#it’s so perfect like you don’t even have to be mean

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k

cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping. 

I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered. 

You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely. 

When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap. 

You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in. 

It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them. 

Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him. 

You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you. 

Your phone rings a moment later. 

You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too. 

“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“How come?” You sit up with a little start. 

“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.” 

“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man. 

“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?” 

“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.” 

“And you want me to fix that?” 

“You always fix my neck.” 

“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that. 

“I have bad posture.” 

“You have perfect posture.” 

“No, it’s quite bad.”

He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.” 

He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.” 

“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.” 

“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.” 

“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.” 

“What did I lose?” 

You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.  

“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.” 

“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.” 

“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.” 

“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says. 

“Or I could make us both some?” 

“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”

You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected. 

Cruel overpass, you think. 

Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek. 

The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later. 

You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back. 

Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—

A sudden chill. 

The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard. 

Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain. 

You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor. 

All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth. 

A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.

Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath. 

He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something. 

Your phone rings on the counter. 

“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.

You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins. 

—

There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.

What will he make of my handiwork?

You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.

The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.” 

“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.” 

“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot. 

“Honey?” a voice asks. 

“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays. 

Honey, are you in here?

—

The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder. 

Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off. 

Jack squirms closer, no room left between them. 

“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says. 

Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead. 

“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.” 

Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.” 

“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.” 

Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile. 

“I look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it. 

“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.” 

Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile. 

“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.” 

Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.” 

“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?” 

Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.” 

“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.” 

Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea. 

Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you. 

“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” 

“You said I can give her a hug.” 

“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.” 

“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says. 

Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.” 

Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs. 

“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”

“Yeah.” 

Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room. 

You’re sleeping. 

Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing. 

He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze. 

The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown. 

Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic. 

“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly. 

Jack stays sitting. 

He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt. 

You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says. 

“When can she come home?” 

“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you. 

“Why is she sleeping all day?” 

Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.” 

“Should we go?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.” 

“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.

“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees. 

If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give. 

You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap. 

Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly. 

“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession. 

“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face. 

You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms. 

“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open. 

Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again. 

Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk. 

The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”

“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.” 

A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need. 

He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively. 

Aaron lets out a breath. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.” 

“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.

His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some. 

Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone. 

“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.” 

“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.” 

“I know.” 

“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.” 

“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. 

“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.” 

“Is that what you want? You want a hug?” 

“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder. 

You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper. 

Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down. 

Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying. 

“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears. 

“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic. 

“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow. 

He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow. 

Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand. 

—

Is she breathing? Can she talk? 

I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from. 

Where’s the worst of the blood? 

It’s everywhere. 

Abdominal? Chest? 

I can’t tell. I can’t tell. 

Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?

Yes. Yes, but– 

Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions. 

Honey, can you hear me? 

Your name said clearly. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“If you need a minute, that’s okay.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass. 

Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface. 

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” 

There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.

“Okay.” 

Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you. 

You close your eyes. 

“What stuck out?” 

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.” 

“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?” 

“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.” 

Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I never got that far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I filled the kettle.” 

“What kettle?” 

You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.” 

“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?” 

“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.” 

“When?” 

“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”

“And then–”

“Then he grabbed me.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. 

You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.” 

“Like he was quick on his feet?” 

“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.” 

“How big did he feel?” 

Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big. 

Where’s the worst of the blood?

“He said he was going to hide,” you remember. 

“He said that? He said ‘hide’?

“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.” 

“When was this?” 

It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers. 

“That was at the end,” you say. 

“After he stabbed you?” 

You wince. “Yes. After.” 

“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.” 

“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.” 

“When Hotch found you?” 

“No, before.”

“Before?” she asks. 

You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move. 

You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?

“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room. 

“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.” 

You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose. 

“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?” 

So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much. 

You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room. 

You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron. 

You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees. 

That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay. 

He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear. 

“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread. 

You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again. 

“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Please don’t let me get hurt again.” 

Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.” 

You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep. 

Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one.  He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you. 

He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water. 

“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.” 

You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you say. 

“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Please.” 

“Did Emily tell you about my interview?” 

He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?” 

“I don’t want to say it again.” 

“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.” 

You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?” 

“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.” 

You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread. 

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern. 

“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.” 

“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?” 

You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop. 

Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again. 

It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative. 

“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says. 

“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world. 

“…This is my fault.” 

“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep. 

Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.

“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.” 

You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

“I know.” 

“No, I love you.” 

He’s saying sorry.

“I love you,” you mumble back. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?” 

Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.” 

“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.” 

You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound. 

His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both. 

You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours. 

“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says. 

You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek. 

—

Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises. 

“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters. 

“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.” 

The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved. 

I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone. 

It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them. 

I won’t. 

He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will. 

Foyet didn’t need much more than that. 

He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either. 

Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid. 

One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.

Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner. 

Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries. 

He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you

Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this. 

He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again. 

He rubs his brow. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

When he looks up, JJ is gone. 

“I’m fine.” 

“It��s okay if you’re not.” 

He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says. 

It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day. 

He can’t fail you, too. 

“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks. 

Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?” 

“Being in love.” 

He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.” 

She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.” 

Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks. 

He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger. 

It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says. 

He shakes his head. 

She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.” 

But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety. 

“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.” 

Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.” 

He turns his attention back to the board without another word. 

—

When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest. 

Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him. 

He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks. 

He goes home satisfied.

“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. 

“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits. 

Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!” 

“Hi, junior g-man, what are you doing?” 

“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.” 

“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.”

You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.

“You got him?” you ask. 

He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.” 

“How did you find him?” 

He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.” 

You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?” 

“Brave.” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” 

All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby. 

Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless. 

“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.” 

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” 

“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.” 

“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue. 

“But it keeps happening.” 

His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead. 

“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?” 

“I remember,” he says, practically mouths. 

“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–” 

You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands. 

“I didn’t want this for you,” he says. 

“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?” 

He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.” 

You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.” 

He looks at you in silence. 

“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.” 

He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?” 

Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag. 

You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed. 

But not everything. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Was Jack good?” 

“Jack’s always good.” 

“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?” 

“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.” 

“I can get those.” 

“I know, I knew you would.” 

He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek. 

“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely. 

“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip. 

“My present?” 

He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.” 

In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him. 

He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.” 

He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

[rafeysdoll]

⊹ sending rafe videos of you touching yourself without him doesn’t go without a cruel punishment.

you whine loudly, hot tears falling down your pitiful sad face one by one — cheeks almost as wet as your leaky, covered pussy.

“doesn’t feel nice, does it dollface?” rafe groans between gritted teeth before pumping his second load of pearly cum on your stomach, the whole show only making you more frantic and desperate.

you whimper, thrashing your tied wrists around in a weak, hopeless attempt to somehow get out of the fuzzy handcuffs your boyfriend bound you to. “rafey!! please— please.” you hiccup, wide eyes full of despair. “i need it,” you wail.

“nah. nah you don’t fucking need it, you— you just fucking want it.” he spits back, lifting up your damp underwear at your thigh before lowering his sensitive cock and nudging it between your pussy and panties. “learn the damn difference.”

slowly, he pushes himself back and forth in, the friction of it all quickly getting him hard again — jaw slacking back down. “oh shit,” he sputters, concentrating on his pleasure.

“daddy,” you break, taking in a small shaky breath before continuing, “please, cmonn!” you plead, tight aching hole clenching around nothing.

he shakes his head, biting his lip down to conceal a broken whimper. “well— well maybe you should’ve thought twice about what you did. sending me those videos, thinking you— you could just get away it? you gotta be fucking dumb.” he ridicules, mean words sliding off his tongue easily.

it was absolutely humiliating — the way he harshly spoke, and the way it didn’t ever fail to make you collect up even more slick and arousal through your puffy folds, a soft whine pulling from your glossy lips as your poor cunt throbs in need.

you wiggle your hips a little, wanting only the smallest crumb of relief, hissing softly when his tip rubs up on your clit. “oh, there. there..” you mewl, body twitching underneath him at that slightest touch.

you finally think it’s over when he gives a light chuckle — lowering your panties down to your thighs to properly circle your nub with the end of his dick.

an obvious smirk plays on his face when you mumble low ‘thank you’s’ over and over as he trails one hand to your face, caressing your tear stained cheek before mumbling gently, “poor kitty has had enough, hm?”

you can’t help but pout, nodding weakly. “yea- yea..” you whisper pathetically, wide eyes staring up at him for empathy.

you couldn’t be more far off.

“yea? guess that’s too fucking bad. real shame.”

and as quickly as it came, it quickly stops. he withdraws his hips back from you and cuts it off completely, pulling your panties back up.

the same fingers that caressed your cheek now tap at the side of your temple. “you really, really gotta use that brain more. did— did you really think it would be that easy?” he adds.

frustration and ache quickly rises up in you, once more tugging on the handcuffs clicked to the bed, desperate to get out of your confines. desperate to just get your orgasm. “that— that was so mean! you can’t just—”

he shoves his fingers in your mouth before you can continue, shaking his head. “nah, don’t even fucking start complaining. you deserved that shit.”

a muffled sob escapes your throat, fighting the urge to instinctively suck on his fingers.

“gonna have to wait a little more, just like i did.” he seals, scoffing lightly. “it’s alright though, you can keep going for me, right? sorta owe me.”

you shut your eyes tightly, too ashamed to look at him. he was sick. utterly sick.

but.. you were perfect for each other, because you got off of it every single time.

you slowly peek open your eyes, now letting yourself gently suck on his fingers, humming against themself and nodding.

“atta girl.”

mean rafe <3 sorta hate the ending i rushed :( buttttt huge thanks to @kevsfuckingbox for helping me make this ^_^!! if you like, please give feedback and a reblog 🩷 it means so much!

tag list: @oceandriveab @imbabycowboy @sowrkitty @carolinaxvz @rafecameroninterlude @pinkribboncoco @kevsfuckingbox @hewwokitti @justagirlinherownworld @sugardonutzz @rafeysbby @prettyg1irlstears @ariahna @sugarcandydoll @rafesgiirl @fae-of-prey @jun1p3rlol

#rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe outer banks #rafe smut #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fanfic #rafe fic #rafe cameron fic #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey fanfiction #outerbanks smut #outerbanks imagine #rafe cameron thoughts

[kosagum]

i'll stop time for you — gojo satoru · fluff · 2.8k words

summary: with only a couple of months left before graduation, gojo wishes he could stop time, if only to be with you for just a little while longer.

“you know in an alternate universe, i would’ve walked out,” you scoff.

GOJO smiles at this and turns toward you. “but then you would have never gotten to know how cool i can be. and, i’d never get to know you. i’m happy you didn’t.”

it’s the middle of the night and sleep should be the only thing on your minds, but you both find yourselves discussing when the two of you first met.

as a student journalist, you interviewed gojo, a renowned student-athlete, your junior year for your college newspaper. now you both are well into your senior year, beginning to prepare for what comes next.

gojo’s apartment is a break from all the stressful preparation, a rendezvous point for when both of your schedules are packed. tonight you’re lying under the covers, facing each other. your bodies are intertwined, comfortably pressing against each other. the lights are off, but you can still make out his eyes, which are fighting sleep.

it didn’t help that the heat was cranked up high to oppose the snow falling just outside gojo’s window. the blanket you're under is cozy and soft. you’re freshly showered. gojo’s pajamas are fluffy and warm, coming directly out of the drier. you can still smell his floral-scented fabric softener.

the perfect conditions for falling asleep.

you take a moment to think about his words, hiding your smile with the blanket and looking at his nose to quell the butterflies arising within you.

gojo’s hand searches for yours under the blanket. once found, he pulls himself closer to you. now you’re nose to nose. his eyes, which were laced with sleep, are awakening. you can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he seems to be enjoying himself.

“you were so difficult, you know? i was just trying to have a good interview, but you didn’t even cut me some slack.”

gojo squeezes your hand and chuckles, “well i mean could you blame me? you weren’t giving me the reactions i wanted to see.”

“so you try to take over the interview?” you tease. “i was the interviewer.”

“i would never!” gojo insists, feigning shock, “i wanted to know more about you. you made an impression on me. and you’re definitely stretching the truth.”

“i’m not,” you laugh. “whenever i would ask you a question, you would answer me but then ask the same damn question back. don’t think i forgot how you would try to reword it, so i wouldn’t catch on either. i still don’t know how you thought that would work. you must really like the sound of your own voice.”

“it’s not that…while i do have a nice voice,” gojo begins, smiling after you lightly hit his arm and roll your eyes. “i just wanted to talk to you longer. it didn’t help that i didn’t know if we’d see each other again,” he pouts.

you pause at this, looking down at the blanket covering you two. your eyes make their way back to his, but you don’t say anything.

after the interview, you did cross paths again. more frequently than before. whenever you and gojo saw each other, he always made it a point to ask whether or not you finished the article. he’d try to justify himself by saying he wanted to see your hard work and his handsome face. you never failed to scoff at him. but that only seemed to spur him on further.

“why you staring at me?” he snorts. “falling in love?”

“i could ask the same of you,” you retort, pushing a piece of hair from his eyes.

once the article was published, you personally emailed him the link. to your surprise, he actually read it. he responded more quickly than you expected and praised you, saying he enjoyed your writing and appreciated that you wrote about him as a person, not just a student-athlete.

he then, not so smoothly, added his number to the end of the email followed by a winky face. despite being embarrassed for him, you still saved it.

gojo pauses when you fix his hair, flustered. he grins, taking your hand and placing small kisses all over it.

“well, i’m doing it because i think you’re beautiful. and i really like seeing you smile, even in the dark. so yeah, maybe i am.”

“don’t change the subject,” you blush.

“says the one who didn’t continue the conversation.”

“i was thinking!” you roll your eyes and glare at him. “i was so close to walking out and using whatever i already had from the beginning of the interview. it didn’t help that i couldn’t tell if you were trying to trip me up.”

gojo’s smile falters for a moment. “wait, did you really think i was trying to mess you up?”

you nod, looking at the pillow underneath you. sleep is starting to wash over you.

you shift around to find a comfortable position, still facing gojo and holding onto his hand. while settling on a position, gojo draws you close to his chest. he kisses your forehead before resting his head atop yours.

“i didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the interview. i was just trying to get to know the pretty girl in front of me.”

you never thought you would ever actually text him, but one day you went for it. you had just finished up in the campus newsroom and texted gojo to see if he was still on campus. he responded a lot quicker than you anticipated. before you knew it, he was standing outside, gasping for air.

“did you run here?” you questioned, fighting a smile.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grinned. “come on, let’s go. we’ve both been on campus for too long.”

gojo picking you up from the newsroom at the end of the day slowly became routine. you would take turns showing each other different parts of the city, of campus. slowly learning more about each other, and becoming closer.

“i know satoru, it’s fine. i wasn’t mad, just annoyed,” you kiss his chest, trying to assure him. “but you always annoy me, so what’s new.”

gojo lowers himself so you’re face-to-face again. he’s now fully awake. “don’t fall asleep on me now,” he sulks, poking your cheek.

you swat his hand away. “i’m awake, i’m awake. no need to be childish.”

a small gasp leaves gojo’s lips and he clutches his heart, earning a laugh from you. you sneak up to kiss his nose and try to pull away quickly, but gojo holds you in place and kisses you all over your face, grinning.

you pretend to grimace, but can’t hide the wide grin on your face.

“everything you’ve done is obviously impressive, but what i really wanted to know was who you were as a person. that’s why i wanted to do a feature piece on you. well, also because the sports editor wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“wait so the only reason why you interviewed me is because the sports editor wanted you to? and here i was thinking we had something special,” he laughs.

“it’s not the only reason, idiot. yeah, being a division one swimmer is cool and all. and you won the ncaa championship or something,” you mumble. “learning about you as a person was way more interesting, in my opinion. who would have known that satoru gojo is such a science nerd?”

“that’s not even true—”

“not true? i must have forgotten that someone told me you would sometimes sneak out of swimming practice to go to the physics club?” you giggle. “he said he was your friend, i think his name was geto?”

“i swear to god— of course that idiot said something,” he mutters.

you perk up after hearing this. sighing, gojo admits, “once this swimming stuff is over, i plan on focusing more of my time on physics. swimming is cool and all, but it just doesn’t excite me anymore. at first it was really fun, when geto did it with me. but then he quit to do something else, and it just became boring.”

“you just won a major championship and you find it boring?”

“i always win them, pretty,” he teases. you blush at the pet name and avert your eyes, groaning when gojo nudges your cheek. a defeated smile splays across your face. “but after a while, it gets stale,” he admits.

you and gojo lay there staring at each other. he did start winning more after geto left swimming. he and geto often battled it out for first place during collegiate meets. but once geto left, it became glaringly obvious how ahead gojo was from everyone else. he won the meet that qualified him for the ncaa championship and set a new personal record. he then went on to win the championship.

it seems that geto was the only one who could keep him on his toes.

you give his hand a squeeze. “so there’s more to you than swimming, that can never be a bad thing. not only do you have an ncaa championship under your belt, but i don’t doubt you’ll also win some physics titles too.

gojo’s about to protest when you interject, “if you never won all there was in swimming, then the feature piece would have never happened. i wish you didn’t have to experience so much boredom, but at least we met each other.”

gojo remembers how he would sometimes drop by the newsroom when he skipped swim practice instead of hanging around the physics club. you always pretended to be so annoyed, but could never hide the excitement in your smile. it was to the point where other people in the newsroom would remember him. some even talked to him too, much to your dismay.

one particular day, it was just you in the newsroom when he decided to come. he sat at the desk next to yours and asked you about the article you were writing before just watching you write in silence.

it was peaceful. after a while, gojo put his head on the desk and shifted his focus from your writing to you.

you were early into your relationship, but he already felt his heart ache at the limited amount of time you had with each other. he so desperately wanted to stop time. wishing to be with you as much as possible, feeling very thankful for these moments when he did get them.

he moved his chair closer to yours and put his head on your shoulder. you turned to look at him and tried to hide a smile. you lifted his head off your shoulder. gojo frowned at this, about to protest, but you put your head on his shoulder and then placed his head atop yours. you felt your face heating up and braced yourself for gojo’s teasing, but he simply shifted to kiss your head before settling back down.

without warning, you put your hand on top of his and weaved your fingers together. gojo’s eyes widened at this and his heart began to race. he pulled your entwined hands closer to him, and kissed yours.

stunned by your words, a blush forms across gojo’s face. “yeah, you’re right. i guess it all really was worth it,” he beams, placing a peck on your nose.

“if it helps, i know you’ll be amazing with whatever you choose to do with physics,” you assure. “to think, my boyfriend, a physics geek.”

“no way you just demoted me from a nerd to a geek.”

“it happens to the best of us,” you laugh. “and you’re my geek.”

you look up at him with affection in your eyes. gojo feels the urge to attack you with kisses, but restrains himself.

“enough about that stupid competition, i think you being offered a job at one of the best news publications is way cooler.”

“i guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” you yawn. you snuggle deeper into gojo’s chest, feeling your consciousness slip.

he gives your hand another squeeze. “i said don’t fall asleep yet.”

“i can’t help it,” you yawn, pressing your forehead against his. “but you know, i am really happy i didn’t leave in the middle of the interview.”

your eyes start to droop, but you force them to remain open, “i found you cute when i first met you, so i felt like i had to work that much harder for the interview to go well. just for you to try to flip the script on me. i didn’t tell you at the time, but i kinda found it kinda funny.”

gojo smirks, “why would it make it harder? am i that irresistible?”

you roll your eyes. “you wish. but no, it’s because… it’s unethical to have a relationship with a source. we technically shouldn’t have happened, but…”

“you couldn’t resist me.”

you force down a laugh and shoot him a dirty look, “shut up! let’s just say, you maybe grew on me and i came to like you. a lot, even. especially when i got to see more of who you were. even though it was a risk, i really wanted to take it.”

you pause for a moment, “so i did. i guess you could say, i’m very happy with that choice too.” you grumble, avoiding his gaze.

gojo beams. you still chose to date him despite everything.

he cups your face with both hands, giving you as many kisses as possible. part of you wants to fight him off, but another is just as happy as he is. when he’s done, you give him a deeper kiss on his lips, feeling your stress and worries fading away.

you’ve both been running around trying to make any final decisions and plans for graduation while tending to your usual responsibilities, so you barely got to see each other. the thought of graduating always makes gojo tense. he rarely brought it up to you, but you knew. you felt the same way, but tried to keep it together in front of gojo.

one night, you showed up at gojo’s apartment unannounced. you threw yourself into his chest and just held him, and he immediately held you back. though no words were spoken, he understood. you stayed like that for a while until he moved you both to the couch.

it was also the first time gojo finally explained his worries about graduation and possibly losing you. though you reassured him countless times, he still vowed to stop time, just for you. you giggled at his words, but promised to do the same for him.

he looks at you slowly falling asleep. he can tell you’re doing your best to stay awake, but don’t have much fight left in you. giving you a peck on the lips, gojo whispers, “thank god you chose to write about me. i fall more and more in love with you by the second.”

delirious with sleep, you mumble something about him back. barely loud enough for gojo to hear.

“i’m going to take that as, ‘thank you, my prince, you’re so sweet’.”

you flick his forehead before nuzzling against his cheek, muttering, “i said, i might be in love with you too.” you giggle, finally succumbing to sleep.

gojo watches you for a bit, listening to your breathing. he starts to feel sleepy himself. he gently squeezes your hand once more. he feels you squeeze his back. he chuckles, wondering if you’re actually still awake or if it’s now become a reflex. he’s happy either way.

he looks at you with such yearning in his eyes, wishing he met you sooner in his life. maybe in another universe, you would be childhood friends. swimming might not have been so boring if you were there cheering him on, and he doesn’t doubt that geto would have loved you there too. he could have been the one to offer himself as the subject for a feature piece. he laughs to himself, thinking about your annoyance at that.

he would have loved to be with you from the start. he still worries about the couple of months you have left together before graduation, but he tries to push that away, thankful that he even met you at all.

he does his best to stay optimistic, knowing you’ll still be together after graduating. gojo will always be there for you, even if life has you in different parts of the world.

gojo smiles at this thought, feeling a blush spread across his face. squeezing your hand one final time, he snuggles even closer to you and slowly drifts off to sleep.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru imagine #gojo imagine

[themirokai]

Some thoughts from 40.

Look, being young is overrated. I was so unsure of myself for so long. There is so much uncertainty in your youth. For me there was so much striving for so much of my life.

Now, at 40, I feel so much more settled. I’m comfortable in my skin in a way I never was when I was younger, and generally I curate my look purely for my own pleasure without worrying about anyone else’s opinion.

I know basically what the shape of my life is. It’s not perfect but it’s good. It’s comfortable. Even if I decide to change jobs or something, I have a pretty good understanding of what that would mean.

And I’m settled in my personality too. I’m not perfect, far from it. But I have a better understanding of my flaws and what about them I can and have to accept and what I can keep working on improving. So like, when I have an over-the-top emotional reaction to something in a way that’s not helpful, I’m a lot better at recognizing that for what it is and I’m better at taking a beat and trying to fashion a more helpful response.

I’m also better at recognizing and internalizing that everyone is dealing with their own shit all the time. Sometimes other people’s shit has to do with me, but most of the time, though their shit is influencing how they deal with me, it’s not about me. And related, I’m better at knowing when my internal shit is impacting how I deal with someone else.

I think the overarching thing here is that I’m comfortable in myself. And that includes hanging out on tumblr and writing fan fiction.

So for anyone worried about getting older, I can confidently say, at least in my experience, it’s fun and great. You don’t need to be scared, especially if you view getting older as an opportunity to do more things and get more cool.

#miro irl

[xoxochb]

˗ˋ where’s the trophy? he just comes running over to me ˊ˗

warnings: literally none, this is tooth-rotting fluff

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of demeter

summary: the three times luke knew he was in love with you and the one time he told you

1. your beautiful eyes stare right into my eyes

trying to pretend your best friend (aka your crush) wasn’t staring at you was almost impossible. it was even more difficult when he was sitting directly next to you, and you couldn’t help the pink hue making its way to your cheeks

you thought he wouldn’t notice because the sun had set and the only lights were the moon and the fire in front of you

but he did.

“what’re you thinking about?” luke asks, nudging your shoulder with his own

“nothing, just watching the stars” you quickly pull you gaze down from the sky to the boy beside you

“are you in love with them?” he teases

“shut up” you laugh

“well why are you blushing? do you have a crush?” he pokes your cheeks, but you slap his hand away

“I’m not blushing, it’s just hot” you make up an excuse

“it’s cold outside” he stated

“I have a sweatshirt on, einstein” you roll your eyes

“then why are you still wearing it?” he inquired, giving you a confused look

“It smells like you, I like it” you bite your bottom lip

and know it’s lukes turn to blush

“are you in love?” you joked

but he knew the answer to it. the real answer, he was in love, so so deep, and he wanted to tell you since the first day your gaze met his but he didn’t want to risk a perfect friendship, so he stayed silent, hoping one day you would realize how much he truly loved you

“possibly”

2. so make the friendship bracelets

you had spent the past hour trying to make this bracelet perfect. you wanted to make it for luke for no specific reason, at first you were doing it because you were bored, but as more time passed you thought you should make it for someone else

and who’s better to make it for than your best friend?

“hey flower, what’re you up to? I haven’t seen you all day”

speaking of

he takes a seat beside you on the grass

“I’ve been busy” you say, not taking your eyes off the bracelet as you finish tying it up

“did you eat today? you weren’t at breakfast” he questions

“no, skipped. wanted to make a bracelet,” you take his arm and slid the bracelet around his wrist, “for you”

you look up at him only to find him already looking at you with the most lovestruck expression ever, and you blush madly at this

“It’s beautiful” he whispers, not once looking down at the bracelet

and oh gods you could have passed out right there

and as for luke, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, no matter how hard he tried (which wasn’t very hard, he wishes he could stare at you for the rest of eternity) his eyes were permanently glued to yours

3. I’m sinking, our fingers entwined

counselor duties had been called off for the day and you thanked the gods for that, these kids are absolutely exhausting

you walk over to the nearest tree and lean against it for a moment, taking a moment to breath

“hey stranger”

oh that voice

“hi luke” you beam

“what’re you doing here? you don’t want the harpies to get you, do you?” he teases

“you’re out here too” you point out

he shrugs, “c’mon I’ll walk you back to your cabin”

he holds out his hand for you and you take it without hesitation.

It’s so warm is the first thing you think. it’s comforting, and you wish his hand could always be intertwined with yours

and of course, luke thinks the same. he could die happy if his last moments were spent holding your hand.

the walk back to your cabin was silent, but not awkward, you both enjoyed just being in each other’s presences, even if that mean you weren’t talking

this was enough

“here we are” he remarked

“yep… I’ll see you in the morning?” you ask

“always” luke smiles and gives you that same lovesick expression he always does

and you can’t fight the large grin making its way to your face, “goodnight luke” you whisper

“goodnight flower”

and he doesn’t untangle his fingers from yours until he’s to far from you to touch them

4. the sign on your heart said it’s still reserved for me

you weren’t the biggest fan of capture the flag, but you knew it always made luke happy when you did

so you played

the majority of the game you sat and watched, looking out for anyone on the opposing team until you heard horns, signaling that the game was over

you quickly sit up, running to wear you hear cheers, hoping it’s from your team

and it is.

you reach the crowd, eyes meeting the chocolate brown ones you loved

you reach luke, swiftly throwing your arms around his neck, and he wastes no time in dropping the flag, putting his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer

“I’m proud of you” you say pulling away, arms still around each other

luke is wishes he knew where this confidence came from, but seeing you so close to him, a large smile on your face, and the save lovesick expression he always gives you in your eyes this time, he can’t wait any longer

“I’m in love with you” he blurts out

your eyes widen at those words, and you stay like that for a moment, but you knew this, didn’t you? you always saw it in his eyes

and you pull him in for a sweet, long-awaited kiss

it was as perfect as you imagined, the kiss, the boy, the moment, everything

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo tv show #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo #pjo spoilers #percy series #pjo disney+ #luke castellan #pjo fanfic #pjo x reader #pjo hoo toa #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fic #luke castellan x reader

[jensettermandu]

love is not a walk in the park*ೃ༄

"when something that should be a walk in the park feels like a maze for the feline and canine–at least it's beautiful, serene, and sunny!"

warning; from the blackcat!Y/n series, the parts don't need to be read in order!

prev. m.list. next.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

It was the gentle breeze that pushed the clouds to move, the way there was a faint buzz of bees in the distance, the scent of green grass and soil and the presence of two suns that brought Y/n a serene feeling within her. 

It was as if she was alone, but not lonely because, despite their different nature, Yunjin brought her something she had been missing.

That feeling of inadequacy became faint. 

The words in her book didn’t hold a deeper meaning than her being able to live one life and during that one life being able to feel warmth on her skin despite sitting in the shadow of the tree. 

This was the most normal her life had ever felt which was ironic considering people would disagree because she was an idol. It was though, because she hadn’t been able to live her life more freely than now even with certain restrictions that came with fame and the need to keep a neat image. 

Yunjin basked in the sun where half of the blanket was–the other in the shadow where Y/n sat–these moments were the most peaceful ones she had. In a hectic life, as a person who indulged in the hectic with her energetic personality, Yunjin appreciated that she had Y/n to balance that out for her. 

The scent of cinnamon and benzoin was one she associated with serenity; Y/n’s scent reminded her of how she could wind down at times. 

There was a certain flow to the way her pen moved along the pages of the notebook as she scribbled down lyrics. Those songs she would brush off as silly, knowing she would never release them, that were, at times, about the feline her eyes would glance at now and then. 

What exactly were they about? Yunjin couldn’t figure that out, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was that she described when writing about someone she could write books about. It left her lost, but she kept chasing after the only thing her mind could think of; Y/n.

She wanted to state that she knew Y/n the best which still wasn’t as deeply as some would think that it was. However, Yunjin unlike others was able to figure out Y/n’s disguise; the girl always told one-fourth of a whole story and while the rest took it for the complete version the girl knew that there was more. 

Pretty eyes worn as a disguise. 

She looked up from the notebook and at Y/n who was leaning her back against Yunjin’s side for leverage. 

What exactly was it that she felt for her? So much, too much to simply put it into words, but it surely did make it easier to get words out on paper.

The feline was the perfect muse; Yunjin’s muse.

However, Y/n remained a mystery Yunjin loved being around. 

“What if we made a song together?” 

She casually put it out there, not thinking much of it as she mindlessly doodled on the page, underlining certain words. 

It wouldn’t only get them closer as she would get to spend more time with Y/n, but the girl beside her was amazing with her words. Yunjin would be able to learn; Y/n was highly lyrical and expressed herself in artistic ways Yunjin had yet to grasp. 

“What?” 

Y/n put the bookmark between the pages before she closed the book, her eyes didn’t leave the cover though. Nerves and uneasiness washed over her at the suggestion, her fingers traced along the outlines of the book in her hands, not being able to comprehend why Yunjin would want to write a song with her. Scared that she would get exposed for the fraud she felt like she was in a place she was supposed to fit into, but never felt like she did. 

“I mean we don’t have to release it, but just work on something together like a side project for fun.”

Yunjin shrugged and shifted in her place to turn to Y/n who sat up straight. 

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

That wasn’t the problem that Y/n saw with it, there were many.

“I mean as in; why with me when there are better options?”

The problem was that the girl felt like she was the least sought-after option and Yunjin would acknowledge her for the con that she was. Y/n was sure that she lacked, especially among all these other talented people. She stood out like a sore thumb and for all the wrong reasons; the feline did her best to stay hidden. She didn’t fit in a crowd of people who were talented when there were so many things she could do and have done so much better. 

She had achieved such high things in life, but was that enough? Was she enough? No way. All that she had done, Y/n could have done better, couldn’t she?

“Are you kidding?”

No, Y/n wasn’t kidding and she wasn’t going to entertain it either as she rolled her eyes and looked back down at her book, opening it again. Yunjin knew just how to make everything melt in the end and Y/n didn’t like that; no, it wasn’t that she didn’t like that; she just didn’t understand how Yunjin always managed to do it.

She was so confused about what it was that drew her to Yunjin. She just knew that it was a want; a need. Y/n wasn’t fond of that, especially as someone who had always been independent; she did not want to possibly become even slightly dependent on someone. She could simply ignore her emotions like she always did by occupying herself and pretending that she didn’t need Yunjin when it came to certain things. 

Yunjin smiled, putting down her pen as she huffed and moved to lie down on her back. Her smile didn’t disappear as she loved seeing the feline, who puffed up her fur at moments like these, melt into a puddle just for her. She loved not only the puddle Y/n could be, but she also loved her for the pompous behaviour and the person she was.

Was that it?

Despite her eyes being glued to the words she wasn’t able to read them and she let Yunjin put her head in her lap. Y/n was doing her best to try and ignore her canine, but it was hard to ignore the sun when it was beaming right at her. 

“Y/n, you’re the most competent person I know when it comes to music, especially when it comes to writing lyrics.”

The book got gently moved out of the way, Yunjin being able to see more than the cover as she looked over Y/n’s face and now met her eyes. She was aware that Y/n appreciated compliments, she could see how they worked as reassurance to her feline who she knew was insecure on the inside despite the confident and cold facade. 

Yunjin was always there for the girl; she was a loyal life-long companion for her feline. 

Still, words alone wouldn’t melt away a facade like hers, but Yunjin managed to do it with more than just words. She did it by simply being herself and it left Y/n confused; lost in something that sounded like an easy walk in the park but was like a maze with continuous dead ends. 

“How would you know?”

Comically Yunjin pushed the book back, blocking their sight of each other as she looked off into the distance of the park. 

The green grass gently blew with the wind, the sun beamed strongly and warmed her skin, and the whistle together with the rattling of the branches and leaves above them filled the momentary silence.

However, Y/n put it down onto the blanket they were on and looked at Yunjin with raised eyebrows. As far as Y/n knew she hadn’t shared any of the lyrics she had written and had yet to agree to help with the lyrics for their group's songs. The fear of being caught was too immense.

“I might’ve stumbled upon some papers–” “Yunjin.” Y/n groaned and Yunjin cowered, ducking her head at the bookmark that she was smacked in the head with. 

“To be fair, you gave me your book to read and it just fell out.” She defended with a squeak, peeking up at Y/n with her lower lip now jutted out. 

Y/n heaved a sigh and reclined, lying down on the blanket–Yunjin’s head still resting on her lap–and she stared at the tree above them. The green leaves swayed with the light wind and the sky peeked through the cracks of the branches. She closed her eyes when the sun managed to seep through the cracks and held them closed for a while as her mind started to work a shift.

At the silence Yunjin moved, sitting up and turning to look at Y/n. There was something overly serene about the feline when she looked at her. The bright ray of sun splayed across her face and her dark hair glimmered in the light as she lay with her eyes closed. 

Was it the sun? Yunjin could feel her face heat up at the ethereal view of her feline so comfortable in the open field.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging and resting her chin on them while staring at Y/n. The canine knew she could spend a whole day just looking at the cat-like girl in front of her. 

Her head tilted slightly to the side, “Y/n…” Yunjin carefully started and got a hum in return, watching the hues of the sun reflect on Y/n’s skin. “You’re not mad that I did, are you?” She warily asked because the last thing in the world that she wanted was to make Y/n upset with her. It wasn’t difficult to get Y/n annoyed–Yunjin was aware–but it was difficult to get her upset and angry.

It was extremely rare to see Y/n angry. Matter of fact over the past few years she’s only seen her angry once.

That was enough not to want to see more.

Yunjin held her breath when Y/n blinked her eyes open, squinting slightly at the bright light and her eyes glimmered like water did in the sun. Water Yunjin wanted to dive right into and swim in for an eternity. 

She stared at the girl who looked like a puppy that had been kicked to the curb. It was simply impossible to get upset with Yunjin. It made Y/n purse her lips for a second, the only person she was upset with was herself for being like ice cream in the sun when it came to her companion. 

Y/n exhaled, trying to cool off, but it was impossible when Yunjin’s big doe-like eyes stared at her like the sun. “No, I’m not.” The girl annoyedly admitted and the latter visibly perked up at the words, excitement evident because knowing that her feline wasn’t upset with her brightened her whole world which was filled with butterflies she loved to chase for the feeling. 

“Okay, and I’m sorry…It just happened to fall out and I didn’t know what it was at first so I read it thinking those were notes for the book.”

“I know you wouldn’t read if you knew, it’sfine.” 

Yunjin nodded as she manoeuvred around and lay on her stomach beside Y/n, resting her chin in her palm. Their eyes met as they stared at each other in yet another silence. It felt like a contest when in reality it was simply because neither of them wanted to look away. There wasn’t anything better to stare at in the end.

“Will you make a song with me then?” She at last repeated her question, but in a much smaller voice as if to not startle the girl.

Y/n broke their eye contact, but only to reach into her bag. Yunjin watched as Y/n blindly rummaged through it before she took out what she was looking for.

“Here, let’s look for some inspiration.” Yunjin happily grabbed one airpod and plopped down onto her back beside Y/n who opened her phone. 

“Do you have–” Y/n didn’t get to finish her sentence as Yunjin spoke up, “genuine love, like when you know that you’ve genuinely fallen in love because you are confused about why you fell in love in the first place.” 

The feline lolled her head to the side, coming face to face with Yunjin whose wide eyes gazed at her, a pink tint resting on the canine’s cheeks.

“You’re awfully cliché at times, you know?”

“Love is a cliché we can’t escape though, isn’t it?” 

“Unfortunately.” Y/n agreed and moved closer to the girl, resting her head on Yunjin’s shoulder so they could both look at her phone and be closer. 

The two didn’t need much inspiration though when they had each other.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

#blackcat!y/n🐈‍⬛ #yunjin imagines #yunjin fluff #yunjin x reader #yunjin x female reader #le sserafim x fem reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim fluff #girl group imagines #fanfic #girl group fluff

[gabessquishytum]

So there’s this manhwa called Match Made in Bed (no happy ending for the main couple I’m afraid but the premise is very dreamling-coded) where basically this woman is recently dumped because of how stiff she is during sex so her friends decide to hire some hosts to cheer her up. Among the hosts is this one guy who’s actually a swim instructor doing a favor for his friend but he’s actually really reserved and haughty (sound familiar?) and kind of looks down on the whole practice of escorting. Eventually the woman gets hammered and he ends up taking her to a hotel room where she entices him into sleeping with her to prove she can be a good lay and surprise surprise, their sexual compatibility is off the charts and they have sex nine times. But afterwards they don’t know how to move forward because she can’t imagine dating a host (even tho he’s not) and he can’t stand rich women who go around flaunting their money and hiring escorts (she was lying about her job as a stewardess too). But at the same time, they can’t keep their hands off each other. And so, shenanigans and misunderstandings ensue. I can totally imagine Hob and Dream in this scenario where they keep saying tonight will be the last night but then in a turn of events they keep running into each other like it’s fate, like Hob unknowingly signing up for Dream’s swim class, and who can resist a good fuck? Hob has literally never met someone who can make him cum so many times before and Dream has never had so many wet dreams. And it’s good for both of them. They’re both getting better sleep and relieving so much stress. I imagine eventually one of them will get their act together and come clean about their true job so they can finally be happy and fuck without anything holding them back.

I am now extremely obsessed with the concept of host!Dream. Or how about, Desire is actually the host, but for some reason they've persuaded Dream to fill in for them! Probably so they can have a vacation, lol. Anyway: host!Dream.

Hob is super intimidated by the gorgeous hosts that Jo organised for him, and he ends up drinking waaayy too much. He's pretty sure that the gorgeous guy with the blue eyes is actually disgusted by him (Dream is just struggling to keep smiling for hours and hours 😭) and it makes Hob feel so discouraged. When the pretty guy escorts him to the hotel room, Hob doesn't even mean to seduce him - he literally stumbled and fell into Dream’s arms. The kiss that followed just felt natural. And after that... Well. Hob usually hates drunk sex but with Dream, he feels... incredible. He doesn't even feel intoxicated. He just feels like he's floating, encased in a shroud of total pleasure.

Dream doesn't even know why he slept with the sad drunk guy, but. Even he has to admit that it was amazing. Hob might be awkward and dumb, but his body is everything Dream has ever wanted. He can hardly believe that it wasn't all just an amazing fantasy, but sure enough he wakes up with Hob the next day. And Dream IMMEDIATELY leaves. He doesn't like rich finance guys (Hob lied about his job, he's actually a teacher) and it's not like this host gig is even HIS job.

Hob wakes up alone, feeling physically amazing but emotionally devastated. Even though he's probably too jealous to handle dating a host, he can't help wishing that Dream stayed. At least for a morning blow job...

Of course the universe brings them right back together. Hob promised that he would finally learn to swim this year; Dream turns out to be his instructor. They fuck down in the shallow end of the pool after Hob learns to float (who needs to swim when you can cling onto a sexy man while he fucks you?), Dream shows up to pick his nephew up from school and runs in to Hob as he comes out from teaching a class. They don't have time to do anything but make out messily in a supply cupboard, but it's still incredible...

They still refuse to talk about their obvious perfect physical compatability. Hob still believes that Dream isn't really into him. Dream still can't pluck up the courage to actually speak to him. Every other week they end up in some kind of compromising position - Dream has memorised all the little scars on Hob’s body, and he's kissed every single one of them. Hob can't get off by himself anymore, not without Dream inside him.

The only consolation: Desire is back from vacation, soon. If anyone can get the idiots together, they can. But Desire isn't always inclined to be helpful... and they might just make everything worse!

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

[mistmarigold]

lovely runner really going down as one of the best kdramas, period. the details, the foreshadowing every step of the way, the simplicity!!!

i just really want to focus on the simplicity bit for a moment especially considering this is a time travel show. i loved how they resolved everything with such gentleness that it makes perfect sense and eases you into its justification. i don’t feel betrayed or disappointed but rather i am 100% onboard with how it was handled and the simplest suggestion that it’s your soul who becomes a witnesses and remembers all your memories. i loved that bit with the grandma, both with sol and later with sunjae - i’m sure they must have felt so relieved that all they’ve been through has been acknowledged by someone beyond the two of them.

lastly, it really does come full circle with sol pursuing her dream. it means so much to me considering how she felt in the og timeline, not being able to do what she wanted to do the most. with taesung as well: he kept his promise to sol even if he didn't know. but more importantly, sunjae thanking him for basically changing their fate. and taesung genuinely smiling at them as they leave - his entire character arc as an almost second lead is so endearing to me.

the proposal: again, back to gentle simplicity because that's really how soljae are. sunjae delayed his proposal to support sol in her dream but also like sol guessed, it was typical and not really them. the cherry blossom tho? i don't think it could be more them and that's the beauty of it.

#lovely runner #aka best kdrama #with the best characters #reminds me of a warm hug and i don’t think there could be a better compliment than that #kdrama #soljae #kim hye yoon #byeon woo seok

[princessamericachavez]

Say Don’t Go | 911 7x10 spec

Based on the stills and my brain not shutting up

“I hate you!”

Christopher’s voice resonates through the hallway until his door slamming cuts it off. Eddie flinches and Buck’s heart breaks.

“Chris-“

Eddie moves half a step forward and Buck stops him by the shoulder before he can go after his son. It’s not going to help. If he knows anything about angry teenagers (having been one particularly angry himself) is that Chris needs a moment away from his dad.

The problem are those big brown eyes. Because when Eddie looks back at him, so lost and heartbroken and desperate, Buck knows he has to do something. Because this is wrong, it’s just wrong, and Buck knows he cannot fix everything for the people he loves but he cannot —will not— stop trying no matter how impossible it feels.

“Let- let me try and talk to him,” Buck asks.

“What?”

Helena and Ramon both turn to him with equal disbelief, but Buck doesn’t even bother looking at them. They’ve been so ready to take this opportunity to rip Chris away from Eddie. And, sure, they are worried and Eddie should’ve handled this a lot better, but they aren’t even giving him the chance. So he doesn’t look at them, he keeps his eyes on Eddie who gives him the smallest, pleading, nod.

That’s all Buck needs. With one final squeeze, he lets go of Eddie and moves across the living room with long strides before the Diaz’s can stop him.

Who does he think he is? What gives him the right to intervene? How dare he even be here? Whatever they are thinking, comes second to Chris and Eddie.

Buck knocks gently on the door.

“Go away!”

“H-hey, buddy, it’s me. Can I come in?”

There’s a long terrifying pause that nearly shatters what’s left of Buck’s heart before the reluctant “okay.”

With a relieved sigh, he pushes in.

Christopher is sitting on the edge of his bed, a packed backpack by his side. For a second, Buck thinks of another day, years ago, when he found him just like this. Back then, Buck’s biggest fear was that Eddie’s heart would stop. Today, he’s terrified it will break beyond repair.

“Hey, Chris.”

“Hey, Buck,” he says, looking down at his hands.

Awkwardly, Buck makes his way to the bed and sits on the edge next to the boy. He’s so big now, older and taller, but he can still see the same child that had to comfort him after the shooting.

“Chris, are you sure about this? Leaving your dad, even if it’s just for a while… that’s not going to fix things between you.”

“I don’t want to fix them,” Chris snaps, sharply. “He lied to me! He lied to Marisol, to you, he lied to everyone!”

And that’s not something Buck can argue.

“Yeah, he- he screwed up, Chris, but you need to understand.”

“I understand! Why would he that! He’s- he always told me to tell the truth and to be good but he was a liar.”

“Hey, hey, that’s- that’s not fair. One mistake doesn’t make him a liar. He just- listen, Chris, you know your dad loves you more than anything in the whole world, right?”

He’s met with silence.

“Right?”

Chris gives a noncommittal shrug.

“Right,” Buck nods. “Because he does. And he would never, ever, do anything to hurt you.”

“But he did! It hurt! Seeing her and thinking it was her… it hurt, Buck.”

“I know, buddy… I do. I just- I meant, he would never hurt you on purpose.”

“He had to know it would hurt.”

“He did. Which is why he lied…”

Christopher huffs and Buck has the horrible feeling he’s not being as helpful as he hoped. What was he thinking? Just because he loves Chris with his whole heart it doesn’t mean he knows the first thing about being a parent. He only knows what Eddie taught him.

The memory hits home like a wave. Sunlight, a warm hand on his shoulder, his heart twisting from guilt to relief and to something bigger he couldn’t name.

“You know, your dad isn’t perfect.”

“No, he isn’t,” Chris scoffs.

“He isn’t perfect,” Buck repeats, tone pleading Chris to let him finish, “and he knows it. He told me once himself, that he’s failed many times as your dad. But he also said that he loves you enough to never give up, to never stop trying to be better… for you.”

Chris is quiet, but by the way his shoulders hunch and his head tilts, Buck thinks he might be getting to him. So he pushes on.

“And- and the thing is, Christopher, your dad is very hurt right now. It’s- it’s nothing like the time he was shot… it’s something… deeper, older. Because, you see, when Shannon- when your mom died, it really hurt your dad. He loved her so much… and I don’t think he ever healed from it, not really. I think that’s why he did all this. Because he’s in pain…”

Christopher peers at Buck from under his curly fringe, reluctantly making eye contact.

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No, it doesn’t. But- but I think your dad really needs us right now. He- he needs you,” he corrects quickly. “This time, I think your dad needs you not to give up on him.”

“But I’m still mad.”

“And- and that’s okay. You can be mad. You get to be angry or sad or confused, I just- I just hope you can fight for your dad, like he does for you. Because, Chris, if he loses you… I think the pain will be too much this time.”

Chris is quiet. And Buck is exhausted.

“I don’t wanna make you feel responsible for him, Christopher. I promise, whatever you choose, I’ll have his back and make sure he is okay. I just- I think he needs both of us right now.”

“Why are you defending him? Aren’t you mad too? He lied to you too.”

“I- yeah, he did. But he’s my best friend, and I love him. I’m not quitting on him, he’s never given up on me.”

“Hmmm.”

It takes a couple minutes before Chris decides to get back up. Buck stays only because he isn’t asked to leave and, only when he sees the boy step outside does he dare follow cautiously.

In the living room, whatever Eddie was talking in hushed tones with his parents dies down immediately. He only has eyes for his son as he approaches.

“Mijo-“

“You have to promise that it won’t happen again,” Christopher demands, voice shaky. “You need to try to do better and you have to promise that you won’t lie to me again.”

Eddie walks towards his son like he is in a dream, eyes tearful. Buck can see him trembling even from afar, where he’s found a corner to tuck himself into and disappear.

“Christopher,” Eddie says, kneeling before his son and gently holding him, “I swear- te lo juro por mi vida. I will do better. I will- I will be better for both of us. I will spend every day trying to be a better father for you.”

“Okay,” Chris says.

“Okay?”

“I’m staying.”

Eddie leans forward to hug his son, but is met with a gentle push back.

“I’m still mad at you, dad.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Of course,” Eddie mumbles, but the relief in his voice is still palpable.

Eddie looks past Chris’s shoulder and his eyes find Buck. The look in his face… Buck knows Eddie like the back of his hand but he cannot quite place what it is. Thankfulness and relief and hope… but there’s something else behind it that makes Buck’s heart twist painfully.

So Buck looks away, tries to find something —anything— else to focus on and lands on the Diaz’s faces. Eddie’s parents look at him with… well, it isn’t quite anger, but there’s a confusion there and a bewilderment that somehow makes Buck even more uncomfortable. He ducks his head and beelines for the kitchen. He should let them be alone…

“Buck!” Eddie is rushing after him before he can get to the door.

When he turns around, he finds Eddie standing there, shaking and shocked. Buck waits, but Eddie doesn’t seem to have any more idea than he does about what he planned to say next.

“Sorry, I- I should probably go.”

Eddie takes a step forward, with that look still on his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Buck goes on. “Just- just be with your son tonight.”

“You sure? You could stay.” Eddie steps closer.

“No, it’s- it’s okay. I wouldn’t want to intrude, with your family-“

“Buck-“

“And Tommy is waiting at my place, so…”

Eddie stops. He blinks.

“Right, yeah. Of course. Just- I- Thank you.”

Buck smiles, even if the air between them still feels charged.

“I have your back, Eddie. Always.”

And before anything else can get his head spinning he steps out the back door. Only once outside does he stop and finally breathe. That was… that felt like… but it cannot be. It wasn’t. Even if Eddie looked like he wanted to-

No, of course not. Better get going, before his heart can manage to fool itself once again.

#Buddie #911 spec #911 fic #Buddie fic #911 on ABC #Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #911 spoilers

[princekeerys]

I'm here for Alastor and Lucifer meeting a sinner who is in personality like Aurora 🥺

aurora is my favourite disney princess so this was so fun and exciting to write <33 (unless you didn’t mean that kind of concept then… completely disregard this lol)

☾. °.   ࿐  ` , •

lucifer;

it must have been one of his lucky days (which he counts a lot, since he doesn’t have many of them) when lucifer crossed paths with you. and he was sure the pupils in his eyes had taken the form of hearts because “oh my golly, you’re so beautiful.” and he doesn’t realize he’s said that out loud until he hears the most angelic giggle (which is odd, beings as you’re in hell) paired with a soft spoken voice. “oh, thank you. you’re too kind”

how you ended up in hell, let alone the pride ring, absolutely baffled him. you’re too sweet, and kind, and gentle to be down here amongst these other sinners who left their manners back in their past life.

upon meeting you, he wonders if he’s got a chance with you. your relationship flashes in his mind of him making you laugh with his terrible jokes and him showing you his entire collection of rubber ducks (he’s sure to go home and make a new one, inspired by you, of course).

he melts when he sees how good you are with razzle, dazzle, and keekee — he swears he’s never met someone so amazing with animals before. and the way you’re so kind to his daughter and her friends makes him think that he’s found the one… which is a lot, since he lost lilith so long ago.

he takes you back to his house and puts on a show for you both to watch (some old timey film that you suggested).

he tells you to make yourself comfortable and he feels his heart leap when you lay down and put your head on his lap.

“sorry, is this too much? i can move-”

“no! no, you’re perfect right there- uhm. you don’t need to move, i-it’s pretty cozy”

“hehe okay :)”

it doesn’t take long before lucifer realizes he’s the only one watching the film while you’re fast asleep in the comfort of his lap. he looks down at you all soft and chuckles to himself.

“yup. this is definitely a sign”

alastor;

he’s very… confused, when he first meets you. tilting his head with that same smile he usually has on his face, leaving everyone to wonder what he’s truly thinking… and it’s about you.

he feels it’s a mistake. a dumb mistake made by those things that have the audacity to call themselves “angels”. you’re too perfect, and good to be in a place like this. you deserve to be in a place filled with greenery and soft shades of pinks and lavenders, not in the fiery depths of hell.

you’re shy. and he takes notice of this right away, using it for his own personal advantage; enjoying the way you stumble over your words and nervously fidget with your hands as he asks you “cat got your tongue, my dear?”

“it’s not everyday you come face-to-face with a powerful overlord”

he doesn’t know what or how he feels about you, but there’s a feeling stirring down inside of him. something perhaps like… adoration? no, it couldn’t be. he never feels that way towards anyone.

but you’ve got this softness that surrounds your whole being that he can’t shake from his mind — you’ve even (accidentally, oops) called him handsome which caused his ears to twitch and a very loud record scratch that hurt poor husk’s ears.

“i’m well aware, my dear. but you’re kindness is appreciated”

everyone sees the way you both secretly look at each other (alastor denies it but he knows it’s true) and you can’t help but be nervous every time alastor is next to you, pinks cheeks and a fast beating heart that you’re sure he hears.

“i’ve noticed you get quite on the edge when i’m near you. pray tell why that is?”

“al, it’s… nothing”

“don’t worry, cher. you’re lucky i happen to like the sound of your beating heart. especially knowing that it’s mine. isn’t that right?”

taglist 🏷️ @crystal-rayn @drxgonspine

comments and reblogs are great appreciated!

#❥ lexi’s daydreams #lucifer morningstar hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar fanfiction #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #alastor imagine #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader

[seancekitsch]

I got this in that NSFW prompt generator you reblogged and this would be a PERFECT part 2 to that one Lucifer fic you posted!

Setting: Art Gallery/Studio Genre: Fluff  Trope: Friends With Benefits  Prompt: Truth or Dare Kink: Finger-fucking (as preparation, foreplay, accompaniment, or main act)

“You know,” you start, dipping your brush into the water cup to clean it, “Angel does not believe we didn’t fuck in here.”

You’re not exactly sure why you’re bringing this up right now. Maybe to get a rise out of him? Lucifer blushes, mission accomplished; dips his own brush in a brilliant gold paint. He chuckles, shaking his head as he presses brush to canvas.

“I mean we sort of…” He trails off, his free hand gesturing between the two of you. 

You laugh as you dry your brush.

“Not really,” you scrunch up your nose as you pick your next color, “I wouldn’t count it yet.”

Lucifer shrugs, leaning on you as he does and not at all caring if he makes a mess with your brush dangerously close to all of the paints. 

“When you’ve been single for almost a decade and a recluse for almost a century, it counts,” he winks, “Trust me.”

You feel your own cheeks heat up, averting your gaze from his. 

And no matter how much you want to put brush to canvas again you can’t help but think of nothing but the other week. 

Your body pinned against some tarp in the dark corner of the studio, Lucifer above you, stolen kisses while the sun rose. His clothed cock pressed against you, the friction between your bodies divine enough for you to understand how the first women fell to him. All shuddered gasps, fumbling hands, breathy laughs, and clumsy lips. 

“Okay,” you concede, and now press your brush down in an almost shy stroke to the canvas. Lucifer seems satisfied with this, and you paint in easy silence again. Strokes and dots dance from your tools, Lucifer’s hands working just as carefully on his own. You pause to glance at his canvas, now the makings of what you can clearly tell are a duck now starting to take form. For someone much more accustomed to sculpting, he isn’t half bad with your tools. Maybe one day you’ll hang some of his work in here, you think, or even better have it decorate the hotel. 

Your eyes trail from the canvas inevitably to his hands, deft and skilled, up his arms to his face, where you expect to see him handsome and locked in concentration. Only, you find his eyes staring back into your own. 

“Wanna tell me what you were thinking about?” he asks, flirty confidence he doesn’t normally show on full display. 

“Hmmm,” you hum, and then shake your head, “Nope.”

He narrows his eyes at you, glaring playfully. Lucifer isn’t clueless, even if you’d like to play innocent. 

He steps away from his canvas, looking between his and yours for a moment. 

“You sure you don’t wanna tell me?” he asks, eyeing you up as well now. You scrunch your nose as you shake your head. 

Lucifer only laughs. 

“Okay, truth or dare?”

You fucking scoff. 

“Truth or dare? Really?” you laugh, but not at him, not mockingly, “Did Charlie teach you that? Maybe after she made sure we got paired up the other week?”

You couldn’t help the playful jab. The Morningstars suck so hard at lying that it’s endearing.

His cheeks and the tips of his ears go red again. 

“You didn’t say no,” he reminds you, and damn, no you did not. You roll your eyes. 

Fine. 

You cross your arms indignantly. 

“Dare.”

You won’t give him the satisfaction of truth just yet. 

“Kiss me?” he asks, earnest. Your lips break from their smirk to a genuine smile, and then you lean forward until your lips capture his, chaste and warm. Your lips press around his bottom lip, sucking it in until your teeth graze skin, teasing and tantalizing before you pull back again. When you part, you lick your lips, savoring the taste of him, almost reluctant to open your eyes and let the moment fade away. 

When you do finally open your eyes, Lucifer’s gaze takes you in with nothing but affection, nothing but sweetness and joy. Really, how the fuck is a man like this the devil? And if he’s evil incarnate, what the hell is Heaven like? 

“That was an easy one,” you tease him; You’d kiss him all night if only he’d ask. 

“It’s your turn,” he tells you, a smirk gracing his own lips as he lets his hand ghost over your hip. Bold move, Lucifer. 

“Truth or Dare?” you ask immediately, not having a truth or a dare lined up in the barrel or the chamber. 

Lucifer takes the time to take a step forward, fully removing the gap between you. 

“Truth,” he whispers, lips almost ghosting yours. Bold fucking move. 

“You playing me?” you ask, mouth moving faster than your mind, and fuck was that a mistake. Immediately you tear yourself from him in embarrassment, a little too vulnerable for your own comfort. Angel and Husk would mock your moment of weakness in their own hypocrisy, you can’t help but hear their laughter. Why did you say that? What the fuck? 

Lucifer’s hands catch your own before you can fully pull away from him, though, holding you in place. You look anywhere but his face, not unlike a trapped animal.

“No!” he almost shouts, “ No, nothing like that. Hey, Where’d this come from?”

Lucifer sounds genuinely worried, genuinely upset. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek, holding you close as he pulls you back in. You cannot help but admire the bulbs of your studio lights now, the way they bask everything in a glow that leaves no blemishes in your visions. You refuse to look at Lucifer. You cannot look at him.

“Pick dare!” you tell him, a cheery voice not at all matching your face.

Lucifer’s thumb strokes your cheek.

“I enjoy your company. This isn’t a game,” he reassures you, bringing you back down to his level, “No tricks.”

You release a sigh pent up in your chest, something animalistic and desperate sounding.

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“But I’m glad you did.”

“Ask again.”

You bite your lip, copper liquid on your teeth. Ask again, you beckon him. Ask again, you. beg. Ask again, you need. Tears unshed well up in your eyes. But no, you will not cry in front of him or any man.

“Truth or dare?” he asks, and immediately you pick dare. Every dare is safer than truth.

“I dare you to pick truth.”

Fucking prick.

“Truth.”

You roll your eyes again, if only to avoid his.

“Do you think I’m playing you?”

“Well there’s a wildly unethical power imbalance and I seem to only see you when you want to make yourself present so I can’t help but think there’s a bit of an uneven exchange,” you offer, not really holding back, but also not sharing how much this situation had you spiraling. Not at all telling Angel or Husk how you felt and just stewing alone. How many nights you’d lost sleep over this. You still refuse to look at Lucifer. You can’t. You won’t.

“Ask me a truth or dare,” he says, and you chuckle, even if you still refuse to look at him.

“Truth or dare?” you ask, not wanting to play anymore, only wanting to get back to your painting and saving face.

“Dare,” Lucifer all but begs, “dare me to prove I’m not playing with you.”

You shrug, almost hopelessly.

“Sure,” you say, “ Why not?”

Lucifer wastes no time pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, nothing too harsh and nothing that progresses into more.

“I like you,” he whispers against your lips.

He then progresses further down, a kiss to your cheek, the underside of your jaw, your neck.

“I like kissing you,” he tells you, lips dragging across your skin.

“Your friendship means a lot to me,” he pulls the strap of your shirt to the side.

“And I’d like it if we enjoyed our temporary time together,” he presses a kiss to your collarbone.

“I mean,” he pulls back, “You could get redeemed tomorrow and forget all about me!”

You’ve been here since 1973, so that’s doubtful. But you don’t miss the edge to his voice when he says that. Like you actually would forget him. As if you could be making out with the devil himself tonight and then getting a manicure with the seraphim tomorrow. 

You finally return his embrace, but not without messing with him a little bit.

“Oh yeah? That much faith in me? Why don’t you give me something to remember in boring old Heaven then?” 

Lucifer needs no other encouragement, his mouth capturing yours again, tongue eager and pushing past the threshold of lips. His hands move wildly, grasping at you, all fingers digging into flesh. He pushes you back wards until the backs of your knees touch your workbench. The act of sitting pulls you apart from him, the change in position now having you look up at him for the spectacle he always is. Lucifer looks at you through half lidded eyes and mussed hair, usually pristine sleeves rolled up to his elbows carelessly; a work of art in his own right. 

Lucifer drops to his knees almost immediately continuing the kiss, passionate as his hands start to pull at clothing. Your arms are around his back in an instant, holding him pressed to you, one hand coming up to play with his so heavenly soft hair. 

The kiss deepens, and Lucifer takes the opportunity to unbuckle your belt, the clanking of heavy metal as he pulls it to the side. He makes equally quick work of the fly of your pants, only taking pause when your soft tongue grazes across his sharp teeth making him groan and only work harder at getting you undressed. 

He works faster then, yanking your pants down to the ops of your boots, barely even breaking the kiss as he maneuvers himself back between your knees. 

The cool air of your studio hits your skin, but you’re not so sure that’s the reason why you’re shivering under his touch. 

You kiss him twice, thrice, and then break away, if only to help him the rest of the way, pulling your underwear away to fall at your ankles with your pants. 

“Touch me, please,” you ask, voice breathy and way more pathetic than you were intending to sound, but you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed about that right now. 

“You want me?” Lucifer asks, some thing of an edge dripping into his voice, honey with a tint of venom. You nod against him as you place your lips back on his, your hands bunching up the fabric of his crisp dress shirt. He’ll definitely need to get it steamed, but you can’t find yourself caring once his hands start to drift lower. 

Lucifer’s hands go from your hips to your thighs, running his nails across smooth skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He’s toying with you, drawing it out and teasing. Out of practice my ass, you think. You start to kiss harder, hoping it’ll speed him up. One of his hands comes to your knee, forcing it away and spreading your legs further from where you’re already straddling him. The other hand starts to tease upwards, his thumb starting to rub circles into your inner thigh before finally coming to the apex of them. He ghosts his thumb over your slit, and you all but convulse from tension. Fuck, you need him you need him you need him. His hand on your knee tightens its grasp, holding you still. 

Lucifer breaks the kiss to look at you, half lidded eyes and a mischievous smile on his face. This man is going to ruin you, you just know it. 

He presses a singular finger inside you slowly, exploring new territory. You whine under his touch, your forehead falling to rest on his shoulder as he moves glacially, in and out. It feels like torture almost, giving you a taste instead of everything you really want. Your fists ball up the fabric of his shirt even tighter, and you’re glad you’re not a sinner with claws because surely you would have ripped it by now. 

“You feel divine, Honey,” Lucifer sighs, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of your head. You start to squirm, trying to feel more; fuller, deeper. 

“You want more?” he asks, as if on cue. Attentive and in tune. 

You nod, definitely not desperately, definitely not needy. 

Lucifer obliges immediately, shifting readjusting, reinserting himself now two fingers, plunged deep inside you; sinking in with no resistance. This is it, you think, the fullness you were missing. You cannot help the wanton moan that escapes your lips, mo matter how much you try to muffle it against his shoulder. 

“Thats what you needed, huh?” he coos, teasing you, “Oh yeah, definitely. I can feel you squeezing me already.”

Fuck. He’s bad news. 

You don’t have a reply for that, only a short choked out whine as he keeps moving, in out scissor, in out scissor: a perfect rhythm. He pulls the sound from your throat through your cunt, playing you like a well tuned violin. You feel your core tighten, tension building in your muscles as he works you over, a man who’s had eternity to perfect how you please a woman. 

Lucifer’s thumb finds your clit, and it’s as good as over. Your hands move wildly from their spot o bc his back, to his shoulders, to his biceps. You cling like your life depends on him. Stars form, blotchy spots in the corner of your vision, a tesla coil behind your ribcage. 

And then sparks, and then movement. Your orgasm shatters, quickly and without warning, a pitiful and low drawn out whine between gritted teeth. Lucifer keeps his pace, muttered praise falling deaf upon the ringing in your ears. His free hand rubs your thigh, soothing massaging circles. Kisses to your neck, stability against your shuddering form.

He doesn’t remove his fingers until your body stops its shaking, until your frame stills and you slump against him; Your body boneless and pliant because of him. You take the reprieve to close your eyes, to relax into him. Whatever this thing is with Lucifer, it’s dangerous, you realize that now. It would be safe if you didn’t lean into him, it would be safe if you didn’t feel warm and fuzzy and cared for in your post cum haze. It would feel safe if clarity struck you right now and told you to move out of the hotel. 

But it’s dangerous because you’re absolutely the most comfortable you’ve been since you ended up in hell, it’s dangerous because he’s absolutely not pushing you away. It’s dangerous because he seems sincere. 

It’s dangerous because the sound of him slurping on his fingers, licking them clean, disrupts your anxious train of thought. 

Fuck, thats hot. Your eyes open slowly, staring down at your lap, more specifically where he kneel’s between your thighs, his stomach pressed against the bench to be as close to you as possible. Lucifer kisses the side of your head, an action full of affection, a more serious act than what he had just finished doing to you.

“Truth or dare?” His lips move against the shell of your ear.

“We’re still doing this?” you giggle, pulling him closer. Lucifer squeezes your hip, both of his hands coming back to grab you, his wet fingers cool against the bare skin of the curve of your ass. Any tension you felt melts away with his joke. 

“Fine,” you sigh, “Truth.”

“Hang out with me tonight?” Lucifer asks, voice wobbling with a hint of insecurity.

“You mean like in your room, or with the others in the lounge?” 

Lucifer’s head dips while he goes red again, but his eyes dip down to his fingers again. 

“With everyone… If thats okay?”

Interesting. Would he acknowledge whatever this thing is between you? Grab your drinks for you, maybe share a seat with you? Your mind swirls with what tonight could look like while you absentmindedly run your fingers along the fabric of his shirt. 

You nod. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

This is dangerous. 

#lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader

[biolumien]

rooftop smoke

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader mentions of smoking wordcount: 1270

you weren’t drafted into the kaiju war effort because you were particularly strong or even because you were particularly good with handling a gun or a sword. 

you’re a ballistics expert. 

you’ve helped to perfect the rounds that izumo tech makes for guns, helped perfect missiles in the name of eradicating kaiju. you were hand-picked for the third division by mina ashiro herself, her thirst for revenge against kaiju rivaling your own. 

you’d met soshiro hoshina through mina, too. 

you remember him, at first. almost twitchy, a fresh-faced stranger to the third division, desperate to prove himself. the two of you had gotten along quite well—enough to share a strained kiss or two after a tough battle or two, initially—but the two of you had never talked about it for any longer than a faint touch of the lips, and you’d tasted something floral and fruity on his tongue, like he’d indulged in some kind of candy before he left to fight. 

but you’d never talked about it at all beyond a quick well-wishing for his safety before he holstered the katanas at the back of his suit, and turned away to meet his destiny. 

in the days after the fungal honju and yoju attack, you find yourself hanging out with hoshina—there’s an unspoken agreement, here—hoshina could have easily lost his life to kaiju no.8, which was still at large. 

“fancy a smoke?” hoshina holds out the pack of cigarettes to you—it’s the kind you like specifically—a little too sweet for most people, with an underlying cloy of tar that gets most people. 

“mm. when don’t i?” you say, taking the pack from him. “thought you didn’t. smoke, i mean. doesn’t it ruin your whole…” as you pull a cigarette from the pack, you gesture at him. “your whole image?” 

he snickers, a peek of a fang showing at the corner of his mouth. 

“i bought them for you,” he says. “lend me your ear for a moment, yeah?” 

so that’s how you wind up on the rooftop with hoshina. 

he’s staring daggers at the horizon, his jacket ever-so-slightly unzipped to reveal the hints of his collarbones. you definitely don’t stare, not even a little. 

tokyo’s skyline is peaceful. quiet. there is still reconstruction to do after the previous honju attacks–but it’s quiet for now, with no kaiju in sight. 

you flick open your lighter, snapping it several times to produce a small and unsteady flame. there’s a breeze, strong enough that the flame almost goes out, and hoshina leans forward to cup the flame in his palm, his crimson eyes peeking out for a moment. 

“what’s with the intense expression?” you drawl, taking a long drag of your cigarette, letting a puff of smoke escape your lips. “mighty scary there, hoshina.” 

hoshina’s usually all smiles—the cold kind that never reach his eyes, and this one is no different. he leans on his cheek, stares at you. he smirks. 

“thinking about last night,” he says, the smile on his lips twisting the tone of his words. “might’ve said a few things here and there, y’know. to the newbies.”

you stare for a moment. 

the newbies had gotten closer than you’d expected them to—you’d hardly gotten to know your fellow soldiers when you were inducted into the force, quite frankly—your skillset as a ballistics engineer kept you far and away from the majority of any grueling training, of seeing beloved companions being taken away in body bags. 

“ah, i get it. you told the newbies they weren’t allowed to fraternize. and now you’re getting cold feet about all of this?” you guess, sharp wit as always. hoshina snorts, pushing back from the railing of the rooftop before stepping closer to you. 

his bangs fall in front of his eyes, and in faint moonlight, you can see the faintest blemishes of his skin, where he might have scratched at his face too hard. 

“you don’t want this?” hoshina’s voice is quiet. 

“i’ve always been honest about what i want, soshiro,” you say. “just wondering if you know what you want.”

“what i want,” hoshina says. he sounds almost bitter as he looks away. “i want to be useful.” the pale column of his neck is something indeed. 

“you’re vice captain of the third division,” you say. “and mina’s yet to reach her full potential. she’ll be climbing up there in the ranks, with you by her side.” 

“using an obsolete method of kaiju slaying that hasn’t been useful for a century,” hoshina says, his placid demeanor belying bitter frustration underneath. he sighs for a moment. “i’m only useful in the sense that mina might still want something from me. without that, am i truly of use to anyone? am i any better than some toy you pick up for a little while, have your fun with, and then throw away?”

you take another drag of your cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs for a moment before you exhale upwards, careful not to get smoke in his face. 

hoshina laughs. 

“you’re useful to me,” you say. “a cliche line, i know. no romance behind it.” 

hoshina watches you, the peek of crimson eyes turning almost bloodred in the faint light.

“useful,” he repeats. “to you.”

“got a problem with it, pretty boy?” you rasp, staring up at him.

his face is boyish when he leans in close, curious as his hand touches your face. 

“mm. no,” hoshina says. “pretty boy?” he cocks his head. his thumb touches at your lower lip, right at the corner of your mouth where your cigarette hangs from your lip.

“that’s you,” you say. you lean into his touch subconsciously, chasing the callused touch of a palm that has held up the weight of the world. “if you want to be of use to someone, you can keep being of use to me. by promising you’ll come back alive, to me.”

you’re not the confessing type. you’re not. you’ve never talked about your feelings for soshiro hoshina besides admitting that you’ve had them once to yourself during a smoke break, when you pulled your cigarette from your lips and wished that hoshina was there to close the gap, to kiss you again like he meant it, instead of in a rushed, half-sloppy affair. 

hoshina’s eyes consider yours for a moment–searching your gaze for something. his thumb on your bottom lip shifts up, and touches the corner of your mouth. he plucks the cigarette from your lips, and you stare up at him, embarrassingly entranced.

“you’d like that,” hoshina whispers, and then he takes a drag of the cigarette. the tip of the cigarette glows a brilliant orange-yellow, and you wonder if hoshina will make fun of you for staring, before he exhales, half-coughing. “ha. what i get for trying to look cool in front of you, huh?”

his smile is all fangs, barely reaching the cold crimson of his eyes.

you stare at his lips shamelessly, at the way they upturn.

“aren’t you going to kiss me?” hoshina asks.

“huh?”

you blink at him.

“i’ve decided what i want,” hoshina murmurs. “and all you have to do is take it.”

so you do. you pull him forward by the collar of his plain shirt, poking out from his jacket, and he falls against you, presses his lips to yours in a move that might be described as reverent. he tastes faintly of your sweet cigarettes, and you kiss him and kiss him until you hope you can plunge your hands into his chest, and rewrite his core so that he might live and breathe for you. 

#kaiju no 8 #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #x reader #kn8 x reader #how it be

[randompandabaewrites]

Born to Survive (1/2)

Astarion x f!Tav (tiefling), Canon Compliant,

Astarion's Romance, Act 1

1.8k of about 6k

Astarion's perfect little plan to seduce and manipulate Tav goes awry the first night he spends with her. But he should have known from the moment she agreed to meet him in the woods. // Part 1 of 2 cause this was longer than I planned for (heh). Astarion's dialogue is as close to the game as I could manage, with some embellishment. CW: Astarion's v healthy approach to sex/intimacy. MDNI This part is not explicit but part 2 is only that. Song Rec: Natural (Cover) by Kristen Collins & Kurt Hugo Schneider//

Astarion from the growing darkness watched as Tav knelt by the campfire, fighting with the instincts honed over centuries. 

Tonight, she was going to feel their razor’s edge—except she was going to live to see the morning. 

Maybe that was why the vampire was feeling a little bit of…hesitation, for once. He’d done this song of seduction and dance of deception more times than he could remember. It would be easy as any night on his back. She would be no different. 

So he thought. 

Tav was paying all of her attention to the fragrant herbs she’d gathered into neat bundles, binding them together, singing their edges to combine them, and deftly blowing them out again. 

It made Astarion scoff to think the tiefling had time to be concerned over such trivial matters. Tadpoles in their heads. Death stalking them at every corner. And here was the ranger, worried about potion ingredients camp supplies. 

And here he was, charming a mere ranger. 

Astarion watched as she brushed her long hair over her shoulder and out of her way to continue focusing on her task. His eyes traced the marks still visible on her neck. The twin punctures were worn so openly, brazenly advertising that she’d so willingly let a vampire feed from her. 

That was his way in. Because he remembered how…intimate that encounter was. A foreign concept from a life of feeding on rotten rats—but he was more than familiar with the way her body trembled under his teeth.

Astarion rolled his shoulders back to relax, composed his face into a charming smile, and sauntered over to the fireplace. 

“Darling, there you are.” 

“Astarion!” Tav jumped, nearly dropping the herbs into the flames. “Gods, you’re quieter than any prey I’ve tracked.”

He gave a flippant wave to ward off her comment. If only she knew how groomed he was to stalk the most clever and dangerous of prey. 

“I was just thinking about you. Remembering our time together, the things we shared…”

Tav straightened up from her crouch at the fire. She arched an eyebrow, and rested her hand on her cocked hip. “Astarion, if you need blood—” 

“I don’t just mean that lovely neck of yours,” he interrupted smoothly. He made a point of his eyes traveling over her figure, wondering what was hidden under supple leather armor—worn, well-used armor.”I’m growing to like the whole package.” 

“Really?” Tav asked, her tone dripping with a skepticism he didn’t appreciate. “I didn’t think a little dirt would do it for ya.” 

Her bright eyes raked over his impeccably kept appearance, which he had still managed after an abduction and days out in the wilds, thank you very much. 

But then Astarion noticed the slight swish of her tail. Though tieflings weren’t as common among his targets, he’d charmed and manipulated a few in his endless nights on the streets. 

Tav was either irritated…or interested. 

And Astarion knew just how to tilt that reaction into his favor. 

“Honestly,” he protested, stepping a bit closer to her. “And, you clearly like me too.” 

Her tail slashed back and forth, disturbing the dust near the fire. Even as she wore that face of suspicion and doubt. Cute little thing. Like a kitten who thought her mewling was a roar.

 “Come now, don’t be coy.” Astarion stepped artfully into her personal space, crowding her against the log that Karlach had placed as a bench before the fire. “Your body has already given you away…I could feel it.” 

Tav swallowed, and his eyes were drawn right to the graceful slope of her neck. 

As if she needed any more reminding of the night he first fed from her. How she had laid her head back into his hold. How he nearly lost control when he tasted the sweet nectar flowing through her veins—he almost forgot how she squirmed under him, but didn’t push him away. Then, that traitorous tail of hers curled up at the point. 

She may as well have broadcast her arousal to the entire camp. 

Astarion raised a hand, ghosting his touch along the defiant line of her jaw, down to her throat and the fading marks his fangs had left behind. She didn’t flinch at his almost-caress. In fact, she was already tilting her chin to it. 

“The little shivers, when I was getting lost, in your neck…”

Some feeling bubbled up unbidden from within the vampire. That moment, his first time taking blood from a thinking creature, well he couldn’t help it if that was special to him too. Astarion could still feel her fingers coiling at the small hairs at the back of his own neck.

It was…intimate. Like hadn’t known before. 

No. 

He quickly buried the foreign desires and slipped back into the persona that never failed to stoke them in others. Want was a weapon in his arsenal, one that he could wield with lethal dexterity. 

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you?” 

Tav’s teeth bit into her bottom lip, and she must know that she’d been caught. The agitated flicking of her tail slowed. Astarion knew that he had her when the pointed tip began to curl. 

“So I did.” 

A triumphant grin tugged at the corners of the elf’s mouth. He, deliberately, tilted his head to her, so the setting sunlight might catch his gleaming fangs when he grinned. 

He was always so careful to conceal his nature from unsuspecting prey until he could pull them into the shadows. But Tav’s obvious attraction to his vampiric features was something he fully intended to exploit. 

Such a wicked weakness for good girl. 

“So did I, more than words could say.” He let his rich voice drip with honey as he finally let his cool fingers touch her heated skin, skimming deftly over the fading twin marks. 

Tav shivered under his hand, but didn’t pull away. 

He had her now. 

Astarion loomed closer, his cool breath ghosting over her pointed ear. “I was so…very pleased with what you gave me, darling. You deserve a reward.” 

He expected her to melt into the caress of hand and his words, but Tav stiffened under his attentions and pulled back. Confusion flickered over the elf’s face before he could conceal it behind an innocently wounded expression. What did he say wrong?

“I don’t need a reward, Astarion.” Tav’s tone was firm, but irritatingly gentle. Which just made him want to snap his fangs in frustration. She ducked back to pick up her abandoned herbs, bundling them up neatly, and literally slipping right out of his fingers. “Some people help just for the sake of helping, you know?”

Astarion bit back the scathing retort that rose to his lips. 

It wouldn’t do him any good in his current objective, and might just shatter the fragile mood he had so carefully constructed. 

Instead, he forced a disarming chuckle and slid onto the log seat next to her. “Of course dear, I simply meant we could take an evening to ourselves.” Her tail twitched next to him. “Get away from camp, get some…privacy.” 

Astarion’s silver tongue was not about to fail him now. Tav’s back was to him, taking her time packing her herbs away, a tension lingering in her shoulders that he wanted to sooth away with his hands—or his mouth. 

She was proving to be more of a challenge. No matter, he enjoyed a good game of cat and mouse. Though he had no intention of being the mouse. 

Tav turned back to face him, those jewel-like eyes scrutinizing his face, like she was trying to pierce the winsome smile he plied as a well-worn mask.

She leaned closer, bringing her earthy smell of herbs and leather and something wild that made something in him ache for more. To have her closer—to feed, obviously, nothing more. 

For a fleeting moment, Astarion was certain he had Tav ensnared at last. 

“We don’t need to leave camp for you to feed on me, you know?”

Gods dammit. 

There it was again, that insufferable, good-guy tone that made him want to tear his perfect curls—he’d already seen Tav run headlong into danger over some undeserving wretch just under the pretense of doing the right thing. It might just make Astarion ill. 

“And you don’t owe me for it, either.” The sincerity in her voice was making his cold skin crawl. 

Astarion had lived long enough to know that altruism was a myth. Benevolence was meant to beguile. And anyone offering a hand would want their palms greased. 

Tav was either a fool, or the trickiest devil he’d tangled with yet. 

The misunderstood outcast card was not his favorite hand to play, but it worked so well on those with a savior complex. 

“Oh, I understand.” Astarion said softly, arranging his face into a petulant pout. 

Tav’s brows furrowed, and she finally looked back up at him. “You do?”

“I do. Stealing off into the woods with a vampire…” He let his voice trail off, oh so hopelessly. “It is a lot to ask you to put your faith in me.” 

“Astarion, that’s not—” 

He cut her off with a wounded sigh. “You do not trust me.” 

Astarion stood and turned away, shoulders slumped in feigned dejection, waiting for her to take the bait.  She would get to her feet and follow. He could count it down in his head. 

Three, two, one…

“I do trust you.” Tav’s soft voice was almost pleading. 

A slow, satisfied smile curved Astarion’s lips, surprised she’d yet to faint from that bleeding heart. 

“Then, trust me.” Astarion purred, closing the distance between them in one sinuous stride. He loomed over her, feeling the rush of her pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. 

Tav reached for his hand, but the vampire deftly bypassed it. His long fingers encircled her wrist, the heat of her skin sinking into his palm and warming him already. 

Her eyes were wide, nearly luminous in the gathering dusk, but he let his gaze linger on her mouth, his own lips parting ever so slightly. 

“Trust me, when I promise you a night you will never forget.” He lowered his voice and let shadows fall over his crimson eyes. 

Tav shivered, and Astarion knew it had nothing to do with the temperate air. He could smell her arousal, heady and sweet, as obvious as the almost perfect curl her tiefling tail was making. 

“Okay,” she breathed, her word a little more than a sigh. “I trust you.”

A victorious grin spread over his lips and through his veins. He finally had her right where he wanted her. Under his hand as he cupped her cheek, drawing her close, his breath ghosting over her lips before finding her pointed ear.

“See you there, lover.” 

#It's already written not edited #Part two coming soon #Hard to write smut with someone making bad choices for themself #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #tav #astarion smut #astarion x female tav #baulders gate 3 #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #canon compliant

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (28) Empty

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 28)

Summary: Will Rosie be able to keep her secret from her parents until the big day?

Twenty-Eight Years Old

Seen in hindsight, the trip to Greece was a catalyst of what came later. On our last evening, Timothy and I had dinner at an almost empty restaurant on the cliffs of Fira. The sun was about to set, and the sea was bathed in colours of gold. When Timothy took my hands in his and asked me to marry him, it really was the perfect ending. Cliché, perhaps, but who cares? Luckily, he hadn’t bought the rings at one of the ridiculous jewellers on the island but brought them with him from London. (I said yes, by the way.)

***

As if faith wanted me to keep my secret from my parents, they were away on a three-week trip to New Zealand when we arrived back in London. I called Dee before I went to Baker Street to collect mail and check the fridge for outdated milk and decayed body parts. She had closed for the day, but when I called with my inquiry, she was instantly intrigued and asked me to pop into 221A before I left.

It was strange to see someone else living at Nana’s. Her old furniture had been donated to second-hand shops, new wallpaper, art, and futuristically designed chairs, tables and shelves made 221A look like something taken out of Star Trek or whatever. The kitchen and bathroom were recognisable with bits and bobs I remembered. Nana’s oven mittens, the kitchen utensils and the wallpaper. Over the kitchen table was a big photo of Nana.

“I’ve made some sketches for you,” Dee said after she’d inquired about the trip. “One on each shoulder, yes?”

She showed me her drawings and after some discussion, she made the adjustments I wanted. 

“See you tomorrow at six,” Dee said when I left. 

“Can’t wait!” I retorted excitedly.

***

Dee’s Den was everything you don’t expect a tattoo-studio to be. (At least if you’ve never set foot in one.) Airy, spacious and clean in the extreme. The first time I entered, I felt I needed to take my shoes off.

“No customer of mine will suffer from an infection. I’ve seen enough of that shit,” Dee said gravely.

Her improved sketches had been coloured when I arrived the next day, and they looked even better than I’d dreamt of. The tattoos would adorn each shoulder. One red poppy on the left, and a bee on the right. A t-shirt would cover them, and by the time Dad and Papa were back, they would’ve healed properly so I didn’t need to wrap them in plastic, and the soreness would be gone. I hoped to keep them a secret until the wedding day. My dress would be sleeveless and make sure to show off the tribute to my beloved parents.

***

We decided on a May wedding, and it was Dee’s idea to check if the venue from Nana’s funeral was available.

“She would’ve been so pleased that you all had some good memories from that place. Dancing and laughing, celebrating love.”

Both me and Timothy loved the idea, and we were in luck. Normally, the place needed to be booked at least a year and a half in advance, when it came to weddings, but they’d had a cancellation due to a broken engagement. Nine months to prepare.

***

I chose Liwia as my maid of honour. We had stayed in touch over the years, and she adored my parents, after they’d given her shelter when she needed it in the middle of her teens. Bella had been switched for Iris. They’d been together almost eight years, and Iris was six months pregnant with their first child. An unknown donor was the father.

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you were traumatised when you stayed with us,” I said on the final fitting of our dresses.

“What do you mean?” Liwia asked, clearly puzzled.

“Board games,” I explained dryly.

She laughed wholeheartedly and admitted that she’d never played Scrabble, Cluedo, orMonopoly, but stuck to chess and card games.

“Wise choice,” I retorted with a grin. “Though I have experienced knights, queens and bishops being thrown across 221B.”

***

My uncles picked me up at the salon where I’d been styled and dressed. Uncle Myc cocked an eyebrow when he saw my tattoos, but he was unable to hide how moved he was by this permanent gesture. Uncle Greg…well, he wasn’t that subtle, and needed a stern talking to from his husband to avoid ruining my dress and hair when he teared up and embraced me.

“You’re going to destroy them with this, love,” uncle Greg murmured.

I hadn’t been nervous before, but when the familiar place came into sight, my palms started to sweat, and my heart pounded in my chest. Inside, Timothy and my parents waited. The most important people in the world, apart from the men helping me out of the car. I kissed them and let them go in first to find their seats. One of the staff stood waiting for me to open the door once I’d decided to enter.

For a while I just stood there, my head blessfully empty. And then out of nowhere a wave of emotions washed over me. The memories of all the preparations and anxiety of the last week, regarding the flowers, the last seat arrangements we had to change the day prior, one of my shoes that disappeared without a trace… 

“Come on, Watson. You can do this,” I interrupted myself, using Papa’s former name on me to get me out of the unending loop of trifles and keep me focused.

I nodded to the man by the door who opened it for me, and I slowly made my way down the corridor to where Dad and Papa waited. They stood hand in hand outside the door to the ceremony room and turned abruptly when they heard my heels on the wooden floor.

“You look…”

“Oh, Bee…”

They were both teary-eyed, which didn’t bode well. I hoped they’d piled up with tissues, because this well would not be emptied any time soon.

With my heels on, I was the height of Dad. I seldom wore high-heeled shoes, so it was an alien feeling to stand face to face with him, literally speaking.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” he whispered in my ear when he hugged me.

“Thank you,” I said and turned to Papa.

He’d frozen and he blinked profusely. Dad looked worried at him. He still hadn’t seen the tattoos. Papa’s eyes darted between them, clearly shocked to the core. I took his hand and squeezed it.

“Do you like them?” I asked quietly.

“Like what?” Dad inquired; his eyes hadn’t left Papa’s face during all of this.

“Look at me, Dad,” I said and finally he saw what Papa had seen minutes ago.

“Oh, my god,” he said and covered his mouth with his hand. “Rosie.”

“They are…” Papa clearly knew but was too shaken to believe what he’d deduced.

“Yes, Papa. They are. My tribute, homage, or whatever you want to call it. To you and Dad. To show you and everyone how much you mean to me. Dee made them while you were away. You have no idea how proud I am that I’ve managed to keep it a secret until now.”

Finally, out of his daze, Papa cupped my face and kissed my forehead and cheeks, careful not to disturb my hair or makeup.

“My precious girl,” he murmured. “I love you.”

“Stop! You’re making me cry,” I protested and tried my best to stay composed.

Dad sniffled and batted his eyes with a handkerchief.

“I’m never going to survive this day,” he muttered.

“John!” Papa exclaimed. “Don’t you dare.”

I knew I had to take the lead, or we would be stranded outside that door forever.

“Come on. The game is afoot,” I teased.

Also available on AO3

YES, there will be a continuation tomorrow.

This is also my entry for this month's Sherlock Challenge and the prompt ink.

@calaisreno @sherlockchallenge @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at

More tags in the replies

#may prompts 2024 #may 28: empty #sherlock challenge #ink #sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

[landolovef]

Going home - lando norris

Summary: Many months had went into planning this trip. From the timing, the days and the activities to scheduling down who your going to introduce to your boyfriend and at what time and day. You hed spent everyday making sure that this was going to go perfectly just for everything to change last minute

Warnings: swearing

As a Canadian i felt it was right to use canada as the country. Plus fc is canadian as well!!

Over the last months after moving in with lando although everything had gone perfect its began to feel lonely. The constant change happening has been feeling like to much recently so you decided to plan a trip for yourself and lando to go back to your home in canada. To reunite with your loved ones and friends.

Yes Lando knows about the trip and everything that is planned for the two of you yet he does not possess the same excitement that has been slowly creeping inside of you. Infact Lando is dreading this trip and everything about it. Including going to canada, meeting new people and just everything. He thought that it was made clear by his reactions to your plans that he did not want to accompany you on this trip. every time you mention it his face drops and he groans.

You know about how much lando doesnt want to go on this trip with you but you cant figure out why. You want to share your life with him. You want to share where you came from your friends your family and everything in between. Yet he just doesn’t seem on board for reasons you and him are not even sure about.

Finally approaching the final days before the trip you decide to sit down with Lando and have a conversation with him about him refusing to come with you. Althought the conversation beging peaceful you never expected for it to come to this.

“Lando please just tell me why you cant come with me ive spent months planning this for us me and you not me alone” you plead with him hoping hell understand how important this is for you.

“Ive made plans plus canada is a shit country anyway I’ve seen it before i don’t need to see it again” lando states out of anger leaving you confused.

“Oh… im going to leave don’t follow me dont text me just not until i get back at least” it hurt, it hurt you to hear lando say your country isnt worth visiting, it hurts to hear hes disregarded every plan you had made for the two of you just to make his own. It hurt knowing he didn’t care enough to do something he knew you were so excited about even if he didn’t want to. Everything about him doing this hurt.

Lando knew he fucked up the moment he saw you leave with your suit case. He didn’t mean to hurt you he just had other things he wanted to do during his summer break and that doesn’t include spending it in canada. He made

Plans about a week ago to go golfing with Carlos and his father, he made plans to stream with max, he made plans to stream with filly,

And he had stuff he wanted to do with quadrant he didn’t see the big deal.

2 days later you made it to the airport alone. You had an uber drop you off. In the uber you have came to the conclusion that you don’t need lando to enjoy spending time with your family and friends so you had blocked his number. Although you and all of your friends knew that this was only temporary until you get back to Monaco. You thought it was best you and Lando have some space as he truly did hurt you with every action and every word he had said and done.

Making it to canada your first stop off the plane is to grab a coffee from Tim hortons as it was closest to the airport.

Lando at home had been busy all these plans he made have finally caught up to him and he’s realizing now that he not getting the break he had thought he would during the summer. He missed you, he missed waking up with you he missed your voice, your smile just everything about you. You had been radio silent for days and lando doesn’t understand why so he decided to be the first to reach out

It’s not till he’s speaking with max does he notice that he’s been blocked. Max made him realize a lot that day including why you had been so upset about what he said and his choices to set up his own plans when you had spent months planning something for the both of you.

He feels guilty. He knows he messed up and he knows he has to make up for it. It doesn’t help when he sees your instagram post about how much you had missed home and your friends. So he spends the next day setting everything up. He messages your parents to see when would be a good time to stop by, he books a flight, and finally packs everything he needed from the list you had sent him a while ago.

YourUsername . Just posted

Liked by: Landonorris, carlossainz55, yourfriend1, username8 and 763 others

YourUsername: canada i missed you couldnt be more glad to be back

Yourfriend1: so only missed the country then?

-YourUsername you would be correct

LandoNorris: miss you baby

- username4 hes not with her?

Username48: shes stunning

-YourUsername: all you

Finally he knocks. You’re confused and so are your friends. No one else was coming over so who was knocking? You paused the movie which happened to be your and landos favourite movie to watch together the hangover.

As you swing the door open your met with the piercing eyes of Lando which makes you feel so many different things. He’s here.

He’s actually here you don’t believe it so you do what you see in movies and punch him in the arm but not hard enough to hurt him.

“Ouch babe what the hell” Lando exclaims even though you both knew it didn’t hurt.

“Sorry had to make sure you were real plus you deserve that” he knows he does, he really does deserve that and so much more. So as he pulls you into the tightest hug ever he whispers.

“I know i know im so sorry i fucked everything up, i fucked up this trip you’ve been planning for months and in the process i hurt you im so sorry you have no idea” he continues to go on and on so you pull him into a deep heart felt kiss that he knew meant you appreciated him coming.

Although you knew he still had to work to be forgiven in the moment all you cared was that despite not wanting to he had come all this way.

Authur:

Thankyou to everyone who reached out last post and to everyone who engaged means alot!!

Also i messed up the text messaages nooo just know their meant to be from lando to y/n

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #lando norizz #lando x reader #lando imagine

[nitewrighter]

Re: Lois in episode 2, I don’t think Clark ever *told* Lois that all the Kryptonians are dead???? And the only experience she’s ever had with opening Kryptonian portals was immediate invasion. And if she doesn’t know that there aren’t really any left *to* invade? Her fear seems incredibly reasonable for the information she has.

This version of Clark can not communicate to save his life. And I think a big part of why Lois is constantly putting her foot in her mouth is because she’s going off half the information at any given time.

They both mean well, but their character flaws are bumping against each other in REALLY interesting ways and I’m excited to see where it goes.

Yeah no exactly! Like, we, as viewers, have had months to pore over details and imagine all the therapyspeak-riddled hurt/comfort conversations Clark should have with his friends (*cough* my closing Clois conversation in 'Scoops!', for example), but in the actual show, IT'S ONLY BEEN THREE MONTHS SINCE THANKSGIVING AND EVERYONE IS SO CAUGHT UP IN OVERWHELMING SHIT THAT THEY BARELY HAVE TIME TO ARTICULATE THEIR OWN FEELINGS TO THEMSELVES, LET ALONE EACH OTHER. And also because Superman is such a big pop icon of course we as the viewers are more inclined to be like "Noooo Krypton's not eeeeevil! Clark, Lois, it's not eeeeeevil!"

And honestly--while I'm talking about Krypton--I've read enough Byrne and Bronze age comics where I'm in the space that I'm not completely opposed to a more messy and morally complex Krypton--I don't mind a Krypton that's as flawed as we are, and we're pretty fucking flawed! I feel like everyone's so inclined to view a problematic Krypton as like, "See! This writer is saying that Krypton had X, Y, Z problems, so this writer is arguing that it deserved to be blown up!" And it's like... no??? No one deserves to be blown up just because their society is flawed??? Have we not been paying attention to Superman, the "I do literally everything I can to protect Life regardless of how shitty and cruel it can be" superhero??? Do you not see Krypton's flaws as a natural exploration of sci-fi concepts because it's "a world of tomorrow?"

This is also why the YA House of El graphic novel duology is good, because it's basically two teens going, "Oh shit, Krypton's kind of Bene Gesserit'd itself into a corner--we got so caught up in creating a perfect society that we've actually created massive inequities" and it only makes them want to save their world more because they're made aware of how much they have to live for even outside the confines of societal expectations. Like--flaws in a person or in a society shouldn't instantly activate your "Kill it with fire" instincts--which I'm realizing probably has pretty heavy implications regarding the fact that Superman has heat vision--He can perceive and destroy in an instant, he can destroy through perception, but he makes the constant choice not to.

...this got off-track from your ask. Yeah I'm simultaneously looking forward to and bracing myself for the inevitable Clois drama this season.

#my adventures with superman