of Sirius, preparing for the sparring session in the Potters’ backyard. It was just you, Sirius, and the father son duo out there. Lily was out once again this time at her job.

You and Sirius got to it straight away firing spells at each other. While Sirius used Protego, you knew you weren’t as skilled in the shielding charm, so you opted to move out of the way when he’d blast at you.

“Don’t you know you’re just tiring yourself out with all this moving!” He shouted at you. “Bombar-”

“Arresto momentum! Descendo!” That combination had him slow down his movements before suddenly thrusting him onto the grass.

“Nice one!” James clapped his hands. “You’ve got good reflexes! Keep going!”

“Shut up James, you’re distracting her! That’s my job!” Sirius turned to him, giving you an opportunity to cast Flipendo, sending him rolling backwards.

“I win!” You held up your arms as Harry jumped up and high-fived you. “Who’s distracted now?” You stuck your tongue out at Sirius, who was still on the ground, rubbing his head.

“That’s not fair! James, it’s all your fault! It’ll be our turn after the break!” He pointed accusingly at his best friend.

“I’ll be looking forward to it. You won’t stand a chance against me, old friend.” James smirked.

“Both Sirius and your dad are such show offs.” You laughed with Harry. “Typical Gryffindors.”

“Hey, don’t pretend like you’re not one of those too, young lady!” Sirius snapped his fingers at you.

“Ugh. I’ve got to use the loo. I think she flipendo-ed my bladder.” He groaned, standing up. You and Harry only looked at each other and burst out laughing as he disappeared through the back door.

“You’re getting so much better! I can’t wait until I’m old enough to use magic outside school! We can practice together!” Harry praised you.

“Aww, Harry you’re so sweet! I love you!” You smiled at him, reaching out to ruffle his already messy hair.

“I… love you too.” James knew that one sentence had two different meanings depending on which one of you said it. Besides, what did the young boy know about love? What he was experiencing was a silly teenage crush. He couldn’t fall in love with you, he was too young for you. He wondered if his own son even knew how poorly he was concealing his little crush from him. He might have you fooled, but James knew him better than you did in terms of how he showed his feelings.

“You’re the best little brother I never had!” You opened your arms, letting Harry into your embrace.

“Yeah, thanks.” He wrapped his hands around the small of your back. Both you and James could see the frown forming on his face. James was glad in a way that you and Harry weren’t the same age or else he would already have asked you out, he was completely sure of it.

“What’s wrong?” You innocently asked Harry, tilting your head. You looked as though you were wondering what Harry was thinking as you caught him staring at you.

“Nothing… I’m just-I’ll just be standing outside the bathroom and telling Sirius to stop hogging it.”

It was just you and James now, standing alone in the middle of the grass.

“Is that how you’re preparing for your turn with Sirius? By standing around doing nothing?” You spoke first.

“Yes.” James shrugged. “He’s got no idea what’s coming for him.”

You could feel a blush creep up your cheeks as you thought you saw him wink at you. You awkwardly shifted your weight from one foot to the other, trying to find something to keep the conversation going.

“You did well. You’re still young, and you’ve got so much to learn.” James said. You didn’t know when you had moved so close together to the point of your toes nearly touching. “Show me your stance again.”

You put your wand out in front of your face and flicked your arm.

“Darling, I’m sorry, but you’re leaving yourself open to an attack. Try this.” Your breath hitched in your throat as James got so close behind you to the point his chest was lightly pressed against your back.

He took your fist that was clenching your wand, lowering it slightly so that it wasn’t as in your face anymore.

“There. Now you can see your target much better.” His voice dripped into your ear like sweet honey, making you feel weak in your chest.

You were however more horrified with yourself at the ache that began to grow between your legs as you felt the tips of the fingers of his other hand brush through your hair before tucking it behind your ear.

“Why don’t you try again?” He whispered, his lips almost touching your earlobe. “This time, bring your legs apart more.”

“Wh-What?” That was the only word you remembered how to say at that moment. You were so distracted by his smooth voice you couldn’t stop the image of yourself naked with your legs spread in front of him from forming in your mind.

“To help you balance.” James clarified. Okay, he didn’t mean anything sexual by that. You had to remind yourself as you felt a shiver run through you along with his hands that slid from your arms to your waist and hips before landing on the cotton hem of your shorts.

You could feel the heat between your thighs grow as James gently squeezed the soft flesh that was dangerously close to your pussy. You were glad you wore panties that day or else you would’ve soaked through the thin material of your shorts by now.

You didn’t know what you were thinking when you squirmed and you felt James’ forefinger grazing just the lightest bit against your pussy. You could’ve sworn you heard him whisper a cuss word.

“James?” You tried to bring him back. “How am I doing. Is my stance good now?”

“Yeah… you’re doing excellent.” He breathed out.

You had never felt an erection against your body before, but you were sure you could feel something hard pressing against your ass at that moment.

“I’m going to let go,” thank goodness. You didn’t know how much longer you could take it with him manhandling you like that. “And you’re going to cast a spell with the new stance I taught you.”

You felt like you could finally breathe as the weight of his body disappeared from behind you.

“Engorgio.” The flower nearby ballooned up.

“Good girl.” You didn’t know whether his eyes had darkened or it was the lighting.

James was as equally disgusted in himself as he was intrigued. He had come this close again to crossing the line between what was and wasn’t inappropriate with you. Actually, he was sure he deserved time in hell for how he was touching you earlier as it was definitely considered inappropriate. He was intrigued because he was now sure the attraction went both ways.

The slightest whimpers he could hear coming out of you was something he couldn’t get out of his mind as his hand softly squeezed around his cock, with his other hand planted against the shower wall.

It was like his eyes had suddenly been opened to the glances you’d cast at him that would linger a little longer than what was normal. Speaking of normal, he knew he shouldn’t be shaming or ridiculing you for these feelings you were having. He knew it was normal for young women to catch feelings for older men. He’d seen it in the way Nymphadora Tonks looked at his best friend Remus, even if Remus himself tried denying it with excuses such as, “I’m too poor, I’m too old, I’m a werewolf.”

He imagined that instead of his hand pumping around his cock, that it was yours, or any body part of yours. Your lips, your pussy, your tongue, he wanted it all. He let himself admit it.

He could never go back to telling himself that he only saw you as a daughter. He may be able to convince everyone otherwise, but not himself.

His mind went back to how his finger had accidentally grazed over your clothed pussy, where he could feel the heat of it along with the outline of your inner lips rubbing against the seam of your shorts.

He started wondering how you would taste on his tongue. He imagined you would be an addicting treat to him that he couldn’t get enough of.

He then got curious about how tight your walls would feel around his dick. He deduced from your conversations that you never had sex from the lack of boyfriends mentioned. At this point, he was so desperate for his seed to spill into your virgin cunt, to the point he shut his mouth abruptly as he caught himself grunting your name. He knew no one in the house would hear him over the sound of running water, but he could never be too careful.

With one last stroke of his cock along with the image of you bent over in front of him, water glistening along the soft curves of your body, he let himself go. He wished it was your tits his cum hit not the shower walls. He squashed that thought out of his mind almost as soon as it crept in.

Trying to escape those thoughts, he aggressively yanked the shower head off the rack, desperate to wash away any evidence of his indecent activity.

Even behind your innocence, you had to be hiding a beast that was waiting for the right man to have it lured out. He wanted it to be him, but he couldn’t betray everything he and his family had worked for, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time.

Why couldn’t he just look at you the same way his friends looked at you?!

There was definitely something wrong with James because the way he looked at you was not how any father should look at his daughter.

Then, there was Harry. The way he looked at you was not how any brother should look at his big sister.

Harry’s little crush he had on you seemed innocent, the extreme opposite of James’ sexual attraction towards you.

For a second James envied his son. He was too innocent to have his mind plagued by these wild fantasies of you. All he got was a fluttery feeling in his stomach from looking at you which translated to a poorly concealed blush to other people’s point of view.

He understood Harry’s feelings towards you. You were a beautiful, kind, young woman, how could he not be smitten by you? How could he be angry at his son for feeling something so natural for any boy to feel?

He could just be angry at himself. Yes, he deserved to burn in hell after all.

#fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #reader insert #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #fem!reader #love triangle #forbidden love #hp fandom #hp fanfic #harry potter #best friends dad #marauders #the marauders

[geoffrard]

My Chemical Romance, Hardcore Sexual Repression, and the Lemon Stealing Whore

[Content warning for non-graphic references to pornography, sex, sexual violence, and negative attitudes towards sex work. There is no explicit nudity but you might not want to read this in front of your boss. All images have descriptions in alt text. See sources here. Read this essay on my Dreamwidth here.]

It’s the setup of a joke: Gerard Way, Mikey Way, Frank Iero, Matt Pelissier, and a porn actress huddle around a leather couch in a dingy room as a camera rolls. The actress, a young and bright-eyed Joanna Angel, asks each member of My Chemical Romance in the room, “Do you guys watch porn?”

Most of us have seen the interview. If not, stop and watch it now, because nothing else I say will make sense otherwise. (And here, just for you, I’ve reuploaded the video with at least 10% more pixels. Watch below, or read a transcript here.)

The fact that My Chemical Romance, whose faces have decorated shirts at Hot Topic for over fifteen years, whose songs have saved lives and inspired memes, who all have wives and children, would end up associated with an alt porn website like Burning Angel often baffles fans watching the interview for the first time. 

For example, see these comments left on the original video uploaded to YouTube: 

These comments, though more than a few years old, generally represent how a lot fans understand the interview. Other people think it’s funny and perhaps a little out of left field, but don’t question how four members wound up on a porn site like Burning Angel. Both attitudes are a pretty typical example of the MCR fandom’s ignorance about the New Jersey hardcore scene, as well reflecting general weirdness about sex work. 

Since I cannot turn my historian brain off, I wanted to provide some of the extremely interesting historical context behind the video. The post I had originally planned to make very, very briefly outlined how MCR ended up being interviewed by Joanna Angel, founder and longtime CEO of Burning Angel. But the more I looked into it, the more I fell down a rabbit hole. This eventually turned into something of a mammoth manifesto about women and sexuality in the late 90s hardcore scene that gave My Chemical Romance and Joanna Angel careers. I will warn you: this is long. But it’s also important historical background information that rarely gets discussed at all—especially by MCR fans.

(So, with all that said, please feel free to ask any questions about anything I say here! Sources for will be posted on a different post which I will link at the end, and I have been quite thorough, though not as thorough as I could have been.)

Tl;dr: Joanna Angel came up in the exact same scene as My Chemical Romance, Thursday, and Midtown, a scene which stigmatized open sexual expression, at the expense of women and queer people—especially those involved in sex work. When she started her porn site, Burning Angel, she applied the same DIY values that her peers did to their own bands, but faced violence and ostracization from a subculture much too repressed to embrace such blatant expression of female sexuality. In this context, the My Chemical Romance interview with Burning Angel in 2004 was not only a group of guys doing a favor for someone they had probably known for years at that point; it can also be read as a somewhat controversial act that pushed back against this aversion to sexuality, and that helped legitimize and popularize both the site and Joanna Angel’s career. 

Burning Angel: the Movie (2005)

Say you’re a diehard My Chemical Romance fan in 2005—if you really want to watch your favorite band discuss their porn-viewing habits, you’ll have to travel to either your local adult entertainment store or go to the hardcore porn site BurningAngel.com and order their first DVD, appropriately titled Burning Angel: The Movie. Once you have the disc, you’ll have to fast forward through several sex scenes and interviews with other bands before you arrive at what you wanted: the actress who you’ve just seen in hardcore sex scenes asking Gerard, Frank, Mikey and Otter questions about their preferences in adult entertainment.

The DVD was Burning Angel’s first attempt at more professional pornography, and Joanna’s first foray into full participation in filmed, live-action sex. Joanna Angel would later go on to be one of the most well-known porn stars of our time—in Virgin Territory (2006), for example, she played a lemon stealing whore; you might have seen the video—and Burning Angel would be credited with the popularization of the “alt” porn genre, which broke from the exploitative mainstream porn model and typically featured models representative of subcultures.

But in 2005 her alt porn empire was still in its infancy, and Joanna was still struggling to rectify her recent full expulsion from the local New Jersey hardcore social scene with her enduring devotion to DIY values—and the fact that members of the sexually repressed subculture that had ostracized Joanna were her site’s target audience.

Joanna Angel on the Scene

Any thoughts of a future career in adult entertainment and the last name Angel were far from her mind when Joanna Mostov enrolled in Rutgers University in 1998. 

Though she often pushed back against the wishes of her religious orthodox Jewish family, the extent of her adolescent rebellion had ended at sneaking out to punk shows and getting piercings her mother wouldn’t approve of. At Rutgers, Joanna quickly became enmeshed in the New Brunswick hardcore scene, putting her in the same circles as a host of people whose names you might recognize: Geoff Rickly of Thursday (who ran hundreds of shows out of his basement), Gabe Saporta of Midtown and Cobra Starship, and Alex Saavedra of Eyeball Records. 

Geoff Rickly: Well, you know, the funny thing is that, at the time, Joanna, who would later go on to form Burning Angel and become a famous porn star in her own right, was playing in her goth bands with chelsea haircuts and the basement shows. Like, her local goth band would play. And they’d bring out people and stuff, and I’d put touring bands on that show, and so it’s funny to me how, weirdly, DIY punk hardcore scenes and porn had weird associations then. [source: Going Off Track: Geoff Rickly, 2012]

The NJ hardcore scene was close-knit enough that while she only has documented friendships with some of these people, she had to have crossed paths with most of them multiple times (for example, Joanna was at the show on December 31, 1998 where Thursday and Midtown played their first real sets). She went to every show she could and hosted some in her own basement. 

While we don’t necessarily have a written record of her friendship with Frank Iero and Mikey Way of My Chemical Romance, the fact that Joanna attended plenty of shows in the North Jersey area and also spent a lot of time at the Eyeball House (Alex was a close friend; and Pencey Prep was on his label) suggests that, at the the very least, Joanna, Frank, and Mikey were aware of each other’s presence in these early years. They were peers in the same scene, just as they were with everyone else who frequented the same venues or played in the same basements.

For years, the hardcore scene mattered to her more than anything else; it was her social life and what she based her values upon. 

Those hardcore values and a growing curiosity about her own sexuality lead Joanna to sex-positive feminist activism and a writing internship with Nerve.com, an online magazine which explored topics related to sex and romantic relationships. From there, her interest in expressing her own sexuality continued to develop.

[Suicidegirls in 2001]

So, in 2002, when her roommate and friend asked her if she wanted to start a porn site that offered more explicit content than sites like SuicideGirls, which featured punk aesthetics and band interviews but stayed away from anything more than simple nudity, Joanna agreed.

BurningAngel.com went live in April 2002. It wanted to do things differently than other porn sites. While not necessarily pushing the boundaries of beauty standards, the site used models who were beautiful but in a more approachable, average sense. Joanna has said that since she had little experience even watching porn prior to starting the site, she wanted the site to mimic the kind of sex she was having with actors who looked like the people she was having sex with. 

Joanna: When we started the website, it was a reflection of ourselves. It still is to this day. There's band interviews on the website, the style of girl that we use is not your average typical porn star and the personality on the website is a little bit different. All the members interact with each other, all of the girls have blogs and profiles, and people become friends with each other. It's more of a community and a reflection of a subculture rather than just being a website with content to jerk-off to and never think about again. [source: Complex: Interview: Joanna Angel Talks Alt Porn, Piracy, And Her Blow-Up Doll, 2011] 

[Burning Angel’s homepage in June 2002]

Hardcore Punk Reacts to Hardcore Porn 

Her longtime involvement in the scene and her application of DIY ethics to her porn business did not mean that the hardcore culture actively nurtured Joanna Angel’s career in porn. In reality, many parts of the scene were actively hostile towards Joanna and the site once Burning Angel went live.

This backlash isn’t incredibly surprising within the context of late 90s hardcore, a subculture that by and large refused to acknowledge sexuality of any kind. 

The sexual repression in hardcore reflected several different aspects of its culture: a negative perception of women active in the scene; a reaction against the violence of tristate hardcore in the early 90s; and, more than anything else, the general privilege of those involved in the underground.

Like Joanna, Geoff Rickly, and Frank Iero, most people involved in New Brunswick hardcore were enrolled at Rutgers, and white, middle-class male college students dominated the scene. For many of them, applying DIY values to their own lives meant distancing themselves from their socioeconomic upper-hand. Consequently, the scene as a whole developed an attitude of asceticism, rejecting anything that served no purpose beyond pleasure or personal enjoyment. (Of course, it was easy for them to reject their social privileges, especially when they could just as easily cast off their aesthetic of poverty and self-denial for an adulthood of relative comfort.)

To do anything just because you enjoyed it, or because it brought you happiness in the moment, was seen to be a betrayal of hardcore’s higher intellectual goals—and that included sex. You can see this trend, for example, in lyrics from NJ hardcore bands, which focused on things like political issues or childhood traumas instead of the common themes of sexual and romantic desire found in mainstream music.

Joanna spoke about finding comfort in the general sexual repression of the scene because of her own adolescent insecurities:

Joanna: Me being very sexually not advanced and insecure, [90s hardcore] was the perfect place for me, because I could ignore [sexuality]. I was getting older, I don’t know, I wanted to explore myself more. So I began to write these graphic sex stories. My roommate, Mitch, knew about it, and I remember him getting a kick out of it. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

For another salient example, Geoff Rickly of Thursday has spoken about his own struggles with the hardcore scene’s repression, especially in regards to the shame he felt about writing sexually explicit stories for pay:

Geoff Rickly: You have to think, this is the 90s punk scene. It's not now. Nobody would openly talk about sex in DIY punk. It was such a repressed PC time, where — I mean, a lot of that stuff is my heart, like the political activism that was still such a part of punk, and actually just giving a shit about things that matter, and modes of how you're doing what you're doing. Those things seemed to matter back then, and I appreciated that side, but it was also so uptight. So repressed. [source: Going Off Track: Geoff Rickly, 2012]

While its general aversion to sexuality might have been born out of an initial desire to reform the violent misogyny of other hardcore cultures, it created the conditions for certain social problems to go completely unaddressed. After all, how can you address the rampant misogyny, homophobia, and sexual violence in your community if any acknowledgement of sexuality is taboo?

(For a brief but interesting perspective on the impact of hardcore sexual repression upon queer people in the scene, check out Episode #4 of Geoff Rickly’s podcast Dark Blue, in which Steve Pedulla and Norman Brannon discuss their experiences as gay musicians in the scene.)

Of course, these issues aren’t confined to the New Jersey hardcore, nor were they unique to the late 1990s. This particular brand of sex-averse misogyny reflects important threads within the feminism of the time which villainized open female sexuality—especially when it concerned sex work. Left-leaning spaces like music undergrounds adopted this sex-negative, misogynistic attitude as a part of their feminism—not in opposition to it.

In particular, the Riot Grrrl movement of the late 80s/early 90s pushed back against a culture (and a subculture) that shamed women for publicly expressing their sexuality. Following that, early fanzines and performance practices addressed the mistreatment of sex workers in hardcore as one way that female bodily autonomy was limited and women’s bodies were policed. Bikini Kill frontwoman and Riot Grrrl pioneer Kathleen Hanna has spoken about her past in sex work, the hostility she endured for openly discussing it, and the importance of that experience in shaping the form of Riot Grrrl’s protest. 

Kathleen Hanna: “Whenever we were written about in the press, I wanted my sex-work history to be part of the description, because I wanted other women whom I danced at clubs with (and who never knew my real name) to see themselves reflected in some way. A lot of women who are doing music now have been sex-trade workers, prostitutes, dancers; I thought it was really important that I didn’t hide that. But I also didn’t want to glamorize that experience in being a super-cool thing in itself. I just wanted other women who work in the sex industry to remember that we can be sex-trade workers and be philosophers, writers, musicians, artists, or whatever. [Andrea Juno, Angry Women in Rock (1996)]

Riot Grrrl gained significant traction and nation-wide attention. In the decade or so after Kathleen Hanna and her peers catalyzed the movement, bands like Bikini Kill and Bratmobile remained incredibly popular, and likely contributed a lot to shifting attitudes towards sexuality in music subcultures. 

Still, these sex-negative attitudes prevailed among enough people involved in local underground scenes that, when Burning Angel launched in 2002 and Joanna started marketing it in local hardcore spaces, the site received a lot of attention—both good and bad. The positive attention fueled the site and allowed it to expand beyond just photographs, text interviews, and low-budget personal sex tapes that characterized its early content. 

However, the negative attention Joanna and her site received was vocal, targeted, and occasionally involved literal physical violence. As Kathleen Hanna had faced moral condemnation for her time in sex work, Joanna Angel faced criticism from fellow members of her subculture who thought sex work to be completely antithetical to their social justice goals. She has spoken about how difficult it was to see a community she had cared about for years turn her back on her completely for engaging in a type of work that she found enjoyable, and that she thought could be done with moral integrity. 

Joanna Angel: People were calling me ugly, calling me all sorts of mean shit, how [Burning Angel was] making a profit, [we were] exploiting women, blah blah blah. And I was so bummed. I was like, you know, this isn’t fair! I always support every fucking band in the punk scene. Even if I don’t like the band, I support them—I go to their shows, I would hand out fliers for their shows. I thought it was like a code, in the punk scene, that it doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. If this is part of the scene, you accept it, and you help it, and you love it—and I thought that’s what you were supposed to do. I remember being very hurt, you know? I was like, dude, I didn’t violate any punk laws by starting this. My friend from my computer class is the one who put it online. All the other girls on the site—all three of them— were punk chicks and part of the scene. And I felt really bad; people were insulting the other girls, and I really thought I was starting this cool thing where girls could just explore their sexuality. And mind you, at the time, the beginning of Burning Angel was just photos, not even videos. People were getting all up in this upheaval because of a handful of naked photos on the internet. It’s crazy to think about now. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

Amidst the mounting antagonism and after an incident at Hellfest 2004, Joanna officially decided to leave the hardcore scene that she’d been involved with for over five years.

Joanna Angel: I remember going to Hellfest one year. Maybe it was like 2004?…these girls were throwing water balloons at us because we had a booth there. Because we used to get booths at some of these shows and sell tshirts. We didn’t even have any DVDs—we’d literally get in a booth and sell tshirts and hand out fliers and stickers. And these other girls were throwing water balloons at us and calling us sluts. I was like, “Hey, that sucks, can you stop doing that?” And one of my friends—he owned a record label. He owned Eyeball Records, Alex…he saw the girls picking on us, and he went over to the girls, and said, “Hey, can you cool it? They have a booth here—let them do their thing. They’re not gonna get in your way.” And then those girls and their boyfriends beat him up, and he wound up in the hospital. He almost died. It was terrible. And I was like, we have to get out here. Let’s just stay away. If we’re a porn site, let’s just be a porn site. Let’s promote ourselves with other porn companies; let’s step away for a little while. Everyone in the punk scene knows who we are. They’ve made their decision about if they like us or not. I’m still gonna interview bands, still gonna do that thing—but I’m done. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

Joanna and Burning Angel’s separation from the NJ hardcore scene in 2004 finally brings me to Burning Angel: The Movie, My Chemical Romance, and that interview.

So, 2004: after over two years spent largely behind the camera and slowly expanding her porn site, Joanna finally decided to get in front of the camera and produce a more intentionally crafted alt porn video that retained the feel of the website. Thus Burning Angel: the Movie was born. 

As Joanna explains in the interview, the general idea of the DVD was that different self-contained pornographic scenes would be interspersed with band interviews. One of the key features of Burning Angel, like Suicide Girls before it, was the band interviews subscribers could access alongside the porn, so it made sense to preserve this aspect of the site on the DVD experience. Joanna interviewed five bands in early 2005: Killswitch Engage, Eighteen Visions, Shadows Fall, The Dillinger Escape Plan, and, of course, My Chemical Romance—all bands that Joanna admired, and who had been involved in the same scene that she had recently left because of very real threats to her emotional and physical well-being.

Within this context, My Chemical Romance’s decision to participate in the Burning Angel interview was a statement, as they put their support behind an enterprise that was highly controversial within the social circle most immediately relevant to them. 

Fresh off the 2004 Warped Tour and promoted Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, My Chemical Romance might have appeared to be largely divorced from their scene of origin, but they still acted in response to those politics—politics that impacted American culture at large more than you’d think—in both intentional and incidental ways. 

That is not to say that MCR was being overtly political; they’ve made a clear effort to distance themselves from the clear-cut political imagery and goals of some of their peers in hardcore. Still, the band (Gerard especially) very obviously cared a lot about using their music and stage presence to express shades of sexuality that they perceived to be lacking from some forms of music.

Gerard: I also wanted, at the same time, [for] the record to be a testament to self-expression, and putting stuff in there like that, while not being a homosexual myself, but expressing myself in a homosexual way, is either going to push your buttons in a negative way or you’re going to identify with it. [AP: Well, this whole scene wants you to be sensitive, but not too sensitive.] It is extremely homoerotic, especially the whole emo-sensitive thing. Everyone’s wearing women’s pants; everyone’s got women’s haircuts; everyone’s wearing youth-medium shirts. I don’t want to come out and say it. It’s blatantly obvious. Wearing a leather jacket is an extremely masculine thing to do in this scene. Even the hardcore bands, the really hard ones, you see them in makeup and stuff. I like that. I think it keeps it dangerous. It keeps it exciting. In a way, sex has really been missing from rock, especially because of all the sensitivity. That’s what I really wanted to convey on the record, too. I wanted the record to be very dangerous and sexy at the same time. There’s such a lack of sex in music. It’s been more about getting in touch with your feelings and being there for each other, which is great, but it’s definitely lacking this sexual duality. [Source: Alternative Press #193, Aug 2004; emphasis mine]

Additionally, many of their moments of explicit sexuality on stage were designed to be somewhat incendiary and polarizing. 

But it’s important to remember that, just as late 90s New Jersey hardcore was not the first subculture with issues of sexual repression, My Chemical Romance does not represent the first attempt to push back at this asexual culture and definitely weren’t leading that particular conversation. Gerard took inspiration from artists already pushing those boundaries and incorporating sexual expression into their art. He has spoken, for example, about the impact of Riot Grrrl acts upon his music and stage presence (Joanna Angel has similarly pointed to bands like Bikini Kill as significant influences). These bands had already incorporated resistance against harmful sexual repression, values which Gerard and his band mates took on when they adopted their styles into My Chemical Romance.

(I also want to mention briefly that other significant people in the hardcore world have spoken out against pornography, such as Ian MacKaye of the formative post-hardcore band Fugazi. MacKaye owned Dischord Records, the definitive underground music label, to which a young Frank Iero unsuccessfully attempted to get his band Sector 12 signed. The matter of pornography and its role within the hardcore world was not one upon which you could maintain a neutral stance after, say, appearing on a porn DVD.)

As shitty as it was that they needed approval from the men in the scene, My Chemical Romance, along with other bands, supported Burning Angel, a new kind of porn, and helped legitimize Joanna Angel’s claim that what she was doing was not backwards or exploitative but had integrity. 

Have you had an issue with people you grew up with when they find out you're in the adult industry? Joanna: At first people had problem[s], but not anymore. Once the cool kids in bands said, "I think what she's doing is cool" all the others turned around. Everyone I ever respected didn't have an issue with it and all the stupid, annoying hardcore kids had a problem. For as much shit as I got, I also got a lot of support. [Source: Hustlerworld Interview: Joanna Angel]

I don’t mean to glamorize the porn industry or to depict Joanna Angel as some savior of female sexuality in the early 2000s. But, as Kathleen Hanna points out, sex work is legitimate work, and sex workers deserve to have workplaces that treat them with dignity and communities that recognize their humanity. The reality was that NJ hardcore as a community did not support sex workers. Fundamentally, these were the barriers that caused Joanna and Burning Angel to make an exodus from the local hardcore scene—and they are the attitudes we risk reproducing when we express discomfort that a band we admire has interacted with a sex worker.

My intentions with this post (which turned out longer than I had ever anticipated, so Jesus, thank you for reading) were to shed light on the historical context of one moment in My Chemical Romance’s history. I’ve found that the average MCR fan, even those with a specific fondness for their early years, doesn’t actually know much at all about it—so I hope this has given some clarity.

I’ll end on this note: Without bands supporting Burning Angel, who knows—we might have never seen the lemon stealing whore. At the very least, the culture surrounding porn would look a lot different. That might not mean it would look better or worse—though you can’t deny the role that Joanna Angel played, nor the role that bands from the New Jersey Hardcore scene like My Chemical Romance played in shaping the American culture of pornography. 

Find sources for this post here.

[acknowledgements: thank you so much for reading! my forever thanks, as always, to nic @raytorosaurus, sophia @sendmyresignation, vyn @bringmoreknives, and maddy @8thnotes for their continued cheerleading as i spent over a month writing this long, long post. additional thanks to wes @killrockstar for very kindly offering some incredibly helpful guidance about riot grrrl and sending me resources about kathleen hanna. and much gratitude to merlin @void-flesh and @transmascfrankiero for their feedback on the final draft of this essay.]

#mcr #my chemical romance #joanna angel #mcr meta #my post

[blaxcunicorn]

One-shot

Heeey! I just wrote something random as I felt a bit inspired after reading Just kids by Patti Smith. I have been busy with my exams which is why I've been gone for so long but we back!

Content: fem!reader, NSFW warning, Rockstar Eren before fame, friends to lovers, poverty

You hissed as you cut your pinky finger on a thorn while making a flower bouquet for a customer. You sucked it up and gave the sweet lady her bouquet with a smile. “It’s perfect, thank you. My daughter is going to love it.” She smiled. Her smile warmed your heart. Being a florist wasn’t the most fulfilling job, but making people like her smile motivates you. Well, that and putting food on the table. You grew up in the city's poorer side, so there weren’t many opportunities for you after high school. The florist job was the best thing you could find, it isn’t all bad, the owner has been nothing but kind to you. You heard the doorbell ring as Mrs Johnson came walking into the shop with bags that smelled like heaven. She and her husband owned the bakery next to the shop, and they would always bring you the leftovers of the day. “Here, my love, it’s not that much, but hopefully, it is enough for a day.” She smiled gently. You opened the bag; it was a sandwich, a croissant, and a whole loaf of bread. “This is more than enough, thank you.” You said gratefully, setting the store ready for closure. 

You walked into your tired apartment building, greeting the tired landlord who was seated at his usual desk spot. He gave you a sad smile as you stood outside your brown door with an eviction note taped on it. They were increasing the rent, and you were already struggling to meet the current increase of the last one. You had to sell your bed in order to afford last month’s payment. You opened the door to your small yellow-walled studio. You put the bakery bag on the counter, grab the sandwich, and cut it in half, leaving the other piece on the plate. As you sat down with your sandwich, you noticed a pair of pants with holes on the left knee on the table. You shook your head and pulled out your sewing equipment. As you almost finished stitching the pants, you heard the familiar sound of the heavy steps of construction boots.

Eren entered the room, greeting you with a warm grin. “Man, I’m exhausted, Gold, but how was your day?” He asked, putting his yellow helmet on the counter. He has called you Gold since childhood, which you never entirely understood. You and Eren grew up as neighbours in the very same building. You lived in another apartment with your grandmother, and Eren lived with his parents. Life dealt the two of you shitty cards, and Eren’s mother was killed in a robbery gone wrong when you were only five years old. His father passed away from a heart attack when he was fifteen, and he had to drop out of school to find a job. Your grandmother didn’t have the financial means to help him, but she would cook him meals as often as possible. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long, as she passed away when you were sixteen. Eren offered you to move in with him so that you didn’t have to drop out like him. Mrs Johnson, who was your grandmother’s friend, helped you get a part-time job as a florist. You managed to finish high school, and well here you are. 

“Hello, Gold. Are you okay?” He asked, looking concerned. You jump a little as you had zoned out, I mean, how could you not? The construction job had made Eren quite built, he literally looked like a Greek God. “I’m fine, sorry. Just a little tired, that’s all.” You smiled while finishing the pants throwing it at Eren. “Thanks, you’re the best!” He grinned, caught it, and grabbed the other half of the sandwich. His smile disappeared the moment he came closer. He held your hand and stroked your finger with his thumb. “Don’t worry, I just cut myself a bit at work”, you smile, trying to ease the tension. Eren doesn't respond, his eyes are focused on the scar. “I will provide you a life where you don't have to take jobs that will leave you scars” he muttered. “Huh?” You said, looking confused. “Nothing..Hey, I brought a surprise!” He grinned, pulling out two bottles of cheap white wine. “What are we celebrating?” You smile, folding his pants. “The guys and I finished fixing the van! We are leaving for LA  by the end of next week!” He said excitedly, pulling out two plastic cups. You swallowed hard but tried to put on a smile for him, although your eyes were stinging. 

Eren learned how to play guitar from Armin’s grandfather at the age of fifteen. He owned an instrument shop and noticed that a couple of kids were interested in the instruments. It was first Connie who came in looking at the drums. Armin’s grandfather sat the bold boy down and taught him how to play the instrument. The second time Connie came, he brought his friend Jean. Jean was mesmerised by the beautiful black and white bass. Which after a few weeks, it became his best friend (after Connie, ofc!).

 Lastly, we have Eren, he was on his way home from work when he saw Armin’s grandfather struggle with some boxes. He offered to help, which the elderly man accepted. One of the boxes contained a black electric guitar. Armin’s grandfather offered Eren to try it out as he saw his green eyes glow at the sight of it. Weeks later, he introduced the three boys to his grandson Armin who could play both keyboard and guitar. The boys quickly became friends and started playing together in the evenings. Armin’s grandfather believed that it was better for the boys to be distracted from the crimes in the city, and what better distraction than music? The elderly man passed away four years later. From there on, the boys knew that they wanted to start a band and make it out of the city. They found an abandoned van that they spent a year fixing with the help of Jean’s mechanic background. The plan was to use the van to drive to LA and sleep in it if they couldn't afford a Motel. Now it being done meant that Eren would soon leave to follow his dreams. 

You took the cup, he offered you, “Cheers to you for making it in LA!” You said, smiling. “Cheers for the two of us making it in LA!” The Chestnut-haired man said, correcting you. “Us? As in..” 

“Would you think that I would leave you behind in this shitty city?” Eren asked, looking at you like you had stated something silly like the moon was made out of cheese. “Yeah, I mean…ehm”, you played with your fingers. The guys always referred to you as their fifth member. You weren't a direct member of the band, but you had sewed them a few pieces to wear when they’d do free bar performances. “I could never leave you behind, it’s you and me against the world. Like it always has been.” He grins, toasting his wine before downing it in one go. It warmed your heart to know that Eren would never forget about you. After finishing the bottles, the two of you are pretty drunk. “Eren, could you please play something for me?” You ask, batting your eyelashes.

You look so damn cute drunk. How could he say no? “Sure, what song?.” He says, picking up his guitar. “This Charming Man!” You say excitedly. You danced to Eren’s angelic voice, “Ah, a jumped-up pantry boy who never knew his place!” You shout, and Eren gets up and dances with you. One day, I will write you a song that will make you dance like that, he thought to himself.  The two of you danced like you had no care in the world, as putting food on the table was not an issue, as you weren’t surrounded by crime and death. 

The two of you lie in bed, dizzy and out of breath but happy. You turn your bodies to face each other. “Eren, did you mean it when you said that it was the two of us against the world?” You ask for reinsurance. “Of course I did, I can’t imagine any other woman by my side but you.” The alcohol in his system was exposing him. You smiled while massage his ear lobe. “Is that so?” You whispered, dying of happiness on the inside. He doesn’t respond but looks at you like a lovesick crackhead. Your cheek burned, and you turned your head to face the cracking roof in embarrassment. 

Eren cupped your cheeks, forcing you to face him again. You leaned into the warmth of his rough hands. “What am I to you, Eren?” Your lips were almost touching, and the smell of wine filled your nose. He leans in and kisses you passionately. His lips were a big contrast to his hands. You felt a needy heat growing between your legs, it seemed like Eren was reading your mind as he slid his two fingers under your dress. “Already wet for me?” He whispered. “Yes,” you whined.

 Eren removed your dress and underwear, and you hissed in the chilly air. Eren doesn’t break eye contact with your as he spreads your legs and gives your cunt a long lick from the bottom of your vulgar, covering his tongue with your sweet juices. “God, Gold…you…taste…so…good”, he whispered, diving into your cunt. “Ah, Eren” you moan. You were confident that your neighbour Eric on the other side of the wall heard you.

 All Eren cared about right now was to make you cum, to release you from all the stress from your everyday life. "'I’m gonna cum," you whimpered, realising all over his mouth. “Good girl”, he whispered, kissing you, letting you taste yourself. “Eren, can you please fuck me?” you asked pathetically. He flipped you on your stomach. He leaned over and growled in your ear, “You don’t have to ask me twice. Get on all fours,” and kissed your back. You did what he demanded, feeling shivers all over your body.

 Eren collected cum from your vagina and smeared it all over his veiny cock. He gripped tight around your hips and hissed as he was entering you. Eren pumped slowly back and forth, the air was filled with your moans as your pussy was getting used to Eren’s colossal size. “Fuck”, he moaned as he started speeding up, digging his finger further into your flesh. “Gold, fuck me back. Fuck your cock back, it’s all yours”, he growled. Being the obedient woman you were, you threw your ass back. “Harder” he demanded, spanking you. “Ah, fuck Eren”, you moaned as your arms gave up on you and collapsed on the bed. That didn’t stop Eren as he lifted your hips and placed his cock inside of you. “Fuck, your pussy feels good. Keeping this from me for six years,” he groaned, continuing fucking you. Your face was on the pillow, which was a good thing as you were a moaning mess. 

Your eyes teared up as you felt your second climax blossoming. Eren could tell as you clenched around him, “Give it to me, give it to me.” He growled, feeling you squirt all over him. “Gold, I’m not finished. Take this cock.” He demanded, filling the air with your whimpers and the sound of your skin slapping. You used the last energy to get on all fours again, fucking him back “Ah, fuck! You want me to get all out, too, all this fucking frustration. Fuck it all into you.” He groaned. “Yes”, you moaned, throwing your ass back. His thrusts became rigid and slow as he was filling you up. 

Eren collapsed on the bed next to you while catching his breath. He kissed your forehead before you went to the toilet to pee. You walked out to see Eren comfy in bed. You lay down beside him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Eren, you never answered my question, " you said, turning to face him. I’m in love with you, silly. Always has been, and always will be.” He said, yawing.

#eren jeager x reader #eren jeager x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren jeager x y/n #eren x reader #eren x you #eren yeager smut #eren jeager smut #snk x y/n #snk smut #attack on titan eren #attack on titan x reader #aot smut #aot x reader #aot eren #aot x you #eren smut #snk x reader

[pathologicalreid]

clue | S.R.

in which penelope hosts a new year's eve party. with a murder mystery theme.

who? spencer reid x fem!journalist!reader

category: fluff, slice of life

content warnings: all of the characters are dressed as detectives. marriage, murder, mentions of blood, fireworks, slight descriptions of fake violence, reader wears a dress, this is very haphazardly proofread. very slightly suggestive in the beginning if you squint.

word count: 2.95k

a/n: happy new year's eve friends! this idea has been rotting in my brain since i read the prompt. i started with the idea that i wanted reader and kristy to win and a dream, and now here i am. it was genuinely so much fun to write. (and now i have spencer x journalist!reader brain rot) i always see people writing for these challenges but this is my first time participating!

i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins' office party challenge based on the prompt "Penelope planned a Murder Mystery party... with a bunch of criminal profilers. Great. (Bonus if a non-profiler wins)" thank you so much for this challenge!

“I have no idea why Penelope felt the need to rent an AirBnB for a New Year’s Eve party,” you whispered, getting out of the car along with Spencer. “Or why we had to dress in costume,” you said, pulling your shawl over your shoulders.

Gently reaching over, Spencer tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ears, “It’s a Penelope Garcia party, that means it’s a production. Additionally, this is the first New Year's Eve we’ve been in town in four years, which means there’s no need for an MHM.”

Grinning up at your fiancé, you responded, “There does seem to be a moratorium on violent crime this holiday season.” The best Christmas gift you received this year was finding Spencer sleeping in bed next to you when you woke up.

You watched him reach into the back of the car for his jacket. The costume description Garcia had given him was similar to what he wore on a normal day. You helped him pick out the brown sweater vest and matching tie, but he selected the rest of the ensemble. “Did I tell you that you look incredible?” He asked, pulling his jacket on.

“I believe those were the words that caused us to be fifteen minutes late, Dr. Reid,” you chided but smiled nonetheless when Spencer pulled you close and embraced you.

You felt him smile against your neck, “Worth it,” he whispered.

Dragging him by the arm, you stood on the porch and knocked on the door. Almost instantly, a familiar voice rang out, “You have to use the knocker!” Penelope called out.

Sighing, you rolled your eyes and took the bronze adornment in your hand and knocked it against the red-painted door. The heavy door swung open and you were greeted by Penelope Garcia, “Welcome Dr. Reid and Someday Mrs. Reid, to the New Year’s party that will, likely, be the New Year’s party to end all New Year’s parties.”

“I have no doubt, Pen,” you stepped forward and hugged her. “You look great, I love this color,” you told her, settling your hands on your shoulders. She wore a lime green button-down dress with an old-timey collar, and her blonde locks were pulled up into a French twist.

Spencer and Penelope greeted each other, and Garcia led the two of you to a sitting room, “Where did you find this house?” Spencer asked, walking in behind you.

She waved him off, “I am the master of all things Internet, I found it online and thought it was perfect.”

Your heels clicked as you followed the two of them. They were quicker, Penelope knew where she was going and Spencer naturally had a long stride, not to mention the restriction of your gown. “Perfect for what, exactly?” You inquired.

“A BAU Murder Mystery party!” She answered as if it was obvious.

A wolf whistle from the other side of the room caught your attention, you turned around to see Tara grinning at you, “Well how about you.”

Blushing, you spread the skirt of the red silk dress out and gave a fake curtsy, “Oh this? Just something I had lying around.” In reality, you borrowed the dress from a coworker. Its only fault was being just barely too long for you.

Once you observed Tara’s costume, an off-white button-up with brown suspenders and matching pants, the gears in your head clicked into place. “We’re dressed as characters from Clue?” You asked, looking at everyone’s costumes. It all suddenly made so much sense, you were Miss Scarlet, and Tara was meant to be Colonel Mustard.

“Well, there are only so many characters to choose from, so I needed some other detectives to choose from. I picked Nancy Drew, Spencer is Sherlock Holmes with Matt as his Watson, and Krystall is Jessica Fletcher from the renowned television show Murder She Wrote.” Penelope pointed at guests as she explained their outfits, “Kristy is Daphne of the differently renowned television show Scooby Doo, and Luke refused to dress up at Hercule Poirot.”

Your eyebrows raised up, “I didn’t know not dressing up was an option,” you admitted. Despite the weather being unseasonably warm, you were still cold in your dress.

Sending a pointed look in Luke’s direction, Penelope cleared her throat before responding, “It wasn’t.”

Putting a hand to his chest in mock hurt, Luke feigned shock, “I did dress up as a very famous detective. Matt Simmons of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“But does that really count as famous?” The man himself, Matt asked teasingly.

In response, Luke gestured around the room, “Everyone here has heard of him.”

You tuned the two of them out. When provided the time, the two of them could bicker for hours. You looked at everyone else’s costumes, the rest of the group was from the board game. Emily was Mrs. White, Rossi was Professor Plum, JJ was Mrs. Peacock, and Will was Mr. Green.

The BAU spent so much time sequestered solving crimes that it was a wonder to have the entire group here at the same time.

After effectively shushing Luke, Penelope made her way to the center of the room, “Okay, I know what you’re all thinking ‘Penelope, we spend all of our days solving murders, why would you plan a murder mystery party?’” She stood up straight, pushing her shoulders back, “Well, I’ll tell you, the idea for this party came to me when I had the flu last month.”

“Are you telling us this party was conceived from a fever dream?” Emily asked, she leaned forward in her all-white outfit, resting her elbows on her knees.

Pointing at Emily, Penelope grinned, “That is exactly what I am telling you, my dear. Now, let me set the stage for you.” She clapped and the lights went out, bringing everyone’s attention to a projector screen that had just lit up against the only bare wall in this room. “Our victim was a resident of this house. What’s her name? You might ask. Patricia Gomez, heiress to a large fortune and a company that makes socks.”

A quiet chuckle came from the other side of the room, “This is quite the fever dream.” You had to agree with Rossi, Patricia Gomez was an almost painfully uncreative name. Still, everyone went along with it.

“Save all questions until the end, please!” Penelope scolded, “I have folders made up for each of you, with information on where your characters all were at the time of the murder. Before attending this party, the killer was already notified of their status, they may try to fool you.”

You skimmed through the folder that the technical analyst had handed you, it looked like a real FBI folder, but you didn’t doubt that Garcia had resources to make realistic fake files. The body had been found, stabbed in the kitchen, the time of death set at noon.

Matt stood up first, reaching out his hand for Kristy to take, but they didn’t get far. “Oh no, no partnering with your partners,” Penelope said, laying down another rule for her party.

“What are you saying?” Spencer asked, looking between you and her. It was sweet knowing that he had wanted to team up with you, it reminded you of how you first met. The FBI profiler and the investigative journalist.

Garcia sighed, “If you are canoodling with someone, you may not investigate with them.”

You shrugged at Spencer and walked toward Kristy instead, “What do you say, Daphne? Shall we?”

“Oh, I think we shall,” Kristy responded, hooking her arm through yours.

“Hey,” Luke interrupted, “It’s not fair for the investigative journalist and the lawyer to be teamed up to solve a murder.”

Stopping in your tracks, you stared at him for a moment, “Luke, you work for the FBI. If anything, I think we’re at a disadvantage.”

Together, you and Kristy made your way to the kitchen, as you walked away you heard Luke ask Garcia to be his partner, the two of you laughed as she told him she wasn’t playing because, “Somebody has to keep things organized, Newbie!”

Looking around the kitchen, you found a chalk outline, but not much else. Of course, this wasn’t a real crime scene, there would be no blood, and for all you knew, Kristy was the killer.

“What are you thinking, Dave?” You asked Rossi, who had teamed up with JJ. Maybe a seasoned profiler would push you in the right direction.

He cocked his head like he was weighing his options, “Well, the folder says there were only four people in the building at the time of the murder, and only one of them was close enough to the kitchen to pull it off. Logically, the best option is Mrs. White.”

So, he thought Emily was responsible. You scrawled some notes down about the kitchen before you and Kristy decided to move to the bedroom, “It says Watson – Matt - was in the main bedroom at the time of the murder, Mrs. White – Emily - was in the pantry, Jessica Fletcher – Krystall – was in the basement, and Professor Plum – Rossi – was in the library,” you read from the file.

“Then Dave is right, Emily is the only one who was close enough to get to Patricia,” Kristy reasoned. There wouldn’t have been time for anyone else to commit the crime in between the time the body was found and the time of death. The timeline of events was very short.

You shrugged, “Then I guess we could probably go to the library until the timer runs out.” Picking up the skirt of your dress, the two of you left the bathroom and walked into the library. Leaning up against the shelves, you intertwined your fingers in front of you, “Do you have plans for the new year?” You asked Kristy, tilting your head.

She hummed, “A lot of our plans tend to change. You know, with Matt’s job and the kids, but we’d like to take some kind of vacation, even if it’s just a day trip.” She answered, brushing her long hair over her shoulder, “What about you?”

“Oh,” you said, “You know, getting married.” You answered, “Then we’re just planning on seeing where life takes us, I think. You’re right, it’s hard to plan around the job. I can’t imagine adding kids into the mix.” The thought gave you a whole new respect for Kristy – and Will, for that matter.

Kristy smiled, “Totally worth it, though.”

Laughing it off, you pushed yourself off of the shelving, “I think I’ll take your word for it,” you responded. “For now,” you added, looking around the library.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, following your gaze around the library.

Realizing this must be how the BAU feels all the time, you answered, “Something is bothering me about this case.” Kristy beckoned for you to go on, “They all solve crimes like this every day, so in order to make it fun for them, Penny would have to make it at least a little bit of a challenge, right?” You asked.

“You think it was too easy?” Kristy asked.

You started pacing around the library, along the front of the desk. “The answer being Emily is too easy. There has to be something more to it.”

“Well, the file says she had experienced a blow to the head shortly before her death. So, is it possible she was incapacitated somewhere else and then moved to the kitchen to be killed?” Kristy asked, flipping through the file, she was sat on top of the wooden desk.

Nodding, you looked at the generated picture of your fake victim. She wore a large ruby necklace, her hair was pinned up, but in the list of effects and evidence, a necklace was never mentioned. “Did you see a necklace in the kitchen?” You asked, flicking your eyes over in her direction.

Immediately, she shook her head you spun around to go back to the kitchen. Mid-spin the heel of your shoe hooked into the too-long fabric of your dress, causing you to tumble ungracefully to the floor. “Are you alright?” Kristy asked. Not for the first time tonight, you found yourself jealous of her shorter dress. Damned board game characters.

Groaning in response, you blinked in an attempt to reorient yourself. In your peripheral vision, something caught your eye: a necklace. “Kristy,” you whispered urgently, hoisting yourself up into a sitting position before reaching over to grab the gold chain. It was crusted with something red that you could only hope was ketchup. Unless Penelope was taking this game way too seriously.

You lifted the chain curiously. “That’s the necklace that Patricia was wearing when she died!” Kristy exclaimed, “But that means…”

“Rossi did it,” you said from the floor. “And he tried to fool us with his poker face.”

Setting the necklace on the desk, you reached down to take your heels off. Kristy spoke, “Do you think the necklace is enough evidence for us to make our case?”

Raising your eyebrows, you looked up at her, “I don’t know. You’re the lawyer, do you think it’s enough evidence?”

She nodded, “I think the evidence pointing to Emily is circumstantial, but this necklace has substance to it. And no one else has gone through the library, so at the very least we’ll have a unique answer.”

You grinned, “I like the way you think, Mrs. Simmons.” You reached out your hand and she helped you up, “Let’s go show these FBI agents how it’s done.” The two of you headed back to the sitting room.

The room was full when you got there, “Ah, I thought we were going to have to send out a search party for the two of you!” Penelope said, “Sit, sit, I’m sure we have some excellent conclusions to go through.” She handed the both of you glasses of wine before you sat down next to each other on the velvet chaise lounge.

Honestly, it reminded you of grade school. When your teacher would go through the answers on the homework, only for you to find that, somewhere, you had done something terribly wrong. By the time it got to you and Kristy, half of the people said it was Emily, almost half had said it was Matt, and one person said it was Kristy.

Nonetheless, the two of you stood up and announced your conclusion, “it was Rossi,” you said in unison.

“First, we met with David in the kitchen, and we asked him what he thought,” you said. “He could’ve said no, he could’ve said something else, but he told us how he thought Emily Prentiss was the killer.” You explained, “Now, as extremely professional detectives, we know that frequently, killers can’t help but insert themselves into the investigations.”

Lifting her hand in a waiting gesture, Kristy continued, “But we heard him out, and we trusted his conclusion. Until we didn’t, that is.” She said, “After some more expert investigation, we went to the library, where Rossi had claimed to have been at the time of the murder. It was there that my partner discovered the victim's necklace. It was broken as if it had been torn off of her neck, and there was blood on the chain.”

“This is combined with the report that the victim had experienced a blow to the head before she died, which could’ve easily been inflicted by the corner of the very desk I discovered the necklace beneath,” you resumed. “We propose that David Rossi, otherwise known as Professor Plum, incapacitated the victim in the library, before moving her to the kitchen so he could claim he had no part in her death.”

Rossi looked up at Penelope, who grinned and nodded, “I didn’t even realize I had done that in the kitchen earlier. Are you by chance looking for a new line of work?” He asked, getting a chorus of laughter in response.  

“For my two winners,” Garcia said, her smile still bright as she draped two medals around your and Kristy’s necks. “Thank you, everyone, so much for playing this game. I know it’s hard to see it as a game when it all feels so real, but I appreciate you for separating fact and fiction for tonight.”

It was Luke who responded first, “Of course.”

“But maybe,” Rossi said, raising his wine glass in his hand, “Maybe next year we’ll just do a normal party.”

Tara raised her glass in response, “If you’re hosting, I’m attending.”

You nodded, concurring, “Far be it from me to miss a BAU party.”

Behind you, Spencer loosely wrapped his arm around your waist, “It’s almost the new year.”

“Aha!” Penelope said, “I have one last surprise for all of my favorite people! If you’ll just follow me out to the deck, we’ll be able to see the fireworks from here!”

Outside, the cool air bit at your bare skin. Ever the gentleman, Spencer draped his jacket over your shoulders. Grateful for the warmth, you pushed your arms through the sleeves and turned to face him, “You know, we’ve been together for years, but this will be our first New Year’s kiss.” You said, studying his face, every detail that you’ve come to know over the past few years.

Distantly, you heard the rest of the group counting down, but you were too focused on Spencer. “It won’t be our last, though,” he promised.

You grinned up at him, “As long as we get to go to the BAU party, Sherlock.”

“Of course,” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips to yours. “Happy New Year, Miss Scarlett.”

#mentioningmargins #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #bau team #bau imagine #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds oneshot #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #mgg

[iamasaddie]

cracks

paring: Clint x f!reader warnings: no smut (sorry), ER; age gap (not specified), insecurities regarding aging word count: 700~ a/n: gonna be honest with you I mostly wrote it for me, but I'll be happy if you enjoy it too <3 i have an idea for another blurb (smutty) from this “universe” that i might post tonight or tomorrow masterlist

You knew he didn’t like looking in the mirror. Didn’t enjoy seeing his reflection on any surface, especially when you were near him. You had to beg him for a picture of you together, and if you wanted to capture just him you had to be sneaky enough so he wouldn’t notice.

You knew it was lines on his forehead, the scar beneath his left eye, the multiplying grays in his beard that he couldn’t stand. Everything that reminded him of how old he was, how deep the canyon of experience between you was. Every little thing you loved him for made him scowl and furrowed his brows. 

It pained you, but you made sure to remind him how handsome he was, how safe and loved you felt in his big dry palms. He grunted in response. You would’ve been scared that he’d eventually leave you when his demons would win, but you knew the feelings you had for each other were too strong, an uncontrollable tide breaking every rational and irrational thought on its way. 

He fell asleep with his head in your lap while you were watching one of the old westerns he loved so much. His soft hair tickling the naked skin of your thighs, his brows knitted together even as he was lightly snoring, indicating the depth of his dream. Your fingers raked through the soft curls and when the credits started rolling you realized that you have been looking at Clint for the last fifteen minutes, completely ignoring the climax of the story. 

The man in your arms was a more interesting one anyway. 

Your index finger lightly traced his face. You marveled at each crease and mark, mapping the years of laughter and hardship etched into his features. You felt valleys of his laugh lines hiding into the coarse  beard that covered the lower half of his face in an uneven pattern you loved so much. With the softest press of your fingertip you grazed over the plumpness of his lips, and you smiled to yourself at the softness of the skin. Rough man that he was, Clint was kissing your chapstick covered lips often enough for it to take care of his own. 

Gently, you scratched the almost white patch on the side of his face, the most prominent one he had. Sometimes when he noticed you staring at him - for no other reason but being completely and utterly in love with him - he would turn his head as if he wanted to hide the colorless spot. 

Tears burned the edges of your eyes and you blinked them away before they could wet your cheeks. The love you felt for the man who was snoring peacefully almost tore you apart. You wished that he could genuinely believe in your affection. That you cherished the cracks and imperfections that made Clint real to you, the unique mosaic of a man who was only solvable to you, remaining a dark riddle for the rest of the world.

He stirred at your touch, his lips curving into a faint smile. His eyes fluttered open.

“What are you doing?” His voice was raspy with sleep, one eye squinting as the other focused on the outline of your form.

“Counting the reasons why I’m the luckiest girl in the world,” you whispered back, crouching to peck his lips, but missing and hitting his nose instead, making him chuckle.

“Got at least three?” His hand went up, cupping your jaw and he met your eyes. You could see the worry and uncertainty hiding behind the forced merriment of his voice. It made your heart ache, but you knew you had time to make him see through your eyes.

 “Multiply it by infinity, and you’ll get my answer.” You saw the furrow of his brows disappear, like he was surprised to hear that, and you hurried to kiss him, smiling at his content moan.

check out my other fic from this universe CONTACTS (can be read as a continuation to this one)

#iamasaddie blurb #clint x f!reader #clint x reader #clint x you #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[nanasdumbworld]

Darling: The Tape.

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderWoman!reader

Summary: Miguel knows Spider-Woman's past (reader) and he's afraid of losing her, so he gets a little bit overprotective.

Warnings: Mention of blood, angst, mention of death and betrayal. no use of (Y/N) instead, the reader will be called "Darling", this one shot is inspirated on Henry's speech (Fnaf) lmao

A/N: English is not my first lenguage, i truly apologize if there is a mistake with the grammar. Thank you for reading, enjoy! <3

"You're not going to the mission" he hissed. The woman did not understand why Miguel has been harsh on her.

Miguel didn't know when he started to overprotect her. It was probably that time she almost died on a mission or probably when he found out that she already died once back in her universe. In fact, that dead was a canon event.

Darling's life was really complicated to explain, she grew up in a toxic household where all her family members were villians (except for her father) and ironically she became SpiderWoman. Obviously no one knew about it, her mother didn't knew that the person she hated the most was her youngest daughter.

Unfortunately, Darling was murdered by her own family, while trying to stop the collider created by a corrupt company called Alchemax. Her mom wanted to conquer other universes in order to became powerful.

After a hideous fight, although she stopped them, it was to late. She was pierced by her mother's goblin glider.

The fifteen-year-old girl died under the cold rubble of the company.

Days later, she was found by her father and brought to his lab.

For ten years, he was trying his best to bring her back to life , he tried everything and until he made it.

....

Miguel never cried since "that" happened till he found a video tape, that belonged to Darling's father. The tape was called "To my daughter" and it began by showing a tired man with teary eyes. He grabbed a piece of paper that it seem to be a letter and began to read it.

"My daughter, if you can hear me, i knew you would return as well. It's in your nature to protect the innocent. I'm sorry that on that day, the day you were shout out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours, and then what became of you. I should've known you wouldn't content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn't save you then, let me save you now. I'm pretty sure you'll wake up, but you can't stay here for so long. Your mother escaped and i'm afraid she won't stop until she gets what she wants. I love you. I'll always do." The man burst into tears and ended the video.

Yes. That was the reason he didn't let her go. Her mother was the mission.

For him, she was a very important person. For nothing she was one of the people who helped him when he caused that infamous anomaly that took away his daughter. He had to help her too.

He must.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderverse x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #fanfiction

[lyralit]

4.1.24 - the importance of learning new things

As much as I think academic & work focus is incredibly important going into the new year, one of my other goals is to practice doing more: to learn all of the things I want to do, in addition to work, in addition to writing. I want to know how to do thousands of little things, and I think the longer we wait, the less likely we are to do them.

Picking up a new hobby doesn't have to be buying a dozen textbooks and spending hundreds of dollars on lessons because you might have the slightest interest: it can be from whatever you have here, now, and you'll never learn if you don't get started.

Some of the things I've been getting into (as I've mentioned before) are baking & crocheting. it just feels so cozy and nice & I love the idea of comfort.

here is a list of things I want to / you should try that's new!

learning a new language. fifteen minutes a day, I kid you not. I'm learning latin on duolingo and I don't ever think about it, but when I do it (25 day streak 💪🏻), I'm starting to notice my improvements

consuming good media. and that's not scrolling for half an hour on tumblr. it's books—deep ones and silly ones and ones about romance and dragons and apocalypses. it's movies! I watched keira knightley's pride and prejudice twice in the last few months, and also three men and a baby which is something I never thought I would watch, but it was quite funny I think. and I learn from it: I cannot write humour or romance for the life of me, so it's basically studying to write (is the self-gaslighting too evident?)

learning to crochet. I made a silly little headband today, after scrolling through pinterest and desperately wanting one. I started crocheting in december to give as gifts (I completed none of my wips, much like when I write) and used the tools I had around me: an old rainbow loom hook and whatever string I could find. now I'm proud to say I can read somewhat fluently crochet acronyms.

baking. I keep saying this. I know. but when I tell you a two years ago I was exploding cupcakes in the oven and last month I made bakery-style cookies...I made bread! a loaf of bread! (in a bread machine, but it's so good and I instantly made another. there is one in the bread machine right now). honestly it just made me feel that much better about improvement, and trying new things, and that is the mindset I want for the new year.

learning to code. in all honesty, I never thought I was a compsci - engineer kind of person. then this year, out of sudden (masterminded) urges, I joined a bunch of tech and robotics initiatives, and maybe it's the sense of community (I can rejoice in finding another nerdy group) but now I am happily chauffeuring myself to these meetings 4h a week. I'm looking into pursuing more into the fields of eng and science. and I'm learning some code from one of the friends I've made!

starting a blog. ...I know most of the people who linger around my blog stay for the writing content (the last posts have turned this writerblr into a digital diary, and I'm only half sorry for that). but since I've joined tumblr (almost three years ago now!) I've got to meet so many wonderful people (including you!) and want to try so many things.

and I get it. it's overwhelming. so here are some starting goals that maybe I'll try also.

start doing art. -> make a card for someone as a gift.

learn a new sport & start exercising. (I'm trying out track & field in the spring, so stay tuned to figure out how that goes) -> see if someone will come play ball with you. do 1 or 2 youtube workout videos a week.

film videos of your daily life. it doesn't need to be for posting! -> edit together clips you've taken for a last year recape.

start a scrapbook. -> print out photos and dig up construction paper. decorate a page.

make a poetry journal. -> go on pinterest to read poetry! pin styles you like and set fifteen minutes to writing.

make a regular journal! -> write once a day. just try: goals for the day in the morning, or a recap at night.

try your hand at gardening. -> research plants that grow well in your region. see if any of the seeds you may have at home are useful. water your lawn. buy a plant and try to keep it alive (set reminders, leave it in front of your sink)

learn to make candles. -> watch a youtube tutorial. see if you can play around with candles you already have.

play chess. -> see if someone will play chess with you. no? chess.com is right there. go make an account. go find a stranger.

learn to play an instrument off youtube. -> maybe you have a piano sitting around, or a guitar you've never touched. you don't even need to master it. pick a song you like and google that. no instrument? maybe there's a way to play drums with home items.

go for a run. -> once a week. a set time. just shoes and the outdoors. too cold? go to a gym and use a treadmill. maybe that's not possible? skip rope.

start / join a book club. -> just you, or some close friends, or people online. a book a month. talk about it.

** on that note, would anyone like to join a tumblr book club? slide into my asks and maybe we can get a blog list!

thank you for reading again <3 until next time.

k.

#lyralit #writerblr #blog post #creative writing #writblr #writing prompts #writing ideas #writers block #writing #writers #mental health #taking breaks

[hypaalicious]

Unpopular opinion: YA isn’t meant for adults.

Not saying adults can’t read YA; adults can read whatever tf they want. But it’s a huge mistake of mainstream publishing to allow YA to absolutely crowd out swathes of other subgenres to the point where articles such as this one get written in full seriousness.

Awhile back, there were teens on Tiktok lamenting that they can’t find media for them anymore. There were a bunch of condescending people happily shitting on them saying things like, “Uh, YA exists? These teen-centered TV shows exist?? Why are y’all lying lololol so dumb” instead of actually listening to these kids explain what they mean. Cause wow, it don’t bother y’all that despite all this hyper visible allegedly teen-centered media NONE of it is hitting for them? Y’all don’t stop to ask yourself why that is?

It’s because YA has become a fill-in for mid-range and adult fiction over the years. I can’t tell you how many synopses I’ve read that have sounded boss asf but then they make the MC fifteen years old and I’m immediately like

And I wanna be clear, this wouldn’t be a problem if YA hadn’t oversaturated the literary field. On top of that, I do not see real teenhood reflected in these characters. They come off more like they’re written by middle aged adults projecting what they think teens are like through the lens of how they wish their own long-gone teen years went. So yeah, no wonder kids don’t feel connected to the media that’s labeled for them. Too many adult consumers are crowding that space tryna live vicariously through teen media, and since it’s adults that have the money more often than not, publishers cater YA to them rather than teens. That’s not okay, y’all.

Also, there is no reason whatsoever for some of these characters to be teens except to fit into a very narrow category set by publishers who just want a wide market to sell to. Example: when I was looking up comp titles for my manuscript, I came across a fantasy book centering a Black female character at a college discovering her hidden magical powers and a mystery hidden away at the college and was like “oh shit, this sounds dope!”

… then I read a snippet and for WHATEVER REASON, they made the MC sixteen. Sixteen years old, but going to college as an exception.

It was just so obviously done as a way to slate the book under the YA label but narratively it made NO SENSE. Just make your character 18 or older if they gonna be in college! Oh, that’s right, you can’t because YA rendered the New Adult genre obsolete so if you can’t make your characters 14-17 then it’s not likely publishers will work with you. 🫠

Another problem I have with the whole “YA is for adults too!” thing is the fact that this does not serve adult literacy levels. Mind you, they’re already abysmal in the US in particular. But it doesn’t help when the only thing adults are encouraged to consume for fun are books written at a 5th-6th grade reading level. They ain’t reading anything adult anymore, either in prose or depth of content. And why would they when publishers are only making an effort to market YA as the 10-in-one shampoo type option to everyone who ages out of kidlit?

Different categories for different age groups exist for a reason, and the erosion & blending of these categories hurts the literary field a lot. We need to go back to the days where you could find age appropriate media for every stage of your life and actually connect with it.

#I will absolutely stay on publishing’s neck for this idc idc #Make YA for Young Adults again! #publishing #authors #books #booklr